Stacking The Deck

"History is written by the victors."

― Winston Churchill

Here, under the confines of metal and magic, I convey the narrative of history. Its past in all its glory, or at least what I can piece together of it.

Only one thousand years after the Great Creation of the World, evil began to surpass good. The first two ponies created by the entity of everything, Omnia, were seaponies. Peccatia and her brother, Oblítus. Both skilled in the arts of magic and prophecies. Serving along side them, a council. No, The Council. A group of ponies privileged to oversee the lives of all the sentient beings of the world. They would judge and decide your fate after death. Either you would go to Tartarus, Purgatory, or Benedixitque.

Tartarus is a dark, endless pit of shadow and fire. It was forged by Omnia at the beginning to house the damned who, after death, were doomed to suffer for eternity in the hellhole. Its structure was a cavern that stretched and expanded as its population grew. Here, all those that lived lives of sins and malice would be kept, serving their punishment of eternal pain and damnation. Trust me when I say that you do not truly know pain until you have tasted the fires of Tartarus. The gates to this prison are guarded by immortal soldiers, sworn to serve their Code Of Service, never to leave their posts.

Benedixitque, the place of dreams and peace. Those who have gone throughout life as souls of chastity and love are said to have been sent to this sort of Utopia. Not much can be said on the subject of this concept. All that is spoken of this place is theorized. There is no proof of this "heaven" yet still the highest leaders of the world claim it is real and that everyone must aspire to get there. The Council members themselves even believe in the extistence of this "perfect afterlife," striving to send more souls there, thinking they will bask in light and pleasures when in reality, they don't even have the slightest idea of where they are really going.

And my personal favorite: Purgatory. Nothing. Blank. That is its purpose. To exist as a place of non-existence. Purgatory is a realm of waiting, a pit stop before you are judged and selected to either go to Benedixitque or Tartarus. But The Council has a third option: to let you remain in Purgatory. You are only chosen to stay if your fate truly cannot be decided, if you, somehow, confuse them into not being able to give a definite answer. In other words if you are both good and evil, if you both committed infamous sins and miraculous deeds of good will, you are forced to remain in the nothingness of the universe, trapped between worlds. But as you will learn, this, like all things, would change with time.

The world lived in equilibrium of prosperity and darkness, filled with promise for hundreds of years. Until the day when Peccatia offset the balance of good and evil, allowing the world to take its first step down the winding road to darkness. Starting the chain reaction that would free the world from The Council's oppressive rule. That wonderful day. She was one of the first ponies ever created, and doomed from the start. Our cruel originator had made her with a darker soul than any of other of her race. It was destined that she would do what was forbidden since the world's inception: use dark magic.

The sun shone with all its brilliancy above the world as yet another lively day reached its midpoint. All across the world ponies were at work, be it for good or bad. Life went on, as close to perfect as its overseers could attempt. The Council smiled as they sat on their pedestals of celestial light, watching the same bustle of everyday life, with the majority of their world shining and living the path of purity. But the few, the... isolated... council members took this time to entertain themselves with observing the misfortune and maelstrom of the adolescent world. Twenty Nine, nearly the entire of the jury, took this lackadaisical hour, the twelfth of the day, to simply admire the world in all its majesty.

Yet then there was the final, most important member of the entire group: the Head Chancellor. Lassus (for that was the highest stallion's name), occupied all his time with security. An abundance of the colt's time was spent watching the Gates of Tartarus as well as, sending those of felons' lives to the tomb of eternal damnation and observing the living who took to lives of ill intent, awaiting the day he would judge them. For above all the alicorn swathed in gold and saffron attire remembered the words of his predecessor. The words that controlled and molded the future of the world, he remembered Omnia's final warning before departing from it all. He remembered the Telling of the Fallen Stars.

Oblítus despaired as he stared at the erect structure before him. The seapony floated in his spiritual form a few inches off the ground. The building was built of cobblestone and already the magic that had been used to form it had begun to take its tole on the facility. While the stone was cracked and shown some evidence of corrosion, it would forever stand, held up by the magic used to construct it. It was the grim nature for which its inception was needed and for why it was built that made the magic corrupt its appearance and soil the scenery around it. It seemed as though the world itself was poisoned by the existence of such a place. Surrounding the perimeter of the property were dying, gaunt trees, bent in impossible positions that seemed to emphasize the feeling of loneliness and phantasmagoric horror. Within the short amount of time the environment stood both fog and frigid winds came to call this desolate center of insanity and crime home.

What was truly depressing of the truth was that it was indeed needed. For the growing amount of felons and psychopaths had drastically risen within the past two hundred years. The muzzle of the age-old finned equine twisted into an expression of pure pity and melancholy as the words of the great creator began to come true. Oblítus, Peccatia, and Head Chancellor all had been haunted by the memory of the doomsday prediction of their queen. For coming forth from the light and propserity of the young world would be death and corruption, for upon them was the beginning of the completion of the Telling of the Fallen Stars.

The small cottage was the only pony-made structure within five miles of the area, hidden in the luscious green of the forest. Inside it could be heard grunts and shouting. Three ponies were in the room, one filled with horror and tears and another fueled by rage and evil. The third figure remained motionless as he stood at the center of a moderately sized living room, receiving his punishment. The floor was riddled with empty bottles, broken glass, and blood stains. Another strained sound was elicited by the young unicorn as his father once again brought the sharp, metal ruler across his son's hide, leaving another gash from which blood ran forth. The youngest of the three, the daughter, was sobbing at the atrocious site of the unjust assault.

"S-Stop," she bubbled out in between sobs, pleading with her cyan eyes.

"Shut up!" the equine of drunken rage shouted in response, continuing to administer his vile attack.

"You are going to kill him!" she retaliated. At this the older stallion stumbled away from his broken son and approached his daughter. The fear began to spread across her alabaster muzzle as he grasped her by her mane and her held the bloodied razor of the ruler to her throat.

"Unless you want to end up worse than him you will shut your mouth," he snarled, his snout only inches away from hers. He then dropped her to the ground and returned to the wounded colt awaiting the continuation of his abuse. Thinking themselves alone, the two unicorns dared not speak of their abuse and cruel guardian, but without their knowing there were actually ponies around the world who faced similar fates. And thus the unprovoked attack when on and both Bronze Cross and his sister thought there was nothing in their power they could do to stop it.

But after hours of the intense agony, eventually the younger ponies' father retired, at which time Bronze Cross took to the solitude of a nearby pond. The water of the pond rippled and shifted, distorting the reflection of the young bronze colt looking into it. But as the waves shrank and faded, the sun's light came into focus once more, bouncing off the aqua surface and burning his eyes. Yet another tear fell, clouding the waters once more. The harsh light damaging his eyes only added the pain of his bleeding back. The fresh wounds of where his father had been striking him flowed freely with blood.

He was so tired, tired of it all. Slowly the cycle began again as his despair and desperation turned to anger and confusion. He cursed his father's name and senselessly pleaded for revenge. It was now that his sister arrived, her own eyes filled with the same salty liquid of hopelessness. Everyday after their abuse, the two young ponies would come to this body of water and drown their sorrows in its silence and each other's embraces. After what seemed like eternity the younger of the two opened her eyes, while still hugging her kin, to see a head poking out of the frigid water, staring at her.

"Bronze Cross," she whispered into her brother's ear.

"Hallow Dove?" Bronze Cross pulled his sister from him to look into her eyes, only to see they were staring at something behind him. He then turned to see the seapony observing both of them. Her ruby head raised from the icy water, bringing with it her body. As Peccatia's entire body floated out of the wintry pond, it took to the air, closing in on the siblings. Immediately the two began to back away from the eerie figure.

Spanning from the horned pony's back were two large fins, accompanied by a singular one that outlined her spine. And in place of her hind legs was a tail of monstrous proportion. But what stopped the two unicorns dead in their tracks was her eyes. The swirling pearls of white were only emphasized by the golden head piece she wore, that one that was outfitted with a jet black gem at its center.

"Do not fret young ones," the aquatic unicorn cooed while still advancing on both of them. "I only wish to help."

"Stay back!" Bronze Cross pushed his sister behind him and stood up muzzle to muzzle with the mare.

"Calm yourself Bronze Cross, I mean neither of you ill intent," Peccatia now began circling around both the dejected juveniles. Dove giggled and reached out a hoof to stroke the flowing red and black mane of the enchantress. Bronze Cross glared at the smiling temptress before speaking.

"What is it you want?" His tone was both stern and surprising to the maremaid.

"As I previously stated, I am simply here to help you two in this cruel world," Peccatia's motherly tone was accompanied by a light glow of her spiraled horn.

"Bronze Cross!" The colt's sister exclaimed pointing at his back. "Look!" And at her request he glanced over his shoulder to see his fresh wounds and deep gashes closed and heal, becoming scars before disappearing altogether.

"I know everything that's been happening to you," Peccatia took Bronze Cross's face in her hooves and guided it towards her's, staring him straight in the eyes. "And I only aspire to assist you."

"How?" Bronze Cross asked doubtfully.

"I promise both you and your sister eternal protection, as well as revenge." Peccatia returned as if it was as obvious as the sun itself.

"Revenge?" Peccatia could hear the negative tone in Bronze Cross's voice.

"Against your cruel drunkard of a father," she explained. "I offer you immortality, infinite power, and unlimited intellect."

"What does that mean?" The youngest of the three spoke up with her soft, dulcet voice. Before Peccatia could inform her, the filly's brother intervened and simplified it.

"It means we could make daddy stop hurting us." The moment the words left his lips, Peccatia realized something: she need not stoop to the younger of the two, for once she convinced Bronze Cross, she would control Hallow Dove.

"I implore you to contemplate it," Peccatia stole the older colt's attention once more, "unlimited wealth, power, and you will achieve your long awaited goal: justice. Not only would you never die, but you could stop the pain and nightmares. You could save your sister." Her circling concluded as she came face to face once more with the younger unicorn.

"Who are you? Why are you helping us?" The sorceress could see the want hidden behind his stone cold expression and defensive figure.

"I am merely a messenger, a guardian. Sent upon the mission of procuring your well being, I am helping you because with your help I could change the world. If you accept my nourishment and guidance I will not only rid the world of your terrible abuser, I will bring forth a new era. One where everypony, may do what they want without the judgement of others." The poison tongued pony phrased her intent in such a way not only did it seem innocent and libertarian, but it seemed like she was setting everypony free, rather than condemning them to a harsh future filled with terror and woe.

"How do we help?" Bronze Cross inquired. His face softening while a smile spread across all three of the ponies faces. The two family members embraced as Peccatia contemplated the technique she would use to conduct her ritual. Finally the answer dawned and a sinister smile was placed upon her muzzle.

"Take this," the maremaid used her magic to lift her headpiece and place it in both of the ponies' hooves. "Crush this and inhale its essence. Then, repeat my words." An expression of love and relief came to Bronze Cross's muzzle as his vision fell upon his hopeful sister. The next instant the miniature tiara was no more as two wisps of black smoke forged into twin hands of bony structure. Gone down the throats of Bronze Cross and Hallow Dove, the shades of dark magic grasped the unicorns' life source.

"Mrtyor mamrtam gamaya. Diuinitatem ducere ab impotentia," Peccatia's white teeth were revealed as her muzzle corners turned up while she spoke. The words flowed from the two's newly tainted hearts. "Deduc me in lucem in tenebras. Tolle animam meam, dedi ad peccandum. Fiam servus tenebris."

And with the almighty curse completed, the two victims were taken hold of by the forces of Tartarus itself. Screams of pain and power followed as each of the ponies was set alight. The wickedness of the underworld flowed through their veins as their bodies warped under its influence. Peccatia watched in awe and fulfillment as she personally helped the world in its first step down the winding road of darkness.

Anger seethed from the titanic dragon as he watched his great great grandson. The nearly fully grown dragon was soaring in bliss and peace as he flew merrily above the village beneath him, completely unaware of the looming red eyes fixed on him. The king of the drakes, hidden in the shadows in his castle, watched through his magical sphere of magic with pure loathing at the golden wyrm that was his descendant. The joyful creature landed to walk beside one of the ponies making her way to the town. The image was filled with black as the king clenched his clawed hand shut, crushing the seeing spell in its wake. His face contorted into a grimace of anguish and rage as his thoughts mixed and milled over one another, repeating the same horrible truth.

The docility of his entire race, their peacefulness. The vicious looking dragons of the world all sickening sweet and disgustingly selfless. All except him. The lord of all these repulsively kind and caring creatures. The first of them all.

How. How, that is what he pondered. How had he spawned such an atrocious race of purely unselfish beings. Since his first breath he had been gifted with daunting magical powers and heightened intellect, but in addition to this he was cursed. The creator, the great Omnia, burdened him with the hole in his heart that would eventually consume him. A never ending ocean of malice, cruelty, and greed. But rather than resist the inevitable and fight to only delay the unstoppable, he embraced it. He accepted his doomed fate and now aspired to watch the world burn. He wanted its fall, its defeat, its perfection to be tainted with calamity and destruction.

But he must be discreet. For looming over him, watching his every move, was The Council. The writers of history and the future. Lead by their leader, their chief, their Head Chancellor. Evil had been rising since the beginning of time, and they knew it. Whether it was due to Omnia's mistakes or perhaps her own twisted sense of humor, the world was doomed. Its origin was infected with sin itself, for as the world grew, so would its curse.

The steel scales that made up the draconic lord's body shifted and rippled as the enormous dragon stood from his throne and spread his leathery black wings. The shook slightly before resting once again upon his metallic hide. The king proceeded to his library, which was placed at the West wing of his castle of black. The sovereign of fire and brimstone crossed the threshold of his book archive and advanced to the table past the almost never ending racks of narratives. Hundreds of feet high the ceiling stood, with chandeliers of diamond and silver hanging lazily in the air. The walls were outfitted with paintings and shelves. Where the rows of wood and page ended, a new area began. Circular in architecture, a dome a sorts, with a table set at its focus. Surrounding it were statuettes of gold and various other alloys. Beside them were scarce books of a darker nature, along with boxes and chests of materials with a wide variety of magical properties. Only a few meters behind the counter at the center was a lone window.

Perhaps the most enticing feature of the room, the glass opening was tinted to an aura of dark traditional chartreuse. A storm of magnificent ferocity billowed about, shrouding the castle atop the mountain in frigid winds and terrible shadow. The patriarch of his draconic race approached the table, and having reached it, brought forth a jar and vial from from seemingly nothing. After setting them down neatly he opened a blank book and began to take notes as his magic filled the air. His emotions now flowed freely, filling the pot and tube with black magic and rage. The hundreds of years of pent up feelings now moved with ease, creating both a curse and potion.

"Avar!" A voice cried out to him, abruptly ending the ceremony and severing his train of thought. The scarlet eyes of the dragon flashed brightly before he turned to the purple scaled dragon-ess advancing on him. Her beautifully curved body was deliciously complimented with the green spines that began at her head and ended at her tail.

"What could you possible think of to further persist my patience?" Avar-Fortis acidly spat at his wife.

"Your great great grandson would like us to come visit," the queen attempted to keep herself from arguing. "With his wife's death he is very lonely, and knowing his son's condition I think we should oblige," Spina tried to reason, little knowing how Avar was barely keeping himself in check. Struggling to stay in control of his actions, his age old mind strained, having recently unleashed his dam of hidden demonic thoughts.

"No, tell him I decline his request," Avar spoke in a voice of great bass and power. "I will not allow him to waste more of my time." He then turned his back to her and placed both his hands of the table, taking deep breathes.

"Are you alright Avar? You seem... strained. You've been distant lately," the drake in question's wife appeared at his side. "You know he is your heir you could--"

"Do not discuss the terms of my heritage!" the originator barked harshly, his voice and emotions growing in volume. The constraints of his patience and sanity now began to tremble.

"He has had a terrible life, and you have done almost nothing for him!" Now she too was loosing her temper, a rare occasion, though still significant. "Ashkore deserves our support, he has only ever tried to made you proud," Spina lifted Avar's chin with her hand, looking him in the eyes. The twin symphonies of swirling crimson boring into her sapphire ones.

"Yet he only manages to disappoint," his voice sprinkled with strain and rage. Spina then placed both her hands on his shoulders as her face turned as hard as stones.

"We are going and that's final." Shock. That was what hit Avar-Fortis first, pure astonishment. His spawn, his descendant, his caterer, his wife, forged by Omnia through the use of his scales, now dared to command him. The shock faded, giving way for fury and frenzy. "I am putting my foot down," she announced, pulverizing Avar's last nerve. Out of nowhere a sudden wave of satanic hatred, rancor, and power crashed into him as a word spoke in a dark, distant voice echoed in his head, uttering one word: tenebris.

"Unhand me woman!" He shouted, freeing himself from her hold, wrapping his clawed hands around her throat. "You're putting *your** foot down?*" His grip drastically tightened, while raising his own left foot, bringing it down on her's.

"Av... Avar..." she struggled to breathe.

"You insolent little vixen, you dare command me under my own roof?" he bellowed. "I am Avar-Fortis, the Father and King of the entire draconic race! I am your king! And I am tired of your disobedience and disloyalty!" The color began to drain from the feminine body of Spina as the king's magic again came to life. But the color was not only sucked from her face, small dots of white light drifted up from her scales, carrying her essence, her soul to the clenched hands of her murderer. After several minutes of silence, the draconic king's sanity returned. He dropped the lifeless body and reentered his previous ritual, this time infusing both the potion and the jar with something he alone could never give them: soul.

The two concoctions were finally finished. A pot of greed, to curse an entire race, and a vial, created for a single purpose, to kill an angel. The entire world was shaken by the arrival of dark magic and a new era was coming, a new age. But regardless, he too knew of the coming darkness, in fact, he intended to lead it.