Repetitive Failure

The last thing he saw before he was swallowed into the abyss was the joyful faces of his opponents. Then everything was dark. All light was sucked from his surroundings as his screeches of anger and pure pain were halted.

Everything was black as space. At first, Sombra huffed, flying around his new contained area to find a ways out. In one particular spot, Sombra could hear noises. Though they were muffled, he could still hear things.

"Thanks to you, Sombra can never harm the Crystal Empire again."

He could hear, followed by the clapping of hooves together. They were rejoicing his defeat. Malice pinged his heart, over taking him as he whisked about, continuing to look for a way out. He would show them. They would pay for their insolence.

Their idiocy would cost them their lives! He would kill them with THEIR OWN HOOVES! He couldn't help himself from roaring and screaming in anger from not being able to find a way out. It was a natural instinct. He didn't do well in closed places, you see.

He had flown about for the longest amount of time. He had gone over to the spot where he could hear things multiple times, but it was now silent. Sombra was going to go insane if he couldn't get out of here. Not like he already was. It appeared to be futile. He was unable to get out. He had flown about for what seemed to be hours. Everything was the same. Black. Dark. Cold. His magic had fired off in random directions, but it never hit anything. It just kept going.

He couldn't give up. Sombra had stayed in a ice Tartarus for a thousand years. This wasn't nearly as bad. Save for the fact he was alone. Very, very alone. In the darkness. Stuck in silence. Sombra had grown tired from flinging his magic about. He had sunk to the floor of his container. His face pressed up against the floor. What was he supposed to do now? There was no ice to practice magic on in here. Sombra flopped over so his snout faced upwards.

Maybe this was his punishment. Eternally stuck in here. As a ghost. Not even granted life. What a cruel joke that was. Maybe he was stuck in here to think about what he had done. If that was the case, well, he was already doing that.

Sombra thought. He thought about when he had first claimed the Crystal Empire. He smiled at the memory. It was so fond. He could still remember it like it was yesterday, despite it being a thousand year old memory. Then a scowl appeared. He could see it like it was yesterday, the day he was banished to the arctic north by two Alicorns.

Then he was freed from his prison after the seal on his prison broke, and he was released once more. He planned to reign terror over his empire once more, but it had been taken by another. To exact his revenge, he had to have the empire. He had to. So, naturally, he attempted to break in. All of his attempts were futile, seeing as he was reduced to his faithful smoke. Then, once the forcefield disintegrated, he rushed in. Going to take the Crystal Heart and destroy it, naturally. Then he was defeated again, by a Alicorn and a baby dragon.

His frown deepened.

Even though his fail-safe spell had activated, and he had saved himself from disaster, he was depleted of his magic and flung far from the empire. He had an exhausting fly from where he had landed, he went back to the Crystal Empire to fulfill his destiny. He was a persistent one, to say the least. Due to his even weaker ghostly form, he had to have some back up. Retrieving some ghosts from Tartarus who pledged their after lives to him, Sombra planned to retake the empire, and gain back all his power once more. Then he was distracted, blasted, scorched, and placed in space. That's the place he was at right now.

Sombra couldn't help but feel something twinge inside him. No, not guilt. He didn't have any of that. No, not regret. He couldn't feel that. No, not remorse. He felt shame. He had shamed his own name.

All three of his previous trips to the Crystal Empire ended up in his banishment, his death, and now, being captured. This was all his fault. What had he done wrong? His plans were flawless. He was a master planner, he had made traps that lasted for thousands and thousands of years. Were they not enough? Was he not enough? That was it. He wasn't good enough. He had botched up. Three times, in a straight row. He had brought disgrace upon the pure arts of magic. He was a smear that wouldn't go away.

He was nothing. He was just a smoke cloud that went around with some illusions and liked to scare ponies because it kept him alive. He deserved to be here. He had flunked so much, they were doing him a favor, putting him in here. It would stop him from embarrassing himself.

Sombra plucked a nostalgic metal crown from his head. He loved this old thing. It was the only thing he had left. It had been with him through thin and thick. He had grown attached to it, because he had no friends. Why did he have no friends? He was stuck in a glacier for a thousand years, and was also a dictator of an empire that wronged him. That drove most ponies away.

Not his crown, though. His crown couldn't be driven away. His crown couldn't decide where it would go, or who's head it was upon. Sombra thought for a second. Did this he deserve this crown? A crown, only made for the highest of the high, upon the head of an moronic pony who has failed utterly not once, but three times. No. Sombra sighed heavily as he tossed it off to the side, hearing a small clack of metal against the floor. He wasn't a King.

He was a idiotic, failure-doomed pony who had to hide from the sun and moon. He didn't deserve to be a King anymore. He may be a wizard of masterful proportions, but that didn't mean much. Not anymore, at least. No pony liked him anyways. No pony cared. He didn't care either. Why should he? Who cared for the opinion of a fool? No one.

He was so much in the past, now he looked down upon himself. He was belittled by his failure, more than ever. One failed stand, sure. Whatever. He couldn't stand for three. He couldn't stand at all anymore, because he had become this catastrophe.

He didn't want to stand either. He just wanted to lay here for eternity. He didn't care if it broke his sanity. He didn't care if it was silent. He didn't want to move ever again. This lack of success had left him staring at the nonexistent ceiling. Wondering if he could go to Tartarus. Wondering if he was deserving of such a place. No. He could not be restful, he was granted immortality due to his banishment.

This immortality, this curse had been worn and twisted so he could never receive the peacefulness of the afterlife. Yes, Tartarus, to him, was considered peaceful. Now he was stuck with himself, an informal flop, for the next millennia. Repeating the same memories. Repeating the same defeats in his mind. Stuck reminding himself he was so pathetic that he was not even defeated by an Alicorn this time. He was beaten by regular, everyday ponies.

His best simply wasn't enough. Mostly because he was the worst.

That's the moral that stuck with him. That's the thought that would be eternally burned into his mind because of these pony's actions. Who cares, though. There was no sympathy for the cruel and cold. No pony liked them. No pony liked Nightmare Moon. Except for Celestia. No pony liked Discord. Except for Fluttershy. No pony liked Queen Chrysalis. Except for an entire species of changelings. No pony liked Sunset Shimmer, except for five friends that decided to reform her.

No pony likes Sombra. There is no except. Everypony hates him, and that's what he was aiming for. Now he's stuck and alone, and no pony cares. He wasn't aiming for that. He wasn't aiming for being a loser either.

Sombra could hear the taunting voices off in the distance again. With a puff that lacked anger, Sombra slowly tuned into their conversations.

"We came, we saw, and kicked it's ghostly pony flank!"

"What's say we unload Sombra into his new home?"

Sombra had no objections. Whatever they planned to do to him, wherever he was being put, he didn't care. As long as he didn't have to move. As long as he wasn't tortured for his negligence. Sombra didn't want to leave his crown here. He would keep it with him, he just wouldn't wear it, for reasons previously explained. He grabbed it in his mouth.

"Good idea."

The final words were spoken, as a large rift opened up in the black abyss. It was made of pure white, and it nearly blinded him when he had first looked at it. With eyes shut, it started to suck him in. He didn't fight back, obviously. This was his fate. Noise burst into Sombra's ears as he was placed into his new home. Sombra looked about. Disgusting ghouls flew about everywhere, with boundless energy, unlike him.

Sombra sulked as he loosely held the crown of a King in his mouth. There were millions, or at least thousands of alien ghosts in here. Different colors, different shapes, different sizes. Sombra trekked on through the sea of technicolored specters. In hopes of finding some place where it was somewhat quiet. Though Sombra wasn't big on noise, he wasn't big on silence either. He enjoyed a little bit of talk now and then, but not just random sounds and gurgles.

Ghosts had popped out from infront of him, screaming in his face. He gave them no response. When he had passed them, they seemed utterly confused. Though the ghosts around here were very colorful sorts, the majority of them had boundless energy and enjoyed spreading fear to others. They were a slapstick loving bunch. While Sombra on the other hand, despised jokes as an entirety. The atmosphere he had brought with him was extremely strange.

Sadness was nothing new, of course. Though it wasn't major or anything. Usually it was just a bit of sobbing and such. This though, was completely new. It was could only be described as life-considering. Even in death, he was considering his life. His past. Everything. Those in life could also do the same, as most did it at the late hours of the night, unable to sleep.

His atmosphere was one that could be around a suicide considering mortal. One considering if they were good enough, or deserved a life. One considering if any one would miss them. One considering if any one would love them. One considering who they were, and how useless they were to a society as a whole. Sombra suffered from all these thoughts fluttering in his head as he wandered. More and more ghosts stopped to stare at the spiritually destroyed pony.

There was pity. Something that Sombra hated. He hated lots of things. He couldn't be bothered to hate anything right now. Seeing as he was a dereliction. The ghosts he had passed seemed a bit changed after he floated past them. They were either utterly confused, or sad. There were a couple outliers that just continued spasming with untold child-like energy.

After flying for what felt like an eternity, Sombra came across an empty space. Though there were some ghosts close by here, the noise was reduced. With that, Sombra laid on the nonexistent ground, and wallowed in his new-found depression. He had placed the crown down next to him, and that's where it would stay.

No ghosts dared to visit him. They didn't want to be infected by his atmosphere. Everyone knows that misery always adores company. So they never gave him any.