I won.
So many years ago, piling upon one another, minute by minute, second by second, instant by instant. And as the passage of time fails to reflect upon my indestructible skin, my ancient bones, my tired eyes, I am always aware that I won.
Is that not the definition of victory? I am alive, they are not.
In war that is all that really counts. We fought for so long I no longer remember it. And yet, the futile impact of each magical blast, the arrows that bounced off of me, the mightiest steels that sought to taste my blood, their horrified expressions when they realized they bore no hope for victory… that I remember. How could I forget? Despite it never becoming tiresome, after a while you start to notice the pattern. You become capable of recognizing the creases upon a mother's eyes as she protects her children with her own body. So uncannily so, that half the time you forget exactly those whose screams pound on your eardrums, slowly dying out as they are engulfed in flames.
It all became predictable after a while. I grew accustomed to the sound of drums in the distance as I ravaged across the Zebra Lands. I could no longer be surprised by the delightful cawing announcing an assault by the griffons. The crackling in the air anticipating the arrival of the dragons seconds before battle no longer enthralled me. The screams…
Those magnificent screams. I would have never believed such despair was possible before I witnessed it myself. I stomped the ground, my heart pounding, my breath frantic, my hands tightening in anticipation before the oncoming slaughter. War was my muse, blood was her gratitude and the scent of death was as enrapturing as it was repugnant. I got used to the screams. The cries of warriors fighting for what is just, for their homes, for their pride, sometimes merely to content their own muses. Defiant, powerful and alluring. They were the shrieks of those who were ready to die.
Now… silence has extended its mantle upon the world that once was a cacophony of terror. The whispering winds gently caress my skin, my fur dancing at its command. Sometimes I wonder why, whether it is due to the abysmal quietness, or my heightened senses by the magic I consumed, but with every single waft of breeze I can hear the dust and sand it bears, the crackling noise of the diminutive rocks impacting against one another. I cannot feel their touch, but I think I remember how it was. Always with a terrifying uncertainty. I miss so many things, lost to time, sensation and memory…
But above it all, I miss the screams. This silence is something that was not meant to be. And then a spiteful voice which has been subject of my deepest hatred puts an end to it.
“Another beautiful, sunless, bleak and dead day, is it not?”
I growl under my breath. I remember when he used to fear me. In moments like this I recall our reunion so many years ago, and the way terror marked upon his face, even for just a second, before defiance firmly secured itself and it thrust him against me ever so futilely.
I regain my composure.
“I prefer them this way.” I respond, never turning back.
“It clearly suits you. Hopeless, pained and depressing. So mighty and so helpless at the same time.” I can clearly hear the smile outlined upon his lips, his eyes contracted with proud derision.
“I would rather not listen to you weeping at the sight of the sky, as you did last time.” I answer, my anger only leaking through in the last syllable.
Fortunately, this seems to work. Either I have struck a nerve, or he has grown bored with our verbal skirmish. I feel tempted to look back, but I will not give him the satisfaction. Instead, I continue walking with the familiar sound of my steps and the quake of the earth as a discordant orchestra. Funny word, it brings an old… companion back to mind. I hush that thought and continue my endless journey.
Even a scarred warrior such as myself can appreciate the beauty of the sunset. It is curious, though, as the only times when I felt so enraptured were so many years, millennia, ago, when I was but a child. I do remember that. The sun rising from behind the distant mountains, projecting a shadow that grew thicker with each passing minute, only to diminish into nothingness by the end of the day. The arid deserts we called our home, cacti, spikes and cracks extending across an endless ocean of dirt, stone and sand. I used to stand on the balcony of the palace, with Mother by my side, basking ourselves in the gelid air the night had left, only to be greeted by the warmth of the sun. Not until many years later would I truly discover who pulled the string that lifted the solar sphere. Not until later would I yearn for the control of that which I had admired during my youth. Not until later would I snatch it from the grasp of whom would become my greatest enemies.
But now it is mine. My most prized possession. Even with the world in the palm of my hand, the golden sphere is my last remaining source of pride.
I sit at the end of a cliff, my front legs dangling carelessly by the border, contemplating the moonlight pouring over the wastelands. Despite my titanic size, this plunge can still be deemed as considerable. Were I to fall I would leave quite the crater. Fortunately, the cliff is solid enough to stand my weight. I inhale deeply, the air filling my massive lungs, and then I sigh. It is rather pleasant to be like this. I could stay in here as long as I wanted. When you are in control of the cycle of days and nights time becomes irrelevant. The silence is so absolute, so omnipresent, that if I threw a rock into the far away mountains I would be able to hear it strike. However, a yawn disrupts this peace. I hear a drowned murmur as he, I presume, stretches as far as the limits of his prison allow him to.
“Good morning, Tirek. Is everything as dead as it was yesterday?”
“Good morning, brother. You already know the answer to that.”
Scorpan scoffs. I raise my hand and with my finger pointing up and I direct him to move forward. The bubble that serves as his confinement slowly approaches until he is directly by my side. I then move it higher so he is floating right by my shoulder.
“I thought you might want to see the dawn.” I say with indifference. During each sunrise I always offer the same invitation, one he tends to accept. On days he's too taciturn I simply obfuscate the light through his bubble and wait until night to let it in once more. I don't think of it as punishment; that would imply there is some behavior I intend to rectify. I simply do it because I can.
“Why not? There's not much to see anyway...” he replies, barely a grumble.
I sense the magic coursing through my veins, flooding ever fiber of my body, invigorating me with a reminder of my true power. When I absorb magic it feels like pouring water onto a puddle. Then it becomes a lake. Progressively, a sea. And finally, an ocean. Unconcerned to its origin, whether unicorn, pegasus, earth pony, alicorn or spirit, its true identity is stripped away as soon as it becomes one with me. I take its strength, its power, and add it to my own independently of its original nature.
However, despite the pool of power from which I direct my spells, I still sense a difference whenever I raise the sun. As if she were within me, scratching the stone walls of a dungeon like a desperate animal, so despaired in her futile attempts, shrieking to a deaf audience.
And I rejoice.
The solar power, her power, flowing through, filling my lungs, my heart pounding with vigor, my veins marking upon my skin, my eyes wide open in ecstasy. And the truth is, I have chosen this joy. If I desired so, with a flick of my fingers I could play with the sun and moon as a child with a ball. But I intend to feel this way. It is the only moment when I am truly alive. As I see the sun surging from a distance that can never be traversed, I feel that fleeting sensation I craved for so long as years went by in Tartarus.
I won.
I defeated them all.
I defeated her.
The sun stands proud in the sky, greeting with its decaying light a grey and still world.
The gate remains open, just as I remember it.
It looks so insignificant now, compared to the first time I walked through the adamantine doors. And yet, it still awakens a sense of what I could consider childish dread in the depths of my being. I feared you when I was a mortal, when I was a husk, a mere shadow of a shadow of my true self. I am not anymore.
And yet, you scare me.
Tartarus. The prison for those abominations the world wishes had never existed. Demons, fallen gods, mortals who stumbled across a source of eldritch power, beings not of this world… All of them confined in its bowels, put there by armies who opposed them, entire nations bound together with the common objective of exterminating their enemy. The entire world united more than once to defeat some of these affronts against sanity and life itself. In a way, it is flattering that the fear I instigated deemed me worthy of this maws. And yet, it justified my revenge far more than anything that they had done or could hope to do.
The origins of the gate itself are unknown; at least, they were in my time. Several lifetimes of imprisonment added to the following decades of carnage and centuries of wandering leave little time for inquiry. What it is known, is the true nature of the prison itself. I shiver at the thought, but I understand how it kept me alive with no need for sustain; neither water nor aliment, nor the comfort of giving oneself to madness in an attempt to escape its torment. I know I could kill it, the same way I have killed most of its previous inhabitants. But there is one reason why I would never dream of doing such a thing.
It keeps them both alive.
“Nostalgia?”
I turn around to face the source of the voice.
“Excuse me?”
I heard him perfectly the first time, I am merely giving him a chance to correct his mistake.
“I said, 'nostalgia'?”
Idiot.
“ Just meditating.”
“I´m sure you are…” he said, directing his gaze below. His eyes fell upon a pile of gigantic -at least to him- canine bones. The most prominent ones are three similar skulls.
Silence settles between us. I continue to observe the remains of my old guardian and recall the moment, recent in memory yet distant in time, when I tore off each of his heads one by one with my bare hands.
“Do you have regrets, Tirek?” He asks weakly.
I remain quiet. I used to respond him whenever he would ask that. Usually with a scoff, a growl, a blunt "no" or even by tossing him against the ground. That was sufficient to soothe his doubts. Nowadays, however, I prefer the silent treatment.
“I find it funny, actually…” he continues, oblivious to my message, taking it as an invitation to continue rambling. I wish nothing more than to silence him and yet, after all this time, the prospect of maintaining a real conversation is too attractive for me to resist. I curse my weakness and listen.
“I cannot remember how many times I have asked you the same question. Not just in our last years of… company." He lingered when choosing the word. "I remember once when we were mere children. My memory is a bit fuzzy, but I recall you once hit me in the head with a rock. I was bleeding quite profusely. When Mother heard the commotion, she rushed towards us and took me back to the castle to have it healed. You stood back, and I did not see you until two days after. I was still quite dizzy and had lost more blood than it is advisable…” He scoffs. "You were brought in with a stern look upon your face, no other emotion other than the strength and stubbornness I admired so much in you. Mother had been staying with me while I had been resting, never taking her eyes off me. Father, however, stood behind you. I remember being surprised by his presence; he always had so many issues to attend to.
“Mother demanded you to apologize. You remained quiet, not very differently from how you are right now. You stood your ground despite her perseverance. After more waning insistence, she began pleading with you. She implored you to say you were sorry, as if trying with all her might to extract the tiniest vestige of emotion out of you. You did not budge. And then Father merely placed his hand upon your shoulder. You lost your composure rather quickly. Yet you did not comply with her demands, you simply stated that you weren't sorry, that you had made me a favor and it was all my fault for being too weak. As you went on, you grew more and more furious. The moment Father lifted his hand from your shoulder you ran off to the outskirts of the castle, back to wherever you used to go when you wanted to be left alone.
“To this day, I have not forgotten the expression upon father's face. So small, so significant: A grin, a grin that could so easily go unnoticed. But even in my stupor, I saw it. Mother did not. Father left and she remained with me for the rest of my recovery. Ever since then, after every battle, after every murder, after ever atrocity you ever committed I wondered if you regretted anything. You never did.”
I have listened quietly and patiently. There are matters that require my attention in this place, but then again, the sun won't set until I say so myself. I can wait a bit longer. Hovering within his bubble he looks at me, and I do the same. I can see his eyes, old, tired, the idealistic youth that glimmered through now gone, though who knows how long before we reunited.
They say so much.
“I do, however, have regrets, and I acknowledge them. It used to be said that you shouldn't focus on the past or concern yourself over the future, but live in the present. Considering our present, I find it quite hard not to think about the past and ignore the future entirely.
“After our last encounter before your imprisonment, after I assisted the Royal Sisters to defeat you and put an end to your aspirations, still bleeding and broken, with you lying on the ground ravaged and clinging to life, I asked them what would happen to you. I expected them to execute you right then. I was ready to intervene. However, they had other plans. They declared their intentions of imprisoning you in Tartarus. I opposed them. I said I would take you home, judge you under our own laws, and try my best to rehabilitate you. I swore you would never raise a hand against them, nor Equestria, ever again.
“Of course, they did not believe me. Not because they distrusted me, or at least, not only because of that. They said you were a monster whose only place was alongside other monsters. I remember we argued as intensely as battle worn warriors could. I recall the sharp pain in my lungs as I yelled. I tried so hard to save you, even with the fear that finally, jaded as they were, they would send me to Tartarus alongside you. When it was clear for the three of us that reasoning would not work, I stood between them and you. They were healing fast, faster than me. I could feel my strength returning, but so woefully slowly… I was ready to die that day. I would have renounced to my life if that had saved you. I was willing to die for the centaur whose many wounds I had helped to inflict. And yet, they dissuaded me, convinced me to let go of you.
“Even if I were in any condition to fight them, I wouldn't have. They were right. You didn't belong anywhere but the deepest pits of Hell. I should have known that Celestia would avoid at all cost taking a life if it could be spared. However, despite being against killing you, she hated you. Her hatred towards you was as intense as her love for her subjects, the subjects we had mutilated irreparably by taking their magic away. She could have resorted to torture it out of you, but I still believe that thanks to my presence she rejected that idea.”
I am listening, my patience slowly withering away. I am two more phrases away from ignoring him.
“But if I regret something, anything at all of all the horrible things you made me do, of the things I did on my own accord… and what is my greatest regret in an extremely long life, is that on that day so long ago… I didn't kill you myself.”
For a moment, a silence like I have never experienced enraptures the entire world, thicker and mightier than the doors that stand before me. Not even my breathing can be heard; only quietude, unbreakable and uncompassionate. Never could I have fathomed to hear those words uttered from his lips. In his eyes a sparkle of doubt gleams if only for an instant, before being subdued by defiance. His stare hardens, his pupils directed at me, the same way mine are to his. A gelid flame crackles behind the so called “doors to one's soul”. If such allegories are correct, then I must have witnessed as many souls as I have ripped away. Except for one. This one. For a reason unknown to me, I am aware in this very moment, that I do not want that flame to be extinguished.
I chuckle.
“Finally”, I say, an iota of pride resounding in my voice. “I had been waiting to hear that from you for a long time. At least, 'hear it.' You have been professing that idea for much longer than you thought.”
He maintains his gaze with severity, without any hesitation to be perceived by neither mortal nor godly eyes. My admiration for such feat is brief and feeble. I mentally reprimand myself for such sentimentality. Fear never comes through, but I will not be able to forget that look for a long time.
His expression still grave, his eyes unfaltering, his mouth merely a line upon a ragged and old face; he speaks once more in a voice that is both comforting and abject at the same time.
“Do you have any regrets?”
I maintain my eyes on him; my glare an exact replica of his. However, I feel my features trembling, my will falters.
“Yes…” I mutter, “actually, I do.”
His countenance does not betray his surprise; his eyes do. Doors to the soul.
“What is it, then?” his voice trembles at the first syllable, the tremor gone as if it had never existed by the time he has finished his question.
“I regret… that on that day, so long ago… you made a choice that would become your greatest regret.”
The cavern echoes as I move forward. Through crevices and broken stone, I hear the low murmur of life within its walls. Something palpitates calmly but unequivocally. I was always aware of the beast that lurks within it, one whose maws used to open hungrily for the wicked, the pained, and anyone deemed worthy of punishment by the Sun and Moon. I can sense its will wane the deeper I go. It remembers me. I remember it. It recognizes me for what I am. No creature to ever step out of here ever came back stronger. No fortitude is that rigid, neither among mortals nor immortals. There are so few of us now.
There is only us now. Even at the end of all, the moniker remains true. There is no other truth than what I speak, what I conceive, what I impose. There is nothing else. Not even you, creature, monster, incomprehensible even to the one who knows everything there is to know. The last keeper of mysteries stands before you, the great last mystery. Not even the ones who made a deal with you understand you, even now that they are your prisoners.
That is when it strikes me. Something is different now. The air wafts through the doors behind me, bringing with it the stink of death. The blackness from beyond looks back inquisitively. Something is not right with this place. Scorpan shuffles behind me, still wallowing within his pristine prison. I pay him no heed and continue onward. I have a destination in mind. The landscape is painfully familiar. Even after all these years, Tartarus remains the one place I know best. I have traversed the entire world multiple times over the centuries, and yet, despite everything that I have witnessed, this is all I can see when I close my eyes. That same exact altar, that constant view, unchanging as the seasons went by, kingdoms rose and fell, mortals lived and died, none of that was ever felt inside. Out of time, out of space, out of mind, alone. With you. You monster.
I trust he has kept them good company after I tossed them inside his bowels. I have no doubt that, if not a novelty, it must have been unexpected. When was the last time he was able to hold not one, but three alicorns? I made sure he came to treasure them by depriving him of all other company. Forever alive, forever tormented, his needle-sharp teeth sinking into their consciousness, tiring them without allowing sleep, filling their stomachs with indigestible feed. Immortals perfect their patience, despite their lack of choice in the matter. That tends to make them conceited over the torment they are capable of enduring. This place... this thing, does away with such naïve notions rather quickly.
The time has come for another audience with my captured captors. There is no judgement for my visits beyond my will. I am time, and space, and purpose. Lately I have not spoken much to them. Not at all, in fact. The last few times I just looked at them. Tartarus has a way of feeding on its hosts; no matter how strong they are, they will grow weak until they remain as nothing but impervious sustenance for his hunger. No harm has ever come to them in the times I have presented myself, nor will it ever. I could do it, leave them a screaming mess of flesh and bone, its only remaining facet a consciousness that is not allowed to die.
Nothing dies here. It is the only place where such an abominable reality is possible. He will not let them, his will is absolute on that matter. Often I do wonder how much of that was his choice or just nature taking its course. As familiar as I am with him, I will never know for certain. He simply is. I simply am. In the end, we are one. I am what Tartarus spat out into the world, and I brought him out with me. I doubt they ever knew what I was paying them back for, but I did. Now there is only the silence, outside and inside. There is no difference between what lies beyond the gates and what is kept within.
Years ago I opened them, freed everything locked inside. Granted them a puff of air and the opportunity to spread death before taking their lives myself. After the dragons I thought my heartbeat would never quicken; Tartarus’s horrors made it dance for me. For a little while, at least. I overestimated them. Most of the creatures inside possessed enough sapience to understand what had become of the world after my campaign, and they lost the will to fight. No new magics to uncover for the overly ambitious sorcerers of old, no new kings to depose for the revolutionaries, no minds to torment for the wicked gods, not even prey for the gluttonous beasts. Only me. Only my war. They lost.
And now it is only us, Sun and Moon, the Titan and his brother, inside the belly of the leviathan, once again. I made sure to leave them where I once stood, ages upon ages mounting dust and bone and decay. I might let them go, someday. Once I see in their eyes that same recognition for his place I can glimpse into my own. Only once they have forgotten about the moon and the sun will I consider it.
The stairway comes into view before I notice it. The murmur of the walls sounds clearer. I look behind me and glance at my brother, still hovering silently. He never speaks within this place. The effects of Tartarus’s tendrils are not immediate. I do wonder if they could reach me now. A foolish question, nothing stands outside of their ravenous range. I am simply too big a meal for them right now. In time they could claim me, but it would take far longer than last time. Scorpan does not stir, despite the increasing buzzing of the world. I am magically attuned in a way that he never was; I am also much more accustomed to his whispers. He might not be able to hear them still.
It hits me again. The waft of death. Something is wrong.
I quicken my pace, almost imperceptibly at first. I climb the stairs in a matter of seconds, a mere trot for my gigantic size. I stand before the cages, chains rusted from rattling, bars eaten away by time. Its occupants are nothing but clean, white bone.
I feel my lips tremble, my brow furrows ever so slightly. My hands tighten as they did before I faced an adversary. The sound around me explodes. I look in every possible direction. There are no eyes to look at inside the belly of the beast.
“What have you done?!” I scream.
I look back at the bones. Three pairs of corroded wings, plucked feathers of white, pink and blue strung around. Empty sockets gaze back into my eyes as I follow the contours of the bleach white horns on each skull. As I peer into them, I am reminded of a look thrown my way, many moons ago. The Sun and her tiny conceited smile, tired yet dignified eyes, drilling into me. Empty of all magic, yet filled with determination.
“Futile determination…” I say through pressed teeth. “This means nothing!” I cry out. "I don’t know how you have done it, but this means nothing. You have not escaped me, I allowed you to escape! It doesn’t matter, you are gone, everyone is gone. I won! I won...”
Chuckling behind me. I turn around, eyes gleaming.
“Indeed, Tirek. You did. And yet... They got away from you. How I envy them.” His tired, empty smile replies.
“Your bravery means nothing within these walls, Scorpan, yet they do hold room for your impudence. No matter. You will not follow in their hoofsteps, this I swear.”
“Why so?” he replies, a glimmer of confidence in his tone. “Do you believe I think myself an immortal here? That I am only able to speak so freely because of the defense line Tartarus has drawn against Thanatos?” He laughs, more loudly this time. “Look behind you once again. This is not bravery, nor cowardice speaking, but vitriol. Whatever it is you intend to do, you have already failed. It all leads to the same empty chasm.”
I know everything there is to know. He is nothing but my shadow, always floating behind me, he cannot possibly be aware of anything I ignore. Why that smile, why that arrogance?
“You have finally lost your mind, brother. Is your memory so putrid that a story of youth has sufficed to rot away whatever was left of your sanity?”
“He has grown tired, Tirek. Tired of them and of you.” His voice grows softer, weaker. His eyes flutter, as if fighting off sleep. Yet, the laughter persists. “Tired of what you have done to the world and to him. Tartarus has been waiting for you to come back. I think… he wanted to let you know.”
A guffaw explodes around me. Laughter, an abominable sound without sound, mirthless mirth echoing from every direction and nowhere at all. Neither malice, not pleasure in it. Just consciousness, the grandest display of awareness I have ever experienced within this place. The most sapience I have ever observed from him.
“He consumed them?” I say without hearing myself. “He would never do that. He needs them in order to–”.
“Stay alive?” Scorpan cuts me off, eyes closed with the hint of a smile on his lips. A peaceful smile. “I believe he has renounced to continue on with this farce, Tirek. He’s no servant of yours, unwilling to perpetuate the punishment of the victims you left within him. He must have let them go a long time ago, judging from the bones. There is nothing in it for him anymore. There is nothing in it for me either, not for a very long time…”
His voice is drifting away. I raise my hand and pull towards me vigorously, the bubble follows. For the first time in ages, we are face to face. His body is barely the size of my nose. Was he always this puny?
“Your delusions bore me, brother. This ridiculous display might be your last. Was it worth it, then? All the pain you went through in fighting me, defying me, was it worth it when it all brought you here? Once I step outside you will be begging to see the sunlight again. After I recover your body from the abyss in which I will plunge it, your first words will be a less pathetic babbling that whatever madness you speak now!” I yell. My eyes drive daggers into his fragile body, my voice almost breaking.
“You speak a half-truth…” he says so weakly that I can barely hear him. “I won’t be seeing the sun again. But not because of you…”
I stop. A thought crawls into my mind. Through his half-opened eye, I see vindictiveness light up. His smile can no longer be mistaken for a trick of the light.
“I will not reach the gates. He has begun to feed once more, but not on you. May you and Tartarus keep each other company... until the end.”
I run, the world shakes around me as though it were ending again. Pillars threaten with falling in front of me, the walls close in as though they were hands reaching out behind me. My heart beats faster, much faster than it has in centuries. For the first time since I can remember it hurts to breathe. I see the sun outside, filtering through his maw. The laughter of the old god pursues me.
I have been holding onto the sun for much longer than I ever have. I do not want to let it go. The scorching heat pounds away at my flesh, yet I feel nothing. The desert outstretches far into nothingness, in permanent expansion. Only one sight disturbs the landscape, the towering god looking on. Only one sight disturbs the god: the small patch of open ground before him. Inside a gargoyle lies dead, his eyes closed, smile curled in blissful rest.
Time stands still. I ignore how long it has been since I exited Tartarus. Scorpan is gone. Gone to where I cannot reach him, for if I could, I am sure I would have burnt it all down too. Now… I cannot tell what I would have done. He had inflicted a final punishment on me. Both him and the beast. The sisters as well. All of them, together once more, for the last time. And yet, here I stand. I alone at the end of the world. I ravaged everything the gaze could touch and the mind conceive. I bowed it to my will. I won.
I won.
I won.
The gate returns my gaze. Tartarus awaits. It is only us now. The only ones who call kill each other. He has no power left over me. He played his final hand and took the last bit of myself I could not defend. Anything else he could plunder, can only be freely given if I desire so. Just walking inside and waiting. Wait for it to feed on me until I am but a husk, keep going into nothingness. And then... let himself starve to death.
I have no such restriction. I can take away everything that he has left if I so will it. And once I do, I would be truly alone. Without him, I would never die. No one else to stand besides me, before me, behind me, nor over me. I will have won. No one but I will ever know. But no one else mattered at all.
The words ring hollow. I look down. With a quick swoop I cover the hole with dirt and press it softly.
No one at all.
