High On Life

by Akumokagetsu

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Comedy, King Sombra, Queen Chrysalis
Length: 1057

All of Equestrian history was nothing but a wild drug induced dream. Now, the only thing Sombra worries about is paying his rent on time and getting out of rehab.

What if 'King' Sombra was just an ordinary stallion, caught up in a drug induced dream?

There is no Crystal Empire. There are no magic boosting crystals. Magic does not exist. Friendship is not an annihilating weapon against evil, and the good guys don't always win. This is just the plain ol' real world, and to Sombra, that's terrifying enough.
Now if only he could quit drugs and get his rent paid before his roommate kills him.

Published 2014-05-03 21:30:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-05-03 21:30:04 UTC

Not Quite The King Of Everything

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A great darkness would settle over the land.

King Sombra’s mighty hoof cracked the earth wherever he walked, the raw force of his powers splintering the air and warping the fog around him into a cold, black mist. The sheer intensity of his hatred boiled the surrounding atmosphere, and his strength was unmatched by all.

He laughed wickedly as the foolish crystal ponies fled from his wrath, the entire kingdom wreathed in his icy black grasp. None would escape, for he was Sombra! King of all, ruler of the north – and soon, the world!

The prize jewel drew him closer and closer, the glistering gem ringing an unheard tune in his nonexistent ears. It sang to him in such a lovely voice, and he pressed onward through a pitiful barrier. Those pathetic mortals, always trying to keep him out. But Sombra always had his way, because Sombra was unstoppable!

But those wretched ponies just kept trying to foil him. If only they would just let him rule all of existence in peace!

Sombra lurched forward, the ground slowly vanishing beneath him. Something dreadful had happened, that was for certain. And he was so close, too – but he only fell and fell, forever and ever and ever and-

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Sombra rolled out of bed, a weak groan escaping his lips as he hit the floor.

His head felt like somepony were driving a heated railroad spike between his eyes, and he let out another miserable whine of agony. His whole body hurt, and Sombra tasted the dry roof of his mouth with displeasure. Blearily, he dragged himself over the cold wooden floor toward the little bathroom not too far away, retching violently into the toilet as he tried to focus.

What had happened?

He needed to take inventory.

There was the part where he stocked up on pills… and then there was the memory of quitting his job at Happy Hay Burgers. Probably shouldn’t have punched the manager in the face. And then there was the unenthusiastic partying with his roommate, which consisted mainly of stuffing down potato chips while she spent all of her attention on her coltfriend.

And then…

Sombra flushed the toilet, staring with ruddy, blotchy red eyes at his own gaunt reflection in the mirror. His reflection glared back at him, his dull black horn complimenting his uncut black mane. Unshaven and bitter, Sombra blinked groggily at the miserable unicorn before him.

And then he had taken the pills. When there was no effect after a short while, he took another… then another, and another. Sombra was willing to bet that his wretched supplier had probably sold him sugar pills mixed in with them, just to mess with his head.

He scowled viciously, resisting the urge to punch the mirror as he hauled himself through his tiny, dimly lit room toward the rest of the house.

Sombra didn’t quite know for just how long he had been out, but it was clear that it was a while. A solitary cockroach skittered away when he flipped the light switch, and he frowned in distaste at the cheap food left lying around.

“Oh, hey!” a feminine voice bounced through the little apartment, echoing from the living room. “Shit, are you still alive? I mean, hey! You’re still alive!”

“Eat a box of cocks, Chrysie,” he rasped as he stuck his head in through the doorway. The door itself had long since been broken and removed, but the hinges remained. A scrawny, cream colored pegasus with short trimmed brown mane sat awkwardly beside the smug looking changeling, who flipped absentmindedly through one television channel after another. Sombra resisted the urge to dig at his ears from the static each time a channel was changed, and instead stared hazily at the pair.

“Uh… h-hi?” the pegasus grinned weakly, showing a small gap in his teeth while giving a little wave and nearly hiding behind Chrysalis. Sombra wasn’t sure which of them looked thinner, and he was getting sick of thinking about it.

“Who th’ fuck are you?” Sombra growled, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. He spoke again before the pegasus could answer, though. “Actually, don’t bother. You’ll be gone in a week, anyway.”

Chrysalis snorted, brushing a lock of seaweed mane from her face before slinging one holed hoof over the clearly uneasy pony beside her.

“Don’t listen to him, sugar buns,” she purred into his ear. “He’s just a cranky wanky wanker because…” Chrysalis paused momentarily, shooting a look at Sombra. “What are you so pissed about?”

“I’m still awake,” he growled, throwing himself onto the already crowded couch. The pegasus shifted uneasily as he was sandwiched between the two, the garish lights on the television screen burning into Sombra’s eyes.

“It’s your own damned fault for od’ing again,” the slender changeling rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, rubbing her muzzle lightly against the embarrassed pegasus’s neck. “Such a brute, no self-control. Unlike my little stallion here, of course,” Chrysalis hummed again.

“Gone. In. A. Week,” Sombra growled viciously, popping the last painkillers he had left and swallowing them dry. “Shit, this one’s even younger than the last. He’s still a colt, for fuck’s sake!”

“I-I’m legal, I swear!” the colt was far too quick to defend himself, leaning a little more toward the smug changeling. “I am, seriously!”

“See?” Chrysalis snickered. “I’m not as depraved as you think I am, Sombrero.”

“If you call me that again I will rip your kneecaps out,” he deadpanned, staring blankly at a cleaning formula commercial. “And then replace them with tacks.”

It was silent for a full beat.

“Bitch,” he added under his breath, as if he felt that his insult didn’t quite do the trick. Sombra grabbed a can of cheap knockoff beer from the old cooler beside the sofa, lacking a working refrigerator.

“Featherweight,” Chrysalis murmured into his perked ear, “would you be a dear and punch that filthy animal in his stupid, ugly face?”

“O-oh, geez…!” he fidgeted in terror, sweat beading along his brow. “I-I mean, I’m just not a violent kind of – I mean, um, I wouldn’t want to hurt –”

“He’s saying you picked up a puss,” Sombra deadpanned.

He hadn’t even cracked his can open completely before Featherweight punched him in the face.

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