Outcast

by Trials

Rating: mature
Tags: Tragedy, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 3012

Schizophrenic. Murderer. Traitor. These were but few names among many she had been given. She had destroyed her true name eons ago, when it truly meant something. They think she is insane, but she knows they are. Outcast seeks to enlighten them.

Schizophrenic. Murderer. Traitor. These were but few names among many she had been given. She had destroyed her true name eons ago, when it truly meant something. They think she is insane, but she knows they are. On a final quest for vengeance, she seeks to enlighten them. She is Outcast.

Pre-read by Fluttrick and RainbowBob.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-06 23:40:02 UTC

Ash

Outcast

You should not have done that.

Outcast woke. Her body felt broken as she lay motionless in the ditch. She craned her aching neck upwards, opening her bloodshot eyes to find a cloud of ash hiding the light of the moon. It hurt to breathe. Every gulp of air she took sent a wave of pain coursing through her body. Her breaths grew more shallow and strained as she inhaled the cool air, her lungs desperately struggling to absorb the oxygen. With each increasingly rapid gasp, she could feel her energy dropping.

Her limbs began convulsing without her knowledge, perhaps in the instinctive desire of drawing a single breath. It was impossible; her body was torn and crippled. She could only gaze up at the passing clouds. Worst yet, Outcast could feel the cold air on the tip of her tongue. It was almost as if it was playing with her, inviting her to take deep breath by placing it right under her nose before suddenly withdrawing it whenever she wheezed.

She felt fire ignite in her lungs. It rose through her throat like an inferno, burning the walls of her windpipe. The blaze remained in her passage, neither retracting or advancing, but staying on the verge of nothingness. Were it not for her state of shock, she might have panicked. Outcast simply sat still, her body failing and wheezing for air as her mind tried to come to terms with the inevitability of death. She could see it now; the light at the end of the very long tunnel. It called to her, welcoming her in its warm, tantalising embrace.

Finally.

At long last, she took a breath.

With another cursory glance, she confirmed what she already knew. The moon had been revealed once more, and with it, her powers had returned. Outcast could feel the energy running through her veins, the immensity of it overwhelming her struggling heart. She could feel her organ beating in rhythm once more, no longer disjointed or irregular in its constant beat. Slowly, ever so slowly, the light of the moon rebuilt her broken body, and she was made to feel every second of it.

By now, she was used to the pain. Pain was good. Pain told you that you were still alive, even if injured. After the amount of damage the Outcast had sustained in her lifetime—not to mention the abysmal amount she had experienced only moments before—her mind being heralded with pain was nothing but a minor inconvenience. It slowed her down, telling her to keep out of harm’s way before something irreversible happened, but she had long since listened to the words that told her to stop.

She stood once the energy had been returned to her legs, eliciting an involuntary groan as her hooves found their footing. Though she could block the messages of pain to her mind, she couldn’t do the same to her body. A cry of pain indicated she was injured, and having an injury made her weak. Outcast was not weak. She couldn’t allow herself to be viewed in such a way. Death was preferable to humiliation.

With a tender leg, she stepped forward, the ash and burnt grass crunching underhoof. She jumped out of the ditch, landing poorly on her shattered hoof. The Outcast was barely able to stifle the scream of pain. She paused a moment, allowing her body to recover. Glancing around, she saw the destruction around her. It was not her fault. They had attacked her. It was entirely their fault that they laid still and unmoving on the ground, not hers. If they had not assaulted her, their faces would not be frozen in pain or fear, lying face-down in a pool of their own blood. Of course, she had to defend herself.

Stop now. Before it is too late.

But it was already too late. They were dead. The Outcast had killed them before they could kill her. She was not in the wrong. The amount of patrols had increased over the past couple of days, much to her indifference. That meant more killing. More guards, more killing. It made perfect sense. Though she dispatched each guard in defence, she could not deny that a piece of her felt a little satisfaction as she saw the light leave their eyes, their limbs withering and freezing as their control disconnected...

Outcast shook her head. It did not matter. She trudged on through the blanket of white, averting her eyes from the corpses. The direction in which she traveled did not concern her, as long as it was very far away—far away from civilisation, where she couldn’t possibly hurt the ponies that pursued her. Bats flew overhead. The trees that remained rooted swayed gently in the breeze. Owls hooted around her as she unfolded her wings. Outcast ground her teeth together, the pain instantaneous.

Begrudgingly, she decided to simply walk. Her wings had been damaged in the fight, and the healing process was far too slow. For once, she listened to the voice that told her to leave. With each reluctant step, her hooves became colder and colder. Thankfully, the fire spreading from the broken pieces of bark warmed them up slightly, stopping her hooves from freezing still. Sniffing, she could smell the distinct scent of charred flesh. As she looked away from the very destruction she caused, her eyes fell across a lone straggler.

Do not do it.

The pony was not dead like the others, but not far from it. Outcast watched him as he dragged his broken body across the ash-covered ground, crying out in pain whenever he pulled. She was surprised she had not heard the groans of agony before. Perhaps her ears were too damaged from the fight. Without her intervention, he would most likely die from the cold before he died of his wounds.  A trail of crimson liquid followed the pony’s motionless leg, which had been severed in a rather untidy way. It was not exactly a clean cut, to put it bluntly. Amongst the red, pulpy mush that was once his leg, she could see a flash of white.

With each pull across the earth, his cries grew louder. The pool of blood behind him mixed with the pure white ash as it became bigger. Outcast merely watched on. Eventually, the pony came to a halt, his breathing slowing down as he gazed up at the twinkling sky. Curious, she walked slowly over. The shadows were her ally, hiding her from view as she remained completely silent. She was barely a few paces away from the fallen soldier.

Do not.

“H-help,” the guard cried weakly, his voice shaking. “Oh, p-please, someone help me. Please! Oh, i-it hurts so fuckin’ much! Please...” His voice trailed off into nothingness. She watched as his head fell to the side.

“I am here,” Outcast said, appearing from the shadows. Her gaze fell upon the stallion, eliciting a tiny gasp at the horrifying sight. He couldn’t have been much older than an adolescent. Much too young for a soldier. Outcast scowled in disgust. Only a coward would send a pony so young into battle. It was not her fault what became of him. Like the others, his face was marked with both soot and ash. A part of his cracked armour had melted onto his bare, bloody skin, fusing together under the high temperature. He didn’t even respond to Outcast’s announcement. The stallion remained unmoving on the ground. “I am here,” she repeated.

“Who… who said that?” the guard asked. He was most likely delirious from the loss of blood. His eyeballs darted around in their sockets, not quite focusing on anything specific. She waved a hoof in front of his nose, but to no avail. He couldn’t see it.

“I did,” Outcast responded, pushing her face above his.

It took him a moment to react as his eyes finally adjusted. They immediately went wide. “No… no! S-stay back! Go away” he cried, his voice cracking. Suddenly panicking, he tried to wriggle away, but a force kept him rooted to the ground. As his limbs fell limp, Outcast saw a few droplets of water fall down his already damp face. It mixed with the soot, creating a black tear that rolled off his cheek.

“If you panic any further, you will surely die,” Outcast said, summoning the shadows once more. “Remain calm. I will heal you.” In an instant, a black cloud wrapped itself around the stallion’s leg. A larger one covered his torso, leaving only his head visible. He levitated into the air, up to Outcast’s height.

“N-no, please! Get the fuck away!”

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” Outcast ordered, staring deeply into the guard’s pinpoint pupils. “I wish to save you. This will stop the pain.”

“Why?” he asked, only able to move his mouth. “Y-you murdered so many… of us. You tore us up like paper! My… my leg...”

“Defence,” she stated, her brow furrowing in concentration. “You attacked first.”

“We… we didn’t!” the stallion shouted. “We were told that you—”

“It does not concern me. You struck first, I struck harder.”

The guard fell silent, whimpering slightly. “Then… then why are you helpin’ me?”

Outcast hesitated. “I need your assistance.”

“F-fuck you! I ain’t helpin’ no murderer!” he shouted, trying to break free of her control.

“I need you to deliver a message,” she said, her patience wearing thin.

“I ain’t doin’ it! Get the fuck off me, right now!” His voice was rising in pitch.

“It is of the utmost importance—”

“As soon as you’re done, I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ throat out!” he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth.

Outcast glared at the stallion beneath her. She looked into his eyes, seeing the blind, unadulterated hate behind them and finally understanding.

Do not do it.

“So be it,” she said simply. Recalling her powers, Outcast began walking away. As she left, the guard fell to the ground with a crunch. He screamed out in pain, the high notes reaching the far mountains with sheer volume. She gazed back, seeing him crying and moaning openly, his face contorted in either hated or pain—she did not care which. Outcast had not actually began the healing process, only the preparations. His leg was still the bloody stump it was before. Even more liquid was spurting out from the impact.

“You did this,” she said, her voice monotone. “You only have yourself to blame.”

“A-are you…” he began, his voice fading faster than his supply of blood. His legs fell by his side uselessly. “Are you just… leaving me here? Y-you can’t… do that.”

“I can, and I am. Is this not what you wanted?”

“I… I d-don’t... Please, just finish m-me,” he begged, closing his eyes. His sobs were nearly silent.

“You are of no further use to me,” Outcast stated. “Your mind is far too indoctrinated for my purposes.”

“My leg is so… f-fucked up,” he said. “I… can’t feel it. So… so much blood. You c-can’t leave me here… like t-this.”

“Watch.” Outcast began to stride away.  As she reached the treeline that wasn’t burnt completely away, she heard him speak once more.

“Princess Luna, y-y-you… please, e-end this. Please...” he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

She scowled once more. “You are not worth the effort,” Outcast said, “and that is not my name.” Turning away for the final time, she simply walked away. She did not hear his cries for mercy again.

The definition of soldiers had changed. In her time, a soldier was supposed to honourable. A soldier was supposed to bring justice to those who direly needed it, taking pride in the contribution they made to society. This was no longer the case. These… mercenaries were not soldiers. The only similarities they shared was the same suit of armour. They simply worked for their blood money, doing whatever they were told to, no matter how questionable. Being a soldier was more than blind loyalty; it was having the sensibility to do the right thing. Considering how young the soldier was, Outcast knew they were far from honourable.

It is only because you murdered the veterans.

“I did no such thing. They murdered themselves,” Outcast countered.

Oh, they did? Forgive me for thinking it was you who drove spears of darkness through their hearts.

“That is not what I meant. They att—”

Yes, they attacked you, as you keep saying. They were the first to attack, Luna. Of course. That explains why they have never stopped pursuing you. It would purely idiotic to say you started this chain of events that led to their inevitable deaths. You are in denial, Luna. You cannot remember.

“I remember everything!” Outcast cried, stomping a hoof.

Do you remember the name of your sister?

She paused, looking up at the bright ball of light—her bright ball of light. Her mind was racing, attempting to think of rebuttals and replies when it finally dawned on her. “I have no sister.”

You cannot remember her. I do.

“I have no sister!” Outcast screamed, summoning a spike of shadow. Without hesitation, she sent it flying into her hoof. Streaks of black blood painted the dark spear as it cut through like a hot knife through butter. The pain was immediate. She threw back her head, screaming until her voice went raw and silent once more. Her shoulders sagged, and her head fell. The seething rage building up was gone in seconds, its red haze absent from her mind.

With a breathless pant, she looked down at the spike protruding from her leg. Her entire body was shaking. She felt something warm trickle down her leg, collecting on the frozen earth in a black puddle. Gritting her teeth together, Outcast finished the job, sending the spear the rest of the way through. She could not help herself; she cried out in pain as she fell to her knee. Thankfully, no one was around to observe. Outcast flicked her horn, sending the black spike sailing into the air. It dug into the bark of a nearby tree with a thunk.

She returned her attention to her leg. It was shaking uncontrollably as the blood fell openly out of the hole she had created. No matter. Outcast called upon the shadows once more. She watched closely as she saw her flesh materialise. It wove together intricately, joining both sides together with threads of a black, viscous liquid. Once the hole was closed, her hair grew on top. The shadows dispersed. Curious, Outcast shook her leg. It was as good as new, aside from the blood caking the lower half of it.

Why do you insist on harming yourself?

“To end you,” she responded firmly.

You are me, and I am you.

“You are not… not...” Outcast’s face contorted in pain. She cried out again, arching her back. Her body would not cease shaking. Outcast shut her eyes as a droplet of sweat fell down her cheek. When the shock subsided, she frowned instantly. “Oh… What have I done? What on earth have I done?” She stood back up, turning her head around. Without sparing another second, she ran into the night. She could barely remember where he was; her mind was fading. Over the hill. Through the clearing. Past the burning remains of what were once proud, tall trees. Frantically searching, her eyes fell upon nothing but burnt bodies and ash. “Where are you?” she cried.

He is long gone.

“I can still save him! There is still time!” she exclaimed.

You are caught in your ways, as always. It will be the end of both of us.

“If he is dead, you are the one who killed him!”

I thought you said that you are me?

Outcast growled, shaking her head. She gasped, finally finding the stallion in the same position she had left him in. Galloping over, she bent down, touching his shoulder. “Hello?” she said, shaking him. When no reply came, she repeated, shaking his shoulder more firmly. Still no response. “I am here!” she cried. On closer inspection, his eyes were open. They were frozen still, staring endlessly up at the twinkling sky. She fell to her knees, whimpering. It was too late.

She heard a rustle, her ears pricking immediately. It sounded close. Outcast looked around, but her sight became fixated with the corpse in front of her. She tried to ignore her instincts by averting her eyes, but something made her turn. Outcast had no doubts on what did.

“You murdered me in cold blood,” the young guard said, his lips remaining still.

“I… I didn’t! It was…” Her voice trailed off.

“You blew off my leg with an explosive shadow, and left me to bleed out." He grimaced. "In pain. Alone.”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t m-me!” Outcast cried.

His head tilted, his dead eyes focusing on hers.

“You did this.”

You did do this.

“You caused me so much fuckin’ pain.”

You caused pain.

“You killed me, Luna.”

You killed, Luna.

She looked down on her hooves, seeing them shake. She didn't know whether it was from the cold, the escalating pain in her stomach or from...

Outcast felt anger rise up inside her, the likes of which she had never experienced before. With a cry of rage, she jumped forward, slamming her hooves into the dead stallion. She stomped again and again, screaming without end. A tiny splatter of blood landed on her cheek as her hooves connected with flesh. Outcast did not cease until the voice was gone. Finally, there was peace in her mind.

A new light emerged in her eyes. It shone through the darkness of the night. Catching her breath, she looked down at the bloodied corpse beneath her. She bared her teeth. There was only one who did this. Only one capable of bringing so much pain to so many lives. After all those long years, her name rang true once more.

Celestia.