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Eternity is a long, long time.
Few know this better than Discord, the living embodiment of Chaos itself.
There was once a time when Discord was a mortal draconequus, like all others of his dying race. A little more than a shell of his previous self, he was once no more than a broken servant.
But now?
Was he a god?
No, even that wasn’t a proper title.
Now, Discord was so much more.
The moment he embraced that whirling, untamable vortex of mayhem, ‘Discord’ ceased to truly be. He vaguely wondered from time to time if that had been Celestia’s intention all along; perhaps she had been just as manipulative as her wicked father, and he had played right into her hooves so that she and her sister could claim immortality for themselves while he assumed the role of scapegoat.
But he still had the upper paw.
Even were Celestia and Luna to live on and on, until the sun and moon died out, they were not truly ‘immortal’. All things must come to an end eventually; such is the nature of existence.
Discord, however, stood in direct opposition to the nature of existence. He died, and lived, and died again, a hundred billion times over and over every single millisecond. He could not live because he had never been, he could not die because he was not alive. Discord could not, would not be classified as dead or alive – he simply was, and that was how he remained from that one fateful moment onward.
Chaos was not just a being, or a force. Mayhem was not simply an idea.
Discord was a fact, and one that he disproved frequently.
Maybe it was madness that brought him back from the abyss of chaos. Perhaps the maelstrom itself had spat him out. Discord neither knew, nor really cared. Reality itself bended and warped at his whim, shifting at his talontips with every passing moment. But even that unfathomable depth of power meant next to nothing to him, compared to his own freedom.
To be his own Master, to walk as a free draconequus.
That was happiness.
Or maybe it was madness, and his mind had been so scorched by the touch of insanity that he could no longer differentiate between logic and the nonfactual.
Bah.
Madness just meant that existence was a little more fun.
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Without sense of direction, he was lost.
Without light to guide the way, he stumbled.
Without the courage to look back, he ran.
Don't look.
Egg pounded down the slippery cobblestone street, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry to escape the slithering hunger wisping behind him in the darkness. His heart thrummed so loudly in his ears that it blocked out the heavy, imprecise and rapid stamping of his hooves, his fear derailing all sensible thought.
Just like always.
It would end just like it had a hundred thousand times before; it didn't matter how far he ran, or how quietly he hid. Egg White was always found, he was always caught by the creature stealthily tracking him in the shadow, hateful and unrelenting in its hunt. And when it caught up –
Don't look.
Egg's first experience was like that, too. When first he awoke in the shadowy, painfully silent realm, it felt like an extremely vivid fever dream. There was no source of light anywhere in the night painted village of Ponyville, but Egg could still make out the thatched buildings in the darkness with wide empty windows like gaping mouths accusing him of cowardice, almost as if everything were polarized. No wind, no pony except for himself in seemingly the entire world, and horridly, awfully cold. Sweat pouring down his neck in rivets for reasons that he didn't understand, as if he were terribly afraid and couldn't remember why.
He didn't remember the last time.
He wouldn't remember the next time.
The vicious hiss! of some gargantuan serpent behind him nipped at his heels, and Egg nearly choked on his frightened yelp at the white hot sting of pain ringing through his thigh, stumbling once again as he tried to forge onward, pressing desperately for any escape. For all that it chased him, Egg had no idea what the thing even looked like; he couldn't look at it, even if he wanted to. He vaguely remembered catching a glimpse of the eyes, once. Those terrible eyes. All he could do was run, pleading that it wouldn't inevitably catch up, praying to anyone that would listen not to let the unceasing predator devour him.
On and on and on he ran, tripping over his own battered bleeding hooves once – twice – three times and more in his fervor to escape, the gnawing hungry leviathan from the abyss evidently playing with its food. Egg didn't have the breath to shriek in terror when something cold and wet wrapped itself around his back hoof, jerking him roughly to the side and nearly sending him tumbling to the damp ground. His breaths came in heavy, ragged gasps as he ran, tears of pain and effort streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to flee, the growing taste of despair choking his cries for mercy as his strength began to falter.
But still he ran.
Don't look.
Perhaps that was what kept him alive.
The overbearing cavernous dark that was behind him; that had been behind him, that was always behind him, that would always be behind him, was gone.
The chase wasn't a nightmare or a fever dream or even a hallucination. It was a fact, an idea so strong that it simply was, and it was undeniable. To have it simply stripped away so swiftly, so abruptly after what felt as if it had been for all time was overpowering, and maybe that was what caused Egg White to collapse in the low-ceiling bricked hallway.
As he lay gasping and trembling violently on the dry concrete, eyes glazed over, several thoughts occurred to Egg simultaneously.
Firstly, a thought was occurring to him. No thoughts occurred to him. There was only the chase, and the pain, and the chase again.
Secondly, it was much warmer than it had been, perhaps from the dim little light bulbs strung haphazardly throughout the tunnel.
Thirdly, and most unsettlingly of all as he at last sank into unconsciousness, was that he felt as if he hadn't really escaped in the end. The eyes, after all, were exactly the same.
“Hello, new guy. My name is Neil.”
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