The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon

by LavenderLeaf

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad, Original Character, Sex, Tragedy, Gore
Length: 9405

Crackle, an odd looking dragon of the Emerald Clan, gets more than he bargained for.

Crackle, a misunderstood dragon, gets into a heap of trouble when he gets involved with some less than reputable characters. Afterwards, he must deal with the crushing guilt and anger, as he searches for a way to free himself from the painful secret.

Published 2012-06-10 19:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-10 19:14:02 UTC

Part One

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part One: Crackle

The following is an adaption of a first hand account of events transpiring over the course of a week, as recorded on a recording gem by Crackle, the Dragon.

I stared into the distance, at where the phoenix nest laid, my mind churning. It was almost noon now, and I hadn’t slept for days. My muscles ached and my head throbbed, but there was no time for rest, not now. I released the breath of air I had been accidentally holding and scratched my side with my rear legs. On the opposite side of the crater, a puff of grey birds emerged from behind the glistening orange rim, dispersing into the sky. How the universe taunted me with such disturbing symmetry. With every blink, every time I dared to close my eyes, I saw the town of Coltfield burning. I saw ponies running, screaming for help, God, mercy. None of them were present. Only vengeance was there that day: the unyielding, unforgiving spirit that followed me to the very end.

. . .

It was almost a week ago, now, when it began. The Wing had settled on a large peak overlooking several valleys, to spend the night while some stragglers from another clan caught up. The Emerald Clan, to which I and my family belonged, was perched on the east face, near the tree line. There were maybe a hundred to each clan, of which there was the Emerald, Sapphire, Ruby, and Diamond. All were participating in the Great Migration. Though my family did not fully belong to the clan, as there was no blood relation, I felt safer there than I had in my earlier years. For the first seventeen years of my life, my family moved around a lot. Though my parents would never admit it, my sister Bluster and I always knew it was for two reasons. First of all, we looked strange. My mother carried a strong gene that granted disproportional wings and multiple limbs, though physically they were hardly a handicap. But second, and perhaps the primary reason, there existed my cousin, Fizzle.

Fizzle resembled me and my sister in a way, but was roughly half my height, and was born lacking rear legs. In addition to this, he was mentally retarded, which did not rob him of his independence, but he could not form words, read, or participate in many basic social functions. Though I don’t know the full story, I know that Fizzle was the child of my mom’s sister, and her father, who sexually abused both of them. That’s as much as Bluster can ever recall mom saying about it. Of course no one besides us knew that, but the signs of inbreeding were clear in Fizzle’s disability. Dragon culture, holding above all else civility, nobility, and superiority over other species, naturally rejected “lesser” members of society in cases like this. We were lucky to have found the Emerald Clan.

The sunset was beautiful. The orange blur of sun rippled down into the distant mountains, and all the sky, it seemed, was covered in a deep purple for an instant, before dissipating into the milky night stars. Underneath the small overhang where my family slept, my mother, father, and Bluster were already asleep. Fizzle lay on the ground, pushing at a pile of lavender leaves with his snout. He breathed heavily, sending the pile wildly into the air. Trying to catch them, he flapped his wings to get a few feet off the ground, but dropped shortly after, tumbling head over tail before my feet. I looked down at him, smiling. He looked at me, his eyes never quite focusing, and nuzzled at my chest humming softly. One could relate it to a cat’s purr, though his voice didn’t really resonate. He was warm, a pleasant contrast from the rapidly dropping night breezes.

I loved Fizzle. I still do, and I like to think he knows it. But now I’m not sure any of it matters. I bit him by the skin of his neck and placed him gently next to Bluster. He tried crawling towards me, but we both knew full well that it was his bed time. I nudged him back into my sister, who was now beginning to wake up. Still, he persisted. Then I noticed, however, that he wasn’t crawling towards me, but towards the pile of scattered purple leaves. How his attention wavered. I gently picked one up and placed it at his feet. He bit into it whole heartedly, and went to sleep shortly after. For as much as I took care of him, Fizzle was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. The rest of my family was as loving as any dragon could be, but I always felt a deeper connection with Fizzle, like a more concrete understanding. Whenever I felt depressed or lost or anxious, he was always there to smile dumbly, and be as happy as any soul as innocent as his could be.

I was still very much awake, so I decided to take a walk into the forest. The moon was full tonight, and its entourage of stars was in full view, happily lighting my way. The trees, bathed in moonlight, shone a silvery blue color that comforted me from the dropping temperature. All around, crickets, owls, birds, and other wildlife sounded gently into a lulling cadence. I walked down the mountain for almost half an hour before I heard something else. Perhaps fifty feet from me, branches cracked under heavy footsteps. They were growing closer, and I could then hear muffled voices. With a mix of fear and curiosity, I hid in a large bush as they approached still. It was a group of four dragons, around my age. They were also going down the mountain, talking about a town. Of course now I know they were referring to the pony village at the base of the mountain.

With more curiosity than fear, I followed them as stealthily as I could for around half a mile. Apparently I got too close, because their leader, who I later found was named Garble, stopped abruptly, and let out a belch of fire that illuminated the area, revealing me behind a bush. We saw each other, and my face went cold with sweat, colder than the night air. We saw each other through foliage.

“Hey!” one of them called out.

“Who’s there?” said another.

“I think it’s Crackle”

“Cracker? Who’s Cracker?”

“Not Cracker, Crackle! That weird dude with the gems.”

“Oh yeah!”

“Hey Crackle! That you? Come out of there man!”

I didn’t move at first, still in shock about being found out. Eventually though, I stepped through the brush and walked towards them, weary. I recognized them now. They were in the Sapphire Clan. We had met briefly a month ago during initiation into the Wing. There was Garble, the fat grey one, the blonde purple one, and Leon, the scrawny yellow one.

“I knew it was you!” Garble exclaimed. “I recognize those horns anywhere. Our parents are in the same hunting group.” He explained to the others.

“Come on Garbs, let’s ditch this loser. We’ve got things to do!”

“Now hold on.” The red dragon said, holding his arm up. “Maybe Crackle here might want in on some this. Whadaya say, Crack?”

The invitation seemed odd, to say the least. I was hardly ever invited to socialize, ever. I only hung out with a few people besides my family, so to be invited to hang out with the “cool” dragons came as a shock. Though would soon learn his intentions, their intentions, were not entirely sincere. I stammered out a “S-sure” and we ventured down the mountain. Soon the sleeping, dimly lit town was in sight, nestled into the heart of the valley, adjacent a river. What came next, I do take some responsibility for. I could have stopped it, and ended it then and there. But understand I had no intentions of hurting anyone.

Part Two

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part Two: Coltfield

On the immediate edge of the forest where we stood was an apple orchard and a farmhouse beyond it. A gentle wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves and sending a shiver up my spine.

“Hey, someone’s home!” The large grey one exclaimed, pointing to an illuminated window on the second story.

“Come on” Garble insisted “let’s give ‘em a scare!”

We moved slowly towards the farmhouse, the light on the second story becoming larger and larger. Once there, Leon flew up to look inside. He sneered, and gestured for us to come up too. I tried my best to elevate myself without crashing into anything, or anyone, for that matter. Inside was an old grey pony reading a book to what I assume was her granddaughter, almost asleep in a small bed. The purple one turned to us and made some gestures with his hands that conveyed to me that we were going to yell loudly through the window, frightening them. Immediately I was apprehensive, though I didn’t vocalize it. It was frowned upon for dragons to interact with ponies in any way, especially acts like this. I of course also hadn’t pulled any kind of a prank in my life, let alone done something that could hurt someone. But if it was just a little fun, how bad could it be? Right? That was how I chose to rationalize it. I was hanging out with other dragons, and for some reason, I felt that primal need for their approval.

So on the count of three we all yelled through the window, and both the residents jumped almost to the ceiling. I had never seen such an expression of terror before. We flew off into the orchard at top speed, me barely keeping up. Once we distanced ourselves, they rolled onto the ground, crashing into trees, laughing. I started to chuckle a bit, too. It was more a nervous chuckle, though. What we just did was massively unsafe, as I’m sure we all knew. Long ago, dragons and ponies agreed not to interfere with each other, after decades of bloodshed from war. Appropriately, breaking the pact would lead to severe punishment from the elder dragons, who would certainly keep peace by any means.

“That was a good one!”

“You see her face?”

“Priceless!”

“We got to do that again.”

And at that point, it seemed I was “in.” I was participating in the shenanigans, being a real member of the group. I started to chuckle more at the thought of it. I wasn’t thinking of the ponies I had just traumatized, or the rule we had just broken, but instead of the thought of being with what I thought were newfound friends.

“You like that, Crackle?” Garble gregariously asked.

“Uh, yeah!” I said, with a slight pause before “yeah.” I admit I wasn’t entirely thinking clear at that point. The adrenaline was still flowing steadfast through my veins. We sat there on the ground, some of them leaning against trees, until we cooled down. All the lights in the Farmhouse were on at that point, but we agreed that so far from anywhere else, no pony probably left. We decided to head into the town, or at least the outskirts of it, to find fun there. I readily followed them all as we flew just above the trees towards the main buildings.

The sign just outside the first grouping of buildings read “Coltfield: In memory of the brave explorer Holden Coltefied.” We stayed in the trees, going around the perimeter until Garble stopped us and pointed out a building. It looked like a food store judging by the small silo in the back, probably containing grain. I know this because in my earlier years I would spend a lot of time sneaking away from my parents to “spy” on pony towns, from a safe distance of course. They always fascinated me in a way, the communities they developed. We approached it quietly, careful not to arouse any attention in the residential area.

There was a large windowless wall that connected to the silo, which Garble took the opportunity to “mark,” which is when a dragon uses their fire to burn an image into a tree or log, often to designate territory. Garble got very close and scorched a profane image right in the middle. The others covered their mouths to muffle chuckles. I smirked dumbly. I did appreciate the simplicity of toilet humor, for whatever a toilet was. The purple one approached and drew another image to compliment the first. That was it. Leon snorted loudly and tripped backwards into the silo, clanging the metal loudly and slightly tearing it. Oats rolled out onto the ground. There was a mutual feel of panic as a light from the building came on, illuminating the alleyway. While Garble and the purple one tried to help him out from the silo (he had gotten stuck) I looked around nervously to make sure no one was coming.

Unfortunately a pony was. It was a red colt, a relatively young looking from what I could tell. He had a pitchfork in his mouth, but froze slightly at the sight of us. Understandably so; even though we were young, we still stood twice his height and he had most likely never seen a dragon before. He yelled, even with the pitchfork handle clenched in his jaw:

“Hey! Get outta here you-you rotten lizards! This is my store! Get! Go!” He stepped forward, clearly ready for a fight. Leon was now out of the silo and Garble turned towards the pony.

“What are you gonna do about little pony?” he taunted. “Gonna stick me with that rake?”

He said nothing, only held his ground. I stepped back a bit out of fear, naturally, but the others started to crowd around him. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I wanted to be out of there. This wasn’t the right place for me, I thought, as I stepped back again. But by then it was too late. A female voice sounded from behind the pony. It may have been his wife, or perhaps some random mare that just happened to be passing by. The colt turned to look, and Garble took the opportunity. He swooped at the pony with his arm and flung him into the wall, knocking over a pot in the alley. The mare, snowy white with a maroon mane screamed and began to run away, but not before the purple one grabbed her. She struggled to get free, to scream, but he covered her mouth. They laughed.

I was now in a state of semi panic. I looked around for something to show me what to do, but of course that didn’t help. This wasn’t fun at all. Whatever sort of companionship I may have felt was now overflowed with confusion and fright. They huddled around the colt, laying against the wall, taking turns kicking him into it as the mare looked on in horror. An audible thud thud occurred every time, first for their sharp foot against his ribs, second for the smack of his body against the wood. Garble turned to me and ushered for me to come forward. I froze.

“Hey Leon” I heard Garble say “hold him, make sure he doesn’t move. You guys, hold her down, make sure she doesn’t move.” Leon got a good hold on the colt, and the grey and purple ones held her by her mouth and hooves, pinning her on her stomach against the ground. It soon became clear what was happening. Garble knelt down behind the mare and reached between his legs. I shuddered and looked away, hearing grunts and laughter in between muffled screams. It was a nightmare, and I was living in it, without escape. My eyes began to moisten with tears. I felt nauseous and dizzy and faint of heart. I was on the brink of passing out.

But then, and I’m not sure how it happened, the colt freed himself of Leon’s grip, and got ahold of the pitchfork, which he drove into Leon’s jaw. Blood squirted everywhere, painting the walls and spraying on everyone nearby. He screamed as his mouth tried to move with the spike in it, moving only slightly, jaggedly along the hole it made. He flung himself wildly, the handle hitting Garble and the others. The one released the mare out of shock, who had quickly hobbled into town screaming, at least one of her hind legs broken, or in so much pain she could not properly move. Leon was still flailing, now on the ground, as blood shot out in every direction, his cries muffled by gurgling, presumably from blood. Now little tufts of flame came from his nostrils. I couldn’t move. A massive shot of flame came from his nostrils and lit the food store ablaze. We all gawked at the fireball for a bit, then to Leon, who was now still.

In the illumination of the powerful inferno, I could see the expressions of abject horror on all of their faces. I imagine mine was of some disbelief. Garble’s lower jaw was trembling as he stared, unmoving, at the dead yellow dragon in front of him, a pool of blood soaking into the dirt. I could see other ponies coming towards the store, accompanying cries of “fire” and “help.” Instinctively, I darted into the forest, I think on foot, though it felt like flying. The others followed. Soon we were deep in the forest, on the edge of a mountain on the opposite side of the valley from the one we came from. The glow of the food store was barely visible against the night sky.

As we hurried back, avoiding the town, of course, Garble pulled together a lie: “We were all walking in the forest, when we were ambushed by a group of ponies hunting dragons. We lost Leon but escaped with our lives.” It may sound far-fetched to people living in the civilized regions of Equestria, but in many parts of the world dragon hunting was a very real thing, and something the elders remember all too well. So this was completely believable. I still couldn’t get the image of Leon’s flailing, bloody body or the mare’s convulsions and screams out of my mind. Looking back, I believe the only reason I was able to move was the shock, that kept me from focusing on either events.

By the time we returned, it was morning.

Part Three

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part Three: Judgment

The yellow glow of the sun got larger and larger as we climbed the mountain, too tired to fly. On the way back we found a stream which we used to wipe the remaining blood off, but the smell stuck in my nostrils; a sickly metallic odor. We didn’t talk much on the way up but I’m fairly certain we were all thinking the same thing: We messed up. Badly. Leon was dead. And two ponies were violated. But Leon’s death would surely raise questions from the other dragons. We couldn’t say he went missing, of course. Any dragon that would venture anywhere near the town would quickly be able to smell his blood. Of course Garble’s story would probably hold up, sure, but what then? That was a small village, probably only earth ponies. They couldn’t escape, let alone defend themselves if the elder dragons decided to-. But that was a thought I tried and tried to force out of my head as we ascended. I had seen enough death.

Every dragon was awake by the time we arrived, save a few of the older ones, whose smoke I could see billowing up from around the peak. We agreed it would be best to tell Leon’s parents right away. The Sapphire Clan, which he belonged to, was thankfully already nearby. His parents were intellectual types, scholars even. They had plenty of satchels of scrolls containing all sorts of helpful magic. Most of the Sapphire Clan was of that sort – healers, historians, mages.

They did not receive the news well, as might be expected. What I didn’t expect was his father to destroy some scrolls in a fit of rage. It was a frightening display, as he was at least five times larger than me. What fear I had of being accidentally crushed though, was overridden by the sinking guilt I felt about allowing the events of that night to transpire. Maybe it wasn’t that though. Perhaps I was already feeling the emotions that accompanied what happened later that morning. The display attracted the attention of the other Sapphire Clan members, and soon we were asked to report our story to The Patriarch; a towering mountain of a dragon whose voice seemed to echo off the air. Garble did most of the talking, with the other two supporting him. I stood still, afraid to move a muscle, lest I be questioned as well.

The Patriarch, who was referred to by the others as such, seemed to be thinking deeply about further action by the time Garble was finished. Leon’s mother wasn’t holding herself together well. Though the other dragons tried to console her, she continued to weep and drip gooey flaming blobs from her nostrils. This went on for another half hour or so. His father, on the other claw, was still thoroughly enraged. He demanded justice for his son’s death. Understand, of course, that this wasn’t such a reasonable request, and hardly enough information was present. Since the age of glorified dragon hunting ended, there was always a sort of unspoken agreement that ponies and dragons would mutual tolerate each other. Instances of attacks on either side were exceedingly rare. And the village being as small and mundane as it was, The Patriarch could easily do away with it by himself.

While they spoke (rather, Leon’s father yelled) I waited, occasionally making eye contact with those around me, though trying not to. I’m sure they assumed I was grieving, and not pitying my own blunder, or the lives of those ponies. Maybe I was saddened by his death, and not the event of the taking of life itself. I maintain that there is a difference. To even see the life of a complete stranger taken, and in such a grizzly manner, can be traumatizing, I’ve heard. And that must be it, as I did not appreciate Leon much as a dragon. I’m still so very confused about my emotions, even now. I just have to believe that what I did that night in the hollow was the right thing to do. It had to be done.

My parents had arrived, probably from word of mouth that I was here. My stomach sank. That meant the entire wing probably knew about this by now. Everyone knew the lie. I wanted to melt away. I wanted to become a rock in the mountain and sink to the deepest darkest depths of Tartarus. Any place would be better than here. My mother approached me:

“Dear, is it true what we’ve heard?” she said, with deep concern in her voice.

I had never lied to my parents before. And for this to be the first, what a thing.

“Where’s Fizzle?” I asked. It was the only thing that came to mind.

“He’s with your sister at the camp. Crackle, are you okay?”

“Yes mom” I stammered out, my eyes welling up with tears. “I’m fine. Just a little…shook up.”

My sight was getting blurry now but I didn’t want to cause a scene. I wanted to leave, leave, leave. I wanted to see Fizzle. He always made me feel better. That stupid grin of his made me happier than you can ever know. I thought back to last night, how he played with his leaves, perfectly content. I saw the bright purple and yellow and red and green mixing about in the air and he blew them about with his nose. I should have stayed there; should have played with the leaves.

“Come on son” my father insisted “Let’s go back to the den.”

I wanted to go back, but not to eat, not to talk, not to do anything. Fizzle came to mind again. Unfortunately the Sapphire Clan had other plans.

“I have made a decision” The Patriarch bellowed “the ponies of the Coltfield have done a great injustice against us, in the slaying of one of our own. After much deliberation, I have decided that the just cause of action is to put the inhabitants of the entire village to death, by dragon fire.”

I would like to say that was the moment when what we had done had finally come to terms with me, but it was not.

“We must show that these acts against our kind will not be tolerated by any means. We have done no harm to them, and yet they persist, as they have in ages past. And since it was these three who have lost their dear friend, they shall accompany me to the burning.”

This was not that moment either. My parents were taken back by this, naturally. I think everyone was, actually. Did they know these dragons were hardly my friends? Maybe. But it wasn’t their place to say anything at the moment. They weren’t as highly regarded in our own clan, let alone the Sapphire. So we went with him. We had to fly considerably faster than normal, of course, as his wings were like tree canopies, but we managed.

Now we overlooked the town. It seemed that most of the ponies were gathered around a central building, probably talking about last night, deciding on a course of action, if any. The food store was burned but not completely down. I doubt The Patriarch noticed. Though powerful, old dragon’s vision does fade in time. Their power, however, only grows until the day they pass. He wasted no time in exemplifying this. One of his kin was cut down, and there would be blood.

Swooping down upon them, he let out a massive torrent of fire, stronger than any I’ve ever seen, and let ablaze the entire right half of the town. It was organized into two sections, divided by a road, of which now panicking ponies scurried about, screaming. Circling back around, he let out another blast, this time on the other side and two fire balls on either end, trapping the creatures inside the inferno. Ponies ran out from their home, some holding infants. The pegasi and unicorns seemed to know that fighting would be futile, so they did their best to help others to safety. A few pegasi were carrying ponies to safety in the forest while the unicorns attempted to stoke the fires allowing for a path out. Even from where I hovered, I could feel the heat.

Finally, he let out a stream right down the middle. The fire knocked a Pegasus out of the air, causing the burning ball of flesh to crash into the crowd. Now everything was on fire. Most of them fell to the ground, flailing furiously to remove the fire themselves. Some continued to run until the fire exposed their bones and snapped their tendons. The screaming sounded two fold now. It was an ear shattering cry from everypony in the town. I could hear the weeping, the moaning, and each terrible noise that only a creature being burned to death could muster. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh and hair; something no amount of bathing can remove from one’s mind.

I saw fillies and foals and mares and colts all burning to death, together. From their lack of movement, I could only assume the three dragons to my side felt the same abject horror I did. The worst part, however, came near the end. The fires burned out quickly, it seemed, and the ground was black with charred corpses and burnt buildings. But there was movement still. At the edge of the town, on the road, I saw a light green filly with a yellow mane, struggling to move. Her hind legs and tail were burnt completely off, leaving only a mangled stub of charred torso. She used her front legs to struggle forward. I could barely make out a pink bow in her hair. It seemed like hours I watched her crawl, though it was probably only a few seconds. She crawled the way Fizzle did. The way he did, but without joy. Without hope. How the universe taunted me.

I felt a sense of sickening relief when The Patriarch swooped down and crushed her with a single claw. She didn’t have to suffer anymore, and neither did I. Not as much. But it was that image, seeing her crawling, the way Fizzle did, that burned itself into my mind. The pitchfork and the rape, though terrible, somehow paled in comparison. This is what drove me to do what I did.

Part Four

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part Three: Stormfront

The Wing left shortly after to continue the migration. Every dragon had already gotten a relatively clear idea as to what had happened during that morning once The Patriarch of the Sapphire Clan proclaimed he would personally extract vengeance. Those who didn’t were informed by the massive wall of grey smoke rising from the other side of the valley, and the flecks of ash in the air. Looking back, the smoke obscured the sun, now raised from the peak, into a solid yellow orb, that seemed to stare at me. Even the heavens knew my guilt.

Thankfully, for the time being, my guilt and other evil thoughts were temporarily blocked out by the flying. Flying wasn’t particularly difficult for me, though because of my smaller wings and oblong physique, it proved challenging in the face of pressure systems and high winds. Not to mention carrying Fizzle on occasion. Because he could not fly very well, my family took turns carrying him, though because I enjoyed his company the most, I would end up with him a good portion of the time. It was bothersome, having a passenger that clutched onto my neck awkwardly, but I couldn’t have minded any less. Normally I would have talk to him about general things, enjoying the little yelp of emotion he gave off that passed for speech. But today I was very quiet, only really speaking when it was time to pass him off or take him on. He noticed, too. Occasionally I would hear a squeak of inquiry, but I seldom answered.

For two days, we traveled, over mostly forest. Then one night the front of the wing began to circle, signaling that we were going to rest there for the night. It was a large grass field with a stream running through the middle. There were a few large piles of gems lying about it, left by the host dragons of the area. My family picked up three each and moved to the area where the Emerald Clan was laying. We huddled together and prepared for sleep. I looked up at the sky. It was a cloudless night, and all the stars were out in their splendor, shining cheerfully. Even the moon, illuminated only partially, resembled a smiling face. How universe mocked me.

I looked down from the sky at Fizzle, who was rolling about on the grass like the silly idiot that he was. But I loved that idiot. I loved everything about him. His constantly smiling face, the way he played with insects, how he hopelessly chased butterflies while snapping at them with his tiny snout. He was still rolling, and bumped into a large purple dragon with green features. She arched her head up and stared at him, then at me, disapprovingly.

“Sorry” I said, genuinely. I thought he was cute but others didn’t always think so. Some dragons are too serious. Some have a reason to be, I suppose. Like me. Or Ms. Selewuck, the purple dragon I just talked about. Apparently her egg was stolen by a few pegasi while she was out for a walk and her husband was away getting food. Because she was supposed to be watching it, the blame fell on her, and her husband left her. After that she’s always been looked down upon by the clan. Everyone’s got their problems. I took Fizzle by the tail and dragged him back to the family, wedging him in between my mom and dad. It took a while, but I did eventually sleep.

Unfortunately sleep that night was plagued with nightmares. Over and over again I saw the images of the town being burned alive. I saw ponies running around while their skin burned away, eyeballs melting into the ground, and bodies piled on top of each other, a mass of black and smoke. Their screams were just as real as the morning I heard them. Those terrible screams, unlike any I have ever heard before. It’s one thing to hear a dragon, or pony, yell from surprise or mild fright, but being burned alive is another thing entirely. I saw Leon’s jaw struggling to move, and the mare twitching from underneath Garble. The worst part, though, was the filly crawling away. I still see her face. Even now it haunts my dreams. I still see her crawling, sometimes towards me, dragging her black, charred midsection behind her. I thank the universe that she never looked up. If she had, I might have killed myself that night, without hesitation dropping myself from the sky. I felt a tap.

I jumped awake. In front of me was an almost as startled Garble. We exchanged glances for a few seconds. I was confused, angry even. But I wasn’t entirely sure how to react.

“Hey” he said. “How’s it going?”

What a stupid question that seemed like. As if I were going to be anything but tremendously depressed by what had happened. What he caused to happen. But how did he feel? He couldn’t have possibly moved on. But if he did, surely he wasn’t fit to live any longer.

“Fine.” I said meekly. I was fairly certain he understood what I meant.

“Good. Good.” He spoke, somewhat avoiding eye contact. “Listen, me and the guys were talking, and we just wanted to make sure, you know, that you wouldn’t…”

He must have wanted me to finish his sentence.

“Tell anyone.” He finished.

Tell anyone. Of course not. I couldn’t live with myself if my family knew I helped to lie about that. That I may as well have killed them all myself. No. I could never look at any of them ever again. Especially not Fizzle. I thought of him, but dared not to turn around to look. Maybe I assumed Garble was dangerous. Of course now I know he never was dangerous. Just stupid.

“Never.” I said, firmly. This time I stared him directly in the eyes. I think he may have sensed this time what was churning around in my head, because he nodded slightly and flew off.

After that I didn’t sleep at all that night. I lay awake, thinking about how to end this entire episode. I thought of going back, offering myself up to any ponies who might be alive, letting them kill me. I thought of flying away that night, and committing suicide somewhere where they would never find me. But I couldn’t leave them like that. I couldn’t leave Fizzle, the only thing in this world that kept me from utter madness. I also couldn’t let the others go unpunished. Thinking back to that day, for the thousandth time that night, I remember how I felt right after the filly was crushed. That feeling. That feeling not of horror or pity, but of hatred. I remember the warmth of the blind seething hatred that ran through my veins, hotter than any dragon fire. I didn’t hate myself, no. Nor did I hate The Patriarch. It was them. It was Garble, and his two goons. They started all of this. They were my way out.

I spent the next few days thinking about how I was going to do it. And Mother Nature seemed to agree with thoughts as well. For during the next few days we endured a tempest like none I had ever seen, starting first with terrible gusts, then heavy rain, then a blizzard of snow and razor sharp hail. All this powered my vengeful mind. Each torrent of wind, each drop of rain, every ball of hail drove me further and further into the desire to murder. When the storm cleared, I concluded that our next rest stop was where, through any means, they would meet their end. The following day we arrived at the badlands, for a three days’ rest period. Perfect.

I thought about going to Bluster, asking if she would take care of Fizzle when I was gone, but I knew she would. If she loved him even half as much as she did me, he’d be fine. Also, she would certainly try to stop me. That day I went into the forest for ideas on how to do the deed. It came almost instantly when I spotted a phoenix nest perched high on a tree. Flying up, I saw that the eggs had already hatched (dragons smash phoenix eggs and inhale the smoke created for recreational hallucinating (get high)). This didn’t matter though, because my plan only required that they got close. I spent the rest of the day digging deep holes in the area, and driving sharp sticks into the bottoms. After this I placed a thin floor of leaves above them and placed a gem on top. The perfect dragon trap. Knowing them, they would all go for it at once, fall in, and skewer themselves. Then, if necessary, I would finish the job.

That night I slept plagued with nightmares, but not guilt, knowing that the next night would be their last.

Part Five

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part Five: Arrangements

The sun was already up by the time I awoke. Though by looking around, I saw that I was actually one of the early risers. I meandered to the main crater, taking in my surroundings- or lack thereof. Most of the wing was perched on a massive dormant volcano surrounded by a series of bare mountains and of course, the forest on one side. I looked towards the place where I recall the nest being, and kept track of it so I could point them in the correct direction later. After circling the rim for a while, I settled down on a flat place overlooking the crater, and contemplated the night ahead.
I thought of every possible event and change of plans. Nothing could go wrong. I would chase them down myself if I had to. There may have been three of them, but I was confident I could easily take them. Although I was a bit misshapen, I had a jaw that could snap logs and a neck quick as a snake. Not the first option, but I would snap each and one of their necks if it came down to it. But there were certainly enough of my pits. I had dug out exactly nine, all surrounding the nest, equidistant from each other. And each one was guaranteed death. I had certainly sharpened them enough. Using fire to temper the tip helped too.

Around noon Garble and hisfriends came over the opposite ridge and into the crater. He was accompanied by some others around his age, and a small one I didn’t recognize. Hopefully they wouldn’t be invited. But no, he wouldn’t. He would want the eggs all to himself and his security. They began to play competitive games, some of which I recognized but had never actually participated in. It felt strange, watching them. I knew they were dragons, like me. They were typical teenage dragons. But somehow, they weren’t like me. Rather, I wasn’t like them. Not anymore. I had a mind set on vengeance of the lethal kind. You can’t relate to your own kind at that point. Not anymore. And especially not after you’ve seen the things that I’ve seen.

But then again, there was Fizzle. There was always Fizzle, who I related to better than anyone. These past few days I had done my best not to think about him, knowing that soon he’ll be without me, without his play mate, his cousin, his friend. What I dreaded most, though, was that I knew I would have to, at some point, say goodbye. I wished so badly that I could stay. But there was no way, after doing what I was about to do, that I could stay with them. It wouldn’t be the same. Not after that. They would move on without me, I knew.
They then played a multitude of other petty games and started a sort of party near one of the gem piles. What they were celebrating I would never know. It sickened me, how they laughed and ate and danced. As if what happened not seven days didn’t matter. How could those lives, even pony lives, not matter to them? They saw the wickedness that could be inflicted upon others, the same as I. And yet there they were. And there was I.
I began my walk down the crater, making towards Garble. He was sitting on a rock chewing on a ruby, alone. Perfect.
“Garble!” I said, as cheerful as I could act.

He looked over and, when seeing it was me, seemed very surprised.

“Hey! Crackle. What’re you doing here?” he seemed concerned, as if I were going to threaten of harm him. Well I suppose that was true, but not then.

“Just walking around.” I said. It seemed like the appropriate thing to say. “Hey uh, you do phoenix eggs, right?” Maybe I was too forward, but by the looks of his stomach he had eaten enough to have somewhat impaired judgment.

“Um yeah, you know, when I can.” He looked around nervously. Smashing phoenix eggs was generally frowned upon, so he had to make sure for himself there weren’t any older dragons around.

“Well,” I proposed, sounding like a bad salesman “I was flying around and I saw a nest in the forest, just on the other side of that ridge.”

“Oh yeah? With eggs and everything?”

“Yep. Just over the ridge and follow the path into the forest. It’s in there a few fields.”

“Oh cool, thanks” he said meekly. Obviously this was very suspicious, very strange, but he either didn’t or couldn’t care at that point.

“Remember though, go at night. They’re weaker then.” This was true, and generally well known.

“Right, thanks.” I nodded and went back up the mountain. The conversation was incredibly awkward, but I doubt he noticed any deception. I looked back once, and he was passed out on the ground. Looks like I was just on time. Now there was only one thing left to do before I left for the forest.

Fizzle was playing with his leaves again. My father must have packed them for him. They were a bit crumpled and withered, but of course he enjoyed them anyways. He looked up at me and squealed with joy, scampering over, dragging his body behind him. He nuzzled at my legs, humming softly. My eyes were getting watery. I knew I had to make this quick, but I couldn’t bring myself to find the right words. I kept remembering all the times we’ve had together. Despite the constant moving and solitude and tough times, we were always together. Images of his smile, his walking, his failed attempts at flying, everything flashed before me whenever I tried to think of saying goodbye. I remembered thinking of how I thought I had lost him in the forest when he was little, that terrible deep cold sinking feeling. But this was different. Losing him from my own doing was so much worse. My parents, my sister, I would miss them, sure. But Fizzle was the closest dragon I’ve ever been with.

“Fizzle” I choked out. I could barely speak. Tears were starting to roll from my eyes. “You know I love you but-“ He was rubbing himself up against me more, trying to make me feel better. He was always the one to make me feel better. Whenever I was scared, without hope, there he was. But this couldn’t be helped. “But I have to leave. And I won’t be back. Not for a-“ No, I had to tell it to him straight. “I’m not coming back. I’ve done something very bad, and I have to make it right. I’m sorry.” I was bawling now. Tears were streaming onto the ground quickly, one after another. Looking back, I still don’t see how I managed to finish that goodbye. “You have to stay here. Mom and dad and Bluster’ll take real good care of you, okay? I promise.” Thankfully of that I could be confident.
Fizzle looked up at me, confused. He may not have completely understood, but he knew something bad was going on. I stepped back, but he followed me. The sky was a bright orange, the sun nearly beyond the horizon now. I knew I had to go. I took another step back. But he crawled after me.

“Fizzle, please” I started, but he continued to nuzzle me. “Fizzle. I have to go.” I said, raising my voice almost. I then turned, and started to walk away. It hurt to move. My head was throbbing from the crying. I heard him yelp after me, in distress. I didn’t want to turn back, I shouldn’t have, but I did. I saw him with his nose to the ground, pushing one of his leaves at me. I walked towards him and looked at the leaf. It was purple, and fresh as the day it was picked. He nudged it at me again. I took it up and slid it underneath one of my scales. I licked his head gently and managed a smile. And with that, I walked down the mountain as night set in, never once looking back.

Part Six

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part Six: Redemption

I flew forward into the forest, forcing myself to think of what was to come, and not what I had just did. It was dark, but the moon was full, so I could zip through the trees effortlessly. About a field’s length from the nest I picked some branches and fastened them to myself for camouflage. The rest of the way to the nest I kept low and treaded lightly amongst the foliage. I was perfectly disguised. Then I heard voices, definitely theirs. It reminded me of the night this all started. Except this night would be on my terms. I had stopped inside a larger bush that sufficiently covered my entire body, and watched. I was on a small ridge overlooking the area, so I had about five of the nine traps in sight.
As they moved closer, I noticed that they had moved right past one of the traps. My heart skipped. There were still two in front of them, one of those would get them, I was sure. But no. They were there, at the edge of the clearing where the tree containing the nest was, and they had not fallen in. Even worse, as I continued to watch, that small dragon from earlier emerged from the bush where they were hiding, and started yelling at the phoenixes. I felt my eyes widening. A dragon that small stood no chance at fending off two adult phoenixes. Thankfully he did end up escaping in the end.
What happened next I still can’t recall completely for sure, but there was a lot of running. Garble and his droogs were chasing the hatchlings and somewhere along the line three ponies, who must have been wandering by, got involved. I recall that the younger dragon, apparently named “Spikey Wikey” sided with the ponies, and a second chase ensued, this time the three I was after against the ponies and Spikey. Eventually the ponies got away, I think by teleporting magic, and at the same time Garble and the three others had lodged themselves in the trunk of a tree, which had promptly fallen over. Such a chaotic turn of events proved to be beneficial in the end.

This was it, I told myself. It’s now or never. I stealthily made my way over. Could it be? It was. The tree had fallen directly into one of my traps. I saw half the trunk and its roots coming out from the ground. Getting closer, I could hear the moans of distress. The hole was a grotesque scene. The grey one had fallen and completely skewered himself onto the spikes. One went right through his skull, scattering chunks of brain matter at the base of it. Both his legs were impaled at the thigh, and on the right one, the stick (and the fall) had snapped the femur, now protruding from the torn skin. He was fat enough that his stomach and intestines were stuck in four or five places, and a greenish brownish gas seeped from them in a foul way.

Garble was at the bottom of the pit, still lodged in the tree. Because of his lean physique, though, he largely avoided mutilation. Only his right leg was scathed. Thankfully, because of how he was pinned, he wasn’t going anywhere. First I dealt with the blonde purple one. He was at the base of the hole, and his lower section was almost completely crushed beyond recognition. Because of the angle, he was slowly losing blood, which gave me plenty of time to do what needed to be done. He came to just as I had finished removing the branches. Looking at his face, I remembered that night, more vividly than ever. How they had acted to be my friends, how they had terrorized those defenseless ponies, how the following day the entire town burned.
All my hatred, if ever dormant, was reignited. I reared up and swiped at his face with my claw. It left three small red streaks. He was awake now.

“Agh! What?!” he started to scream, coming to grips with the pain of his legs being crushed. He began to sputter out vague “Help” and “hurry” in between cries, but of course I was going to do no such thing. I looked down at the pit. Reaching in with my head, I grabbed onto and pulled the rod that had gone through the brown one’s head. It made a slight splashing sound as it hit the ground, I imagine from the blood. The purple one was quickly getting tired. He didn’t flail as much, and his screams were reduced to loud moans. Some sick, sadistic part of me hoped he wouldn’t die soon. After some brief aiming, I took the sharp pole and drove it through his arm and into the ground. I heard a loud snap before an ear splitting scream from him. At first I feared the stick had snapped but then I realized it was his bone. His forearm bent at an awkward angle, just below the elbow.

His head and other arm were thrashing about wildly. The blonde hair that covered his face now had streaks of red, I think from his arm. He was going to die soon, I could tell. But he hadn’t felt enough pain yet. I know, of course, that the traps were designed to kill instantly. And at the time, that was the only feasible way of killing them was that. But now that this was an option, I wanted all the time I could get. I grabbed the stick again and pulled it out of the ground. While still in his arm, I pulled it towards me. It jaggedly cut down his arm towards his wrist, in between the tibia and fibula. At the wrist, I struggled to pull harder, but eventually freed it, causing his hand to partially rip off from his arm in a series of tiny pops and tears. Blood shot from it powerfully. I felt the warm spray come over my face and neck. It felt good against the cool night air.

He was crying now. Crying and somewhat screaming. So to finish him off, to rid the world of him, I began to beat at his face with the sharp end of the stick, now slightly dulled. Each hit tore at his scales slightly and sometimes snagged. His head fell limp. There was no more resistance, not from a single muscle in his body. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

I walked to the other end of the hole now. Garble’s lean physique was an advantage to him, as only his thigh was stabbed. He began to groan, now coming awake. I knew I wanted to get it over with, so I quickly snatched up his arm and began to drag his body upwards by it. He screamed. It was a healthy scream, hardly shrill. The other lost his voice shortly before his death. At last his leg came loose, so I threw him into the clearing below the phoenix nest. The birds still hadn’t returned at that point.

He churned around on the ground, holding his bleeding leg, but at the same time barely touching it. I grabbed a clean stick from the hole and brought it over. Garble looked at me fearfully. He whimpered something, but my heart was beating too loud for me to hear it. I’m certain that at that point, he knew that this was all my doing. He must have thought of everything he had seen and done, and knew that I was seeking justice for those who couldn’t. That look of hopelessness. I had seen it before. But this was no innocent life. With one quick jab, I stabbed through his shoulder and into the ground, pinning him on his back. He screamed out again, even louder. All his limbs jerked wildly, spasming in shock. His tail thrashed around violently, but I caught it in my mouth, and bit down hard, snapping it. I spat out some blood and flesh and moved again to the hole. It would be over soon, I thought. With the final pike I took from the ground, I carefully aimed between his legs.

With some effort, more so than the initial stabbings, I sodomized him with the sharpened branch. He cried in terror, louder than the purple one. I drive it deeper in. At that point it must have been piercing his intestines. The violent convulsions from his torso rattled the stick in my mouth, so I made an effort to go further. With a crunch, he stopped. Looking up, I saw that the stick had gone through his upper ribcage, probably right through his heart. I turned away and stepped towards an area where the trees spaced, allowing in moonlight. I looked up. The crescent moon smiled down on me. Now, the heavens were satisfied. And finally, I was at peace. It took the rest of the night and part of the early morning to properly bury the bodies and the holes. No dragon would ever find out what conspired there. I knew what I had to do, what I’m about to do, but I can still be calm. I’ve corrected the universe, cleansed the land, if only a small amount.

I looked up again. I had turned, and now the moon frowned. How the universe mocked me. With nowhere to go, I ventured as far as I could into the sunrise, knowing that I had done the right thing.

. . .
It should be noted at this time that clutched in Crackle’s claw, along with the recording crystal, was a purple leaf.