Author's Note

T̟̤͉̞ͅh̭͉̠i̭s͍ ̰̞̹̤̦̬̣i̭̠̖̲̟̞͓s̟̭ ̤̻͎͕m̸̩̦̣̰ͅo̗͉̱r̫̮͚̞͙̹͕͘e ̙̬͙̳̖o̹̬̮̹̭͙f̡ a̛͇̖̝̜̝̦n҉̫̙͕͕̹ ̝͇e̞͓̩̻͓̫̥x̻pe͔̺͕͚r̘̼̣ͅi͜m̯̭e̳̙̱̪̟n̳͍̦͇͉̘͖t̡̻̣̮à̘̤̯̺̥ĺ ̫̲̯̹̳̥ș̼̘̺ṯ͙̼̯͜ơ̟r͇̼̰͙̺̤͝y.̴̝̩̺͕̮ͅ ̶͙̮̙͈͈I͏̜̟͔̥̪ͅt̖̱ ̞̗w҉̦͎i̷̪͔l̪͓̙͕͎̯l̙̬̗͔͈̩̰ ͍̭̜͎̻͍n̶̻̜͕̲̣o͍̜̳̙͈͖͖͡t̢̹͎͖͎̻̝ ̧̺̞t̡̠a̢̝k̖͎̤̖̝̥̖e̥̜ ̟͙͓͜p̪͉̬r̵͓̫͔̗e̴̪͔̺c̰͚͎̠̮͞e̻͕͘d̢̝̳̣e̺̻nc̖̘̻̙͕̻è̱͉̜̗͖̣͇ ̪͔̱̪f̛̤͖͓r̦͔om̻̠ ̷̪m̸̼y̲̘̲̤͍ ͓̳̠o̥̦͙t̛̝̮̮h̛e̮̱̼̤͎̲̼r̪̯̣ ͉̫̭̤̳D̗͜ͅi̻̖͍͓̪̟͟s̤p̧̖̬̤̳̼̣l̺̫̫̜͡a̱͓̮̹̰̰̰c͙̺e̯͖d͚ ̛̥̫s̟͘t͈̻̫̱͖̰͡o̡̝̰̣͉̟ͅͅŗy̮̙.̣̦͜
̜̦̺̗͖͍
̟̖̼A̖̲̟s ̺̳͇̟̻̦̤p̘a̩͔͔̩r͉̜̻̯̯̦t͓̰͚̩ ̪̰̼͍̳o̭͉f͏͉ ͏͍͖̹̟m̗͈͉͎̜̬͚͠y͍͍͎̭͚ͅ ̀s̵͉̬̝̲̼e̖̭͓͡ͅl̤̺̘f̙̟͠-̤̖̼͍̞̰ͅi͇̗͇̰͚̼̰m̙̩̻p̖͔̟̘̖ͅo̬͘s̬̭̠̹̤̖͎e̥̕d͉͚̞̬̼͍ͅ ̨͈̱̻̺͓ͅw̦r̨i̵̫̻͙̩̗̹ͅti҉͙͓̲n̺̯g̬ ͈̺͕e̖̤͓͖̞̯x͕̼̺̬̱̮̺ęr͈̭̺̮̭c̼̰i͈̫s̯͎͓̻̺ͅe̡͔̻,̠̗̹̟̱͠ ̪̭̩̦̩͎͔i̺̬͔͉͚̤͈͝t͖̜̕ ̭̟͚̯w̷̮i̬̦̝͎̠͈͈l̼̼͉̻̼͡l͚̙͚͍͎ ̛̫͓n̹̜̹o̯̼̼͙̭̳̗͢t̤̕ ͏̯c͏̫͇̻͓̝o͙͇̘͚̙nt̸̘̣̟͎a̳̝̤̠̣i̤̱̭͇̣̜n̳̤͔̬̖̻͜ͅ ̴̬̝̖̤̼͓̥ạ͘n͉̤͙̖̕y͔͜ ͔̗̖̖d̢̗̬͔͍̬i̶̟̲̯̙a̴̙̳͍͔͓̯l̪̖̭̱̯̖̀o̺͍g̱͎͎̹̪̘u͔e͈̝͔̗̭.͙͔̙ ͔̱͓̰͙I̛̥͉͚f̝̥̲ ͜d̥̞̮̦̱͈i͉̫̘̝̗͞a̱̞̤̠̱̩l͓o̲̪͍̫͜g͕͓̺̙͔̝͞u҉̹̹e͏̘ ̻̳͇͍̼̮i̛̲̱ś͕̠ ̩̫̙͉w̪h̭͓͘ạ̜̩̘̙̕t ̷̰̳̦͎y̸ọ͚̱͚̳͇̗͘u̯͈͡ ̗̙̳̦͕l̛̬̝̮͓̱̺̣o̯͝o̫͉͚̖̻̘ḱ͈ ̶̖̙̞f̡o҉̬r͕̫̰,̣͘ ̧̺̹I͖̖͖̖͖͜ ̵̰s̮u͕̫͙̟ͅg͎̠̗̤ge̖͕̻̺͎̰͇͝s͚t̜͖̭̜̬ ͏̝͉͔y͇̘͙͈̭̘͝ou̮̤̤ ͎̯͟l̩o̦͚̬̝͓͙̲̕ò͉͎̤͖̟̤k̮͉͔̖̜͚̟͠ ̨̯ṣ̛̼̦̦̫͔̗o̳̥m̹͇͖͇̱̩̰e̸w̵hḛ̝̭͕͓̣r̖̝̟͖͖̥͖e e̺͖͇l̲̠͎̖̱͞s͉e͇̼̖̬̙.̜̺͞
͎̠͇
̗̙̩̖̯͟The͉ e͔̺n̗̥̠̦̭̥͇͘t̤͎̗͚̜͟i͖͙̝͜r̠̬͙̹e͚̭͈ ̝̺̲̠s̯͖̭̳̰ͅt̞̩̼̻͢ͅơ̲̝r̰͈̰̙̝͉̟ỵ̟͎͈̥ ̮̥̺͚̀w̗̻̼͖̙̯í̗̜̼͓̞͉l̠l̬̤̣͘ b͉̩̤̼̟̼̰̀e̜͕̳̬͈͍ ͕n̳̠͜ar͖̙͈̗̘r̤͈͖̯̟̻a̲t̸̲e͏͍̪̫̤͇d̼̘̳ ̪̬͎̪͔̤b͙̦̠̼̼̜͠y̗̬̺̲͎ ͔̠̖͇̝̠͡t̹̟̻̫͎̕h̳͖̫̰̲̻ḙ̦͚̮ͅ ̶͎͓̭p̞͇͔r̴͕͔̖o̧͚͕͍t̴̪͓͚̝̼a̖͙̦͖g̭̗̜̳̝̰o̙̤̗̝̱̝̣͟n̹͎̗͇̹̰͚i̪̠̹̰͈̗͉s͎̞̱ț̡̬͎ ̲͙̰͖̯̞̯t̺̘̜͟o̮ ̸͙̯͉͓͎̙͓a̸n̦̩̖̬o͏̟t̞̲͈̙̞͇́h̢̥͍̲̙̠͔e̢̫̗̗͎͈ṟ̝̝̭̰͓ͅ ̺̟̦͎̥c̬̲̗̻̙̞ͅh͓̰̫a̖r̶͎͇̜͙̫̞ͅa͇̻̦̟̗̱̲c̴̤̼̖t̥̻͉̠͍̹̻e̮͕͔̮r͓̼̻͝,̤ ̷͍͎̳̤̦ͅw͜h͉͇̺̝͡o̘̻s̯̼̩͝e ̟n̴̥̣͖̪̮͇a̙̟̞͝m͙̙̩͠e̗̪͚̤͚͇͍͜ ̪̩͇̳̪͈̫w̢̠͍̫̯i̺̬̤̭͍̭͠l̼̟l̸̩̭̠͍̜ ͟n̙ò̪͚̱̝̦̹̗ț̸̦͍̮̥̙ ̵̯̣̭b͔̟͈e͙̖͕͙̰͕͖
̟̮
͔̘̟̖͈̞̩r̷̬̫̩͔e̢̳͚v̷̘̩e̻̭ͅa̢ĺ͔̼̺̝e̹̬͖̠̪̮̘d̞̹̪͙̱̰̝ ̡̲̦̱̣͔̖ͅu̗̹͓͚̖͠n̗͕̥͞ͅṯ̥̣̝̱i̳̣̘̜͢ḷͅ ̭̤̙̞̯̯̼th̛̺͎͖̩e̯͔̜ ̱̭̭͉͢e͎̞̻n҉̖̼d͓͝.͎̥̞̣̱ͅ Y̰̬ͅo̢̞͕͎͉̖u̮̹̬̫̦̙͟ ̝͇͕a̮̩͎̗r̦͎e̸͓͖ ̣̩̦̭̻͙͈͞m̷̖ò̠r҉̬̠̳̮ͅe͚̠͡ ̙̦̳t̼̲̙͕͇̦ḩa҉̗̠̠̙ͅṇ̴͎͉ ͉̭̪̰͙̱w̹e̫̫̖̙̼̟͕͜l̗̱̖̰̻͝c̕o̱̘̘̩͇͓͡m͕̼̟̖̫ȩ̗̩̭̥͇̗̜ t̴̞͖̝ọ͟ ͉̣̯k͕̺e̼͚̳͓͓̱͝e͠p͝ ̘̰o̬͡n҉̦͚͇͙̫ ̪̞̬̼gṷ̙e͏͔̳̙s̻͈̤͕̩̼͘s҉̖̦̝̳̞̙i͜n̝͙̫̗͍̣g̩,̨͖̙̹ ̙̦̫͙͍t̠̤͖̫͈̭h̛͖̲̣͍̟̻̖o̴̭͇̺̯u̧̠͔̼g̴͇h̻̼̺.̗̼͉̹̙
̸̤̬̞͍͓̙ͅ
̶͕̟̘̺͇̹̪S̠̗͈u̻͎̫͚̤̹g̙̲g͙e̦͉̬̪ͅs̫̟t̯̻̘̱̳̻͙e͔͍̮̖͡d̛ ̰͍̣̗͞l̹̭̜͇͞i̖͎̬s̡̼t̯̹̹̠̻͖̠e̹͞n͡i̝͖̹̗̺n̙̙̥g̶̯̞̰̺͍ ̳̗̜̫̩̮͡f͙̥͡ͅór̟̹ ̠̤̘͔̭̬ͅt̙̺̯̹̱h̸̙̩i̺̕ṣ ҉̬͕͉c̲̩̻h͓̰͔̲͙a̗̯̙͙ͅpt̀é̜̯͚̤r͖̹͍:͉̼́ ͏̦S͙̘̕k͙̯͇̙a̮̦̤͇i̭͘a̞̤n̸̺̟̙̣ ̬̝̩̣͉̮̙͢S͚u̙̲̱̣̕m̫̯̻̼̰̮͉͘m̴̖̮̱o͇̠͖̜͔n̘̤̦͓̜͟iǹ̗̙̳͚͍̝͕g̛͍.̪̤̞̻̝͍͖͢ ̘

Prologue: Skaian Summoning

How I got here, is a pretty loaded question, you know. It was a combination of factors that landed me here. Not even I am sure how it all came to a head. Where could I possibly start?
The beginning, eh? Depends on what you’d call a beginning. Maybe the beginning was the incident even you must’ve heard of. Or maybe, the beginning was even before this whole thing happened, before I became who I am now?
A good place to start as any, I suppose. It happened before any event you’d know of, when I was still a human in a silly costume, going to a con.
You may call me Al. And this is my story of how I got here.

The con was great. The appearances, the cosplays... Even got an autograph from the Huss himself. Can I just say, AWESOME? Shame about not being able to use the other arm, though. But such is life when you decide to become Bec Noir. Hey, don’t diss me! Guy’s my favourite villain on Homestuck. Discounting the Lord himself, of course.

The cosplay was really well crafted, and no wonder. Took me almost a year to complete that thing! Nothing missing, either. The ripped clothing, the ring, the sword, even the wings... No blood, but I wasn’t going for a Post-Kids Jack anyway. Besides I could never get it to look right.

But then, I saw this vendor. Real ugly dude. I think. The guy was naturally in costume. But hey, the stuff! All sorts of things. And then, wonder of wonders, I spotted a pair of really well-made Bro glasses. It was obvious what my first thought was. Trophies!

I bought them, and they went on my snout quite snugly. No harm of falling off, no sir!

I’m not quite sure what happened next. All I know is, I was suddenly lying face-down on the ground.

I rose, feeling an odd sense of vertigo. If I look back to it now, I guess it was simply my reaction to a sudden change in my center of balance. But I digress.

My surroundings were completely alien to me. It should come as no surprise that my first thoughts were of dreams, or hallucinations. I shook them off as quickly as they appeared. Dreaming has a very specific feel, at least for me, and at this point I lacked it. Hallucination was a possibility I had also considered yet quickly discarded. Point of fact, while I had never personally ecperienced a hallucination, this... wasn’t it.

The ground was painted on various bright shades of pink and purple, darkened as if seen through a filter of sorts, while maintaining a consistent checkerboad pattern. There were various trees, or at least caricatures of them, scattered in the hellish landscape with scores of fish swimming between them. Yes, fish.

Chunks of the earth had been ripped from the checkered ground, floating around in a random pattern, speed, and even direction. If I squinted my eyes past my muzzle, I could see faint outlines of what could only be described as Lovecraftian Horrors drifting in space, as the stars were slowly rearranging themselves in a seemingly random pattern. I thought I maybe saw what could have been primitive letters, but I wasn’t certain.

I was still staring at my chaotic surroundings, when a detail made itself known to my confused mind once again.

...Muzzle?

I let my gaze slide downwards, before it found itself blocked by something long and black. A glance sideways found the ground suddenly vastly more brighter. I sighed and took off the Bro sunglasses that I had bought only minutes ago. The hellish landscape brightened, taking on bluer hues. I rubbed my eyes with my free hand, or at least tried to. The phantom movements were there, but it seemed my hand itself had disappeared. I took a closer look.

Seeing the stump wiggling around heightened the niggling feeling of suspicion. I replaced the sunglasses on my muzzle and looked at my intact hand. It was black and gleaming, the joints clearly seen from the carapace. The Ring of Orbs Fourfold was still on my pointing finger, with the change that the orbs were now floating freely. A glance at my wings, now larger and quite probably more powerful, only added to the feeling, the feeling that was compounded by the sword sticking from my chest.

I yanked the sword free, it easily detaching from my torso. With an almost detached feeling of curiosity, I looked at the reflection from the gleaming black blade.

A dog with a scarred eye glared back at me. I bared my teeth. The devilbeast mirrored my actions. With a sigh I replaced the sword. I had taken on the traits of my cosplay. Name’s Noir. Bec Noir.

To this day I’m not quite sure why I didn’t lose my cool on that little realization. Perhaps I knew that it wouldn’t do any good to panic? That flailing around like a headless chicken while on an alien planet in possibly an alien dimension was the worst idea that one could have? I haven’t a clue.

Besides, it’s not like I had no breakdowns whatsover. Take for instance when I first tried to fly.

Basically, I flapped my wings once, found myself high in the air, and screamed my head off. Begging and pleading not to fall, more or less. Needless to say, I ended up nose-first into the ground. Thud.

...Yeah. Not one of my proudest moments.

Following my first impressions, the planet itself had the strangest day-night cycle. I got a real shock when suddenly and without warning, the night ended and the moon in the sky was replaced with the fucking GREEN SUN of all things.

Well, it wasn’t exactly the Green Sun. It was actually a semi-normal sun painted green (with actual paint dripping off it, no less!) but when it did appear, then, well, let’s just say I wasn’t prepared for this, and leave it at that.

One of the first things I tried was taking the ring off. After a few unsuccessful tries (since carapacian fingers aren’t exactly the fine manipulation tools human fingers are), I managed to pull it off my finger with my teeth. It... turns out that I was Jack Noir all the way through. Can’t say I was expecting anything different.

The ring I put back on. It was better to be an unbeatable demon in an unfamiliar place than to be just a carapacian with a knife fetish and not a knife in sight. Not to mention, I looked all kinds of badass in that getup. The glasses truly tied things together.

I suppose though, the highlight of my first days was when I met the ruler of that strange land. And suddenly everything made sense.

Because there he was, just lounging on a wooden throne on top of a hill, in all his mismatched glory.

Discord, the spirit of Chaos and Disharmony.

It seems I was in Equestria.

A millennia early.