Forged Into Hell

by MajorDude

Rating: mature
Tags: Thriller, Gore, Original Character, Dark, Spike, Equestria Girls, Tragedy, Alternate Universe
Length: 3690

A young teenger is stuck in a doomed situation. Here, he is condemned by his actions and failure. But he has already condemned himself before fate could do otherwise.

The fear of death is futile against dragons. Their spirits are already dangerous and adventurous. Corrupt. Vicious. Heartless. The young teenager compared those bloodlust thirsty beasts to himself. He cannot see any difference whatsoever between himself and dragons. Not that it ever vexed him in the first place.

He awaits the heartless journey that lies before his blood-soaked path. Some things will change, some things will never die, who knows?

But like most stories, happy endings never happen. Was it a mistake? A cruel twist in fate? A simple failure conjured by his actions? Spike will learn that in the bitter and tasteless end, good times never last.

Written for the Make Spike Suffer contest from The Barcast group.

Edited by The Fan Without a Face

A non-canonical side story for an upcoming story I'm currently in the process of writing: Heartless Dragon

+ Contains torture violence.
+ Takes place after Mirror Magic.
+ Alternate timeline where Spike does not have a dog counterpart in the EQG universe. Timeline leading up to this story is unchanged, just with the absence of the EQG universe's Spike the Dog.

Cover Art commissioned from G_Hyze.
DeviantArt Profile Page

Published 2017-06-28 17:50:06 UTC
Last updated 2017-06-28 17:50:06 UTC

A Simple Job

Spike coughed.

A simple job, that’s all there was to it. It was not like he was going to deny it, since he had tackled far more difficult jobs before. Who would have thought that waste disposal was a tough occupation? Nothing was ever simple, so why bother trying to occupy yourself with a “simple” job? Spike enjoyed the difficult errands which he considered the fun errands. He was not a stupid hothead like those gorilla bounty hunters nowadays. He knew that these kinds of jobs carried a high risk. Lady Luck would not be at his side for too long, like some scab on a healing arm. In this current predicament, an average person would have been praying that a miracle would shine down upon them. Spike however, was far from average.

Each cough he took caused a small amount of blood to eject from his mouth, staining the concrete floor his face was currently laying on. He could feel the burning sensation from the blood coating the inside of his mouth and the cold ground on the left side of his face. The burning was not just spreading only in his mouth; his wrists endured the burning sting as Spike twisted them a bit. A minor burn was inflicted and his fingers slowly clenched against each other as the rope tied around his wrists let out an involuntary burn. With the top part of the wooden chair snapped open, Spike’s body was almost disfigured as he could feel his back ruptured from his current position.

Canterlot City was nothing special compared to the other cities that Spike had once resided. Granted, it seemed much happier and quiet compared to other cities, yet it was those qualities that always bothered Spike.

Much to his relief and surprise, this so-called ”small time” city had some problems lurking in the shadows. Spike was used to seeing jackals hiding in alleys, selling potent drugs or illegal arms to anyone willing to purchase. Besides contraband, he had his share of punks hitting people up for protection money, along with any other underhanded means of accessing cash. Oh, and those ”magical friendship” rumors that he kept hearing. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn with utter fury.

He did not understand how something so cheesy and unrealistic, had become one of the most renowned stories throughout the city. Many people allegedly confirmed it but lacked any evidence to show their allegations were true. This was not a children’s show. You think someone who messed with the fabric of time and space can instantly be forgiven of such heinous crimes? Nothing but harebrained lies to taint the minds of this generation. Only one thing remained true for Spike: this city had plenty of game for him to hunt. Home sweet home indeed.

The concussion he was suffering, was still fresh, as opposed to the blood drying in his spiked green hair. Oddly enough, the numbness coursing through his body sensation almost felt like calm silence of death. It was evenly matched by the jumbled sounds of laughter and amusement echoed past the ringing in his ears. Spike would be lying if he considered the laughter unjustified. Even with his blurred vision and crimson blood covered eyes, he could almost make out their enthusiastic face expressions as they high-fived each other.

Yet, even the possibility of death couldn’t stop Spike from thinking of the possibility of what would have happened next. Rather, he wondered what the next day could have been like had he avoided his failure. Spike was still a kid, technically speaking at least, he still had to go to school at least.

Sure, it sounded stupid, but he always looked on the bright side. He always viewed himself as a lone dork, always sitting by himself, like some sort of Straight A recluse. Who would suspect that a shy and smart student had no trouble dirtying his hands someone’s blood? Of course, being a student had its share of risks.

The primary issue being: meeting new friends. Last thing Spike needed was to meet someone and suddenly go from total badass to a love struck puppy. It would be certainly awkward when they eventually learn the truth of their “Spikey-Wikey.” Thankfully, most of the schools seemed to only have students with poor social skills. The price of recognition was always acting cool, favoring education with idiotic popularity. Crystal Prep Academy, his intended next school, was filled with snobbish students born with a silver spoon in each mouth. This time, the price was high class and wealth. Spike had the credentials to attend this academy but the student body would most likely neglect him, probably treat him like a leper. Then again, what did he care about their bothersome opinions. The friends he had right now were enough.

His friends. Spike is far from being stupid; he knew that he was not being saved. He had full confidence and determination in his friends yet he knew that they can’t arrive in time to save him. Spike disliked displaying emotions, a sign of weakness in his own terms, but the thoughts of his comrades actually made his stomach churn with guilt and despair. Like himself, they had their share in an occupation no different than his own. Nevertheless, they were allies and friends. They were the only ones Spike would be proud to call his family.

He wished he could apologize to his adoptive sister. Ember lost a father, now she was going to lose a brother. Thorax is a loyal friend, so he would be willing to comfort Ember. Starlight Glimmer and Sunburst are also reliable, never denying a chance for aid. Thank goodness Ember still had them. How did things go so wrong?

It was a simple job, waste management. It started off so straightforward yet so utterly satisfying. The cold floor reminded Spike of those chills he had experienced just a few hours ago. The chill that went up his purple suit and froze inside his green dragon mask. The relaxing feel from the AMT Hardballer that bypassed through his black leather gloves. The chill that his skin felt while his blood flowing through his veins felt itself getting warm from dark anticipation.

Truly, it was a thrilling experience just from standing at the entrance of that apartment. Every bullet, every punch, every slice from his golden katana. When he closed his eyes, he can still feel them, still see them. See every used bullet casing that falls to the floor, quicker than the blood soaked punks. See the teeth that fly by from each punch directly at the jaws. See every blood spatter that painted the dull walls. It was a good thing that blood easily comes out of his golden blade.

That wasn’t even getting into the sounds. He enjoyed the sounds of screaming and gunfire so much, he never wore those puny earplugs. Though the sound of his frantic breathing helped give him the necessary energy to keep his senses razor sharp. Ruptured spleens, torn flesh, fractured bones, and the intoxicating stench of blood jump-started his adrenaline as well. A simple job that ended the same: the relief flowing in his spirit, a cold beer he would raid from their homes, and a relaxing smoke outside the apartment. Unfortunately, only the relief and beer were the rewards he had received. Instead of a refreshing smoke, he had received a surprise smack to the head.

“Stupid dragon-masked wearing punk.” The thoughts from Spike’s mind shattered from the tone of the gangster’s sharp voice. “Going around acting all kung-fu on our backs. I mean, look at him. He’s dressed like he’s going to some playboy millionaire’s wedding or something.”

Spike heard something else than the usual compliments towards him. Echoing throughout the room was presumably something that had to be constructed from metal. Spike turned his gaze to one of the punks with a metal chain resting on his hands. The crook crouched down as he used his right hand to angrily grasp the side of Spike’s hair.

“Those guys you wasted last week?” He hissed with a vengeful glare as he lifted Spike’s head up a bit. “They were my pals. So, I’m gonna send you straight to hell as payback. Sound fair, chump?”

He violently pushed Spike’s head down into the ground, causing the teen to feel a part of his jaw crack. Two sounds suddenly popped into Spike’s hearing; whirling sounds and the clinging of metal. A spasm of freshly delivered pain was inflicted when Spike could feel the metal chain whip him in the stomach.

“Hey! Save some for us!” One of the other thugs shouted, chuckling with malicious glee. “And don’t mess up that purple suit! I mean, I don’t like this lowlife one bit, but you gotta admit, that’s a nice suit. I’m serious.”

More chuckles were popping up left and right along with the sting of the chain. Spike groaned in anguish as he felt the chain continuing to tear into his back, even striking his skull on occasion.

The pace of the whipping quickly increased; Spike fought to maintain consciousness, despite feeling more of his blood leak out of each new wound inflicted upon him. For a moment, Spike felt relief when the whipping seemed to cease, only to be met with a vicious kick to his exposed chest. No one could hear it physically, yet the cracking sounds of ribs still haunted Spike, as the shoe pushed deeper into his chest. What kept Spike sane at the moment was that the punk had, mercifully, settled for just one kick. The suffering slowly faded as a sense of numbness set in, leaving Spike a moment of temporary relief.

“My turn!” Another person had shouted with complete ardor. Spike adjusted his gaze towards his next attacker, dreading what awaited him next. The sight of a rust covered hammer gave credence to his dread, yet he couldn’t muster the strength to stand. All he could do, was let out a small cough of blood, whilst his eyes, involuntarily opened further, giving him a better few of his attackers.

“Now I want you to be honest with me, pretty boy.” The crook stated with a grin covering his dirty face. “Which hurts more?”

“This?” Spike felt the hammer smash his jaw with bone shattering force. The mixture of pain, blood building in his mouth and his now useless mouth being the only thing keeping the torrent of scream ready to erupt from his body. All he could do was bear the rest of the brutal onslaught.

“Or this one?” Blood practically erupted from Spike’s damaged mouth as the hammer shattered his already fractured chest. Yet, as if some form of cruel mercy, Spike’s body was quickly going numb from the pain. Good thing too; a quick glance at his chest showed its now deformed appearance, courtesy of his newest injuries. The sight was sickening enough to make him want to throw up, if only to get the rotten taste of iron in his mouth out, but he couldn’t dwell on that. They still weren’t done yet, judging from the cruel laughter.

The third blow all but caved in his abdomen, to where he could even feel his stomach collapse into itself under the pressure. Haven’t barely managed to choke down the blood from before, now it felt like it was going to return, with a mixture of vomit, as if it weren’t putrid enough. Any sense of bravado was long gone by now, obliterated by the guffawing around him. Spike’s body was ready to shut down from all the damage, he was probably bleeding internally and he was about ready to cough up what little blood he had left. One more blow, and that would be the end, and for the first time in a long time, Spike was afraid.

“Okay guys, enough playing. You had your fun.” Another punk ordered with a serious tone. “Now let’s get to work.”

Another metallic sound echoed throughout Spike’s hearing. He was amazed that he could even hear at the moment, the blood from his wounds starting to form a crusty shell inside his ears. What little sound he could make out was unfamiliar to him, yet the light whirring sound it made possibly indicated another whip like weapon. Despite just recent experience promising pain, he looked up, only for another thug to grab him by his hair and stare him dead in the eye. This guy seemed more dutiful than the others and sounded very pissed.

“Who sent you!? Talk!” The punk greeted with a vexed look on his face. “Save yourself a LOT of trouble!”

His grunting ceased when a warm wad of saliva hit his face, causing his expression to tighten and contort inwards, with unbridled rage. Yet, with a surprising amount of restraint, he simply wiped the bloody saliva away, his body twitching as his anger built. His right hand clenched the back of Spike’s blood-soaked head.

“Why you spoiled lil’...”

Spike never heard him finish the sentence, as a single swift motion caused the pain to reignite in full. He heard no sound, other than a faint ringing, likely the result of the damage already done. Yet the sensation of warm blood soaking his broken teeth and aching mouth, proved his sense of touch hadn’t faded. Through his blurred vision he could make out his enemy, who held the metal pliers in one hand, while the other contained something….personal to Spike.

“That feel good!? Huh!?” The man growled as he frantically showed Spike the blood soaked tooth. “You wanna give us some information or would you like to lose a few more teeth, you bastard?!”

Even in spite of all the pain he was feeling, or possibly because the pain had driven him mad, Spike only offered a blood soaked smile and weakened chuckle, completely surrendering himself to his situation. He couldn’t escape, but at least he could make the experience as frustrating for these punks as possible. Looking up at the three, clearly frustrated enemies, Spike simply spat a glob of blood, mixed with a tooth, right in the thug’s face, never losing the confident smirk on his face. “Go ahead, I hate going to the dentist anyway.” He coughed before his head rested on the floor.

The lead thug’s face turned red with blinding fury, as the mixture of blood and saliva slithered down his face. Any sense of restraint he had quickly left, as he lashed out with a wild haymaker punch, shattering Spike’s jaw further.

“You think you’re funny, YOU THINK YOU’RE FUCKING FUNNY? LETS SEE YOU SMILE WITHOUT A JAW, ASSHOLE!”

He roared further, letting loose a barrage of punches, an onslaught that lasted for almost a full minute before he had to step back. His face was still red, though now it was mixed with exhaustion and heat, sweat pouring down his face from over exertion. Yet he seemed satisfied with his work. “I don’t see you smiling now, huh dragon boy?” He whispered with a tired smile.

Spike didn’t answer, his pain was consumed in a mixture of delirium and pain, barely even able to open his eye, or hear anything outside of muffled noise. By this point he resided to simply laying there and losing himself to the pain, yet a small part of him just wouldn’t let that happen. As his eyes managed to open, amidst the hot blood coating his eyelids, his brain managed to gain enough sense to enable him to make out a few sentences from his captors.

“Guys, he ain’t talking. What do we do?”

“What do we do? What are ya talkin’ about? I mean, this guy has been slaughtering our men for the last 8 months! All by himself! Plus it’s obvious he’s not interested in cooperating with us, so by all accounts he’s useless to us.”

“So, does that mean we’re done here?”

“Pretty much, there’s no more reason to be here.”

“Wait, so we’re just gonna leave him here? We’re not even gonna kill him?”

“What’s he gonna do? Just look at him, even if by some miracle he survives, he’s pretty much crippled at this point. Let the S.O.B. live, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll off himself for us.”

“Yeah come on, let’s beat it.”

“Fine.”

“Heh. Well, see ya later, dragon breath!”

The sound of the group’s laughter, aside from his own strained breathing, was the only sound that remained in the otherwise dark room Spike was now alone in. Mustering what strength he could, his eyes struggled to stay open as he tried to adjust his vision to the darkness. His reddish left eye felt like total hell. After a moment, his vision had cleared enough to see the room was completely empty, and attempted to move his body, only to be halted by pain that constricted around his body. The simple act of moving an arm sent sharp waves of anguish through his body, leaving him content to simply slide to the floor, lying flat on his back.

While this helped somewhat, it didn’t protect him from the rancid odor of blood, filling his damaged nostrils, nor the pain from his destroyed mouth every time he took a breath. Right now he honestly wanted to simply scream, if only for the emotional catharsis, but he honestly doubted he could open his mouth all the way to do so. Thus he was content to lie there, letting the soreness settle, as he opted to scan the room, if for no other reason than to take his mind off the pain.

What he could make out in the room, beyond the darkness, were crates of varying sizes, likely meaning the building was a warehouse. Flinching as he turned his head from one side to the other, he scanned further, hoping perhaps to find a door or window he could escape from. Sadly, all his damaged vision could seemingly produce was more crates. Crates. Crates of all sizes. Big crates that sat while small crates rested on top of them. An entire civilization of crates of some sort! Spike sighed, or attempted to before coughing up more blood, knowing what he’d need to do next.

He slowly started to crawl away from the pool of blood soaking the floor, biting back against the pain as he searched for an exit. He reached his right hand to a floor tile and pulled himself across the floor, using his left foot as an aid. As of now, those were the only two body parts that were necessary for transport that still functioned properly. Hopefully, once he got out of here, he’d get proper medical attention and fixed good as new. He just needed to...wait a minute...Spike’s eyes widen as his right blood-soaked eye struggled to zero in on something important.

Between his broken ribs stabbing his lungs, to his aching muscles, a single breath felt like swallowing a knife mixed with broken glass. Yet Spike ordered himself to put aside his torment to focus his mind. There was another person in the room. Spike didn't get a good glimpse of this person but he suspected that he had the same attire as the three punks, likely in the same league as them. Though, what was he doing? Wait! He was carrying something...a box of some sort. It was hard to see because of the large amount of crates...maybe it was another crate? Spike hissed, feeling the aching on his stomach. He used his right hand to clench it while using the left hand to tightly hold the chest area that was killing Spike, his hearing managed to make out a few words.

“...killing...”

Another memory passed by the bleeding and bruises. Spike took heavy, pained breaths of fresh air, reminiscing back. This person said something about killing. He closed his eyes, balancing his concentration on both his memories and a sliver of fear that was growing in him, the fear of death.

“These....killi...e...”

More blood leaked out of the top of Spike’s head and his right nostril.

“The...wi...ing me...”

A pool of blood was soaking Spike’s back and shirt, sending shivers down his spine.

“Th...ires ar....ling m...”

Spike paused a moment.

“...wi...”

“...ires ar”

“...wires...”

Wires.

”Are they set?”

“Yup. Let’s get outta here.”

That sliver of few, grew into a gripping chill of terror. Unless this person was repairing a broken electronic system of some sort while Spike was having the most arduous day of his life...Oh crap.

Spike felt his body relax. He let out a soft sigh as he felt himself get comfortable on the cold floor. Even if he had the energy to maybe drag himself to find an exit, he knew it would not be enough time.

Time...huh, not much of that left it seems. Funny, never usually think about how much time you’ve got in this life, up until you’re breathing your last minutes. How sad is it that you don’t learn to value what time you have, until you’re about to lose it. That realization made those few seconds feel like centuries in hell. However, he knew the wait would soon be over. Yet, Spike felt neither happy, brave, sad, or afraid. Really, what was he feeling right now, rather what should he feel? Was he ready? Was it fate? Was it something that happened at the wrong time? How did it come to this? So many questions nagged the young teenager. Spike let out a small smile, in spite of his pain. However, the smile was not from happiness. It was just a hollow, empty smile. He stared at the ceiling as his body entered a state of acceptance.

“The world was once Heaven.” Spike whispered, some blood pouring out from his lips. “We forged it into Hell.”

Spike hoped no one, not even his own friends, would mourn for this twist in fate. Otherwise, it would have been an unnecessary waste. After all, he considered himself to be heartless...like a dragon.

Spike coughed.