The Refugee

Chapter 2

Bulletproof...I wish I was

"If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot, indeed."

• Albert Einstein

             "The queen of Equestria had imperial plans,

to shake pony hooves with strange human hands,

she never did step through Hermes's Gate,

for one who had previously, sealed the queen's fate.

The princess had to act fast, she knew

the queen could not be allowed to pass through,

for chaos would consume both lands,

if pony hooves touched human hands.

The queen lay silent and stiff in her bed,

while the royal sheets ran warm with red,

The princess laid mourning her gruesome act,

when Furnish, the proclaimer, came with a pact.

'A god is dead, and must be replaced.'

He said with a stoic look on his face.

'You are most suited to be the new queen.'

He said to the princess, yielding parchment and ink.

'I do not know if I can take on this task.

How is it you know I am suited?' She asked.

'You know how to rule, and have love for this land.

You'd die to protect it, if I understand.'

She waivered a while before taking the quill

and reluctantly decreed, 'This role, I must fill.'

The last letter curled; her heart felt like lead,

as he placed the cold metal on top of her head.

Equestria was hers to rule as she pleased,

though she knew the great price for this power she seized.

For with her gold crown came an imminent fate.

An untimely downfall she cannot escape.

A day will come when Hermes opens his door,

what comes to Equestria will make her no more.

A child that believes he has found his nirvana,

will reshape great harmony into chaotic drama.

With the best of intentions he'll roam through this place,

behind him a trail of discord and hate.

A wing burned to cinders; he'll fall from the sky,

Hermes' key-cross buried deep in his eye.

Along with a vagabond; come twice through the gate,

he will mark the final quatrain of the princess's fate.

Your people will Cherish you, Princess Celestia.

Though no love lasts forever, even in Equestria."

             Celestia looked over the parchment that held her fate as Tarnish's words painfully echoed in her head,

             "The prophecy has begun, and your compact is now active."

             "You are falling, Celestia. You knew this day would come."

             She clenched her hooves to her skull in a vain attempt to stop it from throbbing with those bitter words. She was falling, and she did know this day would come sooner or later, but did he have to say those things to her with such apathy? It was his emotionless voice and mechanical demeanor that added the venom to the sting.

             She read over her pact once more as her eyes widened and her heart pounded. Her forehead drenched with sweat she tried desperately to find some loophole that would allow her to keep on ruling. A few more years, months, or even a few days. She would've settled for anything at all.

             Focusing on the paragraph describing the child, she began to wonder who this person was. She knew he would be a translated; he was coming through the gate, and also that he would be a child, but where was he coming from? How old was he?

             She tried to draw a mental picture of him. A one-winged pegasus with the Hermetic cross in one of his eyes. What color were his eyes, though? And his hide?

             She figured he wouldn't be an alicorn; the wither would immediately send him back from wherever he came from. An image of the pitch-black wither flashed by her mind, "Sister." she whispered to herself with a lump in her throat and lead in her heart, "I'm so sorry."

             Sobbing, Celestia looked down at the parchment as her tears fell down and, rather than soak into the page, rolled off as though the parchment had been preened with oil. She closed her eyes and began to think about what it would be like when she died.

             Would she just be translated somewhere else? Was there really a heaven and hell? Was there anything at all after death? Or would her senses just fade away with her body?

             "Hello there, princess!" came a sudden cheerful voice from behind her. Her previous train of thought abandoned, she turned to face its owner.

             In her chambers stood a tall man made of what looked like hand-stitched burlap skin filled with old straw that was peeking out some of the more poorly sewn edges.

             His pants were a dark blue denim material that she could vaguely remember from earth. A raggedy button up shirt made of a material she did not recognize covered his chest and back where there were no tears or holes in it. He wore a tattered straw hat that, were it not for all the damage on it, would have probably come up to a point on top of his head.

             "Who are you, sir?" she said sternly with her royal second nature overcoming her frightened primal one.

             The creature's button eyes and stitched mouth bent and twisted impossibly to form an expression of polite concern. "I apologize if I startled you," he said with a light and kind voice as he leaned on his cane, "I do tend to have that effect on people, though it's not intentional, you see."

             He spoke as politely as she had ever heard another creature speak. Though his kind words were laced with an immutable confidence that made the princess realize that this thing was one of great authority. Still, his velvety voice was calming to her, and she enjoyed hearing him speak.

             "That's alright," she said softening her words, "Who are you, exact-", and it was then that she realized exactly who this was before her. She shivered.

             "Where are my manners? My, my! I am Perish, second of the Ungods. The light unto your path from life to eternal rest." He explained as he bowed before her.

             Celestia's heart thumped painfully in her chest and she felt her body start to fail her. She knew for certain that she had no time left, and that she would not even have a chance to say goodbye to her most faithful subjects and students. This was it.

             "You've come here to take me away, then?" she said, still shivering, "I did not expect you so soon."

             She fell to the ground in front of him and groveled, "Please. Just one more day. I have to say goodbye to someone I care for deeply." She threw her forelegs out and pleaded, "One more day! That's all I ask, I'm begging you!"

             Perish closed his eyes and smiled, "Oh, princess! Dear, me! You have it all wrong!" he chuckled. "I am not here to deliver you, yet. In fact, there is something we must discuss before I can do anything of the sort."

             Celestia looked up at Perish from the floor, and as she stood her heart grew light and floated quickly back into her chest from the pit of her stomach.

             She wept with what she knew would be a short-lived joy, "Wh-what can I help you with, Perish?"

             Seraf grew very weary from his treacherous trek through the Everfree Forest. He couldn't tell if his legs were still wobbly from the after-effects of translation or the hours he must have been wandering around looking for landmarks from the map that bastard hazencrossier had given him.

             It seemed like hours. The only reason he wouldn't tell himself that it had been days is that he had yet to see night fall. It couldn't have been days. Not yet.

             He had stopped a few times on his way through the damp soil and lush green when he felt he could walk no more. He felt that way now, exhausted and broken, and decided it was time for another rest.

             The songs of exotic birds and occasional far-away roars of what he could only guess were mythical creatures comforted him a little as he lay still on the forest floor. It reminded him that, despite everything else, he had made it to Equestria. That single victory was now enough to fend off the ever-creeping thoughts of suicide that may have otherwise prevailed in killing him.

             He struggled to catch his breath as he lay the map out in front of him. He saw that his next landmark was what looked to be a stone figure of a pony. "A statue?" he thought to himself, "Out here?"

             Brushing it off as just another idiosyncrasy of this alien world, he began to look around his immediate surroundings for anything stone. He figured he must be getting close by now.

             Scanning what little he could see through the dense vegetation, he spotted nothing of stone, but a single tree that was much taller than the others.

             He decided that climbing this tree and getting a good look around might be his best course of action. He remembered learning this from that survival television program he and his father used to watch.

             It brought back the feel of that cheap couch and it's scratchy surface. Though it itched awfully, he'd sit on it for hours and watch educational programming with his dad. He could remember all the shows they used to watch, but strangely, not the names of the programs.

             He pushed himself up on his hooves to test his strength, and saw that enough had probably returned to make it over to the tree and try to climb it.

             As he made his way over to it, he began to wonder why the tall tree was not made into a landmark on his map. Perhaps it wasn't distinct enough, or it wasn't as tall when the map was made?

             The tree turned out to be quite a bit farther away than his eyes had originally informed him. Seraf felt himself become dead weight all over again as he finally neared it and decided to lay down for another rest. It was then that he realized that every walk after a rest was getting shorter and shorter, and that he was losing this fight; his time was quickly running out.

             He wanted to be angry at someone or something for everything always going wrong this way. He was always pressed tight for time to finish anything, and it always seemed that, when he did, the end result would never be what he originally desired. He scratched his burns and began to wonder if this "Zecora" could help him at all, and if any of this would truly be worth it.

             He laid in a patch of clover next to the very tall tree's trunk and tried to catch his breath and rest his aching legs. On his side he looked around to see whatever he could in a last ditch effort to assure himself he wasn't just walking in circles.

             Then he saw it. On the other side of the tree there was clearly a stone hoof poking out just enough for him to see it. His body instantly rejuvenated with this finding; he sprung to his hooves and galloped around the tree to find a statue of a pony there.

             He compared the statue to the crude drawing on his map. The poses matched. This was his landmark!

             He sighed and laughed through the panting in relief. He was still on the right trail, and he hadn't been walking in circles after all!

             He trotted happily around the statue to meet his face with its own. He noticed the statue had a very sad look on it's face. It's head tilted back, looking at the sky and it's mouth open as if at any moment it might come to life and cry out to the heavens in pain.

             His brow flattened and his face scrunched as he wondered who would sculpt such a sad looking thing just to place it out in the woods. He knew there might have been a story behind it, but his shaking knees called his dwindling strength back to his immediate attention.

             For a moment, he wondered if he should even climb the tree. Would it cost him the rest of his energy? Would he even see anything other than the forest canopy when he reached the top? He needed food and rest more than a survey of the land, but there was always the chance he might spot some food or a good resting place.

             After much deliberation he finally saw a long tree-shaped shadow cast over him. Nightfall was approaching, and he had to make a decision now.

             The sun was only beginning to set, and he knew if he could reach the top of the tree in time he would be able to see a lot of his surroundings. But he knew he had to act right away.

             He placed his hooves around the tree, hugging it with all four limbs, and he slowly made his way through it's branches, moving closer to the canopy of the forest.

             His charred skin scraping against the rough bark made him want to cry out in pain. But he had seen some of the creatures that lurked in the Everfree Forest from the few times he had bothered to watch the TV show that took place Equestria, though the name of the program, like all the others, strangely slipped his mind at the moment.

             He thought about how strange it was that he never watched the show very much. He was always more interested in the educational programs and his father's research to really bother doing much anything else.

             The few episodes he had seen did make the place out to be so peaceful and happy, though. Back in his first experiment with translations he decided it would be a safe place to run a trial ritual on. After all, what could go wrong in the land of friendship?

             Inching towards the peak of the canopy, he started to remember his first trip to Equestria. The busy 1940's-esque streets of Manehattan. It was a tough place, but only cartoonishly so. There were dangers, but always a way out.

             He recalled wishing real life was like that every single day after he was cast out of Equestria by that horrid pitch-black creature. That beast was the only real danger he ever felt he had to look out for, and rightfully so. He remembered it's ice-cold whisper as his mouth moved to form it's soulless word, "Witherrrrr". That voice still chilled him to the spine.

             He knew that this time he had burned his original earth body, and his father's grimoire stated that by destroying your original body you make it impossible for someone to force you to return to it. The easiest way to do this was with fire, so he chose that.

             Seraf so wanted to feel bitter about the loss of his wing to the premature flames and butchered ritual, but it felt so good to have four useable limbs again that he could not bare to let himself get down about it. After all, he could've never climbed a tree on earth in his previous condition. He did not miss that bag of human bones even a little!

             Finally he reached the top of the tree and saw the sun just about to hit the horizon. The was just enough light left for him to take a few quick looks around.

             To what he could only guess was west based on the sun's position, he saw what looked like a dark place filled with tiny glistening specs he believed must've been some kind of metal or crystal. The earth there was black like soot and the tiny place did not look inviting in the least from what he could tell.

             Upon turning to what was probably east he saw a small town not too far away. Little houses and stores with what appeared to be other ponies walking around made the place look like the obvious direction to go after he got to Zecora's hut. Just beyond the forest he saw a small cottage with what looked like a tiny ranch or chicken coop of some kind. He wondered what kind of pony would live right on the edge of such a dangerous place.

             To the north, the direction he was headed, he saw a great mountain lined with what looked like a great stone gate that led to a tall white and yellow tower on the edge of an artificial cliff. A great deal of smaller towers and two and three story buildings rest on the actual mountainside.

             He instantly recognized this regal place as the capital of Equestria, Canterlot. And the visage of a royal white alicorn zipped by his mind. "Celestia." He said; recalling her name. And again, as quickly as the memory came, it vanished.

             He struggled to recollect the importance of this alicorn and her name. He could remember she was a queen or royalty of some sort, but not why he kept remembering her, or why her image and name sent a shockwave through his body of fear. His heart pounded and he began to sweat. He figured the whole of the memory must not have been a good one.

             Suddenly he heard the flap of huge wings from behind him, and a large shadow darkened the area around him. He heard a snarl that sounded distinctly beast-like, and in spite of the paralyzing fear he turned his head to face what was behind him. His jaw dropped in terror.

             Hovering just above him was a giant green scaled beast with a long neck and body kept afloat by it's enormous wings. Seraf was face-to-face with a dragon, and he began to wonder if he was about to die.

             His heart raced and his grip loosened as he began to unconsciously scrape down the tree. The dragon's mouth opened wide, and Seraf's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and he shook uncontrollably as he realized what was coming.

             Seraf screamed and all at once his hooves let go of the tree as he felt the searing flame of dragon's breath shoot through the air above him as he fell down to the ground. He involuntarily let out a scream of terror as his primal fight or flight instincts took control of his body.

             He hit the ground with a painful thud and his breath was lost on impact. He fought to regain his breath and over the ringing of his ears he could hear the great drake swooping down after him.

             Unable to stand he rolled along the ground, barely escaping another blast of fire. He continued to roll until he fell down a small hill and into a valley.

             Now able to just barely breath, and with the dragon still gaining on him, he turned to see if he could run up the other side of the valley to escape. As he looked upon the impossible steep hill to his side, his heart sank. This was it. This was the end.

             He closed his eyes and did what he could to accept his fate. He pushed his hooves together and silently prayed that God would forgive him for trespassing in a world he had no business in, and for all the missed Sunday schools and sermons. "Please," he pleaded, "Just keep me from hell!"

             "Am I already there!?" he cried aloud to himself as the dragon landed at the crest of the hill he had just rolled down, "Is this hell!?"

             He began to wonder if he could've actually died during the translation ritual, and if this was all an elaborate trick of the prince of darkness. "Satan," he sobbed as the dragon drew in a great breath, "must you be so cruel?"

             Time stopped as he watched the flame slowly rise from the gullet of the great lizard atop the hill. He could so vividly hear his father's voice, "This stuff isn't a toy, son. You can't play around with interdemensional travel."

             "Father," he cried softly, "why didn't I listen?"

             He remembered the smell of cigar ashes that filled his study. "Will you take me with you through the gate one day, dad!?" he remembered asking excitedly, his own young voice ringing in his head. "When you're older, son. I promise. And you know what we say about promises?"

             "Never ever break one! It's SACRED!"

             "That's right! You never make a promise that you can't keep."

             "Right!"

             "I love you, son." he heard him say, as he remembered his father picking him up in his arms, "You really are the light of my life."

             "I love you, too, dad! You're the best dad in the whole world!"

             He heard the glass from one of his father's many grandfather clocks shatter as he turned to run wildly out of the study as an excited child might do.

             Did he break the clock somehow? Why was he remembering this all so lucidly right now? "Is this my life? Flashing before me?"

             He opened his eyes and saw a glass bottle shattered on the ground and a purple haze filling the air. He felt his body go limp and his eyes become as heavy as lead and began to lose consciousness.

             "I'm sorry. Dad."

             "So you see, princess", Perish continued in his articulate and polite demeanor, "I can't just whisk you away as I would a normal god. You chose to rule among your followers, in a sort of mortal way."

             Celestia nodded as what Perish was explaining to her finally started to sink in. "So what does this mean for me, exactly? Am I going to spared?" She asked with heart full of hope and a brain full of doubt.

             "No! Haha! Heavens, no! Dear, me!" he replied with a hearty laugh, "It only means you have to meet a mortal end, as did some of the others who chose a similar path to yours."

             Perish pulled a piece of straw from the side of his head and began to twist it with both of his tattered gloved hands, forming it into the shape of a Catholic Cross. "You are originally from earth, right?" he said, still smiling, "You remember the story of Christ? Emmanuel of Nazareth?"

             Celestia vaguely remembered the story of a man called Christ who claimed he was the son of a god, and how the shape of the cross was somehow relevant to him. "I...sort of do. It's all so hazy."

             Perish placed the straw cross directly in front of Celestia's face. "He was a god, a translated from a higher plan of existence, like you!" He took her hoof and placed the cross on it, allowing her to hold it.

             "But he chose to live as a mortal, and rule as a mortal king. Thus, when his time came, he had to meet a mortal end to satisfy a lot of rules and red tape that comes with the whole 'god as mortal' thing."

             The memory of Christ's crucifixion hit Celestia like a tank. She wondered aloud, "Will I be crucified!?". Perish chuckled politely, "Oh no, princess! Not unless you want to be, that is."

             Perish put his hands on his chair's armrests and relaxed a bit from his poised and proper posture. "Christ only chose that finale because he believed it would leave a lasting impression on his people." he explained, "In a way he was right. We really haven't been able to fully replace him since his passing. Other gods we've tried usually live in his shadow, or just get outright rejected by earth's natives."

             Perish plucked a few pieces of straw from his side and began shaping them, "Even Muhammad couldn't replace him for everyone. Though he might have if he would've chosen a more spectacular exit than just simply being poisoned." He explained showing the princess a Islamic Crescent and Star made of his straw.

             The princess silently pondered what all of this meant for her. Her brow's visible pressure giving away her confusion, she came to a hypothesis. "So...the more spectacular...uh...exit...you choose." she muttered as Perish sat up straight and returned to his previous position, "The longer your people will still follow you? After your...passing?"

             Perish nodded and smiled, "That's right, princess. The lasting impression of a theatric exit can make them Cherish you above any other gods that might try to replace you." he lifted his head up to see eye-to-eye with her, "At least for a while."

             The Princess began to ponder if she should choose a gruesome death over a painless one. It made sense, after all. The people would see her as a victim, or a martyr, rather than a princess who simply faded away.

             It was her answer. A tragic and poetic death. "Let's say I were to choose to go the way of Christ." she said and Perish perked up in attention, "Would I have to be Crucified?" she asked squeamishly.

             Perish smiled, "You wouldn't have to. Though it is one of the choices that is most sure to get the desired result."

             Celestia flinched, "Most sure?" she asked, "You mean there's a chance it won't work? That even a big grand death like tha-"

             Perish quickly places his finger to her lips to silence her, "Oh please princess, let's not use that awful word."

             Celestia's eyes widened in bewilderment. After a few seconds she came to her senses and asked, "Which...word?"

             Perish put his gloved hand to his burlap forehead and spoke as if he was about to faint, "The 'D' word, princess. It's so ugly of a way to put your final moments." He pulled a lump of straw from his heart and quickly weaved it together to make a circle with holes that formed a smiley face.

             He handed it to her, "Wouldn't you rather remember your final days as something of a new beginning? Not an ultimate end!"

             She dwelled on her questions about the afterlife from earlier, "Is it an end, Perish?"

             He leaned in so his face was almost touching hers. He quietly whispered to her, "As king of the fall, I can most certainly advise you, princess."

             He her heart raced, and she braced to hear the answer to a life-long question of hers. What if there was nothing? How terrifying it would be to know you face being completely erased!

             "What's in store for you in the afterlife...has no relevance to how you should spend your final days." He leaned away from her as tears began to drip from her wide-open eyes.

             "When you make your choice. Call for me." He said as bugs came from what seemed like nowhere and crawled into his clothes. He began to lose his shape and his burlap skin grew flaccid as the straw inside him was devoured.

             "You have one month to choose." He said politely, "Or we will make the choice for you. And as your pact states, your passing must involve the refugee!"

             Celestia looked on in horror as the bugs had eaten everything inside of Perish except for his head which now laid on the floor amidst a pile of writhing burlap rags. And just before his head was consumed, his crudely stitched mouth gave a amiable, "Until next time, Princess!"

             With that, his head fell flat on the floor, and the straw that had once filled his taught body was replaced with the squirming of what seemed to be a group of insects a thousand strong.

             Celestia did not want to watch anymore, but could not turn away, as the burlap was devoured by moths that ate their way out of Perish's remains and flew away, disappearing completely.

             She looked at the three woven straw figures on the floor. She thought about a true martyr's death as she picked up and looked upon the cross of Christ. The grim thought of her body being broken and shredded on a wooden cross frightened her more than anything.

             As she looked down on the Islamic Crescent, she wondered if an assassin could poison her, or kill her in her sleep. This quickly brought up old memories of the late queen and her untimely death. Celestia remembered her white forelegs stained with red, and determined that she could not choose this death for herself.

             Then she dropped the cross and looked at the smiley face, picking it up with both hooves. It reminded her of a happy natural death. Perhaps she could gradually grow old, or die in her sleep of a disease. It would be so simple. Such an easy answer.

             She wept quietly to herself as she walked over to the desk she had been studying her pact on earlier. She picked it up, and glanced over it once more before putting it away in her desk, and retiring for the evening.

             The night wind howled through the cool streets of Manehattan. A Styrofoam cup blew in the breeze as it gently tapped the concrete sidewalk. It danced along the sidewalk with the breeze until it finally came to a rest at Seraf's hooves. He kicked it.

             Seraf had, at one time, tried to pick up trash in Manehattan when he saw it. But shortly after coming into Equestria, realized it was really no use. That was just the way this place was. A little trashy.

             He waited for the crosswalk light to change and six lanes of cars to stop moving so he could walk across the pedestrian path in the road lit by the many headlights just a short distance away.

             "I feel so...vulnerable here." he thought to himself, "That blasted television program made it look like Equestria was such a happy place."

             He made it safely to the other side of the street and spotted a group of three bulky stallions dressed in matching horizontal striped shirts making their way towards his direction down the sidewalk.

             "This place is just like East Queens." he thought as he watched them make their way towards him. The cars behind him began to move again as the light changed, and the honking festival started up again. "Trash. Thugs. Noise."

             As the stallions got closer he noticed the one in the middle wasn't a stallion at all, but a diamond dog. A clear sign that he needed to get away quickly and quietly.

             "I need to go down this street." He thought as he looked at the oncoming ruffians and tried to remember where he was going in the first place, "Don't I?" His intended destination escaped him. Abandoning all hope of remembering it; he turned to go down the other sidewalk, but it was too late.

             "Hey little filly!" he heard them yell. He kept walking the other way; never turning back to look at them. He felt a hand grab onto his tail and force him to stop walking. An icy chill rap up his spine. He still faced the other way.

             "Hey sweetie! I'm talkin'a you!" he heard one of them say. He turned around to face them and wondered how they had caught up with him so fast without him hearing them run.

             He saw two very large stallions, a pale blue one with a thick black mane who was very wide and muscular, and a bright orange one with a short green mane who was very tall and thin. Between them stood the ugly gray diamond dog with his hand clenched onto Seraf's tail.

             "I don't have any money." he mumbled softly. The threesome looked at each other, unable to hear him over the bustle of automobiles in the nearby road and finally the orange one spoke with a chuckle, "Whassat now, baby?"

             Frustrated, Seraf yelled out at them, "I SAID DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY!" All three of them began to laugh heartily, the dog never letting go of his tail.

             "You're that psycho's son, right?" the orange stallion said as Seraf's heart sank to the pit of his stomach, "That guy thinks he some kinda freakin' wizard or sum'm?"

             Seraf's sunken heart pounded. No one knew about his father's endeavors in transdemensionology. If it ever got out people would label the man he loved and respected more than any other a lunatic!

             "You don't know my father!" he exclaimed as he yanked his tail from the diamond dog's hand. He pointed his hoof at the orange stallion, "Get away from me! YOU CAN'T PUSH ME AROUND, HERE!"

             "Whaddya talkin' about, faggot?" said the orange one as the dog pulled a bat out from behind him, "We can push anyone around anywhere we like!" He looked up at the dog and then back at Seraf, "Ain't that right, butch?"

             The dog approached him smacking the bat against his hand. Seraf felt it again, the crack of hard wood smashing into the spine. He heard the awful cracking noise and felt the numbness in his legs. He began to run away on two legs as he swung his arms beside him. The terrifying pitter patter of three young men chasing after him.

             He ran as fast as he could, shoving a bystander to the ground in his hasty escape. He could still hear the thugs hot on his tail. He turned the next corner and ran into an alleyway. A dead end.

             He turned to see if he still had time to run back out, but it was no use. Three young human boys all with bats were at the corner already, taking their time and savoring every last bit of the final moments of their chase.

             He scraped with his hands to try and climb the rough brick walls, but only grinded down his nails in a futile attempt to get away. There was no way out anymore. His entire face and body drenched in sweat; he watched in horror as the three boys got closer and closer.

             There was only one way out. He knew his father's grimoire warned against the use of transdemensional magic in a created world like Equestria. He knew it would instantly reveal him as a translated to any and all protective forces designed to keep him out. But he had no choice.

             Suddenly he had no qualms about what the command would do those boys. He figured they aimed to harm him for a reason that was beyond his control, something they shouldn't have even known about. He felt confident that he was justified in using a force beyond their control to harm them in retaliation.

             "Any last words, cocksucka?" the boy with green hair said as the muscular black haired one chuckled. He stood before them with his chest out. "Just two." He said confidently.

             He took in a deep breath, and casting all inhibitions aside, he screamed it. "VIGOR MORTIS!"

             His yell echoed like the howl of a demon through the streets and the three boys fell silent, a solemn and soulless look on their faces. They dropped their bats and stood before Seraf, tears streaming from their eyes. In unison, the three of them sighed heavily.

             "Why'a we doin'is?" cried the green-haired punk. "Fuckups man. We're just fuckups." The dark headed one sobbed quietly.

             The bald headed fat boy that had held the original bat trudged slowly over to the sidewalk, knelt down, and laid down his head in the road.

             No sooner than his head touched the pavement an eighteen-wheeler tractor trailer's horn sounded right before nine tires zoomed right through what used to be his head.

             The other two looked on, crying and broken, head hung low. Seraf scowled at them as he walked past them towards the sidewalk. "You are just a bunch of fuckups." he said angrily at them as they turned their heads towards him with a dead look in their eyes, "Do the world a favor. Join your fat friend."

             Seraf walked away as a deep and dark carnal satisfaction washed over him. He turned the corner with his hands in his jacket pockets as he heard to two sobbing young men's knees hit the pavement and their cries muffle as their faces smooshed against the tar.

             As he continued down the sidewalk the wind from a passing bus blew some other garbage near his feet. It made a thudding noise as his hoof hit it, and two heads made two barely audible pops as the bus continued down the street. His four hooves continued to carry him down that dark street when he heard a horrid screech from above him.

             No sooner than he could look up to investigate a pitch black creature with icy blue eyes pinned him to the ground with four hooves. It was built like a pony, but it was something twisted and feral. It let out another ghastly screech and it's tiny sharp teeth were made visible from it's impossibly wide open jaw.

             It's cold blue eyes illuminated the darkness around it's face. He could feel them piercing deep into his soul as they hummed with a dark energy. The creature whispered to him in a ghoulish and terrifying voice that chilled him to the bone, "Witherrrrr."

             He felt his limbs grow stiff as he looked down and saw them quickly turning to stone. The creature continued to stare at him as his body went numb. It's mane flowed with the colors of the night sky as it's face twisted into a horrifying grin.

             He closed his eyes and felt a rag wipe the sweat from his head and a very strange female voice with a very thick accent say, "Wake up little one, it's just a bad dream!"

             He opened his eyes and panted in horror. Horror gave way to confusion when he saw the strange interior of a hut around him; the walls lined with tribal masks and different alien-looking leaves and fruits.

             "It must have been bad, I would think, from the screams!" The accented female voice said, and he turned to face a white-maned zebra with a rag in her hand.

             "Don't you worry about a thing, you're safe now in my hut, with me."

             Seraf looked up at her, his heart still racing, his breaths still short. He managed to catch his breath enough to ask, "Zecora?"