Chapter Nine: Trial and Execution.

It was a routine attack by all counts:

Step One) Find a village,
Step Two) Kill ponies, and
Step Three) leave behind nightmares lasting for weeks on ahead.

Basically, attribute the blame for my attacks to Luna's potential, growing psychotic break.

Unfortunately, the plan didn’t work out. I was ambushed. Tricked. Decieved by my very senses..

...Okay, so I just picked the exact wrong target. But saying that I was ambushed and tricked sounds a bit more dignified.

At any rate, I did succeed in e3qwuhdfiao2340!#SYNTAX_ERROR
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Skaian Summoning

...What just happened?

I gaze at the alien landscape looming before me. It is an absolute mess. It looks like reality itself decided to go on a picnic, and left this behind. Whatever this is. Am I dreaming? Is this really what my subconscious dreams up? Wow. I think I may need help. Because this stuff over here? This is trippy.

There’s something gnawing at me. Have I forgotten something? Not surprising. Dreams can pull that kind of shit. I crack my neck and stretch my wings. Er. Wings? Yep. Apparently I have wings now. Nice. Is this one of those dreams where you suddenly discover you have wings, go on a flight, and then discover you don’t have them anymore? Guessing this’ll probably end with me falling out of bed in the morning. Sheesh, when was the last time I fell out of bed anyway?

Classifying the train of thought as irrelevant, I decide to wander the hellish landscapes. If my mind decides to dream up something crazy as fuck, why not go exploring it?

I spread my wings, flap them...

And immediately lose my balance, faceplanting to the ground. Welp. Looks like no flying in this dream for now. Oh well. Say, is it just me or is my face a bit, er, longer? Not like a horse or anything, but animalistic nonetheless?

I attempt to push myself off the ground. For some reason, my left arm refuses to cooperate. A sideways glance shows why.

I don’t have a left arm. It’s just a black stump, cut off from the shoulder. Huh. Why am I dreaming of being an amputee? This is a strange thing to dream about. In fact, well, while it is true that I have had many strange dreams, and that the rest of this dream is just about equally strange, I can’t help but be slightly more disturbed by the lack of an arm than I, dream-logic-wise, should be.

As I prop myself up on my right arm, dropping the armless train of thought for the moment, I notice a ring on my finger. Am I married here? No. This isn't a marriage ring. This is a magical artefact, if I know my tropes. I'd like to think I do. But for some reason, something seems awfully familiar about this ring...

But my mind is filled with haze. I suppose the dream is railroading me somewhere, actively preventing real-world memories. This is slightly more worrying, come to think about it. Is my brain playing a prank on me, or is my subconscious more poweful than I thought?

This train of thought also fades into the background, bringing me back to my body issues. Hm. Is that what they are? Issues with my body image? I sure do hope not. My self-image shouldn’t be THAT crippled. ...Is it?

Well. It should probably be comforting that I am as scatterbrained as ever. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

And speaking of change...

The arm-stump and the wings are not the only changes from my normal, non-awake person. I’m now lean, mean, and covered in shiny black carapace. My wings, slightly resembling that of a crow, or a raven, are large, intimidating, and, you guessed it, shiny black. I have a muzzle now, and my ears resemble dog’s ears. Upon closer facial examination, I have a scar running what is most likely through the lids of my right eye, and slightly beyond.

I wear a garish, ripped piece of clothing that probably belonged to a jester once, and on my muzzle are a pair of Kamina shades. There’s also a sword going right through my chest. In short?

I hate to say it (actually, no. no I don’t), but I’m a freaking badass in this dream. Like a dog version of Sephiroth, or something like that. And why do I feel like I know this form?

A faceplant or three convince me that flight is still a big no-no at this point of the storyline. But hey, that’s okay! Even if I’m a badass winged, if ground-bound, wolf (whose name I’ve probably forgotten) in this dream-conjuration of mine, that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to fly later in the story, right? Heh. It’s just like that one time I started out as the Doctor, and ended up teaming up with Hermione Granger to burn...

...

...something down. I’ve forgotten what exactly. Someone’s house, I think.

Why the fuck is this dog thing so goddamn familiar? Where do I know it from?

A problem for another day. I set off towards the green (wait, seriously?) sun, occasionally spying odd, tentacled creatures visible as a backdrop in the sky. Might as well find out where this dream goes, eh? I know the tropes well enough. I’m sure I’ll find something.

Author's Note

And now, for something completely different.