It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
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It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
'It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)'
The land of Equestria may seem a harmless utopia, but this visage exists only on the surface. She sits upon the mouth of Tartarus, the underworld housing all manner of fell beasts and foul demons. She once was ruled by a being intrinsically opposed to every natural law to exist. A mighty nest of insidious skin-changers lurk within her borders, and she is the feeding grounds of great wyrms who darken the skies when their host travels. The land of Equestria may seem bright, yes, but where there is light there is shadow.
And where there is shadow, monsters walk.
Possibly the most ancient and terrible of these monsters has no name, for it was forgotten when the world was still young. If one were to find a text or tome that references this horror, it would be called the Lich, for it lives in death, or the Other, for it is no longer a part of this world. Once a wise sage, a peerless sorcerer, this being traded all worldly possessions, upheld cruel bargains, and eventually renounced their very self all for the promise of power. It traded its soul to a demon lord in the deepest pits of Tartarus, its name to a Haytian wizard bent on raising an army of dead soldiers. It sacrificed its body piece by piece to power dark rituals granting it greater and greater arcane strength until all that was left was a force of pure malevolence, the faintest whisper through the ages that would grip emperors and peasants alike and drive them towards ever-increasing acts of madness and depravity, turning them from sane beings into twisted shells of their former selves. This instigator, infiltrator, existed for millennia, crumbling dynasties and felling empires, until finally it was identified by the unicorn Starswirl, and contained by the Equestrian princess sisters Celestia and Luna in the form of a spell. The only record of the incantation to unleash the Other upon the world was hidden away and forgotten about, and in its silent prison the Other waited and dreamed shapeless dreams of conquest.
It was the dragon Spike, raised among ponies and so unlike any other of his species, that both uncovered the tome of the Lich and set it upon Equestria once more. Its first host, the unicorn Rarity, though beginning with frivolous manifestations of will, would have in time grown bored with mundane acts of creatio ex nihilo, hers tastes and vision drifting more and more towards the bizarre and perverse ideology of the dread spirit that spoke into her innermost thoughts. This had not happened, as the dragon Spike had, as per one of the arcane stipulations placed by the rulers of Tartarus in the Lich's eternal quest for power, broken the possession with the truth uncovering the possessed going against their true nature; instead the nefarious spirit had been unshackled and left free to drift amid the ether, searching for a new host.
-/-
Big Macintosh gave a faint frown as he surveyed the scene in front of him. It wasn't every day a princess came to Sweet Apple Acres--well, in fairness, Twilight Sparkle was around every now and then, so really it wasn't every day one of the other princesses visited--and while he did appreciate the help from Princess Cadance with setting things back the way they were, it was a major disruption to things around the farm. Mac had planned a day of retiling the roof of the big barn and finally moving out that swallow's nest that had been up in there for three harvests; maybe he could see Fluttershy at the end of the day to see what could be done about them not coming back for a fourth. He had planned this, but since the big barn was now a dainty manor house covered in jewels, gold paint, and what Mac was pretty sure was a gigantic feather boa fixing the tiles seemed rather pointless. He could maybe squeeze another five minutes out of watching the pretty alicorn zap at the structure with different shades of light, trying to unravel the dark magic, but then he was sure he'd begin to feel restless at not doing anything useful. He turned and went back inside the farmhouse, to pour himself a drink of water.
He could hear the sounds of magic and the high pling! of the shiny manor shrugging off the spells over the running faucet. As he lifted the glass to his lips, he was reminded that there had been a slight bitter metallic taste creeping into the drinking water over the past couple of weeks. It was just in the house, though, and not out by the well, which meant there was probably a section of pipe that had started to rust somewhere. Now was as good a time as any to try to find it.
An imperceptible flicker rippled in Big Macintosh's green eyes.
-/-
The will of the Other pressed its icy tendrils into Big Macintosh's being. He was less grandiose than Rarity, less easy to manipulate, but that would make his fall all the more subtle and deadly. It had been too ambitious to think he would attempt to domineer the alicorn Cadance right then and there, but this was clearly not the correct approach; longer conditioning was required for this simple farmer. He could be the leader of a cruel regime, his subjects obeying with total compliance. Order, structure, unforgiving discipline, a totalitarian empire would be forged, given enough time, given enough suggestion, and it would all begin with correcting a rusty pipe. How easy it would be for him to impose his will on the aberrant section, to force it to comply with his vision, to conform, become uniform. How little a distance between plumbing and other ponies...
The cancer in Big Macintosh's soul waited with immortal patience.
-/-
Wiping his brow and glancing at the clock, Mac was surprised to find such little time had passed. Finding the faulty length of pipe had been easy, as a little puddle had collected in the corner of the cabinet beneath the sink, and it just so happened he had a segment left over that was the exact same size and shape. Normally any kind of plumbing was a full-day affair that involved crawling around beneath the farmhouse, scrunching along with a lantern and second-guessing whether it was this piece of pipe that was the culprit as none of them gave away how they were rotting on the inside; it must be his lucky day.
He brushed off his hooves and turned on the faucet, hearing first the thud-thud-thud of pipes that had been filled with air instead of liquid before the water began to flow. He emptied his glass from earlier and filled it. It tasted cold and clean.
Nodding to himself, he considered what should be done with the rest of the day. The big barn still wasn't its old self and didn't show any signs of being so in the near future, so he could forget about tiling for today. The orchard had already been checked for bugs, parasites, and other pests this week, so going over it again would be nothing but busywork. The old shed needed a new coat of paint, as the current one was cracking and peeling in places, but that was a job that required both his sisters to pitch in as well even if it was started earlier in the day.
Then he remembered a task he had been putting off, because something more pressing was always unfinished. The plow needed sharpening. It could wait, and it already had waited a couple of seasons, and it was a long and tedious job that quite literally put his nose (almost) to the grindstone for hours. But it was a pleasant day, and he could probably see the former big barn (and the princess trying in vain to restore it) from his place working at the heavy slab.
Big Macintosh went to fetch the dull plow, the sounds of metal scraping against stone already in his mind.
-/-
It was not subjugation the farmer craved, no: it was violence. The Other would work on him as he in turn worked the blade of the farming instrument, honing him to a cutting edge, fill his mind with images of gore and carnage. He would be the sword's edge, the axe's head, the wretched scythe that cut a bloody swath through the world. All he needed was something sharp in his powerful hooves, and pliant flesh before him.
The silent voice in Big Macintosh's heart hissed sibilant whispers.
-/-
Sunlight glinted off the edge of the plow. By Mac's reckoning, it had never been this sharp, not even when it was brand new. If he wasn't careful, he'd give himself a nasty cut. He couldn't put the plow away like this--he'd forget by the time came around to air the open fields and at best nick himself, and at worst one of his kin would tangle with it before he did.
What he could do was run it through the soil a little, dull it down a shade. There was a patch of ground by the west orchard that nothing had been done with yet; that could be plowed and turned into beds for... well, Mac didn't rightly know. It was too small and narrow for apples, but maybe the Apple family could try their hoof at branching out into some flowers, maybe even some spices. There were plenty of things they cooked with beyond apples that could grow here.
Hauling the plow behind him, Big Macintosh was already smelling fresh parsley and daisies.
-/-
Seeds. Seeds were the key. The Lich would lurk within the fertile soils of this simple farmer, waiting, ever vital, ever strong, waiting to burst forth and... what? Lust was not the path, nor power, not violence. The power to manifest anything his will desired, and all the farmer could imagine was a sharp plow, a fixed tap, and a pretty filly to watch. Was there any limit to his mundane nature? Would he be similarly unswayed by an easy path to riches, to vengeance against those who had wronged him, to a life free of toil and labor? The farmer liked labor, took pride in it. He wished for nothing grand, nothing out of reach compared to all he had already. The soil within him was not fertile, it was salted and dead. The Lich had corrupted the valiant and the noble and the pious, and now it would wither and fade in this dolt, this meat husk, this imbecile prison.
The unseen intruder within Big Macintosh howled with impotent rage.
-/-
Nopony ever knew of Big Macintosh's possession, for he never changed. He never wished for things he could not attain, never wasted hours and hours of life on contemplating how circumstances could be different; though simple and plain, his goals and his achievements were pure and honest. He did lead somewhat of a charmed life, the Lich buried deep within him screaming at each gift that went unnoticed, and as an old pony he died as he had lived, content and surrounded by family. When he closed his eyes for the final time and his last breath left him, the inarticulate shrieks of the Other desperately scrabbling to cling to its last vestige of unlife went unheard, and the greatest threat to Equestria and her well-being winked out of existence like a candle being doused.
The land of Equestria may seem dark and filled with monsters, but it is her little ponies that bring forth the light.
