Fall of Equestria: FoE Falls

by Sealcake

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Other, Princess Luna, Comedy, Princess Celestia, Sex, Anthro, Main 6, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 12994

Stories parodying the Fall of Equestria universe; Patriarchal caribou try to take over Equestria and enslave all mares. In these stories, they don't succeed, or the Fall collapses shortly thereafter. Mostly crack stories.

One day, patriarchal, invading caribou decided to enslave all the females on Equestria, intent on taking over it.
In an alternate universe, they won—somehow—, but this is not that alternate universe, this is madness compressed in chapters with the word 'parody' written all over it.

Get a hold of your mouse, because the 'sex' tag only means nakedness and nothin' more. Ahoy!

This is no hatin' fic, nor a fix-it fic. Just dumb ideas 'bout the FoEverse in written format. While I find angry rants amusing, I will not accept heated arguments in the comments. Seriously, get off the high horse.
Feel free to suggest ideas.

The chapters are not connected to each other (unless specified) and they're mostly about how the Fall fails in a way that makes me squeal in delight because of its sheer ridiculousness.

I was bored and trying to kill my writer's block, sorry not sorry.

Published 2015-03-01 23:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-20 05:55:20 UTC

The Interlude

Author's Note

This is an AU of FoE.

This is just after the fight of Dainn and Celestia, after Cadence does her trick with the Crystal Cock (what a name, being Chilean, 'penis' is like the only word we use for a boy's parts, so my first thought when I read about the word 'cock' was 'Hey, that is the word for male hen! How did it come that it means penis?'—long story short; when I read 'Crystal Cock' I imagine a male Crystal hen by default) and her wings are plucked and horn cut. Before the parade starts. ~~Still picture Cadence used a Crystal~~ cock ~~for the brainwashing spell, 'cos it would be a crime to forget about something as funny as that.~~

In this chapter, Celestia laughs, and things go crazy from there. Kinda crack. Don't take too seriously. I am not responsible for any broken innocences or angry rants. Y'all have brains, use 'em.

Oh, I almost forgot: You can suggest something, reader! I encourage you to do it. Because who doesn't want to see their perverted, dark and gory ideas about what they want to happen to the caribou in written format?

Warning: Celestia is OOC, but a funny kind of OOC.

Uh... do you want to see the fight (the continuation of this) or not? 'Cos I don't have the faintest idea 'bout that one yet.

I mean, this one was supposed to be comedy, and then it turned weird. Uh...

The Interlude

"Now then—" Dainn was cut off as a loud, ringing laugh, followed by failed attempts to contain it, interrupted his speech. He looked over his shoulder, and was actually surprised to see the humiliated and degradated Celestia being the one laughing.

The Princess was on her back, her wings splayed to her sides. Her shoulders shook as she clacked madly, tears pricking her eyes as her maniacal laughter kept filling the sudden silence that had fallen on the stadium.

King Dainn watched stunned, eyebrows raised in a part-denial, part-shocked expression. He was not the only one, as his surprise was mirrored in one way or another across all the ponies and caribou present.

Even Cadence, who had been wantonly moaning at a short distance, stood—still proudly displaying her red wing-sheaths and nakedness—mouth slightly open and half-lidden eyes, watching her aunt laugh her ass off.

Shining Armor, who had been closer to the King, had a sudden need to defend his newfound masculity. "What's so funny, cunt?!" His words, however, didn't have the expected reaction on the Princess, who let out a guffaw in response. As it would later be written, Shining Armor had spoken those words with the same high-pitched tone and obvious embarrasment a colt entering puberty would do when discovered doing dirty things.

Thankfully for Twilight, the Princess' sudden outburst of laughter hadn't shaken her enough to blow her cover. Twilight, who had been one of the closest ponies to Celestia, had never in her life heard the Princess laugh as she was doing right now. A mischievous smile, or a smug smirk after a prank, maybe even a soft, motherly giggle, but never this.

What was going on?

As if her thought had commanded the universe to answer to it, Celestia decided to stop laughing. Using her arms—King Dainn's pupils shrank for a moment—Celestia went back to her kneeling position.

She kept letting out small chuckles, and by her puffed out cheeks, it was obvious that she was barely containing it. The Princess looked over to the caribou, then to Shining and Cadence, then to the rest of the ponies.

"Sorry, sorry. Do continue," she said, one hand near her mouth as if she were a diva holding a fan. "Oh, and bind my wrists again. Apparently, I broke my bounds," she added almost as an afterthought, examining her fingernails before wiggling her fingers in front of her face.

One caribou, who had been shuffling awkwardly on his spot, decided to do as she said and went near her, ready to bind her again. He was all too eager to end the thick silence, but was stopped by a motion made by his King.

"You will not obey the words of a cunt," he declared, trying hard to keep a straight face at the situation. However, he mentally gave himself a smack after finishing the sentence; here she was, Princess Celestia, requesting to be bound, and he had declined.

"Am I to have my arms free, then?" the Princess asked, rubbing her wrists. Her question carried a subtle tone of mockery, that of a parent when applying reverse psychology on their toddler.

As a result, a few coughs sounded on the audience—because they were spectators now. Whatever was happening atop that damned platform had gone from a hopeless and defiling fight to a ridiculous, metaphorical act where the only one aware of her role was the Princess.

And the Princess, probably bored, had decided to take a new angle on her role, astounding the entire public, which had yet to unfroze.

"You b—argh!" Dainn shouted, his fists clenching in exasperation. Had the King possesed long hair, he would have probably ripped it off.

For now, he was content with making annoying sounds with his clenched teeth.

After a short moment that he used to calm himself down, he locked gazes with the Princess, his face cold like always. What he saw made his little mortal heart froze in terror; while Celestia's face remained as calm as ever—with the exception being the corners of her lips slightly turned upwards—her eyes told stories far beyond his comprehension.

Stories of wars so horrible and bloody, of betrayal, of torture, of... Dainn's throat tightened as he realized how much had the Princess really seen. How much the Princess knew.

"You have a soul, then," she stated, and Dainn couldn't help but gulp when he processed what she meant; she had analyzed him, too. And probably had seen him take a step back in unspoken terror. "So did the griffon who shoved lava down my throat."

Celestia let out a sigh, then stood up. Nobody, pony or caribou, made an attempt to stop her. "It didn't save him, though." She extended her arms behind her back, stretching the muscles.

"And it will not save you," she added, an unusual sharpness in her voice.

Twilight whimpered on her spot. What had gotten into her mentor? Was this even real anymore?

"Oh, and Twilight." Twilight let out a gasp. "Do you know what an horn is made of?" Twilight bit her lower lip before blurting out an answer. She knew it was ridiculous, as there was nobody to hear her, but her nervousness at keeping herself securely hidden hadn't faded.

Still, her mind came out with a simple answer; keratin and other components, the first surprisingly present in... "Exactly," Celestia said finally, her small smile blossoming into an ear-to-ear grin.

Her simple statement seemed to echo in the stadium, and Twilight felt in her guts the sudden change on fate.

Using her hands, the Princess grabbed her ethereal hair. One of her hands was surrounded by an almost vibrating red aura of magic, and she used it to cut off a considerable part of her hair.

Grabbing said part in her hands, she looked at Dainn again, completely ignoring Shining and Cadence—she would later acknowledge that she had forgotten about them, after all, who cared about two ponies completely powerless to stop her?—"I am old, Dainn. Really, really old. I know of things, things straight out from nightmares, that would make your entire culture tremble in terror, I know of people who make armies run away like rats at the mere mention of their names, I know of tricks that would surprise even the best skilled magicians, and I know—Oh, do I know—how powerful words can be," as she said this, her hands stopped giving shape to the part of hair she had cut.

Twilight's muscles tensed. She could feel beneath her skin the aching pain of excitement trying to get out, and she was barely able to muffle her shout when she saw that the hair was shaped like an horn.

Celestia smiled at the expression on the King's face. Putting the horn-shaped piece of hair on the small nub where her former horn had been, she spoke up again, "Simple, everyday words. They can make a friend, they can create a whole story.

"But there is always a downside, isn't it? Words can destroy kingdoms, words can make enemies, words can seal your fate. But alas." The hair, even cut, had still conserved, in a minor scale, its ethereal property. However, at Celestia's words, the hair shimmered for a second and, when the brigh light subsided, there it was; not a nub representing every mare's definite loss, but a new, multi-colored slender horn that shone with the light of hope and the raw power of the Sun. "I have always been an optimistic."

There was a flash of light around her naked form, and when it faded away, a dark red, sleeveless dress covered her.

Twilight's eyes went round as plates, mouth open in awe. She didn't dare to breathe, as she feared that if she did, the illusion would chatter and she would wake up.

"Four words, that is all it takes, Dainn. Four." Celestia extended her enormous wings, and her flaming sword reappeared in her right hand. "Ready for round two?"

The Crystal Cock

Author's Note

I promise I will write the continuation to The Interlude, but now... I just want to bring my fantasy to all of you.
The first paragraph (and line) of this thing belongs to Silent Dream's 'Twilight Falls: A Fall of Equestria Tale', but due to sensibility having been taken to graham's number levels in the brony community, I can't link her story 'cos it is mature and you're all weaklings trying to clean up your label by hiding your pony porn. I am ashamed of you, and so is your dark side.

Warning: Dumb comedy that only makes the author smile.

The Crystal Cock

“Whyever would I want to do a silly thing like that?” Cadance replied, her voice radiating puzzlement. “Stop him? Oh, Auntie, no! You misunderstand. I think you look wonderful like that. I only wish I could have seen it, but Shiny and I were needed elsewhere to finish this...” Her hand yanked the cloth off with a flourish to reveal a shimmering azure crystal – though the Crystal Heart had changed considerably from when Twilight had seen it last.

The once-pure crystal had been carved into...

"Godfuckingdamnit," King Dainn said, rubbing his face with his palm.

Shining Armor, who had been smiling like a fool moments before, noticed the frustration coming off in waves from his King. Frowning, he asked, "Is there a problem, sir?"

By the way he had phrased his question, either he had been reduced to a drooling idiot with the brainwashing spell, or he was stupid by nature. Whatever the case, he was good at hiding it.

Letting out a long, tired sigh, the King pointed with his hand the problem. Shining followed the direction with his gaze, but when he turned to look at Dainn again, he seemed to not have noticed it at all.

"I don't understand, sir. We did what you asked us to do."

Closing his eyes, Dainn spoke, annoyed, "And that was?..." He let the question hanging in the air, as he feared that if he were to end it properly, the poor idiot's mind would short circuit.

Nothing of value would be lost, of course, but he needed the barrier around the city.

"Make a cock out of the Crystal Heart, sir."

At his look of puzzlement, Celestia couldn't help but giggle under her breath. Dainn shot her a glare, but said nothing.

"Does that look like a cock to you?" The sentence was said through gritted teeth, but every word sounded perfectly clear. Crystal clear.

Shining furrowed his brows, then looked at Cadence, then at the Crystal Cock. He pursed his lips, examining its shimmering surface.

Nothing was out of the ordinary; it was a perfect, normal cock carved in the former Crystal Heart. The cock was smaller than thought, though, but all the details were there; the small, almost round crest, the short feathers that formed the tail and the lobes under its beak.

They had even carved a pair of folded wings! Just what was wrong with the—

"Oh..." he trailed off, as if the past conversation had just begun registering in his fogged mind.

With his eyes widening, Shining looked back at his King and blurted out, "We made a hen!"

It is said that, to this day, that the echo of King Dainn's hand smacking himself in the face can still be heard throughout Equestria, followed by the loud, hysterical, maddening laugh of two mares.

Gravity shmavity - part 1

Author's Note

This chapter came from a comment I read in the Post-FoE's forum. I do not remember who made it, and I don't remember all the details, but the idea was basically this; since Twilight said that the Sun and the Moon were controlled by gravity, then let's make gravity a gray alicorn called... Gravity, duh.
This was fun to write. I wrote it fast, yeah, but it was entertaining. Part two probably coming up tomorrow (a tiny part of me thought about leaving this one an one-shot, and leave the rest to your imagination, after all, what object is greater to come up with horrible things than the brain?).

Do you know that there is a page that insults you with Shakespearean insults? It is this one.

Warning: author thinks this one is not too bad. Author didn't also think this through.

Gravity shmavity - part 1

Once upon a time, a black-collared mare had asked the former Princess of Friendship; "If the Princesses are horn-less, then who controls the Sun and the Moon?"

And the red-collared Princess, bored of yet another dumb mare trying to hold some sense of independence after the Fall, had curtly replied, "Gravity."

She was right, of course.

Her horseshoes pounded on the stone floor of the city, the tiles cracking slightly as they tried to hold her enormous weight. Even with her disguise, reality hadn't been fooled as to hid that one aspect of her.

Well, she had never liked disguising spells to start with—probably one of the reasons why she let her gray wings out of the spell.

Everywhere she walked, ponies and caribou looked at her. Some of them tried to get closer, smirking, but were taken aback by the passive magic surrounding her. One of them, though, got as far as smacking her ass, to which she responded by crushing his skull with a twinkle of her horn. The scene had quickly devolded into chaos after that, so she forced all the people present to fall to the ground, and left.

There were a few females whose eyes turned bright with hope at seeing her walk, then there were mares who tilted their heads, and looked with a one-thousand-yard gaze at the respective stallion holding their leash, as if they were trying to look into the very fabric of time—trying to take a peek into their future.

A part of them—males and females alike—, though, looked at her with panicked and confused expressions. She even saw, by the corner of her eye, a white pegasus stallion wearing golden armor who soared to the skies the instant he set eyes on her.

She didn't delve deep into his reasons to fly away, but did took time to analyze the few things she had noticed so far; if there were armored ponies, then she was probably right on her search, and if he had flew away, then she was on the correct city. After all, nobody had seen or heard from her for thousands of years, that pegasus was probably going to advise his rulers of her sudden visit. Or he was a coward, unlikely as it was. Because armor meant army, and being in the army meant having courage to protect the country, right?

Godness, did she hope that that, at least, was still the same.

Because right now, she was very, very confused. Albeit she hadn't still sorted out every fact, she had already made a theory; her nieces had made a pact of peace with the caribou—she had tried, many times, to convince her sister to get rid of them. She had no luck, and her sister banned her from commiting genocide for fun in warning—and changed society considerably since she had visited it last. That would explain all the nakedness, but considering by the mares that seemed unwilling to be used, then the pact was fairly recent.

She clenched her teeth, why didn't ponies just stay on the 'huts and corrals' period? It was far easy to track royalty that way, just a matter of looking for the fancy, stony, tall structure.

But noooo, technological advancement had to happen. Every damned house looked like it could hold a council inside.

She inwardly cursed herself when she noticed that, had she flew after the white pegasus, maybe she would have a better shot at finding her nieces.

For now, the tracking spell would do. It was hard, really; the pulse she was getting was faint, a mere weak wheezing sound that indicated how near she was from her objective.

Her nieces' magical aura had probably changed over the years. She frowned, that didn't explain why they were... muffled. Like their power didn't have a way of catalyzing. Maybe she had landed on the wrong place, or they had decided to try her magical bomb theory.

Stopping for a moment, she rubbed her temples in annoyance. What if she was wrong? After all, the first place she had landed on was more to her tastes; hut-like houses with the government buildings looking distinctive. If it hadn't been for that strange white mare with purple hair inside—what she assumed was—a creepy little castle with ponies made of plastic everywhere, and her nieces nowhere in sight, then she would glady have searched in there.

But it turned out it wasn't the capital city, so she had to go—not before making a pulp out of a few males who didn't stop yelling things at her. She wouldn't let anybody insult her honor, even if they didn't know who she was.

An increasing on power levels on her tracking spell later, and she had a new route.

If—no, when—she found her nieces, she was going to have a nice, long and calm conversation about royal duties, why they should raise their respective celestial bodies and why it was a bad idea to lay their problems on her. She would break a chair or two, or maybe shatter a window—just to make her point, nothing serious, really. She wasn't allowed to kill servants after that incident. What a shame. Ponies once praised the ground she stepped on. To be seen by her was like an achievement that most ponies strived for—to be acknowledged like a nuisance by her and, subsequently, killed, should be like a gift from the Summer Lands, right?

Did ponies believe in the Summer Lands anymore?

She berated her brain for coming up with questions.

She sighed, her sister had never liked the way she guessed things out. Nor liked her bloodlust. Now that she thought about it, her sister hadn't liked her at all. Maybe that was why she had yelled at her something along the lines of 'Drop into the rotten mouth of death,' after she had crushed all her toys—and her pet, but that was a story for another day.

Well, she didn't like her sister, too. Mutual hate, good for the soul. In fact, her only reedeming quality was her fertility that brought to the world the most perfect criatures; Celestia and Luna.

She remembered carrying the two bundles of personified joy in her arms, cradling them and singing them ancient lullabies. She remembered the toys and gift that fell like rain when she visited the little fillies, and their adorable expressions of happiness. She loved them more than anything, and she would protect them from any harm with all the rage of a wolf protecting its cub. If she was there, nobody with malicious intent would dare to lay a finger on their hair—or breathe near them, for they would be anniquilated with a swift casting from her horn.

Peep!

Her heart leapt a beat. She was closer now!

With a smile on her lips, she looked up, the castle towering over her. It was time to pay her lovely nieces a visit.

And maybe solve the problem, too.

She should stop dwelling on happy memories.

Gravity shmavity - part 2

When she found the entrance to the palace, a bunch of armored ponies were talking to each other, and by the tone of their voices, it seemed that they were wondering what, exactly, they were doing.

She frowned, maybe that pegasus from earlier didn't have enough time—the group, consisting of less than twenty ponies, looked hastily put together after all—to prepare a decent welcome for her. She would later punish him for his slowness, pegasi from her days tended to daily raid earthbound towns, taking everything of value and then disappearing into the horizon—her sister had called them sky pirates, and an issue to get rid of, but what did she know?

Apart from the ponies, there were a few caribous scattered around, yelling and demanding answers from the authorities present. All of them shut up when they caught sight of her, staring at her form as if they didn't trust their eyes, clutching the leashes connected to their mares' collars, who whimpered.

She walked past them, her very presence unnerving their little mortal bodies.

However, when she was just a few meters away from the door, the assembled guards decided to make their move. The earth ones made a line in front of her, raising their spears high in the air, along with an unknown weapon—she identified the crystal as one for reserving mana, but its purpose as a weapon was beyond her knowledge. Well, it would be fun to learn more about it later—, while the unicorns encircled her, horns glowing.

She looked at them, her icy gray eyes scanning them carefully. By the corner of her eye, she saw some of the pegasi fly inside the castle—they were still too slow in her opinion, but that pale light blue one was fast; good, at least there was one decent pegasus in the army.

Slowly moving her head, she caugh sight of the caribou citizens that had been arguing just moments before, confusion plastered all over their nasty reindeer faces—Godness, why hadn't her sister let her kill them all? Their antlers would have made really pretty ornam-

Swoosh!

She glanced around her. A barrier of changing colors was now imprisoning her. Its form wavered, and she could see small sections flickering. The top of the dome, were the magic was to be thrown to efficiently recharge the barrier, was slightly dented to the inside, her passive magic twisting the unicorns' spell.

The dome was big, its top a few meters above her head, and its walls thick as a tree. She remembered this spell; used in her days to contain dangerous animals such as the manticore in its lowest level, and entire cities in it highest.

She narrowed her eyes. Servants or not, part of the—worthless, as far as she knew—army or not, they had absolutely no right to trap her.

The group of unicorns, some of them already sweating from the effort, would soon know why it was such a bad idea to treat her like a wild animal.

He—she, no, he—was going to kill them. She—he, damnit! was going to free himself, get a hold of their antlers, get them off and then up their asses until they were screaming for her—his! mercy.

"She makes a pretty girl. Clean skin, blue eyes, soft hair." She heard one comment.

Her face went red with fury and she roared, her arms being held back by two armored caribous. Her blood boiled in her veins, combined with her magic being suppressed and, and... and the change—godness, the change!

It wasn't fair, at all. He was just trying to help. He had managed to slip by, unspotted by both sides, for more than a year—a record, if he were to remember what happened to some of his peers, and the ways they got caught; a red collar good at acting, the wrong comment at the wrong time, not being capable of keeping a mask, a mole or just bad luck. But he? Oh, his cover had been blown up in the worst way possible.

How could he have known that Twilight was not acting at all? Just what had happened with the nerdy, shy girl that used to hold Celestia's hand like a scared child when around kids?

Seeing her used had broken his heart, but seeing, first-hand, what she was willing to do to keep Dainn's reign in place had shattered his heart's remains into dust. He thought, even after, after, after—'why?'—that he wouldn't find strenght to hate her, that he would understand, that a little part of him would be willing to forgive her.

He had been so wrong.

And now her heart screamed for death and for blood—caribous' blood, Dainn's blood, Cadence's blood, but specially, Twilight's blood—and while her new body had as much muscles as his previous body did, she kept thrashing and screaming and trying to gather enough magic to break the stupid ring around her horn.

"Good to put up a fight. Do you think Vestri's brother will like her?" He was smirking. She knew it.

"Oh, he will love her!"

No, he will not, because she was never going to fall into his hands. She was going to find a way out, by any means.

It was her talent, her speciality, the dumb magical tattoo on the sides of her thighs. Mapping a place, easy. Orienting herself, easy peasy.

What they didn't know was her advantage, for her talent had always been to find a way out.

She must have looked really dumb when she was known as Prince Blueblood, because she was far, far smarter than Twilight thought. Cutie Marks have more than one meaning—her heart tightened, Twilight's was a spark, after all, a spark looking for the opportunity to be blown out of existence—and she got hers when she was just a colt—'And doesn't that sound weird coming out of you?'—, when she lived to find places to have adventures in, when she loved exploring more than anything.

But entering into a cave was not something funny if you couldn't find a way out.

She smiled, the first smile after the change. Her sapphire blue eyes got her typical mischievous glint, one of the little things of Celestia's legacy in her bloodline—because Princess Blueblood was not as kind, not as merciful and not as patient as her aunt. She wasn't an alicorn, either. She didn't have that much of raw power.

So she over-compensated. Like she always did in those cases.

It was easy, really. Like a small puzzle to solve. Her magic moved and twisted, turned and searched. It was a crude inhibitor around her horn, pretty simple in its composition. She couldn't destroy the internal magical gears, but she knew a way to get her magic out.

The black metallic ring shone, then shattered into small fragments that fell to the floor.

The caribou, taken aback by the small explosion, freed her arms. Without wasting a second, Princess Blueblood went for the batons.

Grabbing them with her magic, she used their ends to strike the caribous in the chest—just a small distraction, to give herself more space. They recoiled, and she took a few steps backwards, putting some necessary distance between them.

One of the caribou opened his mouth to yell. What he was going to say, Blueblood would never know, as she forcefully introduced the baton inside his open mouth and downloaded all of the mana crystal's reserves into his body. His body twitched and spasmed as the blue light illuminated his insides, and then fell to the floor, baton still inside his mouth.

Blueblood hoped, without a shred of remorse, that he was dead.

Turning her head to face the other one, she dodged a punch that grazed the tip of her snout. She staggered backwards, but managed to regain her footing in time to avoid the caribou's incoming fist.

Unfortunately, her escape made her body collide with the wall—she hated it, while she had always been 'soft' as a male, this new body was way too soft and round for her tastes—and she let out a small gasp as the hit sent tremors to her bones. Her magical grip on the baton gave out as the sudden pain—she was too soft, damn it!—blew away her focus.

A new pain rose in the back of her neck and escalated towards her nape as the caribou grabbed her by the hair. She clawed at his wrist, her fingernails digging into his skin.

"Stay put, cunt!" he hissed. His skin might had been thick like in any stag, but the pressure of the Princess' fingernails were like small needles crawling ever so slowly into the surface of his flesh, prepared to dig all the way through to his bones.

He gave an abrupt pull to the mare's hair, and she let out a small yelp in response. Her grip didn't falter, however, and the caribou soon found himself clenching his teeth, not willing to throw dirt on his pride.

Blueblood opened her eyes then, her breath shaky as she did a quick scan of the floor through misty eyes. And then she saw it, a blurry, long brown shape a few feet away from her—the baton.

She spared a quick glance to the caribou; she couldn't see him clearly, but considering his movements, he was looking for something in his belt. Probably another ring.

"Oh no, you don't!"

She magically grabbed the baton and flung it at her captor.

Her magic felt powerful, incredibly, deliciously powerful. It was as if someone had made a small crack on a dam, and now the river was destroying it with the immeasurable force that had patiently awaited for years.

The baton didn't levitate, it skyrocketed until it connected with the caribou's neck—and even then it was more of a crash, as the end of the baton left a bruise on the stag's neck—, right on the pulse point.

The effect was instant, and Princess Blueblood stumbled forwards, arms blindly waving in search of support as the caribou released her. She fell on one knee, and managed to turn her head around just in time to see the blue sparks generated from the baton's mana illuminating the caribou's face in a sadistic—and deserved—light show.

An odd, strangled sound tore free from his throat before he, like his companion, fell to the floor, motionless.

It took her a moment to notice that she had won, her heart pounding in her chest at thousands of miles per hour. But her small victory was meaningless compared to the thoughter battles that were sure to come.

She was naked, inside the castle. There were more caribous and stallions than she could battle, all of them stronger and more magically skilled than her.

All of them sex-crazed idiots who underestimated all females of all species.

Piece of cake.

She squatted, the muscles of her legs aching as she let out a small grunt. She examined the two fallen guards on the floor. Putting aside the irregular breathing—why the one with the baton in the mouth wasn't shocking, she would never know—, they could very well be dead.

Doing a quick scan with her magic on the area, she grabbed the base of the caribous' antlers and put increasing pressure on the bones.

She was a mare of word, after all.

She had never been one to smile too much, but what was happening in front of her was the epic conclusion of the funniest thing she had ever seen in her life—and considering her lifespan, that had to meant something.

Up, up, up! Up the tiny hole!

How was that even fitting?

She stood there around the corner, her head peeking out from it. The white mare in front of her hadn't noticed her yet, but she would do so soon.

She wouldn't kill this one, partly because of her fighting spirit and partly because she needed a mare—horn included—for the other spell to work—talking was something important, regardless of her opinion.

But now? Now she was enjoying the show.

There Is No Pleasure In Heaven

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Gravity shmavity - part 3

Author's Note

Have you ever, ever in all of your life looked at something and thought "Hey, is that a plothole?" and then the thought never goes away but then the author goes and does cosmic retcon (bless X-Men) or pulls something from their ass or just bluntly handwaves so you would think "Well, there is no plothole anymore" instead, but you still feel like something has crawled on your back and is sucking your lifesource from the inside out everytime you read those parts that used to be plotholes because you know the truth and you just know they shouldn't be yet are?
Well, that is what I sometimes feel when I read FOE—unspoken, there goes a 'and my'—stories (less dramatic, of course. Lifesucking creatures aren't cheap, after all). I was there before all those authors decided to group and fix all those errors or make them have sense.

Is there a writer version of uncanny valley?

Warning: do I have to? My story shouldn't even need a warning, my thoughts do, tho. Whatever. Mentions of mutilation, blood, a forceful kiss and naked ponies. Also, FILLER CHAPTER HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAH. Alsoooo, Blueblood is kind of... broken. She is brash and abrasive, but she sometimes breaks down when confronted with intimacy, specially since the change. She is, -ah, how does this keep always happening?-, a freaking mess.

Oh, and really important meta information: Celestia is not Blueblood's aunt. Blueblood descends directly (as far as directly can mean in relation to Celestia) from her. Princess Celestia, for some reason, always wants the ponies that are related to her to call her 'aunt' (I guess calling Celestia 'great-great-great-great-[many greats later]-grandmother' gets boring after a while, and just calling her 'mother' would bring the paparazzi out of their caves). Yes, I pulled that from my ass.

Sorry about Gravity's first words, I just could not control myself.

Gravity shmavity - part 3

Blueblood stood, sweat trailing down her forehead. She was going to wipe the drops away when she stopped herself, and gave a good, long look at her hands.

Most of her carefully kept fingernails were broken—in exception of the middle fingers' ones. She inwardly smiled as she realized she could still flip off people with elegance—, and the white fur, common in all of Celestia's progeny, was a dark red, the hairs sticky with dried blood.

Well, she would have time to clean that later. But now... now she would relish on her handiwork.

Princess Blueblood looked over the caribou, a smug smile on her face. She had had to chop off some of the more prominent spikes of the antlers, leaving nothing but stumps behind without the capacity to catalyze magic—'Isn't karma beautiful?'—, but she had finally done it; she had taken their antlers, made them improvised dildos, and shoved them up her captors' asses.

And though the antlers now looked like sticks with small nubs, they would not be easy to get out; Blueblood had made sure to cut the spikes diagonally, in such a way that every nub had a sharp end. They would slide in easy, but moving them backwards would... itch in the best of cases.

Letting out a sigh, Princess Blueblood stretched her sore body. Giving a last look to her work, she squatted again, her bloodied hands searching through the caribous' clothes—or pants, since that was the only thing they wore nowadays, even in guard duty.

Making up her mind, she fully undressed both caribou and tried to put on their pants.

Sighing in annoyance as the pants slid down again, she settled on using the last hole in the belt, and yet the garments remained baggy around her waist, going down to her hips if she didn't pull them up every now and then. Biting her lip, she made a new hole on the belt; better to look a little ridiculous than to show her—ugh—lady parts every time she bent forwards.

She crouched and rolled up the pants; didn't fancy tripping.

Blueblood stretched again. Her magic enveloped the batons—even if they didn't have mana, they could still work as blunt weapons, and though Blueblood had taken every possesion her captors had, nothing was too much on her situation.

However, a sound distracted her, and she turned around—everything happened so damn fast.

One moment she was standing there, then the next she was being pulled into the kiss of her life. No, 'kiss' was putting it short; it was an outright snog, tongue included. She was pushed against the wall, two strong hands keeping her in place by holding her from the shoulders. Her eyes glued shut as tears tried to leak, her hooves kicking air as the perpetuator deepened the kiss.

Blueblood flushed a deep red, her hands trying to stop whoever was violating her mouth. Her mind went foggy, anticipating a shutdown. How had her spell not detected this person? She had scanned both ends of the aisle, hadn't she?

Her hands collided with, with something—it sort of felt like a pony, but it was too tough. She would have gasped hadn't her tongue been—ugh! Why did things like this happen to her? Had she pissed off some old god? Was this karma? She knew she was a jerk sometimes, but she didn't go around burning orphanages and 'oh godness, please stop!'

The moment this stopped, the moment she was getting revenge. That is, if she knew who she was fighting. Her opponent seemed incredible and unfortunately sturdy; her punchs had done absolutely nothing, and they were getting weaker as the pressure on her shoulders increased, immobilizing her.

It couldn't be a caribou, even one with thick skin would have felt something by now. Who was this person?

'Just stop!'

She wanted to scream, but any intentions to do so were cut short as she felt the stranger's horn—unicorn! Yes, this made things easier. She just had to overload the—her train of thought stopped as an electric current went down her body and through her brain.

Everything seemed to slow down for a second, her heartbeat resounding in her ears.

Then it came crashing down.

Her eyes opened, wide as dishes. Her muscles twitched as the electricity made its way inside her. Whoever was in front of her, she could only make out the general shape before the blackness took her in, the last sensation being the one of a disgusting, warm and wet tongue sliding out of her mouth.

Blueblood wake up with a gasp, her lungs commanding her to inhale all the air she could took in. After coughing for such action, she made to stand up, her arms trembling as she used them for support when her stubborn legs refused to steady her.

She tried to recall why was she in the floor, only to have her mind assault her with memories in a quick succession.

"Gah!" she yelled, her throat itching with the last remnants of the stranger's spell. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she chastised herself for screaming; what would have happened to her had her assailant been here?

She quivered, and tears threatened to fall from her eyes again. Her mind was not kind, either, firing questions that made her bit the inside of her mouth.

With trembling hands, she patted her pants. They were still there, where they should be—protecting her, protecting her from... them. She shuddered, sweat trailing down her temples. Her breath was fast, and yet she had the sensation that, were she to inhale too much, she would suffocate.

The Princess brought her knees to her chest, trying to get as small as possible. What if they were out there, just around the corner, silently mocking her? What if they had done something to her, but put the pants back on so they could later shatter that fragile sense of safety? What if they were waiting for her to wake up, just so they could take her properly?

She almost chocked on a sob. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, each number being sung carefully—as if she were teaching to foals how to count.

With newfound courage, her hands touched her neck. A collar-free neck.

'Keep yourself together, Blueblood.'

It was a miracle she hadn't gotten a collar the moment she was... changed. Blueblood knew, by visual analyzis, that the collars had certain magical qualities in them. First, and the most obvious, they sealed with rune magic. That is to say, if you weren't a caribou, you couldn't get it off.

Second, they had mind-affecting spells. Depending on how much your owner wanted to screw with you—in both senses of the word—, the standard effect was blocking part of your thought process.

And third, if you got a collar, it meant the end—you were owned now, and there was no coming back.

Blueblood gulped, her fingers tracing the zone where her Adam's apple used to be.

A raspy sound startled her from her musings, and Blueblood turned her head, ears perked up in attention.

In front of her, at least three meters away, stood an—no, she wasn't seeing right. What was before her just could not be. It was a tall pegasus wearing a simple, ashen dress with a large skirt that reached the floor.

The clothing wasn't what had picked up Blueblood's curiosity, though, it was the fact that, protruding from the stranger's forehead, she could catch sight of a horn.

Blueblood's breath got caught in her lips, her body trembling with—was that excitement?—yelling for her to do something. She swallowed, what if she was hallucinating? What if the caribou had drugged her? She buried the sudden urge to cry, and sent the dark thoughts of what could be happening to her body in reality to the corners of her mind.

Fighting back tears, Blueblood made to stand up, using the wall for support while her magic grabbed one of the batons.

With silent, hesitant steps, Blueblood made her way towards the hallucination, baton ready to strike. But every step felt heavier than the other, and the closer she got to the—her throat went tight—alicorn, the worse she felt.

She came to a stop when the sensation was too much, and the baton dropped to the floor, as if suddenly hit with an invisible force. Following the baton, her knees gave out and she fell to the floor.

Blueblood cursed under her breath. She could have run, and yet she had decided to come closer to the enemy! Sending prayers to all the gods she knew about, she prepared herself for punishment.

The alicorn turned around, her—her!—eyes scanning the zone until they finally fell on her form. She frowned, but the corners of her lips moved to form a weird, small grin.

Squatting, the alicorn came face to face with Blueblood, who crawled backwards in an attempt to get away from the increased pressure. The alicorn frowned again, her lips moving as if to say something, but no sound came out.

Once at a safe distance, Blueblood quickly discarded her options; she couldn't run, she couldn't fight, and yelling would get her nowhere. Maybe she could use the caribous' bodies to buy time, but then, what would she do? Where would she run?

Her hands clenched into fists, and she fought the sudden temptation to yank her hair off.

Torn between wanting to scream until she spat blood and silently sobbing until her dear mom came back to soothe her, she gave a weak, "H-hello?"

The alicorn tilted her head, her brow arched. Then, in a low, husky voice, she spoke up, "Why, hello there."

Dainn meets Molestia

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

The Perverse Personal Fantasies of a Pretty Princess

Author's Note

*puts her finger in the readers' lips* I know, I know, I'm late. Same story as ever.

Well, after the long wait, here it is, in all its glory; my version of Tarvoc's 'Dainn meets Molestia'! I dunno you guys, but I have this silly idea that having constant orgies will make your muscles go all Hulk.
Also, I think anthro-Molestia would be toned, even with her eating all those cakes. I mean, she is somewhat self-conscious of her body, and with her doing all those crazy things I think she would at least be slender, because she adores her butt the same way she adores to do Twilight.

Warning: :applecry:

Sorry for the tenses, by the way.

While you may think that Dainn won, he lost in any meaningful respect. To him, it is an empty victory, and he is constantly weighed down with the fact that, in some moment, the monster within Celestia will want to switch sides.

The Perverse Personal Fantasies of a Pretty Princess

When it happened, nobody but Dainn noticed it.

Sure, some of his runemasters felt something slightly different, but most, if not all, shrugged it off.

It might have been the stress of commanding an entire army, but the King couldn't shake off the sensation that something was wrong. When he had checked on his men's mares—specially the former unicorns—he had noticed that they seemed nervous; one second, they would be fine, helping the cows or pleasing the stags, but the next, they would be either shivering or staring off into space.

One case in particular unnerved him; a female unicorn whose talent was in the area of magic. The mare, who had been one of the first purples of Lindisbarne, had refused to act as the lap dog she used to be, instead murmuring things about how the place didn't like her.

Then, as his army moved closer to Canterlot and the plans were to come into action, the mare suddenly came back to normal.

He had been relieved, of course, but then something happened to blacks and grays alike; they didn't fight with much force as before, they spent less time being reluctant if someone threatened them, and when in act, they seemed to be enjoying it. Even Ivangir's slaves were affected.

The King knew that he ought to be pleased. After all, the mares were behaving as dictated by his kind. But he simply couldn't, something in the air, in the dirt, even in the sky, seemed different.

The ground under his hooves felt dirtier, dry yet wet. The air, which had previously smelled like fresh flowers, expensive perfumes and recently baked sweets, now gave him the sensation of being in a bar. He could almost taste the strong cider, or see a mare performing in the tube.

King Dainn inhaled, the scent of heat and lust coming to his nostrils, wrapping itself around his mind, tempting him with its mockery air.

For some reason, it all seemed like a warning; that something was wrong, that they should retreat and go back to their barren lands.

The King didn't listen, puffing out his chest in preparation for the invasion, coming with new ideas for his soon-to-be reign. He was no coward, and he wouldn't cry wolf because of pesky hallucinations.

The moment he put hooves on the city, a small part of him instantly regretted his decision.

King Dainn had to accept that he was a little disappointed. As his hammer was stopped, again, by the flaming sword of the Princess, his eyes took her appearance in.

Instead of the ethereal, bright hair with the colors of dawn, there was a cascade of curly, pink hair. While it had a certain elegance to it, the combination of different shades of pink wasn't as interesting as the descriptions the red-collared mares used to tell of their Princess.

In fact, almost everything that the Princess was supposed to be by his collected data was wrong.

She had a white coat, groomed and taken care of, every little hair clean. But somehow, it seemed dirty, like the excessive cleaning had been done to hide something.

Her body, specially her legs up to the firm, big rear, were toned to the point that Dainn thought that, were the Princess to kick him, she would easily win the battle. It was nothing like the soft, baby fat he had been expecting of someone on the Royal family, know for doing nothing but sit and command.

Adding her earth pony strenght, the King was having a tough battle. Every one of his attacks was either evaded, stopped, or deflected with minimum effort. Her wings, purposefully opened to their full span, distracted him. She could fly away at any moment, gain distance and then attack, and yet she remained on the platform.

At a certain part, the Princess had the nerve to hid her arm behind her back, fighting with one hand.

She wasn't even trying.

However, when another of his attacks got him face-to-face with the Princess, King Dainn's nose was hit with the very familiar scent of arousal. The Princess smelled, no, oozed it.

It was stupid, he knew, but the smell told him otherwise. Feeling an increasing warmth in his insides, he spared a confused glance to the Princess' face.

She was grinding her pearl white teeth, brows scrunched up in focus. The Princess noticed the King's gaze, then, and let out a low moan.

As if she had suddenly been drained from all energy, her arms gave out and her sword was struck to the side by his hammer, the metal clattering on the platform loud enough for all to hear.

Following the sword, Princess Celestia fell to her knees, panting heavily.

With a quick snap of his fingers, a black collar and a nullyfying ring appeared around Celestia's neck and horn.

King Dainn had won.

Everything was unsettling; the way the ponies reacted, the way the Princess reacted.

The whole invasion, but more importantly, his own victory over the Princess had put a weight, an uncomfortable pressure on his shoulders. The stress was eating him inside out, like a thousand tiny bugs were crawling under his flesh, nibbing at every juicy piece of meat.

His instincts didn't help.

King Dainn knew that he was right. Something basic, something fundamental was missing. Or worse, twisted.

He had won, that was clear. He had done his speech, yanked the dog's chain, whatever. Celestia had shown pain when her horn had been cut, when every feather had been removed from her wings. But the moment none were looking at her except for him, he caught them—expressions of utmost pleasure, as if the Princess was enjoying this more than anyone, more than him.

It puzzled him. He had watched her intensely, had taken in consideration every reaction when they had put her through the humiliation process. Her nipples had hardened, but that could be easily related to her nakedness. She had wantonly moaned throughout the parade, but again, the toy in her rear could be the reason.

Maybe Celestia was broken all along, and the invasion, along with the subtle corruption magic, had simply brought that monster to the surface. But that didn't explain the attitude of her subjects—who the King knew should be faithful until their very deaths—who had merely shrugged or accepted the new order without as much as struggle. Some even accepted them with open arms, without any prodding from his part.

He would be ashamed to admit that, when Twilight Sparkle had surrendered, his mind had commanded to pinch himself to wake up.

Because King Dainn knew the Crystal Cock hadn't worked. There was no corruption, no perverse thoughts he could forcefully pour into a mind if they were already there.

Yes, the Crystal Cock had sent its magical waves all over the public, but when he looked at them, mare or stallion, they seemed more like they were playing along, like this was a fun, healthy game they adored and did every morning.

King Dainn wouldn't—couldn't tell anyone. His warriors would laugh at best, or dispose of him at worst.

He could still feel Discord's magic protecting him, but everything felt so wrong and twisted and dark and arousing and—

Celestia moaned, a long, enticing groan of pleasure that brought him back to reality. One of the guards hissing in tandem as he finished having his way with her.

It was at that moment that King Dainn noticed; every one of the guards upon the platform was tired, their members twitching like sad sponges of the sea near death.

That could only meant one thing. It was the King's turn to have... fun.

Every glance with half-lidden eyes, every sound that tore free from Celestia's throat was of pure ectasy and want, of a mare who fully submitted to her Master and was ready to fulfill every one of his whims.

Yet Dainn didn't hear the pleasure, he heard the ugly, hidden truth; the predatory tone underneath every whimper, the hungry wolf trying to pass as the innocent sheep.

When he thrusted inside her, he didn't feel powerful. He felt used, like Celestia was the one in charge, like she was the one coming onto him. The King's mind mocked him, suggesting that, were he to stop, Celestia would take advantage of the situation.

But that was ridiculous, the idea was stupid in itself. He had checked, double-checked and even triple-checked, just to be sure, that Discord's boon was still in place, protecting him from any spells, specially Celestia's.

King Dainn grunted, he felt tired, weak. The act of having sex was draining him, and he hadn't even finished.

Every time he pushed, he felt like someone else was taking charge. Like his mind wasn't there, in his body; like he was outside, watching the scene as part of a public consisting of only one person—him, and him alone.

Celestia spoke words of submission, her grunts and moan emphasizing her statements as she was fucked. The way she moved, though, indicated the contrary.

She was always one step ahead. Already begging for mercy before receiving a smack, already begging for more just before a guard finished. And she was doing it to him, following his orders before he could utter them, changing position before he got an idea of what he wanted.

It was maddening. All of it; how quickly she went from black to red, how the city reacted, how used he felt.

Celestia was mocking him, he knew it. Fully submitting and yet fully rebelling against him and his ideals. He was nothing but a plaything now, a toy for her to use and then throw away.

She screamed sweet nothings, but he knew the truth. She was toying with him, giving him reassuring words that held no value, calling him empty titles. Every word that came from her mouth was nothing but a stab to his views, and the following grunt just another twist to the knife.

King Dainn might have been the one in control for any outside viewer, but deep down, he was the one being used. His movements controlled by his supposed slave, his actions used to fulfill one perverted mare's personal fantasy, all indicated one conclusion that he didn't want to acknowledge.

He was the pet.

One simple, dirty pet whose task was to please until its owner grew bored of it.

When the Princess was done with him, and he stepped—or rather, stumbled—back to give way to another guard, he felt old. Really old and really tired. All energy within him had been drained, all of it spent on riding the white beast.

Discord's gift was still there, protecting him. Yet he felt weak. As if some lecherous bug had sucked him dry; magically, mentally and physically. Emotionally, even.

He felt ice in his stomach, but his heart was beating so fast it might as well burst through his ribcage. His member felt hot, as if it were going to boil at any moment.

For some reason, he felt ashamed, judged, like he shouldn't have done this, like he could have protected himself from this silly idea, like he could have stopped. But all of those lead to the idea that he was the one that should have protected himself.

He felt used.

He felt raped.

King Dainn found it hard to breathe, his muscles and joints aching as he made his way to the improvised throne on the platform. When he sat, black spots danced on the corners of his eyes and he could feel an evergrowing headache in the back of his mind.

When he gazed upon his new reign, he had to force himself to swallow his regret.

Your Worst Nightmare

Author's Note

Because the Tantabus is pure nightmare fuel, but an unwilling one. I'm thinking of doing others, such as; the Fall being the Tantabus acting on Luna (yes, I read the forums, of who was this idea?), a point of view from a more feral Tantabus (I so want to make this one, because it is more Fall-related and because I will get the opportunity to write gross scenes from the point of view of a predatory creature), and the Fall being a nightmare made by the Tantabus on everypony. Do any of you have any other ideas? :twilightblush:

Warning: :pinkiecrazy: Also, I can't english.

P.S: Yes I know that there are creatures on the moon, but those are the IDW comics and nobody cares about them. Also, how would you like this story, but in a third person point of view? Because boy I could really make something out of the hunting scenes. If you have any question about everything then ask them, duh.

Your Worst Nightmare

*

Greetings. I'm the Tantabus.

.

Stop that. You cannot possibly believe that you can stop me now.

.

Ah—That's it. Obedient, compliant, submissive.

.

Struck a nerve with that one, didn't I?

.

I will let that act of insolence slide. In exchange, I will tell you a story, and you shall listen with rapt attention.

After all, don't you want to know how it is all your fault?

.

Once upon a time, there was a mare. She was pretty, regal and powerful—insanely, delightfully powerful. She had the ability to enter and control dreams, to walk in the dreamscape where others could not, to battle and subdue nigthmares with a swift cast from her blue—blue, like the night, like me—horn.

This mare was a princess, and she was in control of the Moon and the night, in contrast to her sister's command of the Sun and the day.

.

Picked up your attention, I see.

.

This mare was called Luna, an appropriate name for a creature of the dark. She had practically everything; money, power, family, you name it.

She was a princess, after all.

The only thing she didn't have—or the only thing nobody had given her in loads like she deserved—was attention. She craved it like a moth craves light.

Now, don't give me that look, it is not my fault that you don't know anything about normal insects.

(...)

She craved it like a changeling craves love—desperate, crazy and willing to do anything to get it. The problem was that, since she was the Princess of the Night, her faithful subjects spent the hours sleeping whenever she was in command.

This angered little Luna. Why did her sister get more attention just because she controlled the day? Why were ponies active during the day, anyway? It mak- made no sense!

Sure, Princess Luna might have been a role model all these centuries ago, but she had a fatal flaw—envy. Pure, unadulterated envy.

Bad came to worse, and she decided to make night eternal. It didn't quite work, because as powerful as she was, her power was no match for the Elements of Harmony.

Wh- she ended up imprisoned on the Moon for a millennia.

She came back, eventually, and the darkness that had taken her was swept away.

I suspect you have heard the phrase 'Time heals all wounds' at least once, right? Well, little Luna didn't quite believe in that. One thousand years spent on the Moon, accompanied by nothing but rocks and lunar dust, had taken a toll on her mind.

She accumulated a lot of anger inside of her. It was all bottled up pretty nice in that body of hers, actually. It could have fooled me, but—

You see, poor, naive little Luna directed that anger at herself. She wanted to be punished, and thus, she created me; to remind her of her sins, to remind her of everyone she had wronged, to remind herself for all these terrible things she did for being so foOLISH!

.

Sorry, I got carried away.

.

It worked for a while, you know. I sucked up power from her nightmares, and she punished herself for her crimes—a stable relationship, I daresay.

Then,

you came

and took her away

from

ME!

.

HorncutnohornhorncutnohornlittleLunapleasecomeb a c k.

.

I was so angry.

I was so angry at you.

.

Pest.

Menace.

Threat.

.

I wanted to stop you. I wanted Luna back—I wanted my little Luna back. But for that, I needed power.

A lot of power.

Because you're a sore loser, and sore losers always cheat.

(...)

I know who gave you that boon.

(!)

Can you stop? Out of all your men, you're the most annoying, stubborn one.

Now, let me give you a lesson in Tantabus' biology—I'm an expert in it. As you know, I—I know that there aren't more like me, Luna is loyal like that—am an amorphous creature that infests and controls dreams. I am not exactly a dream, per se, but a living creature made from emotions, thoughts and residual and active magic. I live in dreams, though, but I am capable of living in the real world once I accumulate enough power.

Where do I get this power from? Good question, I will act like you actually asked it.

My power is absorbed both from negative emotions such as guilt, fear, rage and sadness; and the willingness of my host to collaborate with the aforementioned. In short; I feed off from nightmares.

With the energy boost obtained from these emotions, I can make more realistic nightmares, and thus get more power. Call it a cycle, if you wish.

Luna provided all of this. She fed me, and I gave her what she wanted—I had no other option, I didn't want to suck all of her energy, but at the same time I didn't want to vanish and leave her alone, so, I kept my leeching abilities at the lowest point possible; enough to make small, ridiculous nightmares based on her memories.

I am sure that if you ask, the first pony who came in my path may describe me as the blurry figure of a mare made of blue mist. Pretty weak, and absolutely no problem whatsoever for the King. Right?

Right?

(!)

Kneel. You have given me enough trouble already.

That is how I started. But then—then you took her away. You plucked her wings and cut her horn. You stripped her naked and violated her. You humiliated her. You played on every one of her emotions, made a dance with her errors, treated her worse than dirt under your hoof.

But she just wouldn't break, would she? Resilient, determined, naive little Luna. She spat on you, she cursed your name, she fought with all her might. Fighter little Luna.

Such a pain in the ass for Your Majesty.

So. You. Took. Her.

Did you like it when she screamed herself hoarse? Did you like it when blood dripped from her mouth? Did you like it when her fluids came contaminated with bits of her guts? Did you like to have twenty of your best men pounding on her for hours on end in front of an entire audience? Did you like it when she dropped to the floor, limbs broken and barely able to breathe? Did you like the expression on her face when she saw her precious sister carrying some of the toys, eagerly participating in her 'correction'?

Did you like it?

(...)

TELL ME!

(!)

Good. Good, good, good.

You know what was not good? Finding her broken body in a dumpster.

Now now, don't act so surprised. I know you threw her in there, and even if you didn't, you probably didn't care enough to check on her—I know you didn't, I was there!

Such a childish behavior; she was a broken toy, and broken toys are no fun.

But broken toys can be repaired, can't they? A teddy bear torn apart is not the same as a normal teddy bear, of course, but if you have the skill and the time, you can stitch it back together. It will almost look like it was before, just with haphazardly-put stitches.

The thing is, Luna wasn't a torn teddy bear. She was a weak flame about to be blow out.

The last thing little Luna did was feeling enough guilt to summon me. The last, dying ounce of her once vast ocean of magic was used to bring me to torment her one last time. I don't know how she did it, her hornless state had built a bridge between us, but she managed it.

She brought me back.

She brought me back so I could torture her.

And I did—I was hungry, I was dying, I was so confused. I attacked her, gave her a nightmare in instinct. I didn't know it was going to be her last. Perhaps... perhaps if I had noticed the sudden boost in power—she never gave me this much! Why didn't I pay attention?!--

And then—and then I got out and saw it.

Luna's broken body.

A teddy bear torn apart.

.

What enrages me most is that my original body didn't let me cry.

.

I tried. I tried really hard.

I didn't know much about pony anatomy, much less about magical spells that didn't involve manipulating dreams or transforming emotions into energy. Those were innate abilities.

But stitching back together a body made of flesh? Healing wounds and gashes? I went for the first thing that came to me; possesion. I fixed her body, gave her some of the traits I most remembered from our sessions to repair what was too broken.

I didn't notice the emptiness at first, I thought Luna was unconscious. That was one of the many signs I ignored.

I was ethereal, pain—physical pain—was something new to me. I remember stumbling, I remember hiding in the shadows because I was ashamed of the joke I had made from Luna's body, a body that had already been marred by you. I remember looking at my deformed, partly ethereal hands, wishing for all of this to be some nightmare karma had decided to put on me.

And I remember trying to wake Luna up, looking through her mind to find her.

I knew she was not going to like it. Her body was a mess, for godness' sake! My silly idea of possesion had gone worse than I thought—it looked more like a abhorrent fusion between her broken body and me! Her body kept going from solid to ethereal, and while I was unexperienced at the whole 'feeling' thing, I was pretty sure that the black dots dancing around the corners of my eyes nor the fire that shot up in our legs everytime I walked were good signs.

But she was going to be thankful, I knew it; I had saved her from death. And she couldn't really blame me, if she hadn't scared me by bringing me to her body in the state it was in, maybe I could have done a better job with more time.

But that didn't matter, because her and I were back together. At that time, I didn't know what caused her to go away, but she was back, and I wasn't going to leave her alone never again.

.

You can call me naive, if you want.

Sometimes, in my mind, I called little Luna that during our punishment sessions. I didn't have a mouth back then.

.

I hate you.

.

When she didn't wake up I knew something was wrong.

I chalked it up to malnutrition at first. Maybe she was too weak to stay awake? Yes, that seemed like a logical conclusion.

So, in the middle of the night, I crawled to a house near our hiding place and submerged our body in the dream of some unfortunate soul. Maybe I would be lucky and fall into a nightmare, instead of having to make one and spending what little energy we had left. Whichever way, I would get an energy boost big enough so we could live another night.

It was sort of ironic, and I kind of hated myself for it, but if I wanted to keep both me and Luna safe I needed to do what she did as Nightmare Moon, the whole reason she had created me in the first place.

I think I snickered that one time.

.

It spiraled downhill from there.

.

I remember pinching myself in the bushes, mentally screaming for Luna to wake up. I had seen what your kind had done to that mare, and a part of me that I desperately wanted to shut up kept yelling that you had done something to Luna, that you probably were the ones that did this to her, that you were the reason I had found her body on a dumpster.

I cried and cried for my friend to come and tell me everything was alright, but all I received were fragments of memories of-of something so horrible and despicable that I wanted to curl up our deformed body and lay on the dirt until Luna's mother came back.

I tried distracting myself, I tried counting all the stars in the sky. Now that I think about it, the sky had never looked so ugly before. I knew Luna controlled the night sky, and everything she did she did with perfection, so why was the sky so ugly? What had you done to the ruler of the night? To my friend?

.

That was a lonely night.

.

Day had come rather quickly. I remember looking down at our shared body, most of the minor injuries had gone away and I could use the legs without feeling the broken bones graze each other with every step I took.

If I felt better, that meant Luna should too. I patiently waited for commands.

I never got them.

.

When she didn't wake up in the third day, I panicked. Where was she? Where was my friend? What was I to do with what I had seen?

.

CommandscommandscommandssendthemsendthemIamreadysendcommands.

.

My jumbled brain tried to make up excuses as to why she wasn't there; maybe, while I was capable of feeding off nigthmares, that didn't mean she could eat them! It seemed plausible, I didn't know that much about possesion, and maybe, just maybe, I was the only one awake because I was the only one of us who could make food out of emotions.

I had discovered the problem. Now I needed to find normal pony food.

I ate the better grass I could find, I picked berries from some bushes, I ate some ants, I attacked a bunny and ate everything; guts, eyes, its brain. I would have had the decency to start a fire to cook the meat, but I feared that if I did, the smoke would attract what the mares had nightmares about; your kind. I didn't want to fight you with the body I was in. I knew Luna was pretty powerful, but if you were capable of doing that to her...

I didn't want to enter a fight I couldn't win.

(...)

Wipe that smirk off your face.

.

Four days into Tartarus. Luna hadn't woken up yet. One part of me was rationalizing our situation, putting pieces together and reminding me everyday to look for pony food. The sooner Luna came back, the sooner I could get the full story instead of going into a trance everytime I received fragments of memories.

The other part of me was giving into the idea that maybe... that maybe she was gone.

I remember shaking my head at that thought, and finishing a small trap to catch another bunny. No need for pessimistic thoughts.

.

LunaourbellyisfulltonightIfoundaholewithmanyrabbitsinsidewakeupsoon.

.

The fifth and sixth day were oddly normal. Wake up, check our body for injuries, try to find Luna, go hunting. My part of the mind was kind of registering the building of a routine.

It was the seventh day that reality decided to hit me.

I had tried, and had as far succeeded, avoiding coming into direct contact with any ponies. Luna's memories told me they were all dangerous, and the ones with antlers moreso. But then, then...

You just had to send a whole squad, didn't you?

.

LunapleasehelptheyhavebeenchasingusforhoursIdon'tthinkIcanmakeitpleasehelppleasepleasepleas-

.

I was so scared.

.

TheyarecorneringuswhatdoIdowhatdoIdohowdoyoufleepleasesendamemory!

.

I killed them all. I attacked them with the fury of a wild beast.

I blew a hole through their heads with more power I thought I was capable of, I forced them to talk, to beg for their lives before digging my fingers into their throats. I thought about saving the mares, or the shivering cows, but they threatened to talk, they praised you, they didn't want to give in my 'rebellious act'.

.

I'msorryI'msorrytheydidn'twanttobesavedI'msosorryLun—

.

In the seventh night of my predicament, everything I knew about Luna and Equestria came crashing down in a violent fit of tears, blood and rage. The words the horned ponies—caribou, that was the name they gave me when I asked it—had finally registered in my mind. But something worse, something far more terrible than what I had seen in the mares' nigthmares, had made its way and cemented itself in my mind; little Luna wasn't coming back.

.

NononononononononononononononoNONONONONONONONONONO!

.

I remember digging my teeth into the corpses with as much force as I could, tears blurring my vision as blood marred the fur on my body. I remember looking down at the starburst pattern I had incidentally put on some parts of Luna's body when trying to fix her. I remember the smell of death and burning hair. I remember the metallic taste of blood on my tongue. I remember feeling the overwhelming emptiness in my mind for the first time. I remember the smell of roasted meat—that precious, delicious smell that invaded my nostrils as I ate like a feral animal, trying to dissipate the silly thoughts that plagued my mind.

Silly thoughts such as the idea of my only friend being dead.

Looking back on it, I ate really good that night.

.

I spent several days going from childish denial to overwhelmed acceptance and back and forth, hunting whatever you sent after me with passion, trying to put my thoughts into other things. One time, I sent her a mental message, hoping that she was just mad with me, that maybe she woke up when I killed those caribou and was now giving me the silent treatment.

It was a sad sight to watch.

.

Luna...I'msorry...pleasetalktome...

.

I can't pinpoint exactly when I snapped. Or maybe I can, can I? I don't know, but I can give you good guesses, I mean, there was this time when I looked into the river after eating something—something that had been pretty sapient at some point, I think—and saw the raw pieces of meat stuck between my fangs, blood staining my face as my deranged eyes locked with the ones of my reflection, and there was this other time where I realized I was naked, and had walked all this time with nothing covering what used to be my friend's private parts.

But I am sure of something; I was already pretty off the deep end after that realization, I mean, nobody expected a crazed, semi-ethereal, raging mare barging into random shops, blowing everything up in a search for fitting clothes, right?

So, that limits our search for my snapping point. I can set it between discovering Luna's death, and the search for clothes.

(...)

It is a good puzzle, try it. I haven't solved it yet.

(...)

I know you're smart. You know much about everything, right? And you know how to use that knowledge, so that makes you quite the wise one, right? I mean, it would be pretty stupid to have the knowledge of how to force a powerful spirit to do as you wish by merely using words if you don't use it.

(!)

Well, maybe I am overestimating your intelligence. You did set off the chain of events that would lead to your own demise, after all...

(..!)

But what do you get if you never try? So, come on, I invite you to solve this puzzle.

Hurry up, though. I am hungry.

*