Prologue: After the bloodshed
And as reports insiders within the walls of the New Solar empire continue to surface. We can safely say this is its end. The downfall of a ruler, and the downfall of a nation
The thousand yard-stare. It was a term invented within the military, a look that a soldier gets after time on the battlefield.
Walking on the long road leading away from the city. He held the stare. A look to convey the burnt out husk of a soul it resided in.
The sole occupant of the road. He walked through along the compacted earth. Approaching from his left was a sign that read You are now leaving New Ponyville!
A hard life left behind. One so painful, it threatened to break the ice of impassive shock that held his composure.
He kept walking. Passing a little rickety house. On that house, 5 stallions on the porch of that old house, with peeling white paint, they sang.
He had to close his eyes as he passed by, the song too painful. It hit too close to home.
Taking a deep breath, he continued. In the distance, the sounds of bombs going off and heavy gunfire permeated and stained the air with their death cries. Like crows wailing at a funeral. They clung to the smell of death.
The smell of death.
Contrary to popular belief, death does have a stink. A wretched stink. Of the salty smell of orphan's tears as he tries to rouse his dead mother. Of the dank and appalling smell of rotting corpses soaked in the rain.
The smell of fear as thousands scramble over each other to flee the approaching troops.
The smell of oppressing cigarette smoke in a brothel as girls young enough to be daughters lead burly old stallions into back rooms. The deeds done ringing out through the stinking hellhole as the younger ones cry in shame and the older ones sigh. Dead souls
The stinging scent of iron.
Always the iron.
He inhaled deeply, there would be time for memories later. Now however, was the time of penitence.
"B-but I can't just leave! Now! Not now! I need to get you out of here. Y-you need to live! There's better in the world! This isn't the best of-"
"Featherpony! You here my voice da? Zen listen to me. I do not care for the world. Everything, listen to me! Look me in the eye Featherpony! Everything that I know is here. Everything that I love is here. And if I die here in the streets, then so be it."
He had to laugh, a cracked and broken thing that sounded more like the wheezes of a chain-smoker than a laugh. An empty sound.
"Why did I even go there?" He asked himself. For duty? For honor? To help those on the inside? To help those struggling inside? Well inside the walls, all that was forgotten.
Daily beatings, propaganda, all of it beat and bleached his soul until it was nothing but a whipped clean, dead body.
The cries of orphans who had to be ignored. The rich that looked down upon the poor. And the poor who looked upon the rich with a look of rage that spoke volumes.
soon it said.
soon we will rise up. And we will take everything back. All that you have taken from us.
It's a funny thing that happens. When one is overwhelmed by too much emotion, they just stop feeling. When one if feeling too much pain, they stop feeling it.
The long road stretched further and further. Behind him, the rising sun set the world on fire. The reminiscing and sad darkness screeched as it receded into the crevices of the world.
The false happy sun.
The sun that hid the pain amidst a mask of glowing haloes.
What was he thinking? When he said it would be fine all those months ago? It would never be fine.
Through his years as a traveling journalist, he had seen the dark side of sentience. The sadness of civilization. But noting had prepared him for the Solar Empire.
But in his gut, he knew that there would be more of it. That new empire would form and that the same brutality would follow in Celestia's hootsteps.
It is an unspoken truth of sentience, that they forget the darkest of times. Or that they hide it away. Never to mourn over it again.
But it will always be there. It will always be just at the edge of your mind. The edge of your vision. But that's not true. The bloodshed does not exist in the periphery.
It exists right in front of you. You just turn your head so don't see it.
He kept walking. The dusty long road had turned into crab grass and housing somewhere along the way. The outskirts of a city.
He shook his head. He would never view a city the same way again.
It was now forever a stinking hell-hole. A concrete cell that ponies flocked to so the hustle and bustle would distract them from the inner darkness. The sadness of resignation. That the hustle and bustle, and the celebration of life would distract them from death.
Because no one ever wants to see the end of anything. Life must continue right?
It doesn't. Everything has an end. And in the sometimes, in the most brutal of ways.
He stopped for a moment. Staring at the massive high-rises in front of him. How long had he been walking?
He couldn't remember as he stared from the top of the hill.
It was mid-day. That's all that registered in his head as he continued walking.
The solar empire was less evil as it was revealing. Because it revealed all the things ponies kept locked away. All the secrets and sadness. All the rage and disgust. All the lust and power-hungryl. All the brutal violence. All the cries of pain. All the tears shed in despair.
He sniffed. Maybe that was the optimistic side talking. There was always an optimistic side.
But was there any real need for an optimistic side? Was there a need for all the violence? Well of course! To keep the ponies in check! Why did they need to be kept in check? Because they were acting up of course! Why where they acting up?
Because we were repressing them? And why were we repressing them? Because we wanted to have complete power over them!
Why did we want power over them? So we could keep them safe!
Why did we want to keep them safe?
"Because we love them of course." He muttered, laughing a madman's laugh.
Even after all the bloodshed. There was still love.
