Scarred

Chapters

Prologue
The Beginning of a Nightmare
Scars of the Body
Scars of the Mind
The Lesson of Death
First Blood
Puzzles

Prologue

Scarred
by That Hooded Fella

***

Prologue
20 December, 1504

The cold December wind howled through the forest as the mare sprinted between the trees and through the snow, breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, at about fifty feet, a large mass silently galloped after her, making no sound except for the steady inhale and exhale of their breath.

The chase had been going on for almost twenty minutes and the young mare was beginning to show signs of exhaustion, stumbling every few steps as she ran. The large beast behind her smiled grimly. Good, he thought, a few more minutes and this will all be over and done with.

The stallion's heart-rate was normal, his breathing steady, and his eyes yielded no emotion. The nervousness and adrenaline that came with the art of stalking one's prey had lost their potency long before now. He used to run when they ran, so he could catch them quickly and finish the deed before he could think of what he was committing.

Now though, he took his time, content on being incognito and simply letting his intended target wear themselves to nothing before he struck. He used to think if he ran fast, caught fast, and killed fast, the dragon would let him be done with the foul work he had forced upon the stallion.

That was a vain hope, however, and he had given that hope up after the first two months. The foul creature wouldn't let him stop, nay, did not want him to stop. For some unknown, horrifying reason, the one who forced the stallion to stain himself with the blood of innocents, seemed to relish in the torments he put his captive through.

So, now, the callous stallion was simply complacent, unfeeling, uncaring. His single thought was of protection: for his family, his love, and his country. He was saving it, his deranged mind thought. The first time he had resisted his cruel master, the sadistic bastard had gone into a rage and burned an entire village to the ground.

On his own, in less than an hour.

After seeing what would happen if he was disobedient, he had followed his orders to the letter, no matter how much he hated what he committed.

That was why he was out tonight, chasing yet another one of his helpless victims. It had been simple really; send the mare a letter from a 'secret admirer' asking to meet him at the outskirts of the city at midnight, go to the intended spot and wait for her to arrive.

The mere fact that the mare would come in the freezing weather the middle of December only proved his suspicion of her desperation. City-folk always were the most attention depraved in his opinion. They were also short on endurance, as the stallion could see that the mare had finally collapsed in the snow and was struggling to get up.

The grim smile appeared once more on his muzzle as he finally closed the distance between them and slowly walked up to his victim. Tears were beginning to pour down her cheeks as she sobbed, unable to regain good footing due to her fatigue.

The stallion stood about two feet from his victim, staring into the blood shot eyes of the unicorn with a broken horn, as she in turn stared back into his. The stallion before her was one of the biggest she had ever seen, with a grey coat, a soot black mane, painful looking scars running the length of his body and a branded burn mark in the shape of an M on the right side of his neck.

His most prominent features, however, were not his scars, or burn mark or size. They were his eyes. When she looked into them, a thought dawned on her that made her heart almost stop and her blood turn to ice.

He felt absolutely nothing.

The young unicorn began to whimper as the stallion began reciting to himself the monologue that had been drilled into him the first weeks of his servitude, while being tortured by the empty being that would become his master.

"Through death I will prosper, through pain I will prevail;
Through suffering I gain strength, through torment my enemies fail;
Through harm I am calmed, through loss I am at peace;
Through cries I hear triumph, and through screams I hear victory;
Drong Waph Levnim"

As the killer recited his chant, he activated the mechanism that had been forcibly installed into the top his left hoof. A short, gleaming blade of steel shot out and embedded itself inside the leg of the poor mare. From the way she cried out in agony, it was clear she wouldn't be trying to take off again.

The young unicorn continued to wail as the killer moved in for the final moments. The amount of howling she did was irrelevant, nopony would hear her now, nor ever again for that matter. He stopped as he closed the small distance between them, counting to two before lunging forward.

The mare had been sitting up in the snow, cradling her bleeding leg as she sobbed. She didn't see him lunge for her, only felt as he slammed into her, mouth clamped around her throat, though not tight enough that it would kill her. At least for the moment.

Almost done, he thought. Just a little more pressure around her windpipe and artery, before gently pulling back and-

"Stop!"

The sudden shout broke the stallion's train of thought and concentration. All around him, unicorn horns lit up, as the sounds of swords being drawn by earthponies and the flap of pegasi wings filled the air. Multiple magical flairs shot into the sky, illuminating the area.

The brief moment of relapse gave the nearby unicorns an opening to grab the injured mare from the stallion's sharpened teeth, as his jaw had relaxed for a moment. Seeing as he had no reason to keep his head lowered like a blubbering idiot, the grey coated stallion lifted his head and looked around.

He was surround in a circle by what looked like two hundred of the finest soldiers the Equestrian National Army had to offer, all who had their faces set in various amounts of hatred.

"Kamati di Malsvir!"

The stallion, Kamati, let his expression slip into relaxed complacency as he turned his head straight and saw Princess Celestia walking toward him, with Princess Luna on her right and Princess Twilight Sparkle on her left. All were dressed in their royal regalia, polished and shined for this very occasion.

The princesses stopped five feet from the fugitive, horns glowing in union as their magical auras enveloped him, holding him in place. The scum would not get away this time.

Princess Twilight Sparkle stepped forward, a sheet of parchment outlined before her. She began to speak in a voice reserved solely for those who were receiving the death penalty by either hanging or torture. In her short time as a princess, only one had ever been spoken to as such.

"Kamati di Malsvir, you are hereby charged with one hundred twenty-five counts of homicide, one hundred seven of which are First Degree Murder and eighteen of which are Voluntary Ponyslaughter. You are hereby also charged with four counts of Arson, two counts of Kidnapping, one hundred twenty-five counts of Conspiracy, one hundred twenty-five counts of Aiding and Abetting, twenty-five counts of Bribery, and seventy-five counts of Stalking. Now, will you peacefully give yourself up and be subject to these charges or must we drag you to justice by force?"

Kamati kept his expression the same at her words, even as most of the soldiers noticeably tensed, ready for anything he might do. He was a deceitful, cunning one, he was.

He spoke barely above a whisper and yet his empty voice carried across the whole assembly. "No need to be so formal Twilight Sparkle, we did know each other once. You might have even called us friends, though not close as you might have wanted. Why must you use the name my master has forced upon me? The rest of these might know me as such but I know that you remember who I really am. I will go peacefully but I would beg to hear my name once more from another but myself."

The princess' jaw clenched as she answered curtly, "You will not hear it. Whatever name you had before is gone, as is the pony who bore that name. All that is left is what stands before me now." Glancing toward the officer who had accompanied them, she commanded, "Seize him."

The earthponies and pegasi rushed forward with steel bindings and chains, while the unicorns and princesses stayed back and held him in place through magic. The stallion did not resist. He went willingly, almost as if he relished the fact that he had finally been caught.

The princesses watched as he was taken away, both relief and sadness inside of all of them.

For you see, they had just apprehended Big Macintosh of the Apple Family, the most notorious serial killer Equestria had ever encountered in over two-thousand years.

Author's Note

Comments and constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated.

The Beginning of a Nightmare

Chapter 1
The Beginning of a Nightmare

***

Six Months Earlier
17 July, 1504

The shrill whistle of the train cut through the air like a knife, interrupting most conversations taking place on the platform and gaining the attention of the ponies milling about in anticipation. The whistle blew once more as the screeching of train wheels on tracks signaled that the locomotive had finally arrived, raising the heartbeat of more than a few mares anxiously staring at the train as it pulled up next to the platform.

It lurched a few times before coming to a complete stop, the smoke and steam releasing from the train like a great fog, blanketing the area with a thick white that almost none could see through. Murmuring was heard throughout the gathered crowd as the white gas slowly faded away, revealing the sight of many stallions closely packed together in the open windows, staring at the waiting families on the platform.

The murmuring of the crowd ceased as the two groups stared at each in total silence, neither knowing why the moment was unfolding in such a fashion. The sliding of metal broke the tension filled silence as a single stallion stepped from the train with his satchel and gear. Looking around, his gaze wandered from side to side, eyes alert and searching. Years of fighting may have caused psychological decline but her face still stood out clearly in his mind.

He continued to look, a small amount of worry worming it's way into his thoughts, worry that was born of this thought: what if they hadn't come to see him? He pushed that worry as far back into his mind as he could but it still persisted. It had been almost fifteen years since they had last seen him, could they have truly forgotten him? The soldier killed that thought, though another rose to take it's place: even if they did come to see him, what would they think of him now, after all the carnage of war had taken its toll?

The soldier's thoughts were interrupted as the clattering of hooves striking hardwood rang out across the platform. Two mares pushed through the crowd of anxious onlookers, tears beginning to form in their eyes. They pushed and weaved through the confused ponies, who had yet to grasp what was about to unravel before them. Finally breaking through the front of those gathered, the younger of the two stepped forward and stared into the soldier's eyes. "Daddy," she choked out, "is that really you?"

The soldier, who had only moments before hardened his resolve to leave alone, stared back into the his daughter's eyes, his own beginning to glisten as he realized that they hadn't forgotten him. As relief washed through him like a cleansing water, the soldier examined the mare before him. She had been barely five years old when he had left; a little filly crying for her father to stay as he climbed onto a train very much like the one he had rode in on.

Now, though, he saw that she had grown into a fine young mare, full of vibrant life and energy, welcoming her father back to her and her mother. The soldier, these thoughts in mind, opened his mouth to speak but could find no words to say, emotion had impaired his ability of speech. His message, however, was carried across the whole crowd as if he had shouted it with all his might and it was carried by a very simple thing.

Tears began to spill over his cheeks as he silently began to sob, just as his family rushed towards him and embraced him in vice like grips that threatened to never release from the stallion. The building tension was abruptly broken as the onlookers broke into thunderous applause, watching as the small family exited the platform on which they were gathered.

With the once thick tension gone, the rest of the stallions packed into the long train began streaming out from the locomotive, fanning out among the civilians who had rushed forward to meet them. Cheers, sobbing, and exclamations of shock and excitement were heard as, slowly, the reuniting families made their way out of the train station and back into the once small town.

One group, however, was still standing by the train, waiting for the stallion that they thought would have met them by this time.

"Did the letter not say he would be on this train?" asked Rarity, turning her to look at the two mares who stood next to her.

Fluttershy did not answer her friend but deemed to simply stand silently as she watched the now almost completely vacant passenger cars. Applejack, hearing the brief silence that followed, replied without looking away from the train, "That's what it said."

Rarity pursed her lips for a moment before putting on a smile and stating, "Twilight's never led us wrong before, I'm sure he's simply sleeping and nopony has seen it necessary to awaken him yet."

Her optimism was met with nothing but the occasional sound of steam hissing from the cooling train engine. The mare quickly fell silent once more, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked at the their small gathering. Fluttershy and Applejack stood side-by-side, gazes unwavering from the machine in front of them. Off to the right a little stood Applebloom, with Spike, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo around her. The four were almost in their mid-twenties. Rarity herself stood with Rainbow Dash and Pinky Pie, who were to the left of Applejack and Fluttershy.

Surprisingly, Pinky had said barely a word for almost twenty minutes, after she had tried bringing Fluttershy from her strange mood. Her usual cheery spirit had vanished by simply looking into a Fluttershy's eyes and seeing the worry that had begun to fester within her friend. It was enough to drain the party mare for some time.

As her eyes rested again on Fluttershy, Rarity felt, not for the first time, sympathy for the quiet mare. It had been almost fifteen years since she had last seen Big Mac, as the Equestrian National Army hadn't been able to afford giving even one soldier leave. The zebras and griffons had kept the ponies hard pressed to maintain and keep their borders intact, almost overwhelming the tiring army on more than one occasion.

The situation had looked very grim until the dragons had decided to enter the conflict, offering their adolescence to fight alongside the weary E.N.A. in exchange for extra land after the war was over. The princesses had no choice but to accept, seeing as they would gain nothing by refusing simply because of pride and arrogance. With the new stream of soldiers, the tide of the war had slowly begun to turn in Equestria's favor.

That had been five years ago. It had taken more time then the different species had ever thought possible but finally, the war was blessedly over for everyone. The soldiers were home now, families were reunited and all would be perfect once again.

At least, in a perfect world that's how it would be.

This, unfortunately, was far from a perfect world and the point was only driven home by the absence of Big Mac, which was beginning to take it's toll on Fluttershy. Her head had since dropped and was now hanging low as she sniffed quietly as Applejack put a hoof around her.

"Ahm sure he'll show up eventually 'Shy, maybe we jus' missed him and he's walkin' the town lookin' for us raight now."

Fluttershy smiled weakly as she replied, "Thank you Applejack but I don't think we'll be seeing my husband today. Come on, we can all go to the library, I'm sure that Spike would appreciate it if we didn't waste the food he worked so hard to prepare."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement, as Spike smiled and tried to lighten the mood with a few jokes, leading the way towards the library with the ever present limp of his right leg. As the small group took their leave from the darkening platform, Fluttershy took one last fleeting look at the empty train, which had long since before been left to sit for the night, after the engineers and staff had swept it for any and all items. She sighed one last time before turning around and disappearing into the closing train station.

A few moments passed as silence once again took over the platform. Lights began to dim as a lone worker made his final rounds for the night, sleepily checking here and there for any oddities. Resolving that nothing was out of the ordinary, the night guard groggily made his way back into the main building, where he collapsed into a chair and promptly fell asleep.

Hours passed and as night descended upon the land, all seemed well in the grown town of Ponyville. However, not two miles deep into the Everfree Forest, in the abandoned hut that once belonged to a zebra named Zecora, something was unfolding that would change the face of Equestria as everypony knew it.

Author's Note

Please inform me of any spelling and/or grammatical errors; constructive criticism is most appreciated. Thank you.

Spike and the other dragons mentioned are humanoid.

Scars of the Body

Chapter 2
Scars of the Body

7 August, 1504

Pain. Unending pain.

The burning of the hot red blade against his flesh, the acrid smell that came from it. The feel of fangs penetrating his skin, shredding chunks from his body. The laughter of a sadist, the screams of the victim. Smoke from the fire choking, suffocating him almost to the point of passing out. A moment's reprieve to ensure he did not die from the torture.

The sound of pleading, begging for mercy, fell upon his captor's ears and the sick thing just kept laughing. The sound was horrible. It was the kind of laugh that everypony was taught to fear, to despair, to flee unto the lighter most places when they heard it. It signaled the insane were carrying out their innermost thoughts; their darkest wishes.

Pain. Unending pain.

The agony of enduring was too much to bear, and yet, he endured. Memories flooded through his brain like water from a broken dam: the yell of thousands of soldiers charging, the screams of the wounded and the silence of the dead. Slaughtering scores upon scores of the enemy, receiving medals of valor for doing so. Promotion; the writing of condolences to families of the fallen. Fluttershy in her wedding dress.

The slash of the blade, the spraying of hot blood, his vision beginning to tunnel.

The killing of hundreds of more soldiers. Seeing the betrayal of both his army and of his enemy. The anger that came from the releasing of traitors: pony, griffin, zebra, and dragon. The rage, the blood-lust that coursed through his veins. Vowing that he would see justice carried out against them.

Pain. Unending pain.

A short mantra being chanted, haunting him to the core, even as his body numbed from the abuse. "This is the Mantra of Suffering," a voice whispered inside his head, "you will recite this before every kill you make. I will know if you obey. I am within you, even as you are within me."

The sight of his best friend, his family, his second-in-command, being stabbed in the back and betrayed during a battle by one of his own men. Ripping the traitor a part with his hoofs; Braeburn breathing his last in his arms.

Pain. Unending pain.

The crack of bone, his vision splashed with red as his throat finally gave out. He began to cough up blood as he wheezed for air, his vision blessedly beginning to darken. As his eyes began to finally close, he heard his captor chuckle as he whispered menacingly in the stallion's ear.

"Welcome home, Macintosh."

***

A high pitched whining greeted Big Mac as his eyes opened to sunlight streaming through small cracks from within the hollow tree, wincing slightly from the ringing in his ears. The light assaulted his vision, causing him to squint and move his head slowly out of the beams, groaning as he did so. Getting out of the sunlight, his pupils widened as they tried to adjust to the dimly lit room, taking a few moments before they were able to see the wood above him clearly. His eyes moved about tiredly, almost lazily, absentmindedly searching for something coherent to latch onto as his mind slowly began to process all that had happened.

Suddenly, his head and upper body snapped into a sitting position, his muscles and skin crying out to him as he involuntarily moaned in pain, slowly laying back down to the floor as he coughed. Memories raced across his mind's eye as the torture was relayed back to him in horrifyingly terrible agony. The branding, the slashing, the bleeding, the screaming, the chanting of the Mantra and above all: the laughter.

Mac squeezed his eyes shut and put his hooves over his ears, curling into the fetal position as his war memories mixed with those of his torture, his brain going into overdrive as he tried to stave the swarm of grim and gruesome recollections. He moaned once more in pain has his intestines did somersaults as a reaction to both lack of food and his memories. The ringing in his ears intensified.

Big Mac remained where he was for only a moment more before he rolled onto his stomach and, managing to lift his upper body slightly from the floor, coughed before spewing liquid and bile all out in front of him. A few more seconds and it was nothing but dry heaving; there was nothing left for him to vomit.

After half a minute or so of this, the stallion finally was able to stop. His front legs giving way beneath him, Mac managed to direct his fall to land on his left side. He hacked violently for a few moments while wincing in pain, wheezing in air as best he could as is body fought against him.

Mac was unaware of how long he stayed this way, but when the coughing finally ceased, the stallion simply lay on his side, sucking in oxygen as he attempted to order his thoughts. His eyes wandered while he did so, coming to an abrupt halt when he noticed his front legs. Macintosh blinked a few times with a blank stare, not fully processing what he saw.

The first thing he noticed was that his fur was no longer the maroon color he had come to be known for. Instead, he saw dark grey strands of hair and, as he lifted his eyes slowly upwards, he could see a few ends of a long, shaggy black mane. Mac furrowed his brows. A shaggy mane?

While it was true the stallion had not kept his mane short since the beginning of the war fifteen years prior, he hadn't let it grow out to such a length as this. As he pondered this, a nagging question burrowed into his mind, how long had he been there? More importantly, however, he began asking himself the question of why he had even been brought here.

Mac swallowed thickly, his parched throat becoming painfully obvious at this point, and began moving his dry, swollen tongue inside his mouth, trying in vain to get some saliva to accumulate so he could spit the disgusting taste of bile from his mouth. As he continued to try and remember how he had gotten here, his tongue ran over the back of his teeth that were, miraculously, still all in place.

As he did so, he froze once more. He felt a few more times, making sure it wasn't a trick of the imagination. Opening his jaws slowly and carefully, Mac ran his tongue along the top of his teeth. To his horror, he felt points. Dozens of brutally sharp points had been carved into his once harmless, vegetarian teeth. Wincing, the stallion retracted his tongue after cutting himself.

Waiting a moment, he hesitantly began feeling the teeth once more, careful not to rip his tongue this time. Puzzlement came to his muddled brain as he felt a layer of substance encasing his teeth. Lightly running his taste buds over the front, the stallion got the distinct taste of something vile.

It was the unmistakable flavor of metal.

His heart rate began picking up as his breath became slightly labored and irregular. The poor stallion attempted to calm himself, but to little avail. He had faced and lived through many hellish times during The War of Sorrow. He had watched entire companies brutally massacred in a matter of minutes, their gore and intestines spewn on the earth for all to see.

Comrades and enemies butchered by steel, lead, claws, and anything else that could be used as a means to kill. Heads torn off, spines ripped from their very bodies, eye balls dangling from nothing but a thread of flesh as the victim pleaded for help.

Through all of this he had been able to endure for one reason. Mac, like so many others, had always harbored an inner belief that, no matter what happened to those around him, those things would never happen to him. He thought he could suffer through watching his brothers-in-arms being blown apart due to the simple thought that that fate would never come to pass upon him.

He had been very wrong.

No matter how much he held onto that belief, it never was true. Time after time, he was forced to watch and relive the horrendous sights he had witnessed on so many different battlefields and the one reason he was able to endure was that he simply forced himself to forget. He forced himself to forget those who had died and where they had fought, as if they hadn't existed.

He forced himself to make up new scenarios and memories, new battles and victories that had never existed to begin with. He had been able to live with the hoax he had created within the confines of his mind, the brighter reality compared to what actually was. Until now, it had all been enough.

Now, it was happening to him. HE was the one being tortured. HE was the one who was suffering. HE was the one that the horrors he had saw were beginning to happen to.

His psychological state was twistedly fragile to begin with and his current predicament was slowly grating away at what glass defense he had deceived himself into constructing. The situation was breaking him and he was painfully aware of the fact.

He tried breathing exercises that were ended in fruitless results. He attempted to retreat into his own little world but it was already shattered. There was no where else for him to run and his mind couldn't take the strain. His body was beginning to ache. Sweat appeared on his brow as he began the early stage of hyperventilation.

It was too much, the weight of it all was to much, he was going to-

Big Mac snapped back from his thoughts when he heard a nearby door open behind him and something large step into the room. The soldier stiffened, his previous thoughts hitting him full force as terror began eating away at his soul. A ringing started in his ears, making the stallion's ears flatten. Over the noise, however, he heard the lighting of a match and, a moment later, light bathed the room.

The footsteps were once again heard, coming closer to where Mac lay. His eyes widened and his breathing halted as he heard the jingling of keys, the rattle of a lock, and the squealing of hinges.

Hinges. A cell. I've been in a cell this entire time.

A sharp clawed hand grabbed the back of Big Mac's neck, causing him to cry out in pain. Then he heard a voice that sent shivers of horror down his back. It was commanded with a sophistication and intelligence only spoken by those of distinction; one who was accustomed to the taste of power.

It was a voice that echoed in the back of his mind.

"Big Macintosh, how nice of you to join the land of the living."

Fear had sealed words from Mac's mouth but it still let him cry out in agony as his bruised and battered body was thrown into a metal chair. Screwing his eyes shut in pain, the stallion felt cuffs latch around his hooves and legs, pinning him to the chair. He heard the voice again.

"Open your eyes."

Mac, still very much in pain, kept his eyes screwed shut. Something smashed into the right side of face, cracking his neck painfully as his head whipped to the side. He coughed for a moment, spitting out blood. His teeth had cut his tongue again.

"I'll say it one more time. Open. Your. Eyes."

The right side of his face already beginning to swell from the blow, Big Mac slowly began to open his left eye a fraction at a time, as his right eye was left to squint in an attempt to see. When he finally laid eyes upon his captor, the stallion was, instead of pure fear, filled with a sense of confusion and terror.

Before him stood a being he could not quite describe in his pain filled and befuddled state of mind. What looked to be a large, dragon shaped being was towering over him in an almost predatory stance of dominance. It stood at six and a half feet, with bright, orange eyes containing slitted pupils that seemed to bore through Big Mac in an intense look of loathing and disgust.

The body looked to be. . . smokey in a sense, covered in a gray haze, as if he. . . or she had not decided whether they were to exist in the current reality. Through the haze, Macintosh could make out one other feature besides the pair of eyes on the entity: the mouth.

White, pristine teeth meant for the rending of flesh, shown like a beacon in the dead of night in contrast to the rest of the body, were revealed by a malicious grin that seem to best suit a cannibal in Mac's mind.

A shiver racked the chained stallion's body as he beheld the creature before him, his good eye widening. The dragon chuckled- a dry, raspy sound.

"Yes, that is better. If you are quite done with your pig squealing, we may move forward with this project and I will have the pleasure of throwing you back into the depths from which you came."

In his wariness, Mac was able to stutter out the simple question of, "W-who are you?"

The dragon's smile turned to a smirk before he laughed. It was a horrible, high pitched screeching that sounded like the amplified scraping of rusty metal.

"I am Malsvir, Skryspeaker of the Dead and Shaman of the Hawi, a once great clan that was ordered into the pathetic squabbling your kind claims to be warfare. A clan betrayed by our own chieftain who whored himself away to those he believed would cleanse us of our 'corrupted ways'."

Mac, at this point, was hopelessly lost and aching in pain, beginning to care less and less about the being in front of him and simply wishing for this to turn into another nightmare brought on by the war.

The dragon seemed to notice his captive's glazed expression, and surged forward, clamping a hazy, clawed hand around the stallion's throat. Mac began to cough, choking from the sudden pressure to his windpipe and attempted to wheeze in air, even as he felt sharp claws dig into the back of his neck.

"Listen and listen well, you blubbering fustilarian. You are here only because you seem hearty enough and have not yet died because of your wounds. I have been searching for a very long time to find a sentient creature such as yourself to carry out my plans, and though the pile of bodies that precedes you was quite delicious to collect, I will not allow you to go to waste. You are destined to serve me until our glorious retribution is completed or until such a time that you perish."

Malsvir slammed Mac's neck and head against the back of the chair, the force of the impact causing him to clamp his teeth down and through his tongue. The stallion's muffled cry of anguish filled the hut as hot blood filled his mouth before leaking out from the corners.

Malsvir began cackling again as he held his left palm out in front of him, a flame sparking to life in the center and engulfing his hand. A glint shown in the dragon's eye as his laughter subsided long enough for him to mutter an incantation of silence.

"You have been taught the lesson of pain," Malsvir stated as he stared down at his captive and smiled. "Now comes the lesson of endurance."

Author's Note

Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed and appreciated.

I feel as if a bit of Lavender Unicorn Syndrome found its way into the chapters so far, especially when naming Big Mac. It could just be my imagination though; thoughts?

Scars of the Mind

Blood.

There was so much blood everywhere. Staining the muddy battlefield a horrid rust color, and filling the air with an acrid odor that would have made Big Macintosh vomit at any other moment. But not in these seconds. Around the red soldier time has moved to a standstill. The sounds of countless ponies, zebras, griffins, and dragons screaming in pain and rage dulled in his ears. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, heavy and echoing in his chest. Right now, all that mattered was the stallion that he was holding in his arms.

Braeburn was looking up at him with sheer panic in his light green eyes. His lips were moving, but all that came out was more blood that dripped from his mouth down his once vibrantly orange coat. More of the crimson liquid was pulsing out from beneath his hoof as he tried to keep it from spilling from his cousin’s throat. But there was no stopping it, and Macintosh could feel his windpipe convulsing for air every second.

Big Macintosh found himself mute in those moments. Trying to say anything to comfort one of his best friends in all Equestria. Trying to tell him to hang on. To hang on for the little colt that he’d left in Appleoosa. To hang on because he couldn’t bear to lose him in these dark times. But words failed him as he watched the life steadily drain from Braeburn’s eyes, until finally he felt the body beneath him give one last shudder, and then fall still.

Tears fell from Macintosh’s eyes onto the still-warm body beneath him. He didn’t care how dangerous it was to stay there. He refused to let go of Braeburn’s limp body. He didn’t care that his cousin’s blood stained against him, causing his fur to become matted and sticky. He reached up to forever close those familiar eyes.

Braeburn’s hoof shot up to grab his own, and Macintosh started. The eyes he’d known to be filled with kindness and joy were now burning fiery orange, with vertically slit pupils that glared at him with such malice he felt like it was burning a hold into him. Then the blood stained mouth opened, and a raspy voice shouted at him. “Dout enel tepohaic slain udoka shio!!”

Suddenly those spiteful red eyes were replaced with kind blue ones. Sapphire eyes that he could recognize anywhere. Mac’s senses had returned to him in a flash, and he relished in the feeling. The sound of the dying was replaced with her quiet breathing and a creaking mattress. The feeling of a limp body in his arms was replaced by her tightly pressed against him. The smell of blood replaced by her sweet perfume.

Big Macintosh knew where he was. He remembered this night with vivid clarity. This was the night of their honeymoon. A five-starred hotel in Haywaii. The sounds of the ocean crashing just beyond their window. This was just before he had left her behind for fifteen of the longest years of his life. And they were in the middle of their first night together. Not just as husband and wife, but as lovers.

“Mac.” her comforting voice pulled him from his panic, “Mac, it’s okay.” Her front hooves wrapped around his neck. “You don’t have to worry. I trust you.”

Macintosh felt his mouth pull into a tight smirk, and his tongue ran against his front teeth. “That was your mistake.” Unable to control himself, Big Macintosh lurched down and latched onto his wife’s neck with his razor sharp metal fangs. He could hear her begin to scream from pain for only an instant, before it was replaced with a wet gargle, as he ripped his head back, taking a large chunk of her flesh with him. He could only bear witness as he looked down on his dying wife. He watched as the blood squirted from the raw, gaping wound he had left her with. He saw the abject terror in her eyes as tears formed in them. Her hooves reached up to paw vainly at where her throat had once been. Her life blood staining her beautiful yellow coat.

Big Macintosh wanted to retch. To try and save his beloved, like he had tried to save his cousin. To answer the unending question of “Why?!” that seemed to be screaming from her eyes. But all he did was swallow the bloody mass of pegasus in his mouth and smile. He heard himself laughing, and mocking the look of betrayal and unmeasured sadness on her face. Macintosh watched her eyes grow dull and then he leaned down to lap greedily on the still streaming tears from her dead eyes.

Again he was removed from the situation in the blink of an eye. He was in the back of a hall, crowded with other ponies trying to avoid bumping into one another. He was facing a stage, and standing on it was his youngest sister, Apple Bloom. She was dressed in a long black gown, and smiled excitedly as she was handed a rolled parchment by Mayor Mare. Mac knew what was going on. It was a moment he wished he had been there for. His baby sister was graduating.

Apple Bloom moved up to the podium and began to speak into the microphone, “Ah wanna thank the graduatin’ class of 1502 for awarding me valedictorian…” The excited yellow mare launched into a speech, but Macintosh couldn’t concentrate on her as he watched his hand move up. A crossbow with a deadly bolt tucked snuggly onto it was aiming straight at his sister. Nopony seemed to notice.

Big Macintosh was shouting as loudly as he could to stop in his head, but it was a fruitless endeavor as he felt himself pull on the trigger, and the recoil as he launched the arrow. He wanted to scream as he saw his sister’s head lurch backwards, the long shaft of the bolt protruding from her forehead. The geyser of crimson that shot into the air as she landed on the stage with a resounding thud. His own evil laughter echoed around the room. Everypony applauded.

He was on top of the barn now. His bruised and bloodied sister laying at his feet. Her hooved tied tightly together. A gag wrapped firmly in her mouth. She was looking up at him through her swollen eyes, he could see she was trying to find out who this monster that stood over her was, because it sure as shit wasn’t her brother.

He chuckled and rubbed his hooves together and grabbed the thick rope that lay at his feet. He pushed the loop at the end around Applejack’s neck and tightened it. He watched her eyes try to widen in fear and her pupil dilate and twitch left and right. Her legs pushed desperately against her bonds, but he knew it was to no avail. He’d taught her everything she knew about ropes, after-all.

He picked her up by the scruff of her neck and walked to the edge of the roof and held her over the two story drop. He could see three other bodies swinging just below them, one of them was even still twitching.

Big Macintosh gave one last look into his little sister’s eyes. They were begging for him not to do this. Pleading for him to stop this rampage pf death he was wrecking on his family. He leaned forwards until their noses were almost touching. “No.”

Big Macintosh could only watch in disgusted horror as his little sister’s body dropped from his hoof and fell towards the earth beneath them. For a moment he thought that she was going to hit the ground. Maybe she could still run away and escape from him. But his hopes were quickly squashed as her body came to a jerking stop. She bounced slight, and he could see her wiggling, desperately trying to break free.

He cackled and kicked her rope, causing her body to swing to the left and crash into her smaller sibling. Macintosh watched with a smug smile stretched evilly across his face until the body of his dear sister stopped moving, and hung still.

Macintosh didn’t know where he was now. He was standing on top of a pile of branches. He could feel the branches poking against his legs as he stood in the very center of the heap of dry, dead wood. He stood stock still as he saw a tall, gray body march slowly towards him. He recognized who it was in an instant. His captor.

“You seek to defy me, servant?” He hissed coldly, “You think that you can serve me, and still defy me?” The bright orange eyes stared intensely into Mac’s soul, and the haze surrounding the dragon form seemed to deepen. “You have been slain, survived, and given new life by your master, and you think you can betray me?!”

It was in that moment that Mac became very aware of how hard it was to breathe. In that moment the scent of pure oil surrounded him. In that moment, he became more terrified than he had even been before in his life.

“I shall show you what happens to those who do not obey their master!” Malsvir roared, and his maw opened to release a large jet of pure orange fire that slammed into the heap of wood Mac stood upon. The oil soaked branches burst into flame instantly, rapidly spreading towards the gray Clydesdale.

Big Macintosh couldn’t move as the fire roared around him, licking greedily at his legs and catching upon his fetlocks quickly. He had found his voice though, as he screamed in unimaginable agony. The flames seared his flesh quickly and he watched as it blistered and blackened its way up his legs, onto his chest, and up his neck. He let out a scream that no pony should have been able to produce.

And all the while Malsvir laughed.

***

Big Macintosh woke up screaming. His throat was raw from the long hours of yelling and begging he had put it through. Sweat drenched his brow and dripped down into his eyes, where it caused them to sting. He gasped for air and coughed as the air that he breathed in rubbed against his tender vocal cords. He tried to lift an arm to wipe some of the sweat from his brow but couldn’t. It was still clamped down tightly against the metal chair he had been left in. He could feel his muscles ache for movement and he tried to stretch as best he could.

He heard the jangle of metal keys and the turning of a rusty lock. Panicking, the farmer dropped his head and closed his eyes; hoping that the monster that was imprisoning him would think he was asleep and leave him alone.

He heard the door creak open, and the sound of sharp talons clacking against the wooden floor coming near him. He fought to control his breathing, as his heart rate quickened in terror. The noise stopped in front of him and he could feel the dark presence studying him closely. He prayed that it would think he was dead and leave him to rot wherever they were.

A clawed hand came to slap him across the face and he cried out in pain as the sharp claws burrowed deep lines into his cheek. The hand grabbed him by the throat and he found himself struggling to breathe once more. “Do not think that you can fool me into discarding such a useful tool. I assure you that even if you were to die, I could drag your miserable body from the wretched void, and your ordeals would begin anew.”

Malsvir let go of Mac’s throat with a shove and the former apple farmer groaned with pain. “I see that you are still aware of your surroundings after your lesson. Any weaker pony and their mind would have shattered from the stress and left them a drooling mess on the floor. This is good. It means I have chosen the proper servant.”

Mac felt his restraints release his hooves and he collapsed onto the floor, afraid to look up at the shadowy figure towering over him. He listened as Malsvir moved back to the entrance of his prison cell. Something clattered onto the floor in front of him and he peeked an eye up to cautiously look.

Two loaves of bread, and two plastic bottles of water lay on the dirty floor before him. Scrambling, he grabbed the food and water and brought it close to his chest. The dark dragon laughed at the pitiful display. “Enjoy your meal while you can, filthy slave. Two days have passed, and there shall be another five sunsets before the Lesson of Endurance has come to an end.” He slammed the cell door shut behind him and Mac listened as the door locked.

He brought one of the loaves to his mouth and bit into it. It was stale, and almost as hard as a rock, but his new metal fangs bit into the bread and he swallowed heavily, chasing the bread with a long gulp of water. He did everything in his power to not remember the horrid visions he had been subject to for the past two day and focused on trying to get a taste from the stale bread.

Once he has finished his meal he trudged over to a far corner of the room and curled up into a miserable ball. He closed his eyes tightly and imagined himself back in his room at the farm. He ignored the biting taste of metal in his mouth, and imagined lying next to his lovely Fluttershy. Fought to feel her tucked under his arm. He struggled to remove the images of her drenched in her own blood.

He fell asleep with small tears crawling down his face from the corners of his eyes.

It was going to be a long five days.

Author's Note

Okay, so this was originally not my story, but it more or less got gifted to me so I've decided to take it on. The first three parts of this story were done by That Hooded Fella, and everything afterwards is of ym own work. I'm not used to writing grimdark stuff so let me know how I'm doing.

The Lesson of Death

Macintosh sat limp in the metal chair; his eyes cast down at the floor. Small trickles of spit mixed with blood ran from the corners of his mouth. A rubber mouth guard sat uncomfortably clenched between his teeth. It was the only thing that had prevented him from biting through his tongue and drowning in his own blood over the past torturous week. There was an empty feeling in his chest, and an equally empty look in his eyes.

Being forced to watch himself kill every single pony he’d ever loved in his life in countless violent and bloody manners was something that no pony would have been able to survive. But Big Macintosh Apple had survived. He didn’t know how, and he wished that he hadn’t, but he had. Maybe if he had collapsed then and there he could have escaped from this nightmarish existence that he had been thrust into.

He looked down at his legs and tried to remember what color his fur had been before this began. Oh yeah; red. The same color he had been seeing for the past week of his life. He fought to feel some modicum of emotion towards comparing the natural color of his fur to the blood he’d watch flow from his family, and he found hope in the fact that somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he felt revolted.

He heard the horrid screeching of metal as his cell door swung open again, but he refused to look up at the monstrosity that entered his prison. A blast of icy cold water splashing against his head woke him from his thoughts quickly. He sputtered and spat out his mouth guard, shaking the water from his jet black mane.

“Glad to see that you are still amongst us, slave.” The familiar voice snickered, “Tell me, how do you feel?”

Big Macintosh looked up into the burning eyes of his slaver and for once felt no fear. “Wet.” He replied flatly, and he watch Malsvir’s shadowy figure shift. He could’ve sworn he saw his mouth turn upwards in a bemused grin.

“The mere fact that you have the presence of mind left to respond at all is a good sign. Well done, servant, all others before you have died before reaching this point in their lessons.” Malsvir snapped his claws together and spat out “Nif”. Macintosh felt his restraints fall from his body and he stood before his master. “There is but one lesson for you to survive through before you shall be branded with your new name.” Malsvir said, a hint of eagerness prevalent in his rasping voice. “The Lesson of Death.”

Big Macintosh tensed, whether from fear, or from sick sense of excitement he wasn’t sure. He could only pray that it was the former. He watched Malsvir walk to the open door and gesture for him to follow. The broken stallion followed unquestioningly. The sounds of his own hooves hitting the floor echoing around the room were distant and unfamiliar to him. He had become all too accustomed to the sounds of his own mangled screaming.

Stepping cautiously beyond the door, Macintosh held a hoof over his eyes as the direct sunlight burned into his retinas, causing his eyes to dilate to pinpricks. Blinking away the discomfort he surveyed his surroundings carefully. Trees. He was surrounded by the vibrant greens and browns of life. The light that had assaulted him before was coming from a sunset that seemed to set the forest teeming with shadowy movement. But the thought of life dissipated from his mind as quickly as it had appeared when he saw what lay before him.

A peach colored mare with rosy hair lay on her back on the grass at his hooves. Dark bruises, and shallow cuts were littered across her body, one of her long legs bent at an angle legs were not designed to go. Her mouth was gagged, but he could still hear her muffled screams for help. She stared up at him with terrified hazel eyes, rivers of tears falling from them. She squirmed helplessly against the bonds holding her legs together and cried out in further pain as her broken leg strained against the thick rope.

Macintosh looked up at Malsvir and tried to show no emotion. “Who is this?”

Malsvir grinned an evil grin and gestured with a single claw, “This, my dear slave, is your final lesson.” He stepped over the helpless mare and kicked her ribs. “I want you to take this sniveling excuse for a pony and kill her.” Malsvir tossed a dagger over to Macintosh, which landed heavily at his feet, inches away from the quivering body before him. Big Macintosh picked up the blade and inspected it. Razor sharp. An instrument that could only ever be used to fulfill one purpose. “I want you to rip her heart out, and bathe in her blood. Then, once you have baptized yourself in the blessed crimson liquid, you shall be born anew as my servant.”

The ashen gray stallion looked down at the knife, then at the victim Malsvir had laid before him. He ears were pressed back against her head. Her head was shaking furiously, and there was an added fervor to her struggling against her bonds. He looked up at the misty form of his slaver and scowled.

“Fuck you.” He tossed the knife towards Malsvir and the dragon deflected it with a flick of his wrist. The eyes were burning ferociously now. An untamed fire was burning in his eyes now. Piercing through the very essence that surrounded his form with such fury that Macintosh had to use all of his will power to not be moved by the ferocity.

“YOU DARE TO DEFY MY ORDERS, WHELP?!!” Malsvir roared, and the force of anger staggered the large workhorse. The heat from his breath caused his eyes to water.

In an instant Malsvir had leapt over the pink mare and had a vice grip on Macintosh’s chin. The dragon shaman threw Macintosh back into the tree with unnatural strength, and his large body slid across the floor. Big Macintosh jumped to his hooves as the door slammed shut behind him, and he ran towards it, slamming the entirety of his body weight against the hard wood. He watched through the barred window on his door as the dark and twisting shadows moved to surround the terrified mare on the ground.

Mac watched as her body was lifted from the ground by one clawed hand, and another moved to rip the cloth from her mouth. “No, please stop, I haven’t…” her terrified pleas for her life were cut short by sharp teeth rending into the soft flesh of her neck. As blood sprayed out of the open wound Malsvir cast her body to the ground and tore into her chest and stomach his with claws. Mac shouted for him to stop, but his voice was drowned out by the wet squelches that came with each time Malsvir jammed his talons into her stomach again and again.

Eventually, the blunt fury of his actions died down and the dragon stood up, towering over the bloody pulp of a body he’d left on the ground. “You think this would be the worst of what would come from your defiance?” He asked, in a voice low and threatening. “I will show you the true wrath of the Shaman of the Hawi.” With that, he spread his bat-like wings and gave a mighty flap, sending him into the air; leaving a trail of black smoke in his wake.

Macintosh stared blankly at the body Malsvir had left on the forest floor. A pool of blackness surrounded it and he tore his eyes away. He couldn’t look at the consequences of his actions any further. He lay down on the floor and tried his best to keep from retching onto the floor once again. A sudden shrill whining filled his ears and he grabbed his head as the room spun and went dark around him.

He was outside. He could feel the wind brushing against his sides. He was walking through a path of trees. Except it felt wrong. His front hooves weren’t moving. In fact, they were at his sides while he walked out of the line of trees and towards a small grouping of houses.

Big Macintosh could see a couple of ponies, dressed in the armor of the National Guard, at the entrance to a gate as he walked steadily towards the settlement. He could feel a bloodlust surging deep within his chest and a wicked grin spread across his face. “You are in me, just as I am in you” something whispered in his ear and he knew what was happening. “You will watch the consequences of your disobedience, and will know that there is no room for hubris in my service.”

The two ponies were looking at the shadowy figure approaching them, so why didn’t they stop him? Macintosh wanted to shout for the two guards to run away. To sound an alarm and evacuate the town. But they only stared at Malsvir as he stepped by them into the town, even raising a clawed hand in greeting to one of them, who returned it with a short nod. “Don’t you see him?!” he wanted to shout, “Don’t you know a threat once you see one?!”

But he could only remain mute and watch in horror as Malsvir turned around and noiselessly pounced onto one of the unsuspecting guards. He could feel every inch of the sharp talon that quickly drew across the soft flesh of guard’s neck. The world seemed to move into slow motion, and he could see every individual drop of blood that flew from the severed jugular as Malsvir turned to jump onto the other guard, drawing a similar gash in his throat before he could make a sound. The two bodies twitched and convulsed on the hard earth while Malsvir stood over them.

The dragon shaman turned to face the rest of the town. Everything was dark and silent. No lights were on in any of the buildings. The only movement came from the flicking shadows surrounding the dragon’s form, and the gentle wind blowing around him. Malsvir broke the silence, calmly uttering “Origato ibafarshani engulf vur svent”.

The calmness that pervaded in the town was shattered in an instant as fire erupted from the ground surrounding the homes. The roaring flame surrounded the buildings, hungrily crawling up the sides of each buildings as Malsvir moved deeper into the town. Panicked screams and shouting suddenly darted through the night air, and doors burst open left and right as parents ran from the burning buildings, carrying crying fillies and colts.

One pony, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen years old, ran too close past the chuckling demon. Malsvir’s arm stretched out as quick as lightning and ripped into the running stallion’s leg, causing him to slam face first and skid across the ground with a cry of pain.

That was what set off the chain.

Malsvir leapt onto the pony who was struggling and tore into his stomach, ignoring the screams as his hands gripped into organs and tore them clean from the body. From there it turned into a macabre dance of death. Jumping from one screaming pony to the next while the town burned around them, alighting the spiders-web of blood that hung in the air. Mac lost count of the number of victims Malsvir slaughtered, as the feeling of shredded skins, and torn muscle became the only sensation left to him. “Do you not see what disobedience brings?!”he could hear, screaming in his head.

The images slowly faded away as Mac was forced back into his own body. He was standing in the middle of his cell, vomiting uncontrollably at what he had just witnessed. His throat burned as bile forced its way from his heaving stomach and onto the floor. His eyes watered from the pain. He could still feel the blood smeared across him; could still see the dead eyes of every victim that Malsvir had forced him to witness.

Macintosh collapsed onto his side, gasping for air as he lay on the wooden floor. How many had died because of him? How many stallions? How many mares? How many fillies and colts were dead because he had refused to kill only one? In that moment, Big Macintosh felt more broken than any other moment in the past week. These weren’t just hallucinations anymore; these were innocent ponies who were ripped apart.

Macintosh knew now that he couldn’t defy Malsvir again. He had born witness to the pure amount of devastation he could cause. There could be no more defiance. He had to serve the dark dragon in any manner that he wished. He couldn’t allow for this kind of slaughter to be repeated. He couldn’t allow his desire to resist his captor kill any more innocent ponies. He had to obey. For everypony’s sake.

The door to his cell slammed open and he leapt to his hooves in an instant, facing the dark presence. The mists that surrounded Malsvir were broiling and churning with animosity. Big Macintosh could see that he had a zebra gripped by the neck in one of his hands, and Malsvir threw it in Mac’s direction. He thudded to the floor with a grunt. Big Macintosh could see unparalleled fear in his eyes, as he lay shaking on the ground.

“Now, I will command you again. Kill this filthy creature. Tear his heart from his breast and bathe in his blood. This time if you do not comply, I shall find a much worse fate to befall you.” Malsvir threw the same dagger at Macintosh and it skittered to a stop at his hooves. The dragon placed a taloned foot onto the chest of his victim and watched with eager eyes.
Mac took up the knife and stared down at the zebra at his feet. A pair of brown eyes stared back up at him. “Please, I haven’t done anything to you. Please, I have a wife, and a little colt on the way. Please don’t take me from them.”

Big Macintosh closed his eyes and ignored the desperate pleading. He drowned all sound from his head until all he could hear was the sound of his own beating heart. He yelled, and swung the knife down with all the force he could muster.

Big Macintosh could feel the disgusting wet crunching as he shattered the breastplate and dug the lethal point of the knife into the chest of the zebra. He felt the splatter of blood splash across his eyes and waited until it was safe to open them. Blood streamed viscously from the around the knife and he could see the mouth opened, probably screaming in agony. He pulled the knife down, following the curve of his stomach.

He reached down and pulled open the breastplate and grabbed the still beating heart from its resting place. He ripped it from the body and watched as the poor zebra who had been unfortunate enough to have been caught gave one last shudder, and then moved no more. Macintosh took only a moment to think about how he never even knew the poor bastard’s name before he began to smear blood across his face. He rubbed the life giving liquid across this chest and neck, and all the while Malsvir watched, both patiently and eagerly.

“Well done, my servant. You have completed your final lesson and now may be branded with your new name.” Malsvir spat a small stream of fire onto a single claw until it glowed a bright red from the heat. Grabbing Macintosh’s head he twisted it to the side and began carving into his neck with the red-hot talon. “Forget your old life, for it no longer exists. Forget emotion, for you feel none. Forget you friends and family, for they may soon be next. And forget your old name, for as I brand this sign upon your flesh you are reborn with a new one.” The claw left Mac’s neck, the blistering skin forming into an ‘M’. “Now, I dub thee, Kamati di Malsvir, the Apprentice of Evil.”

Macintosh’s head fell, his shaggy mane covering his eyes, which were void of any emotion. Malsvir laughed his horrible screeching laugh, “Welcome to your new life.”

First Blood

The wind whipped around Kamati in a frenzy, signaling an oncoming storm. He looked up into the sky and squinted. The clouds hadn’t completely enveloped the starry sky. He had plenty of time to make it to his destination before it would start to rain. He continued his slow and steady walk down the road, pulling the tattered cowl of his cloak tighter around his head.

“You are now my vassal.” He heard echoing in his ears, “You are now a master of Death. Death could not hold you. And Death would not be able to escape you, should you wish to pursue her.” Malsvir had handed him a robe. It was old and worn, with the edges fraying; colored an inky black that seemed to absorb the light surrounding it. “Cut from the very essence of the night sky itself, none shall be able to spot you without some means of magic.” The dragon had hissed sinisterly, “It shall prove to be of the utmost use to you in your new line of work. You are to be neither seen nor heard by your target or anypony else while on a job. You are to become not but a shadow of Death; if you are detected and you retreat unsuccessful in your mission, there shall be severe consequences.”

Kamati di Malsvir threw on the fabric without a word, wrapping it around his neck and pulling the hood over his ears. He could feel himself seem to disappear from the world around him. “Good, you are learning quickly, Kamati.” Malsvir’s eyes flashed for a moment, and in spat in his dark tongue “Confn, Sepa Virlym.” He reached into his own shadow and pulled forth a wicked looking blade. Twisted metal dyed a deep black, and a hilt and sheath wrapped in a scaly looking leather, he handed it to Mac, who took it without question. “This is Sepa Virlyn, the Thief of Souls. It has taken countless lives of creatures much older than dragons, gryphons, or ponies, and not once has it failed in its task.”

Malsvir gripped Kamati’s forehead, his fingers digging into his skin. The former farm horse didn’t cry out, he did not flinch, he did not even blink as he felt his mind melt from his own body. He saw a light blue pegasus with grey hair, and a cutie mark of the sun peaking from behind storm clouds. “This is your first assignment, Kamati. You are to find, and kill, this stallion. You need not know his name. You need not know his sins. You are only to locate, and kill. Understood?” Big Macintosh nodded as he returned to his body. He didn’t bother to ask where he could find his target, somehow he could feel the information burning in the back of his mind.

“Kamati, know that success shall breed reward for you, but if you do not succeed I shall personally see to it that the throats of everypony you ever loved are ripped out, and that it was your failure that was the source of their demise. I shall know if you are successful, for I am in you, just as you are in me.” Kamati di Malsvir did not turn to acknowledge that he understood his master’s threat. He simply pushed open the door and left. Malsvir grinned and melded into the shadows surrounding him.

Kamati was pulled from his memories as a clap of thunder shook the air around him, causing him to place some speed into his stride. He could see the distant twinkling of lights burning through windows drawing closer with every step. Fat drops of rain began to beat down upon him as he stepped into the town and dashed for the nearest cover he could find. Taking shelter in an alley between two houses he pulled his cloak tightly around his body and closed his eyes. The evening was still young, and he needed to be sure that there would be no witnesses of his existence in this town before he did what he was there to do.

He breathed slowly and deeply, meditating on the information that was branded into his consciousness. His target lived on the far end of town, second story, bed located next to the window, goes to sleep at 11:30 every evening like clockwork, just before the final lights were put out for the night; now all he had to do was wait. The rain pattered heavily against the cobblestone street, and one by one the lights of the little town dimmed until the last one plunged the city into darkness.

It was time.

Slipping quietly from his cover, Kamati cautiously inspected the road. Nothing. Everything was dead still. He stepped from his dark alley and moved quickly through the rain, keeping close to the ground and letting his cloak hide him from any eyes that may look through their window for a moment. He made little noise as he swooped quickly from shadow to shadow.

The newly anointed assassin stood before a simple wooden door; painted green with a little window revealing very little of the inside to him. He tested the doorknob and it yielded quietly to him. Typical. There was very little for any of the ponies to fear from one another, so they left their doors unlocked.

Opening the portal just wide enough for him to fit through he slid into the house and shut the door noiselessly behind him. The interior of the house was pitch dark, save for the occasional flashes of lightning that illuminated the area; but from some unholy instinct he felt his way towards the stairs; dodging a number of walls, tables, and chairs effortlessly. He held his breath and stepped lightly up the stairs, stopping with each gentle creak to listen for any response. When he arrived on the landing he moved with even more caution. His prey was just within hooves reach.

Passing like a ghost past three doors, one bathroom and two guest rooms, he finally arrived at the room of his target. The door was already cracked, and it creaked ever so gently as he pushed it inwards. Another bolt of lightning filled the room with temporary light and he could see the bed, the stallion tucked tightly beneath its covers.

The room seemed to fill with an anticipation that could almost be breathed in if one were to try. Kamati stepped noiselessly to the bedside and unsheathed his dagger. The blade drew from its sheathe smoothly, and he awaited another flash of lightning to be sure that his aim was true. When the light filled the room once more he moved the razor edge to the throat of his victim, the very tip of the blade digging lightly into the blue skin. But he hesitated for a moment.

The hesitation was all fate needed to take hold of the situation, and a tremendous clap of thunder shook the room to its foundation. Kamati could see the stallion’s eyes open slightly, before the heavens once again lit the room with pale translucence and his eyes widened even further.

His victim’s breathing quickened as he started into the face of his killer, a look that knew what was going to happen reflecting in his eyes. Kamati felt a pang of dread grasp his stomach like an icy claw. This was only his first assignment and he’d already fail to remain totally invisible. The knife burrowed deeper into the skin, drawing a small droplet of blood where it penetrated. “W-wait…” the stallion stammered as the red droplet slid down his body onto the bedsheets. “I don’t know what I did to you. I don’t even know who you are. Please, just don’t hurt my little filly. Do whatever you want to me, but just leave her alone.”

A filly? Kamati did not know that he had a child. For a second he was torn. He could spare this pony, and allow him to live happily with his child for the rest of his life; but at the cost of his own loved ones. No, he couldn’t afford that price. The dagger dug a little deeper.

“C-can I at least say good-bye to her.” He begged, “I don’t want her to come in here and find me like…like that. I swear I won’t cause any kind of trouble for you.” After a moment, Kamati removed Sepa Verlyn from his victim’s neck and gave a slight nod. If he was going to be punished for his transgression he may as well grant this stallion his final wish. “Thank you.” He whispered.

The light blue pony got out of his bed slowly, keeping an eye on the glinting blade pointed at his eye. Kamati followed him out of his bedroom and into the hallway, keeping the dagger carefully trained on him so that if he tried anything funny he could silence him.

He watched silently as the pony marked for death pushed open the door directly next to his room. The stallion marked for death cast a scared look over his shoulder and Kamati returned it with a hard stare of his own. The message was clear. If he tried to warn his daughter, or escape, he would not be the only one to die that night. He stepped into the shadowy frame of the open door as Kamati stayed behind.

He listened patiently, his ear searching for the slightest sound. “Honey. Honey, wake up its daddy.”

He heard a slight movement and a tired voice asked quietly, “Daddy? What’s wrong?” He tensed. His muscles were taught as a piano wire as he prepared to have to jump in and kill them both.

“Nothing’s wrong, darling. I just wanted to see if you were okay. I know you’re a little scared of the lightning.”

The second voice spoke up a little bit, a touch of pride hanging from the eves of each word. “I’m not scared anymore of storms anymore, dad. Every time there’s a thunder sound I just hug Smarty Pants, and she makes me feel safe.”

The stallion chuckled a little bit, “That’s my big, brave girl.” There was a moment of silence and Kamati tensed, “Baby, tomorrow when you wake up I need you to not come get me, okay?”

“Why, daddy?”

“I-I’m going to be sleeping in for a long time, okay? When you wake up I need you to go over to your aunt Merrys’ house. She’ll cook you a really nice breakfast, and then you can ask her to come wake me up.” Kamati could hear the faint sound of a gentle kiss and a soft yawn following it. “Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

“Okay, daddy.”

“I love you, darling. You know I always will, right?”

“Mhmm,” the soft voice was getting quieter, “and I love you too.”

There was a soft padding of hooves and Kamati’s target exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He was trembling as he looked up at his killer and gave a light smile, “She takes that doll everywhere with her.” He was met with silence and a dead stare. Taking in a deep breath he walked back into his room and crawled into his bed. “Just please try and make it quick.” He closed his eyes tightly and prepared for his fate.

Kamati did not hesitate this time and drew the blade in a clean line across the stallion’s thin neck. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed as he watched his first kill convulse and choke on the bed with desperation in his eyes. He stood and watched until a long breath left the still body. He turned without a thought and left the quiet home. Not a single feeling of remorse in his heart.

***

“You have done well, Kamati.” Malsvir said as the soaked stallion stepped back into the tree that was his prison. “But we have seen all that transpired. You failed to remain invisible.” The shadows lashed out with frightening speed towards the gray assassin and struck him in the side, leaving a shallow gash in its wake. Kamati did not cry out, but stood still and took his punishment as each blow rained down upon his body. Though the burned and stung greatly the pain was trivial compared to the pain inflicted on him during his lessons.

The punishment let up soon and Malsvir stood behind his servant. “Even with your failures, you have done well. Enjoy the fruits of your labor while you can, for you shall be sent away again soon.” Kamati looked behind him and the skyspeaker of the Hawai was gone.

He stepped over to his corner and looked down. Laying on top of the hay that had served as his bed there was a folded blanket, water, bread, and even a pear. He shrugged off his shadowy cloak and tossed on the blanket. It was thin and worn, but did its best to warm his wet form. Curling into a tight ball he couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to that little filly without her father.

He curled up a little tighter, and fell asleep, hoping to never find out.

Puzzles

Fifteen now lay dead in the ground. Ten ponies, four zebras, and a gryphon were now dead by the hands of Kamati di Malsvir. He knew because each and every one of them were now marred into his flesh. As much as Malsvir attempted to beat it out of him, deep down the ashen gray assassin was still revolted by the act of killing. And this was to be his penance for his crimes until he was either free, or caught. Every morning he woke up and counted the number of tally marks etched into his right hoof. Gazing at each one he remembered the faces of his victims individually.

Number Three: pony stallion, deep tanned color, purple mane, blue eyes, bandages as his cutie mark, located in Manehatten. A quick stab to the heart had been his ultimate demise.

Number Seven: zebra stallion, standard zebra stripe pattern, brown eyes, some arcane symbol as his cutie mark, located in Las Pegasus. A poisoned drink at the bar was what put him outside, vomiting in the alley next to the bar. A dagger from behind was what had put him out of his misery.

He always paused on the twelfth scar on his foreleg for an extra moment. He had dug the knife in so deep he’d felt as if he were going to touch bone. Number Twelve: female gryphon, three scars on her back right leg, magenta eyes. He’d had to shatter her wing bones before he’d cut her throat from behind. Gryphons were a rare species in Equestria. The War of Sorrows had wiped out over a quarter of them. And he had killed one more.

To be fair she had been hard to track down in the first place. He’d had to wait for her to touch down on the ground before he’d made his move. That had slowed him down by three days and his master had punished him for the wasted time. He’d never seen feathers covered in blood before. Even during the War the number of pegasus casualties had been few and far between compared to earth ponies. And none of them from his own squadron.

He looked at his marks because he had to remember their faces. He had to remember what his life had truly dissolved into. Pain. Unending pain and death. He’d contemplated taking his own life several times, but in the end he knew that Malsvir would just drag him back, and the merciless cycle would begin again.

He had to remember, because these weren’t supposed to just be faces. But for every fresh cut marred into his body that’s what they were becoming.

And he was afraid.

Every minute he wasn’t eating, sleeping, or counting his sins he was looking at the door. Waiting for his next mission. Waiting for the opportunity to walk back out into the real world, and escape this nightmarish box he was trapped in. But even stepping outside granted him little solace, because he knew that once he returned he would be carving another victim’s memory into his flesh. And carrying the weight of their soul upon his own.

The doors’ metal hinges screeched open and he reflexively stood, clenching his cloak between sharpened teeth and pulling it over his head. Although he considered himself ready for whatever horrid task Malsvir sent him on next, it still caught him by surprise when the shadowy dragon opened the portal and entered with another pony by his side.

He was a unicorn, and walked next to Malsvir blindfolded, with a brown satchel swung over his shoulder, and there was a peculiar lurch in his step. “Glad to see you so eager for your next kill, Kamati.” Malsvir said calmly, nudging the mystery pony forward, “And you shall soon have your fun, but before that I have brought a guest to our humble little abode.” He used a claw and cut the cloth from the pony’s eyes.

“This is Doctor Redlove, a renowned physician and surgeon of your kind. He is here to make you more…efficient in your techniques.”

“And how’s he gonna do that?” Kamati asked, he didn’t like the distant look in the doctor’s eyes. They were unfocused; as if he was staring into the oblivion of space. “Is he even safe to do something like that?”

“What, you mean this?” Malsvir chuckled maliciously, taping the top of Redlove’s head, “Worry not, Kamati. It’s just a little potion I brewed to put him at ease. He knows not where he stands, but he should be able to perform well enough; even if it is on reflex alone. And have you ever heard the old adage that a weapon is merely an extension of the body? Well, servant, your body shall soon become the weapon itself.” He gestured towards the metal chair that always stood in the center of the room, “Now be seated, the good doctor will see you now.”

Kamati stepped over to the familiar seat and took his place, feeling the restraints fall into place to bind him. Except this time his right foreleg was allowed to freely move. The entranced doctor walked over to his patient and inspected his leg with his distant stare. Shrugging the satchel off of his shoulder he unlatched the flap and rummaged through its contents; the sounds of metal instruments clinking against one another filled the quiet air of Kamati’s prison and he patiently waited for Doctor Redlove to begin.

He maintained his calm as the doctor pulled a freshly sharpened scalpel from his bag and moved to place the blade against his skin. “This may pinch a little…” the dark green pony said, his voice slurred and his eyes staring unblinkingly at the flesh he was going to carve in to. Kamati clenched his teeth as the scalpel touched his skin and began to dig deeply into it.

Starting from midway up his leg the medical instrument cut into his gray fur and skin, drawing long lines of blood along its path. But these weren’t the same kind of jagged cuts and slashes that Kamati had been inflicting upon his victims for the previous month; these lines were intricate and precise; a work of art, rather than an act of butchery. He envied them even as the marred his body. There had been an initial spray of red once his skin had been opened, but a glowing white aura began to quickly follow the silver knife that staunched the flow, coagulating the blood as it flowed from his skin.

He leaned back and closed his eyes as the entranced doctor went to work on him. The assassin clenched his teeth and fought not to cry out in pain as layers of skin and muscle were peeled away from his leg to expose bloodied bone. It may still not have been worse than his lessons in pain and endurance, but that didn’t stop it from hurting nonetheless. He could feel his blood oozing viscously down onto the armrest, and could hear it steadily dripping onto the floor.

A shrill whir cut across his eardrums, but before he could open his eyes he felt something begin to pierce a wide hole into the very bone that was revealed. Despite all of his training Kamati screamed out in agony. The sound was distant and unfamiliar to his ears. He had not made a sound in over a month and now he was hollering with furious intensity. He could feel shreds of thick bone peel from his body as the metal tip drilled just over half an inch into his leg. The pain was excruciating, and it took all of his concentrated effort to not lash out and smash the doctor’s face in with his other hoof.

He could hear Malsvir chucking at his misery as the drill continued to whir with electric life, and slowly dug another hole into his exposed limb. The process repeated itself again and again until there were four gaping holes burning all of Kamati’s senses away from him; except for excruciating anguish. He had lost all sense of time in the darkness of his closed eyes. He could only gasp for air as a metal plate was placed over the bone and thick bolts were tightened into the fresh holes. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his neck muscles clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

Then, it seemed as if the pain had suddenly stopped. There was no more burning, drilling, or tightening. Kamati slowly opened his eyes and let out a long and shaky breath. Looking out his window the shadows of the trees had deepen immensely since he had first sat down in the chair. He brought his stare down to look at his right leg.

The gray fur was still thickly stained with his blood, but there was not a single scratch to be found where the cuts had been previously laid.

He lifted the appendage and grimaced. His arm now felt like it weighed an extra fifteen pounds. The metal plate felt awkward and heavy beneath his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to bite into it until he had pried it free from his body.

“Stand, Kamati. Stand and feel your new weapon.”

Kamati watched the binding around his bottom legs and left front leg release him and he stood up. His right leg landed on the thick wooden planks with a ‘thud’, and he stretched it in an effort to get used to the new weight on his body.

The second time he brought the leg down there was a faint ‘snick’ sound, and he jumped in surprise as Sepa Virlym slid from the front of his hoof and pressed its tip into the floor. Raising his hoof Kamati inspected the blade closely. There was a small slit in his leg, just above the hoof where the blade jutted out, that was invisible unless you were looking for it. He tapped his hoof hard against the floor and the blade slipped noiselessly back into its new sheath.

He was now a living weapon. All purpose taken from him, but to kill.

“Do you like it, slave?” Malsvir grinned his toothy grin, “Now the blood of your targets shall be one with you after every kill.” The dragon shaman turned to leave the cell, “Put your new weapon to good practice now, Kamati. Mr. Redlove is your target for today. He knows far too much now. You must leave him somewhere that others will find him.”

Kamati looked over at the green unicorn, whose eyes were still gazing distantly into some unseen space. Tapping his hoof heavily on the floor, the blade jumped from its hidden purchase, and he stepped menacingly towards the blissfully unaware doctor.

There was a dark rage burning in his chest. This pony, whether he was conscious of it or not, had helped Malsvir to strip away his humanity even further. Turning him into even more of a machine designed only to kill. His thoughts in that moment were only to kill the doctor. To remove his life from him, just as Redlove had helped to remove Kamati’s life. And what sweeter form of poetic justice was there than for the monster to kill the very pony that had created him.

As the soul stealer smashed through Doctor Redlove’s chest plate, Kamati relished in the feeling. In the back of his mind, the part that was still that farm pony from Ponyville, he knew that he should be sickened by the feeling. But the rest of his thoughts were so consumed in rage and bloodlust that he did not feel it. All he could think about was garnering some kind of revenge against his tormentor. And since he could not kill Malsvir he put every hated moment of the last month and a half into every single stab and slash he inflicted.

There was fury that his life had been torn away from him. Contempt for Malsvir, Redlove, himself, and even Celestia for engaging in a war that had stolen fifteen years from him. Unbearable sadness that he would never see Applejack, Apple Bloom, or his lovely Fluttershy ever again. Impassioned rage that everything that could make him feel normal was being taken from him little by little.

He stood panting over the mangled corpse of his victim, blood matted against him, and dripping from his blade. Though the body for the recently deceased Doctor Redlove was almost beyond recognizable and messy, it was still in one whole piece. Standing over the body he fully realized the monster that he had become in such a short period of time.
And all monsters needed to be put down.

He needed to be free. Even if it meant he had to be caught and executed to do so. But Kamati could never risk simply turning himself in. Malsvir would know and inflict greater pains than even the ones he had just endured. He had to be subtle about it.

An idea struck him, and he turned over the doctor’s body, looking for the least scarred portion of his body. Finding a small area on his side that was untouched Kamati dug the tip of his blade into the skin and began to write.

***

Princess Twilight Sparkle sat in her study. Her hooves pressed firmly against her temples. Her normally perfectly straightened hair was frazzled and stuck out in odd places. Books, and papers covered in coffee stains surrounded her as she looked over her notes for the hundredth time in the past hour. She’s been awake for three days now, pouring over the images strewn in front of her.

There had to be some kind of pattern that she wasn’t seeing. Over 30 killings had occurred in the past two months, all with what seemed to be the same weapon, across several cities. She couldn’t find any kind of solid relationship between all of the deceased, other than that they had all served in the War of Sorrows. But even then they were in different battalions, with separate commanding officers, and in differing sections across Equestria.

She sighed and levitated the first message that had been sent to them up to her face. There hadn’t been a serial killer in Equestria in over 2,000 years, and in the beginning the Princesses had allowed the police and detective ponies to deal with this on their own. But it was once the notes started coming in along with the bodies that Twilight had been brought in on the investigation. It was a large regret on the royalty’s part, because if they had become involved sooner, they may have caught him early enough to avoid this needless massacre.

The first marked body had been identified as a surgeon from Manehatten named ‘Doctor Redlove’, he’d been an expert in his field and had saved near countless lives on the battlefield with his medical precision. He had no known enemies, and a long list of high profile friends. The body had been discovered in a ditch on the outskirts of Manehatten by a pegasus patrolling for garbage.

Though the body had been a mess of cuts and gashes there had been a message carved into the body that caught the coroner’s eye when doing the autopsy. On the picture hovering in front Princess Twilight’s face was a green canvas with dark lines scrawled across it. ‘Amazing Grace. There is no sound more profound. But can such a wretched soul as mine be saved?’

She stared at the words, dissected the letters within them. She couldn’t find an anagram, a hidden message, or even a trace of a double entendre. Even lining it up with the other messages that came with further bodies after it.

‘I am lost on the lesser road. Please find me and take me home. Can you find me at all?”

‘The pain is unending. The hatred that has been bred is undying. Those who are dead have earned their fate, but I know not why.”

‘Their blood is unwashed from my body. But it brings me some memory of who I was before. I hate it, but I need it to find myself once more.’

Twilight Sparkle groaned and let the photo fall to the table to be scattered amongst the other papers and pictures. She couldn’t tell if these riddles were taunts, cries for help, or just the random ramblings of a madpony. The alicorn princess swigged down the remains of another cup of coffee and stood up, stretching her legs and wings.

This was a challenge she was determined to face and defeat. There wasn’t a riddle in all of Equestria that she couldn’t find the answer to given the time. Saving any more ponies who would be the target of this depraved beings rampage was the top priority, but slowly this was becoming a personal issue to her.

Staring out the window she looked in the direction of her old home of Ponyville. Over there were ponies that she knew and loved like sisters. Some of them still hurting from the past fifteen years of misery inflicted upon the lands. Some of them with lost husbands and brothers. She wished she was able to go and see them. But for the time being she was stuck decoding messages carved in flesh and blood. And so long as they were at risk as well she couldn’t stop working.

Sitting back down at her desk she flipped on her coffee maker and put her head back in her hooves. She was going to have a long afternoon set before her.