fourthscetera

Prelude

It began when I got the newspaper today. Well, no, that’s not right. It started a long time before then—a year or two, maybe—and it had been building, getting worse, that whole time.

No, it really started with that blue princess. You know the one, Princess Luna. Princess Celestia’s supposed ‘long-lost sister’, destined to raise the moon. Yeah, Celestia had been going soft before then, especially when She took that little purple snot as a student, but that was when it really started. She elevated that damned nopony, some random dark-purple mare, to a princess. To Goddesshood, for the Goddess’ sake. Under the guise of that old mare’s tale, Nightmare Moon, we were expected to believe that suddenly there was another Princess, one that, supposedly, had been there a thousand years before, raising the moon. I wasn’t born yesterday—everypony’s seen the history books, and we all went to school or learned it from our ma and pa that our Goddess Celestia has been raising both the Sun and the Moon for all of time. And ponies were supposed to just buy this! The worst part, though, was that they did.

At first, as with everypony else, I wasn’t too concerned. Princess Celestia wants to take a lesbian lover into Her castle? That’s perverted, gross, and completely defiant to the principles of nature, but okay. It’s happened before. But the worst part was that She gave the sacred title of Princesshood and therefore the sacred status of Goddesshood to this… this… wench.

Nopony else seemed to care, though, and gave me strange looks when I tried to bring such matters to light. It pained me so to watch as this great Nation languished in the moral corruption and outright lies from our wondrous, radiant Goddess who had sworn to protect us, but I stood by. Now, I’m not sure why. Perhaps I hoped that things would go back to how they were before, that ponies would realise how full of shit Celestia was, or even (as I prayed each night) that our Goddess had been stolen by some debauched fraud for it was (and is!) so much more preferable to me to believe that our radiant Goddess remains pure and uncorrupted, even if hidden away. For in that case She could be saved! But nothing improved; on the contrary, things only got worse from there.

First was when ‘Princess’ Cadance came into the spotlight, that puke-pink bitch of a mare. Oh, how I despise her. ‘Princess of Love’, she was declared, for no apparent reason. Celestia, if that truly is Her, became much more obvious in her bizarre acts of power abuse. Her transformation of this plainly unremarkable pegasus mare, for reasons ‘undisclosable to the public’ is outrageous and disgusting. It was then that I first realised what this ‘Celestia’ impostor must be doing: creating an army of trustworthy ponies to do her evil bidding, taking over this great Goddess-given Nation.

I did not act then, either. Again, I’m not sure why I didn’t, and I regret not doing so because I could have stopped this monstrosity, this abomination, before it continued further. I stood aside and watched every day as the newspapers were promptly delivered. I remember spilling my mug of coffee onto the kitchen floor when I read of the (nearly unsuccessful) wedding of ‘Princess’ Cadance and Celestia’s right-hand asshole, Shining Armor. But this was but the tip of Celestia’s greedy, destructive, and painfully obvious nepotism iceberg. Having the ponies of Equestria wrapped around her hoof wasn’t enough—she needed her most trusted ponies, the ones she hoof-picked, at all of the nation’s leading positions, readying for a takeover.

I admit, I should have seen her next move ages before she made it. Why the hell else would she have been training that miserable scrap of a filly if not for another position in her Cabinet of Treachery? And now, that brings us today and the infernal newspaper I have laid out on my table as I sit in this chair, taking sips of coffee.

‘Twilight Sparkle, Celestia’s prized pupil, named new Princess’

What the fuck? How are the fucking idiot ponies of this country not revolting at this moment, lifting their pitchforks and torches in an angry mob, declaring this behaviour insane and profane?! Twilight Sparkle? Element of Harmony, Archmage of Someshit, Overall Another Rich Canterlot Asshole? Yeah, that one. This is just getting ridiculous.

Yes, now that bitch has gone too far. This is absolutely too much. I, Lousy Salt, must take it upon myself to save the ponies of this great Nation from the corrupt rulers who denigrate everything that Equestria has ever stood for. Today is the first day of the bloody, bloody revolution. If the Goddess has abandoned us, then I see no reason why we need that Goddess nor any of her puppets.

Princess Cadance

My first target is the most worthless of the new ‘Princesses’, the one who has apparently done nothing in her life besides be a dumb pink rich pony in Canterlot. Seriously—is there anypony else who truly exemplifies that gross life of excess, exuding pomp and pretentiousness. If there’s anypony I hate more than these fake ‘Princesses’, I’d have to say it’s the Canterlot upper class snobs who do jack shit for this country and get everything in return. I don’t want power—I just want to see ponies getting their fair share for the work that they do. Actually, that’s another reason why our Goddess must either be an impostor or has gone so far astray: she won’t do anything to change that part of the status quo and she even actively participates in it. Radical change is needed in Equestria. I put on my jacket.

Anyway, that much is irrelevant as I have a mission, and I have a target. It’s going to be difficult, but who doesn’t love a challenge? (That question is rhetorical—I’m sure anypony, myself included, would appreciate things in general being just a little easier in their lives.)

Now here’s a little secret most ponies don’t know: you know how they always say that the alicorns are immortal, right? And that’s kind of true—they can’t die from old age, so they have lived and will go on to live a long time. However, there is a way they can die. It’s like that movie, Hooflander; they can only die if they’re physically wounded in a way like they would die just like if they were any other pony.

I go later that day to the knife shop. Most cities have ‘em—some sort of medieval-themed place, with a gruff-voiced stallion at the counter polishing some hefty piece of metal with a baby blue cloth. Those stores really exemplify the things that bring ponies together, all throughout Equestria.

I walk into the store and a little bell clinks as I open the door. The stallion behind the glass counter looks up from his polishing at me. He sets the knife carefully back onto its countertop display and puts the cloth back onto the counter.

“Hi,” I say. “I am looking for, um, a knife.” I am attempting to be nonchalant, to look like I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.

The stallion at the counter just laughs. “A knife? C’mon, buddy, this is a knife store. Knifes are pretty much all we sell. You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.”

I swallow. “Erm, I don’t know much about knives. Do you have one that’s, um, pretty sturdy and hefty, but not too expensive?”

“Yeah, probably. What’ll you be using ‘er for?” the pony asks as he looks at the wall behind him.

“Ah, um… v-vines,” I stammer, recalling the answer I’d come up with after looking up what had a similar consistency to pony flesh. “I’m building a raft.”

“Oh, rad! Well, this should do the trick,” he says, enveloping one in magical aura that looked straight out of a knight-in-shining-armour storybook. He slowly descends it into my outstretched hooves. “This one’s a decent knife, and it’ll only run ya fifteen bits.”

I smile. “That sounds absolutely wonderful, thank you.” I stick a hoof in my money pouch and pull out fifteen golden bits; once I hoof them across the counter to him, he bids me farewell and I leave.

A knife, a knife! In my very own saddlebags, such a beautifully-crafted instrument of destruction. How I can almost hear already the sick slashing of metal through flesh, blood pooling below… yet I must not get ahead of myself. It’s still only early in the morning, and it’s a Saturday. If I can catch the train this afternoon—I could be back by Sunday evening, if it all goes well. If not, there’s always the next weekend. I have my knife, now, and nopony can stop me.

The day is beautiful. Even if that damned Goddess is a fraud or corrupt, the Sun still generously bathes us in its ethereal rays. Ponies walk to-and-fro around me, ignorantly attending to their day-to-day business, but I am on a mission. I reach the train station before ten, and the next train leaves at 10:30. The station clerk smiled as I pulled up to the little glass window behind which she sat, though it was probably because nopony else was around. She looked bored.

Her voice, sweet as sugar, flowed through the metal grate on the window like music to my ears. “Hello, sir, what can I do for you today?”

“One ticket to the Crystal Empire, please,” I said, reaching for my money bag.

“That’ll be six bits, sir. You’ll be leaving at 10:30 this morning and you should get there by 5:30 this evening, if not before.” I put the bits on the counter through the short slit in the glass; she took them, put them in the cash register, and slid my ticket over to me. I picked it up; it was pink, with red outlines. How ironic.

I waved a goodbye to the station clerk and sat on an empty bench in front of the station. Baltimare’s the end of the line in this direction, so not many trains come through here besides the ones going out. A few stallions and mares sit on other benches, but I pay them no mind. It’s only ten minutes or so before the train pulls up in the station, and a plethora of ponies fill the station after having left the train. They buzz and they whine; the sound of voices fills the air and lingers long after they leave. Finally, at 10:25, the conductor comes over the train station loudspeaker to tell us we can board. I follow several ponies into the second train car; it’s never smart to sit in the first, because that one’s usually first to be attacked. (The last one, though, is usually more prone to being detached.)

I sit alone at a table on the left side of the train. There are a few ponies at a table across the aisle, and some on the left side ahead of me, but the train car remains fairly empty.

Only a few minutes pass before we leave the station and the train is chugging along on the track, through the grass, passing through the thick of the forest. I look out across the grass blowing in the wind, and then at the wide trunks of the trees which hulkingly loom over the train. A few branches scrape across the sides as we continue down the track. The minutes tick away like seconds, turning into hours which melt away like a stick of butter in your mouth. Perhaps another pony would have grown bored or fallen asleep, but not Lousy Salt—I keep replaying my plan in my head, watching myself stab over and over into that supple, rose-coloured belly…

And we pass the rolling sandy features of Rambling Rock Ridge, stretching out south as far as the eye could see, although I know the Everfree Forest and its damned neighbour Ponyville lay somewhere distantly on the other side. I do, however, start to zone out after this, so I am quite startled when everything goes dark.

Canterlot Tunnel, of course, passing through the Canterlot Mountain’s base. Our train stops for a brief moment at the station down here, to allow another train to pass, but then we continue onward. As we leave the tunnel, I get a distant look at that vile city, another one which I shall be visiting… very soon. The golden spires which top each of the castle’s towers glint blindingly in the sunlight. I feel bile rising in my throat, but I force it down. I have work to do.

We pass mountains and another forest. The sun sinks in the sky the closer we get to the Crystal Empire so that it is nearly across the horizon by the time we get there. The orange and peach hues in the sky are beautiful on their own, but they are embellished by the reflection on the crystals that make up the buildings of the Empire.

When our train finally comes to a stop, I am the first to stand to my hooves. The doors slide open on the side, and I walk out into the cold evening air. There are quite a few ponies here, both exiting the train like I am as well as waiting for the train to once again leave. I pass through the crowd, weaving through the ponies just milling about, to leave the station. I reach the streets of the Crystal Empire without bumping into anypony.

The ponies here look cheerful, crystal faces beaming at the sight of their neighbours and, indeed, me. What poor, poor souls they are, having been surreptitiously brainwashed into following the word, the iron hoof of this false Princess, this deceptive Cadance. I walk down the street in silence, the only audible sounds being my hooves clopping quietly on the crystalline surface below. I look down as I walk and see my face reflected. This disturbs me.

I keep walking until I reach an inn on the side of the road, a nondescript crystal building which catches my eye due to the the wooden ‘Inn’ side which protrudes from the façade of the building. The lights are on inside, and I can see crystal ponies sitting at a table inside one of the windows. I walk up the wooden steps and open the door, sliding my hoof through the large black circular handle and pulling with all my might. I enter, closing the door behind me.

The air is thick and smoky; this is presumably from all the ponies in here and particularly the ones smoking in the corner. I walk up to the front counter where an official-looking pony stands; I am careful to avoid the suspicious-looking stains that are plastered on the floor.

“Good evening, sir,” he says to me, washing a glass. “Can I getcha anything? A room, a drink?”

“One of each, I think. A decent room, and a decent drink. Or two.”

“Sure thing.”

I give the pony thirty bits like he asks, covering the room and two drinks. An associate takes his place as he leads me up into my room. It’s small but cosy, carpeted in dark blue with a little bed in the corner. There’s even a little window, overlooking the town. I drop off my saddlebags and follow him downstairs to collect the first of my drinks.

It’s about halfway through the second drink that I reveal my plans, to a handsome young stallion sitting across the table from me. He just finished telling me about this crush on a mare he had, a real cutie by his account, and now I feel like it’s my turn to tell him a secret.

“So,” I start, “you wanna know why I’m here in the Crystal Empire, all the way from Baltimare?”

He laughs. “Let me guess—it’s also about love? The mares out here sure are pretty.”

I laugh too. “No, no, none of that for me. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m here because of hate.”

He gives me a funny look. “Oh? Do continue.”

“You see, son, I’m angry. I think things in this great Nation need changing, you see?”

He nods. “I’m not sure if I agree, but I’m curious where this is going.”

“I’m going to kill the so-called Princess Cadance tomorrow,” I slur. “Just gonna go up to her with a knife and WHAM, dead.”

The pony across from me grimaces. “What?! That’s outrageous! Princess Cadance is a kind and fair ruler, you old drunk.”

“P-promise you won’t tell anyone?” I stammer, drooling.

“Um, well, alright. You’re probably just talkin’ trash anyways, same as the rest of us.”

I smile. “Well, thanks for your company, fella. I’ll be sure to give you a good place in the new world order.” I gulp down the rest of my beer and stand up, carrying the empty mug over to the bar.

“Thanks, fella. You sleep okay now, y’hear?” the bartender calls out after me, but I’m already gone up the stairs. I manage to shut the door, strip off my jacket, and get myself onto the bed before I pass out.

I have a dream that night—a nightmare, if you will. I dream that the bastard Shining Armor shows up in my room and leads me away in shackles, arrested on grounds of planned assassination. He is throwing my shivering form into a cold concrete cell in the bowels of his fancy-pantsy castle when I awake in that bed in the inn, sweating. I take a deep breath and climb down off the bed, standing upright on the ground. The clock reads 9:30 a.m.

Yawning, I put on my jacket which was hooked messily on a dresser handle. It still reeks nastily of sweat, alcohol, tobacco, and vomit, but there’s not much I can do about that until I go home. I put on my saddlebags and walk out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door of the inn. I say good morning and goodbye to the bartender, and then out into the fresh morning air it is. A lovely day—one ripe for killing, if there ever was one.

I walk, hoof after hoof, down the road, passing crystal ponies going both directions. Eventually, I come across the centre of town, above which lies the residence of my target. The blue crystal behemoth, a jagged spire, casts a large shadow over the west side of the town. I look up, but nopony is perched at the balcony save for two royal pegasus guards. I then turn my head down towards the ground and that’s where I spot her; the pretty pink Princess Cadance, walking alone, sniffing some flowers down at the base of one of the castle’s legs. I hasten my pace so I can catch up to where she’s standing before she decides to go somewhere else or meets up with somepony else. It’s now or never.

“Princess Cadance?” I say in a syrupy voice as I near. She turns her head to see me, and I force my muscles to pull me into a deep bow.

“Yes? Who are you?” Her voice is sweet but strong.

I spit out the story I’ve been rehearsing carefully in my mind, over and over. “Hello, Princess. My name is Lucky Tail. I’m an Equestrian citizen originally, but I’ve been spending some time in Yakyakistan recently on a research project for the University of Baltimare. However, I’ve been informed by the head Yak Chief that they are in need of your assistance, immediately, and I’ve been sent to take you there.”

Her dainty little face lights up in surprise. “Oh! Well, but of course! I can come now, if you like—do I need to bring anything?”

“No need, Princess,” I respond. “He only requires your presence and your mind.”

“Well, then, lead the way, Mr. Tail! Let us not delay the yaks any longer.”

I smile and begin walking north; she walks alongside me, a step behind, to my right. We pass through a residential neighbourhood, and Princess Cadance smiles and waves a pink, gold-covered hoof to various ponies at their houses or on their lawns as we pass. The crystal ponies look delighted to see her, waving enthusiastically back. None of them know, of course, that it will be their last time seeing their precious fake Princess—but none of them need to right now. I’m sure they’ll figure it out, after it’s too late, and cry about it or something.

Eventually, after many minutes, the princess and I reach the outskirts of town. She magically opens the city’s northernmost gate, letting both of us through and shutting the gate behind. We carry on up the mountainous path to Yakyakistan, getting chillier by the moment. I keep walking until we’re at a good distance from the Crystal Empire, enough to be inaudible, and yet not too close to Yakyakistan, because I don’t want to be heard by them either. Then, I stop.

“Huh? Is something wrong?” Cadance asks. Her lithe body is shivering in the frigid mountain air—her belly quivers, undulating...

I blink. “No, c’mere, I wanna show you something.” I pull off my saddlebag, setting it down on the cold earth, and she turns over to where I’m opening the flap of the right one with a foreleg. However, as I’m doing so, I balance myself on my hindlegs and use my left foreleg to pull out my knife. Cadance’s eyes are still trained on my hoof opening the saddlebag. I swing the blade upwards, and it nicks off the very tip of her horn. I read in a book once that it’s possible to incapacitate a unicorn’s magical ability and indeed much of their other movement if you can just cut off the tip of the horn; now is the time to see if it works.

Cadance lets out a yelp of pain, reaching a forehoof to her horn to feel the end. “Wh-what? Why? H-how could you?” From the looks of it, she tries to cast a magic spell—maybe to teleport out of here—but her horn just flashes bright white and lets out a sizzling noise and a sizeable amount of smoke. She collapses onto the ground.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cadance, but you are not a true princess. I don’t know to what extent you’re complicit with Celestia or the Celestia impostor’s evil plans, but I know that she trusts you and that you’re a rich, snobby bitch.”

“P-please… I’m so sorry…” she begins to sob. “Goddess, help me…” Honestly, it’s pretty hard to watch, so I decide to get to it.

“Your fucking Goddess can’t help you now.” I thrust my knife into her jugular vein, cutting a messy gash across her neck before I wrench the knife out from her meaty body with my teeth. She moans loudly and sobs harder. Her red blood spurts into my vision, and I put a hoof over my face so I can still see. The blood smears all over the ground and her coat, stickying her fur.

“It’s so satisfying to destroy something so fucking beautiful,” I sneer, stabbing into her again with the knife. But this time, I go for that fuzzy belly, the one that holds her beautiful organs…

Ignoring her screams, her cries in protest, her bleeding, her wretching, her efforts to move her hooves or do magic, I cut a thin line around the skin on her belly, drawing a crude red circle in that succulent pink flesh. Coming back to my point of origin, I pry the skin off with my dagger as a lever and reveal Cadance’s organs inside, pumping, exuding blood and white gooey pus and oils and bile and water and sticky fluids that mottle my coat. She shudders furiously, convulsing, as I pull back my dagger-wielding hoof.

“Princess of Love, they call you? Say goodbye to your heart, your world, and your so-called Goddess, bitch. I hope you rot in Tartarus.” I shove the blood-dripping blade of my knife straight into the left ventricle of that red, pounding thing and watch it pump, pump, pump slower and slower, bleeding out the hole. Cadance lets out a blood-curdling screech, shaking me to my bones—no, my marrow. I stand there beside her for a few minutes, blade handle between my teeth, watching Cadance bleed out, taking her final breaths. She’s no longer the pretty pink rich pony whom I hated; she is ugly, grotesque even, with fur ripped up and soaked with blood and pus and other fluid and matted in uneven patches. I am overtaken with sadness at the sight of her, and begin to walk away down a steep side path leading west. I choke back a sob as I go, breathing in the fumes of Cadance’s withering corpse.

It may be that she is the one who dies today but I have marked myself as a pony who now must live with Death looming over his shoulder, informing his every move.

Princess Twilight Sparkle

I’m surprised I got away with it, to be honest. I wasn’t that careful, and made some mistakes. After I left, I made my way down to Luna Bay, across the water from the small settlement over there. I washed myself clean of blood in the water. My blood-splattered jacket was, at that point, unrecoverable, so I set the thing ablaze on the beach. I buried the knife underneath a bush thirty feet from the edge of the beach. After that, I ran. I didn’t know where exactly to go, but I ran.

I was worried that they might be able to find me; I had been seen with Cadance when she left the Crystal Empire for the last time. However, I was a generic white unicorn stallion wearing a coat I no longer owned that had obscured my cutie mark. And soon I would be back in Baltimare, far from the incident. I could feign ignorance, pretend I knew nothing about it, and everything would turn out fine and nopony would suspect a thing.

Vanhoover ended up being where I ran to, and I easily took a late-night train from the station there which arrived very early in the morning in Baltimare, just as the sun rose. I walked through the city quickly until I got to my apartment. I picked up the newspaper and brought it inside, shutting the door gingerly behind me.

And now I sit here, reading the newspaper in this kitchen chair, and I’m very pleased with the headline.

‘Princess Cadance: Murdered outside the Crystal Empire?’ it reads. There is a very large photo of the site where I—where she died, with police tape around it and the recognisable forms of the three remaining Princesses and Cadance’s widow, Shining Armor. One could almost have felt sad for them, if they were any other ponies. But I remind myself of who they are and the disgusting things they stand for and I applaud myself for what I’ve done so far. And yet my work is far from over.

I glance down at the details in the article.

‘...suspects include a white unicorn stallion with a long grey jacket, seen last walking with Cadance outside of the Crystal Empire…’

‘...unclear who would have the motivation or why they chose to attack as they did…’

‘...any ponies with information about the death of Princess Cadance are asked to call their local police department…’

‘...a funeral service will be held for the general public in the Crystal Empire this Saturday afternoon at 1 p.m., presided over by Princess Cadance’s sister-in-law, Princess Twilight Sparkle…’

This last tidbit is of particular interest to me; the chance to see another Princess, so soon after the first? Of course, there probably wouldn’t be a chance during the service… but, as a good citizen of Equestria, it is my duty to go and go I shall. I glance at the clock; it reads 8:15 a.m. I walk out the door and go to the coffeeshop where I work, beginning another miserable work week. But it’s always better when you have something fun to look forward to at the end of the week, y’know?

And so I go in there, smiling, making drinks, putting a little dollop of whipped cream on top, working on autopilot. Day in, day out: wake up, walk there, make drinks, eat lunch, make drinks, walk home, sit and think, go to bed. And soon enough, it’s Tuesday, then Wednesday, then Thursday, then Friday. On Friday, I hear a couple ponies murmuring to each other at one of the tables near the counter as I call their names, murmuring about Princess Cadance, what they think happened to that poor, poor pony, and how they’re going to shell out for the tickets on the train to the funeral. I wonder how many ponies from Baltimare will be going.

In preparation for the funeral, I buy a hat.

I am answered when I get to the train station the next morning: quite a lot, it seems. I get there just after nine, for the 10:30 train, and it seems that I’ve purchased one of the few tickets left. I sit on the same bench that I did a week before, but this time I’m surrounded by ponies, on either side but also in front. I try not to look into their eyes; when you have blood on your hooves, it’s hard not to look guilty.

I hear worried snippets of conversation around me—mainly of ponies upset by the tragedy, but also of those worried for their safety.

“If there’s something out there which they haven’t caught that could kill a Princess…” I hear somepony say, though the rest of their words are masked by the conductor above calling everyone aboard. I push my way through the ponies towards the second train car and, thank Goddess, I’m able to shoulder my way to that same seat on the train. I sit down, prepared for the ride.

But unlike before, likely because there are so many passengers on the train this morning, the benches and tables around me begin to fill up and, unfortunately, ponies sit next to me on the bench. Once looks at me as if she wants to start a conversation, but I look away and tip my hat over my face; I hear her begin to chat with one of our neighbours.

I sleep through most of the train ride, lulled by the steady forward chug of the train and the calm buzz of voices around me. By the time I wake, we are but fifteen minutes from the Crystal Empire. I don’t move until the train grinds to a halt, upon which I snap to attention and promptly leave the train car. I force my way through the thick of the ponies, carelessly bumping into them as I struggle past.

I reach the main road and follow the other ponies who also walk down the thoroughfare, towards the city’s centre. That sharp blue crystal spire pierces the sky and atop its balcony, looking down upon the masses below, is that pastel lavender symbol of Celestia’s love and adoration, her prized pupil, Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Along with all the other ponies there, I take my place in the crowd, looking up at Her Highness. Her face is hard to make out above, but she looks like she’s almost in tears. I stand there, packed between so many ponies from all across Equestria, smelling their sweat, feeling their hearts pumping at all different rhythms, pounding, pounding. I stand there in silence for several minutes.

And then she speaks. “My dear c-citizens… ponies of Equestria… we are g-gathered here today  to remember one of… one of my closest friends, someone you all know very well. I speak, as you know, of our dearly d-departed… P-Princess Cadence.”

Ponies, myself included, stamp their hooves on the ground. There is the sound of a magical spark up above, and we see a black coffin enveloped in magenta magical aura come into view. The Princess descends it down to the earth below the castle where Shining Armor, Cadance’s widow, stands by a freshly-dug grave. The coffin neatly is set in that hole; Shining Armor, tears streaming from his face, he shovels over top of the long black box by hoof.

“L-let Cadance, the Princess of Love, shine on in all of us, living our lives a little more virtuous, a little more lovingly.” The Princess choked back a sob. “All of us love you, Cadance… I love you… and may you rest in peace.” She stops and hangs her head in silence, trying to stop us from seeing her tears.

The crowd below stomps its hooves on the ground once again, and then a silence falls over the city. A moment of utter beauty.

But, as dear Cadance was so kind to show us, everything beautiful must end. As ponies stand in silence, I leave, pushing back through the crowd until I break free. I am set, on a mission, and I can’t stop for anything now.

First I go to a general store, some kind of place that sells all that junk that ponies need in their everyday lives. I enter and exit quickly, with a new paper bag in my saddlebags. Then I take the train—but unlike before, when I went between Baltimare and the Crystal Empire, I now have a new destination: Ponyville.

The train ride is long, probably, but I don’t really notice it. It is secondary in the general plot of my life—what is primary are my aims, my goals, and my achievements.

There are hardly any ponies on the station or in the streets—as Cadance had a strong connection to the ponies of this village, so I’m sure they’re all off still paying their respects and remembering her life. When I reach the inn here, I’m thankful to see that at least one of the proprietors has stayed behind.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he says. “What can I help you with?”

“Ah, just a room for the night,” I say. “I’ve just come back from the Crystal Empire and I need somewhere to stay as I have business here tonight before I go home to Fillydelphia.”

He bows his head in acknowledgement and I hoof him the required amount of bits. He leads me upstairs, through the hallway, to my room where he leaves me. Honestly, the entire place is very similar to the inn in the Crystal Empire.

I get my saddlebags on the ground and lie down on the bed. The clock hands read something like 2:15 p.m., so there’s plenty of time until the night, when I plan on striking. I let myself drift off into a nap…

When I awake, the room is completely dark. I look out the window and am greeted by the starry night sky; a look at the clock confirms that it’s about 10 at night. It is time for me to get ready.

I stand to my hooves and reach into the saddlebag reaching my hoof around, searching for something. I finally wrap my hooves around a small bottle and pull it out. I take it with me, walking through the darkness to the bathroom, which I enter. I shut the door forcefully behind me and flip the light switch upwards to on.

I walk over to the bathroom, put the stopper in the drain, and start the water going from the faucet. I unscrew the lid of the little bottle I hold, and pour the liquid contents into the slowly filling bathtub, stirring it around with a hoof. When I pull it away, my hoof is stained a dull grey.

Once the tub has filled enough, I stop the faucet and climb in. The water rises around me, displaced. I close my eyelids tightly and lie down, submerging my entire body in the liquid. It feels wet and a little slimy. I lie there for a minute, until I can’t hold my breath any longer, and then I emerge, eyes still closed. I do this a few more times, letting the dye sink into my fur and skin. Then, after several times, I reach over and shut the shower curtain and turn on the warm shower spray. I feel the water rolling down my face, rinsing it of any excess ink. I open the stopper and the murky grey liquid spirals away down the drain. The gooey slime is washed away by the shower jet, too, leaving only my body there beneath the showerhead. Finally, I shut it off. I reach a grey hoof out to grab a fluffy sky blue towel and wipe myself down, leaving long grey stains streaked along the fabric.

I finally climb out from the tub and stand in front of the sink, looking into the mirror. I know the slate-grey stallion in the mirror is me, but he is incredibly unfamiliar at the same time, a stranger wearing my face yet somepony else’s colour. Even the salt shakers on my flanks have been transformed, now appearing as distinct shakers of pepper. I flash the mirror me a toothy grin—he returns the gesture, but it looks strangely sinister coming from him. What a fucker.

I open the bathroom door again and flick off the light. I toss the empty plastic container in the garbage can. I take a deep breath and reach my hoof again into my saddlebag on the ground, searching through the contents until I loop my foreleg around what I’ve been looking for. I pull out the length of rope and it sits, motionlessly, on the floor. I lift it into my hooves and I sit on the bed, manoeuvring the ends around in knots.

After a few minutes of careful work, I succeed in making what I had been trying to make: a noose. I hold it up out in front of me. It would be so easy, if I really wanted to, to just attach this to the ceiling and stick my neck through it, kicking the chair out from beneath me with a hindleg and letting my body fall, my next break… ponies have been doing that for ages. I could for sure have the last laugh—they can’t catch and punish me if I’m dead. But I know my plan and I know what I need to do and I don’t want to die, not yet. I have work to do.

I pack the noose back into my saddlebags and then I put them on, sliding them over my grey form. I won’t be leaving anything here in the room, so there’s no real reason for me to come back. In addition, I don’t want the innkeeper to see me, now with my colour changed, and get suspicious or anything like that. So I open the window as wide as it will go, letting the cool night air into the room, and I step onto the windowsill. There is a small roof section below this outside; I jump onto it swiftly and sidestep to the right until I reach the side of the building, where the roof hangs low over an alley. I’m able to jump down onto the closed lid of a dumpster and then onto the soft brown earth below; it’s a bit much for an older stallion like myself, but nothing I truly can’t handle. I’ve come so far already and no small leap can stop me now.

Twilight’s crystalline castle looms overhead, visible from pretty much everywhere in town. I keep it in my sights and walk forward towards it, snaking around buildings through back alleyways to avoid ponies, even though I doubt many would be out at this hour. But the fewer ponies I have to interact with, the better.

Finally, after several minutes of circumnavigating the town, I find myself at Twilight’s front door, the impressively large door of the castle. I take a deep breath, count to seven, and let it out. Then, I knock on the door three times. The knocks reverberate softly. I hear shuffling noises inside and then the soft clopping of hooves on crystal, and then the door opens. Inside lies a small lavender alicorn, yawning as she opens the door with her magic.

“Hello there,” she says. Her voice is matter-of-fact and well-suited to give lectures, or something. I dunno. “What can I do for you, mister…?”

“Clark,” I say. “Pepper Clark. I apologise for the interruption this late at night, Princess, but I have some information related to your dear sister-in-law’s untimely death which I think that you may find interesting.”

Her eyes widen in surprise as I say this. “Oh, yes, yes, come in, Mr. Clark. I’ll just finish with the, uh, the tea I was making, and then you can tell me all about what you know. Come with me.” She starts off down a hallway to the right and I follow as she takes us past portraits of unfamiliar ponies and down a set of stairs into a small kitchen. On the stovetop lies a kettle; after a minute, it begins to squeal. I sit down at the table in the centre of the kitchen as she turns away from me, facing towards the counter and sink as she lifts the kettle in her magical aura. I wait until she’s turned off the stove and set down the kettle before I strike; I don’t want a mess to clean up.

I activate my magic and cast a spell on the Princess, one I doubt the mare knows even with all her experience. An ancient spell, from some tome of the days of yore, it places the subject into an analgesic sleep for several hours. The Princess can’t feel a thing as the wave of magic washes over her; I know it has worked when she slumps to the tile floor with a soft plop.

I walk over to where she lies, pulling a chair along with me which I set next to her body. Standing on the chair, I attach the rope on the end of the noose to the ceiling light fixture. Tugging on the noose a little bit, it’s evident that there’s no way that this is going to collapse, to fall down. I climb down from the chair and bend down to lift the lavender mare.

Princess Twilight Sparkle isn’t particularly light but neither is she particularly heavy; I’m able to lift her without much difficulty. I climb back onto the chair and manage to lift her limp body high enough so that I can thread her neck through the noose. For a moment, I pause. I can feel her little heart beating in her chest, thump-thumping by where I hold her between my hooves. Then I let go.

Gravity is not kind to the mare; she falls into the noose and it tightens around her neck. She doesn’t know what’s going on—doesn’t even know to struggle. She’s already out and won’t ever come back—Twilight Sparkle, in a few minutes, will be dead, and she won’t have felt a thing. I step down from the chair and tip it onto its side, making it look as if she had kicked it over. Two princess murders in a week is a much different concept than a sister-in-law driven to suicide through her grief, madness, and feeling of personal responsibility.

I stand there for, oh, I dunno, ten minutes or so, just staring at where Twilight Sparkle’s lifeless body lies. But then the gravity of what I’ve just done dances around in my stomach, threatening to push upwards, so I run. I don’t know what I’m doing as I do it—I  just do all I can to escape, to get out. I find myself outside, hyperventilating in the cold night air, running away, watching the castle fade out of sight over my shoulder as I run. I’m out of breath by the time I get to the train station and pour the last of my bits onto the counter, so I’m left wheezing my destination to the pony working the tickets tonight. My blood feels hot, pumping all over my body, keeping me awake and alert, jumpy even, through the whole train ride and even once I’m locked away safely in my room and bed. I lie there in the early morning, eyes wide open, staring out blankly ahead of me.

Princess Celestia

Eventually, I fall asleep. I wake up a few hours later, unrested but still horribly awake. I get out of bed with a kick of my hooves and open the front door, snatching up the Sunday newspaper from my doorstep and slamming the door shut. Hooves trembling, I slide off the shitty rubber band and let it drop to the floor as I unroll the paper.

‘SECOND PRINCESS DEAD IN AS MANY WEEKS,’ reads the headline at the top of the page in thick black letters. Underneath, it gives more details: ‘Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, found dead in her castle from an apparent suicide.’ There’s a photo lower down on the front page of a sobbing purple dragon whelp, face in its claws. I don’t really care enough to check why that’s there.

I don’t know who I’m fooling at this point, but I exhale, pretending to be relieved. But inside and out I’m still trembling. I’ve come so far and done so much, so why don’t I feel good about it?

“It must be that I’m not done yet,” I mutter out loud to myself. “There’s still two more to go, including the Goddess herself.”

I can’t wait too long until I strike again—I wasn’t as focused this last time, I probably left too much evidence behind. They’ll probably have my hoofprints this time, maybe some of my hair, or other traces. Skin flakes, I don’t know. They’ll track me down, they’re gonna come get me. I need to keep going, I need to kill the next princess and the one after that or I’m going to die and Equestria is going to remain derelict forever.

I think. It’s a Sunday, so I could probably take the train to Canterlot this afternoon and then sometime in the night do the deed, and call in sick on Monday if I can’t get back in time for my shift. Both of the remaining princesses live in Canterlot Castle, so that should make things easier… I just need to make sure they’re both there before I strike. I set the paper onto the table and I stumble over to my room, where I climb back into bed. I lie there for a few hours, motionless, not sleeping but trying to get some rest, I guess. I don’t really know what I’m doing at this point.

When the bedside clock reads 2:00 p.m., I climb back out of bed. I walk over to my dresser drawer and refill my little pouch up with shiny golden bits. I can see my dumb grey face reflected on the surfaces, goggling back at me. Stop looking at me, dumbass.

Once I get enough bits, I leave. I don’t even have my saddlebags with me; all I’ve got is my small money bag and the house key, which I slide underneath the ‘Welcome’ mat. I walk through the streets of Baltimare, ignoring the ugly buzz of ponies around me, until I reach the train station. That Goddess-damned train station. I’ve been to enough of these things in the last week. I’m so tired.

I buy a ticket and sit on the bench until the train arrives. I walk onto the train and sit down in the same seat I always do. A few other ponies sit in the car, but they’re distant, far away, and it’s almost like they’re just not there, irrelevant. I swallow and wait as the train pulls away from the station. I look out the window but I can hardly make out any shapes in the blur, the streaks of colour and light spinning past us as we roll on, faster and faster, my head lolling forward…

I snap to attention as the train comes to a halt. Somehow, we’re already at the Canterlot Station—I guess I must have dozed off, though I don’t remember it.  A glance out the train car’s window tells me that it’s late—probably around 7 p.m. or so if I had to guess. I stand up and I exit with the other ponies, onto the station and then out into the bustling streets, still filled with ponies even at this hour, just as it was at nearly every hour of the day.

I carry on through the streets, dodging ponies as I go by, occasionally bumping into a few and apologising as I ran past. I don’t care, though—my sights are set on the majestic, beautiful, ancient Canterlot Castle which is the heart of the city, its centrepiece. Normally, in the daytime, one probably wouldn’t describe it as looming; however, at night and particularly with my motives in mind, looming is all the garish building seems to be able to do. This keeps it easily in sight, though, so I never end up lost in the unfamiliar city. I just need to keep walking ever forward, ever towards that castle where the two ‘sisters’ live and work.

I don’t know how long it takes me to navigate the streets of Canterlot—surely an hour or more, it seems, though I have no way to tell the time. But eventually, as with most of my destinations, I reach the castle and I find myself walking in through the front door which, as any Equestrian citizen could tell you, is open to ponies all day and all night. For the most part, the castle has an open grounds—as an important governmental building as well as a historical relic, the Princess decided long ago that her home was also the home of her royal subjects. This just makes my task all the easier.

The entryway is large and tall and all that with big windows and fancy decorations but I speed through it and up the stairs which lead to the main governmental part of the castle, where the Day Court and Night Court are held. I could be wrong, but I think right now it’s in that weird zone in between the two where neither one is being held but the princesses might still be meeting in a side room. I walk to the left. Conveniently, the rooms here have glass windows looking in, so you can see who’s in each room. My heart beats faster and faster as I feel the fuzzy carpet below and I pass each room, looking back and forth on either side of the hall for any sign of the princesses. Most of the rooms are dark and empty, but a few are lit up with simple ceiling light fixtures and there are a few ponies in these ones, generally sitting around meeting tables. Government bureaucracy—boring as hell. It isn’t until the end of the hall that I see the familiar undulating mane of Princess Celestia, pastel rainbow hues of the sky flowing freely as if in the wind and quite iridescent in the light.

The only other pony in the room is Princess Luna, sitting across the small table from her ‘sister’. Bingo—jackpot—on the money. This is perfect—almost too perfect. I knock on the door with three short raps before something changes, before it all goes wrong.

I can see both princesses inside look towards the door. Luna stands up and walks over to the door and then opens it.

“Hello? How may we help you, sir?” she asks. How may you help me indeed.

“Hello, Princess,” I say, with a bitter forced smile. “I do apologise for the interruption, but my name is Pepper Clark and  I’ve just been sent from the Crystal Empire because Shining Armor there has just found out some very important and alarming information regarding the horrible tragedy that happened with his wife last week.”

“Oh my!” Luna exclaims. “Why, come in, Mr. Clark!” She stands aside to let me through, and I take a seat at the head table. She shuts the door and returns to the table, again opposite from Princess Celestia.

We sit there in silence for a moment; Celestia then clears her throat. “Mr. Clark, we are all ears to what you have to say.”

“Oh, but of course!” I respond heartily. “However, I just want to make sure—this room is soundproof, right? We are not in any danger of being heard?”

“Why, of course,” Celestia replies with a smile. “We have everything prepared here with the utmost caution in mind, to keep out prying ears from places they don’t belong.”

“Splendid, splendid,” I say. This is it. Breathe… breathe… in and out… “Now, as you may know…” I start.

And then, in a flash. I activate my horn. There’s a spell in the archives in Canterlot Castle that is forbidden because it is so destructive and there is no possible way that it could be used for good. It was invented several centuries ago, in the midst of a horrible, bloody war, and then the spell was denounced as soon as the war was over by the same ponies who had harnessed and used it to achieve their own ends. Honestly, the best way to describe the spell is to describe what happens when I use it.

My horn is aglow as I cast the spell, aimed directly at Celestia’s immaculate goddess cranium. She lets out a gasp as she begins to feel her flesh and bones collapsing inward—crushing and liquefying her brain into a gooey grey pulp which began to leak out the sides onto the ground along with the blood which had been coursing through her face. Celestia’s body collapses sideways to the ground in a writhing mess, bleeding out from neck and what remains of the head, scrunched up and imploded.

Luna’s mouth is held open in shock as I do this; she seems unable to move. But then she lets out a scream and her horn begins to glow…

Princess Luna

...but I am already ready and my spellwork is faster and more deadly and I hit Luna with the same spell, sending her dark-blue face flesh pushing inwards to destroy her brain in the same manner.

Both princesses are now lying sprawled out on the ground, limbs twitching uncontrollably as the bodies begin to fail without their brains. It doesn’t matter what happens to me now; I could die, for all I care. The princesses are dead, and real revolution and change have come upon this country. Our Goddess, the mortal Saviour of us ponies, is gone. May the world grow and better itself without her oppressive rule.

Postlude

The steel door slid open with a flash of magenta magic, and the lavender alicorn mare walked through it into the lab.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Princess Twilight Sparkle wheezed. “Whew… I flew as fast as I could… still not ready for that long distance teleportation.

“Good afternoon, Twilight,” Princess Celestia said. She stood with Princess Luna and Princess Cadance along the back wall, opposite a large wall with buttons and dials and screens and things where a cyan unicorn mare stood, pushing those buttons and twisting those dials and magicking various components. “I believe you’ve met Dr. Oneirica before, no?”

“Oh, yes—hello, Doctor! I don’t know if we’ve formally met but I’ve seen you speak at a few conferences and I’ve read a lot of your work on dreams—very fascinating research.”

“Thank you, Princess!” replied Dr. Oneirica. “I apologise if I’m not able to respond very much—this machine is still very much a work in progress and I’ve gotta make all these tweaks and fixes as it’s running.”

“No problem!” Twilight replied. She then turned to the other princesses who appeared just to be watching. “So, what exactly happened? All I know is something about my brother and somepony arrested and now this dream machine... thing.”

It was Luna who spoke up. “Well, as far as we understand it, Shining Armor got a tip late last night from a pony in the local inn that there was a pony who was planning to murder Cadance. As a precautionary measure, he went to the inn with the intent of arresting that pony. However, the pony was still asleep, so Shining brought the pony back here to the castle and put him in the cell adjacent to this room.” Luna gestured to a door to the right of the machine console.

“So then what do Dr. Oneirica and the dream machine have to do with it?” Twilight asked.

“Dr. Oneirica just happened to be here when Shining returned with the pony,” Cadance said, “and they decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to test out the doctor’s new dream machine—one that allows a pony to stay in a dream-like state of stasis, but have the dreams broadcast to a video feed from their eyesight and thoughts. That way they could find out what this pony’s plans actually were, even if it is kind of immoral.”

“It’s not perfect, and the words often come out too jumbledy, but it’s shaping up to be a damn good machine!” Dr. Oneirica chimed in.

“But then… Shining’s in the other room, watching the feed, isn’t he?” Twilight asked. Celestia frowned.

“Yes, he’s been in there for hours and hours. There’s some time dilation and speed warping, but he’s probably seen about a week of this pony’s dreams in the eight or nine hours he’s been watching.

“Oh my…” Twilight said quietly. She looked like she was about to say something else, but her thoughts were interrupted before she could.

“Wait, everyone… something’s changing!” the doctor cried. “The signal’s shutting off! The pony is waking up!” A red light, previously shining only on that colour, was blinking; after several blinks, it finally blinked out. After a moment of silence, a door to the right, adjacent to the door leading to the cell, opened with a soft hiss.

The tall, muscular form of Shining Armor burst forth from the doorway. He didn’t look good; there were bags under his eyes and he wore a sombre expression on his face. Cadance rushed over to greet him with a hug, and he wrapped his hooves around her gentle pink body. But then, the other princesses could see, tears began to well in his eyes.

“I love you all,” he finally said. “I love you so much. Cadance, my wife and the love of my life. Twilight, my terrific and strong sister. Luna, the beautiful mistress of the night. Celestia, the warm life-giving mother of the day.” He paused. “I’m never gonna let anything… or anypony take you ponies away from me…”

Twilight, Luna, and Celestia joined in the hug around Shining Armor and they all held each other tight, not one of them letting go.

[Crossover] [Human] [Random]

“What the hell, Rick?!” Morty said, eyebrows furrowed in irritation. “You just went into that peaceful little pony society and killed all their princesses! What are the little ponies going to live for now?!”

“Yeah, Morty, but get this—urp—none of that was real. It’s a game designed to make people have fun. Which I did.” Rick pulled the virtual reality helmet off of his head and dropped it carelessly back onto the seat. “How about you just learn to—urp—not be a total buzzkill, huh?”

“Yeah, well… why don’t you learn to not be such an asshole?!” Morty spat. Rick had already begun to walk away from the arcade machine and into the heterogeneous crowd that filled up the Blips and Chitz arcade on that Sunday afternoon. Morty, not wanting to be left behind, sped after his grandfather.

“Morty, Morty, Morty… you gotta lighten up, kid. R-Remember the Purge?” Rick took a swig from his flask.

“What does the Purge have to do with anything?” Morty asked, keeping in stride. “That was also terrible, Rick!”

“Well—urp—that was, like, w-way worse according to your, uh, code of ethics or whatever, right? That was just a video game, M-Morty. No harm done. Those little ponies weren’t really happy, Morty. It was all an illusion created by the government.”

Morty rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I don’t even care anymore. Let’s just go do whatever else we’re going to do and get out of here.”

“Ha-ha!” Rick said loudly. “Now we’re talkin’! Y’know, speaking of the Purge, there’s—urp—there’s this game you totally gotta try where you kill people but it reads your b-brainwaves first so it’s all people that you already know.”

Morty sighed. Then he had a realisation. “Wait, you mean like Summer and the kids from school and stuff?”

“Holy shit, Morty… since when did you get so dense?”