1000 Ways for Spike to Dieby MadMaxtheBlackChaptersIt Begins... In Which We Get to the Heart of the MatterEnlightenmentIt Begins...Prologue: In Which Spike's Misery Begins “Spike? Spiiiiiike!” As the cry echoes around the apartment, Spike cracks open an eye with a groan. Glancing blearily around, he barely has time to awaken before he is yanked out of his basket by a rosy aura. Held aloft, he blinks as the blurry lavender face in front of him slowly comes into focus. The large smile on Twilight’s muzzle would have sent anyone else running, but to him, it was business as usual. “There you are!” she chirps. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Come on, I need your help.” Without waiting for a reply, she turns and trots happily out of the room, all while levitating the baby dragon behind her. “What time is it?” Spike asks through a yawn. Rubbing at his eyes, he peers at a passing window only to groan again. “Twilight, the stars are still out. What time is it?” “It’s about four in the morning,” Twilight answers. “Twilight, it’s too early for this.” Twilight scoffs. “Nonsense! I’m just finishing up with some late-night experimenting.” “Finishing up… Twilight, did you even go to bed yet?” “Nope,” Twilight chirps. “I have to finish up with these spells before morning if I want to be able to show them to the Princess. Now, come on Spike, this will only take a few minutes.” With that, he was unceremoniously deposited onto a large pile of pillows. Unable to stop himself, he sinks headfirst into the pile, the plush pillows pushing in around him and smothering him. As Spike struggles desperately to free himself, Twilight flips through a tome held in her magic. “Let’s see here. Redecoration… Refrigeration… Ah! Here we are! Regeneration!” Scanning the page for a few seconds, she nods once before closing the book. “Alright, let’s do this.” Turning, she pauses upon seeing Spike, still buried head-first in the pillows and still struggling to free himself. A frown crosses her face. “Come on, Spike, this is serious,” she says as her horn lights up. A rosy aura surrounds the struggling dragon, and he’s yanked out of the pile. Once freed, he gasps for breath, his face a slight blue-tinge. “We don’t have time to fool around,” Twilight continues as she places him down upon a large pillow. “I need to perfect this spell in the next—” she glances at the clock on the wall “—three hours if I want to be able to show Princess Celestia before Day Court.” “And what spell are you learning, exactly,” Spike asks, fighting back a yawn. Sleep still clung to his senses, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. He had stayed up late last night putting all of the books from Twilight’s last research session back on the shelves, and now it looked like he was going to have to do it again. Books littered the room, stacked one on top of the other in large piles that were easily triple his height. And when he finally got all of those back on the shelves, Twilight would have already started another research project. It was a vicious cycle of pain and weariness. “Regeneration,” Twilight says before lifting a large, serrated knife in her magic. Spike is no longer asleep. Spike is also no longer comfortable with his current situation. Spike’s bladder is also debating whether or not it should jettison its load. “Now, hold still,” Twilight says before descending upon him with the knife. Spike tries to run, but finds himself held in place by a cloud of magic. Brandishing the knife, Twilight grabs one of his arms and, with no hesitation, uses the teeth of the knife to cut through the scales and into the skin. Pain lances up Spike’s arm as blood begins to flow, dripping to the floor below where it slowly began to pool. “There,” Twilight says happily as she releases her hold on the dragon. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Spike shot her a tearful glare, but she missed it. “Now, to test out the spell!” Her horn begins to glow again, and a cloud of magic surrounds the wounded arm. Slowly, the wound begins to glow, small glints of light dancing across the edges. A strange tingling sensation runs up Spike’s arm, followed by a pleasant warmth. The glow begins to intensify, as does the tingling and the heat. Then, in a flash of light… ...there came the sound of flatulence as the spell suddenly dies, leaving Spike still dripping blood on the floor. “W-what?” Twilight gasps. “B-but, that doesn’t… that should have… why didn’t that work?” Ears folding against her head, she begins to pace back and forth. Rolling his eyes, Spike uses a pillowcase to attempt to staunch the bleeding. The material quickly becomes stained crimson. Holding the pillowcase to his arm, and his arm above his head, Spike waddles over to the tome Twilight had been reading. Luckily enough, it appears as though Twilight has bookmarked the page. He kicks the book open, even as Twilight trots past him, muttering under her breath. “I followed every step perfectly. Why didn’t it…” Spike eyes the spread book curiously while attempting to keep from dripping blood on it. On one page, the words ‘Regeneration’ stare back at him. The pages are covered in magical theory and mathematics the likes of which Spike cannot even hope to understand, but which must make sense to Twilight. Nonetheless, he scans the page for information. After a few seconds he spies something. It appears that at some point somepony has torn a page from the book. Curiosity piqued, Spike uses his foot to turn to the table of contents. “Huh… Regeneration, page 321. Reincarnation, page 323. Hey Twilight,” he calls over his shoulder. “I think I figured out the problem.” Lost in her own little world, Twilight doesn’t hear him. “I did everything right. Maybe… maybe I just didn’t use enough power…” she mutters under her breath. “Somepony tore a page from the book,” Spike continues. “You are mixing the regeneration spell with a theoretically reincarnation spell.” “That’s it. That’s gotta be it! I just need to use more power.” “That’s why the spell didn’t work. You’re using the wrong equation.” “More power, and the spell should work." “Now, how about you take me to the nurse, okay?” “Alright, let’s do this!” Whipping about, Twilight’s horn lights up. There is a flash of white light. Spike’s head explodes. Author's Note Drunk writing is best writing. In Which We Get to the Heart of the MatterIn Which We Get to the Heart of the Matter Chapter written by anonpencil Twilight surveys the library thoughtfully for a moment, then frowns. There’s dust on the shelves, dust on the spines of books, and dust damn near everywhere. This sort of poor workmanship is simply inexcusable, she tells herself. She’ll have to spend all day cleaning up what Spike has failed to do. Speaking of Spike, where is the little slacker? As if on cue, Twilight hears a soft cough from the entryway to the library. She looks to find her small assistant, cowering there, looking as embarrassed and useless as he always does. She frowns at him. “There you are!” she says gruffly. “Where have you been, these shelves are absurdly dirty! How did you ever let it get this bad?” Spike kicks the ground with one stubby claw, and steps timidly towards her without meeting her gaze. “Um…Twilight?” he says softly. She’s so caught up in cleaning everything that Spike has missed that she barely hears him. The levitating feather duster moves swiftly through the air, creating magical looking-puffs of dust that swarm the air around Spike. He coughs slightly, but she doesn’t seem to care. “What?” she asks, sounding more annoyed than interested. “Well…uh…I thought I’d remind you,” he stutters out. “That it’s time for you to refill my heartworm medication.” Twilight stops mid motion and turns to Spike with a look of surprise and disgust. “Really? You’re out of those already?” “W-well it has been a year.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes before returning her attention to dusting her precious book collection. Spike waits for her to respond a moment, but she’s silent for long enough that he coughs again to get her attention. Partially to remind her that he’s there, partially because of the dust. She looks down at him again, as if she’s surprised he’s still there. “Yes?” “W-well…could we go get it refilled today?” Another scoff of disdain. “Look Spike, those are expensive. And do you really need to have them every single year?” He winces with every word, and when she’s done, it looks as if he doesn’t know how to respond. He takes a minute to collect his thoughts before he at last musters up the nerve to speak. “We’re actually supposed to do it once a month or so…” “One a month!” she nearly shouts. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure I can whip you up something magical instead.” “Oh…today?” Twilight stops and shoots him a look that makes him cower all the further. But then, almost deviously, she began to smile. “Actually, Spike, my dear little helper,” she croons. “If you can dust the library, then I’ll make you a heart-worm spell. Sound fair?” Spike brightens a little. Twilight is kind to him sometimes, usually when others are around, so no one suspects, so maybe this is her just trying to be nice in private for a change. He even begins to smile hopefully at the thought. “Sure thing Twilight!” he says dutifully. “What part of the Library?” With a beaming expression, Twilight grandly gestures to the full expanse of the library with one hoof. “All of it!” she proclaims. Spikes smile falls. The castle library is…enormous, to say the least! Surely, she can’t mean all of it! Not in one day, and there’s no way she’s holding his heartworm medication for ransom until he’s done…is there?” “Y-you mean-” he starts to say, but Twilight interrupts him. “That’s right! I mean all of it, in one day, and I’m holding your heartworm medication for ransom until you’re done, okay?” Spike can feel every single one of his scales sag in defeat. “But…that’ll take forever.” “Well then you’d better get started!” Twilight says cheerily. With that, she plops the feather duster down into his miserable outstretched claws and trots past him. She gives him one, final, glowing smile before she slams the massive castle door behind her. There’s a scrape and a click as the key turns, locking him inside. Spike shuts his tear-lined eyes and sighs, before turning his attention to the bookshelves to begin dusting. Like she says, he’d better get started now. For a moment, Spike feels a pang of bitterness, of anger at the whole situation. The shelves stand over him, looming, judgmental of his own weakness, and he can feel every book staring down at him. Maybe if he’d just been more assertive. Maybe if he’d stressed the importance of the situation. Maybe if he’d offered to do that weird thing she likes with the area under her tail. Maybe then she’d have gotten him medication, or at least figured out a helpful spell. But no. He’s Spike, her sweet little helper. This is his life, and he’s going to accept it, he realizes it, even if the work is just killing him. It’s only a matter of hours before Spike notices that his cough isn’t going away. Sure it might be the dust or…just maybe…could it be that… No, there’s no way. But then, a little while later, he feels a sudden pang of exhaustion, far greater than he’s felt before. Then comes dizziness, a lack of appetite, despite the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. Then he feels as though his chest itself is swollen, bulging out past where his rib cage should be. By the time he brings his claw to his nose, then brings it away bloody, he knows for certain what’s going on. With a cry of despair, Spike throws himself against the library door. He bangs and scrapes against the heavy surface for dear life, but it’s no use. Blood runs down his face, mixing with fearful tears. “Twilight!” he screams. “Twilight, please let me out! I have to get my heart-worm medication! Before it’s too late!” But it’s already too late. The mosquito bit him that morning, and without the medication, the larvae got into his bloodstream and made their way to his heart. He knows they’re there inside him now, reproducing, thriving on his unmedicated body. Spike curls up on the floor, feeling his eyes going hazy as a sudden pain in his chest thuds through him. The sound of his feeble coughs ring through the empty library as he twitches with a sudden, pained seizure. “N-no…” he croaks out, gripping at his chest. But there’s nothing he can do now. There’s nothing anyone can do. The heartworms continue their cruel work, and in the next few minutes, Spike coughs his last, blood-tinged cough. Then lies still, dead in the dust he has so carelessly left on the library floor. It takes a few days for Twilight to even notice that he’s gone. EnlightenmentNervously wringing his claws, Spike makes his way down the dimly lit corridors of the palace. It’s in the evening, the sun having set a couple of hours ago, and only a few ponies are still present. They pay the little dragon no mind as they pass him. He doesn’t really mind though, as he has bigger things weighing on his mind. For the past few weeks now, strange things have been happening to the poor dragon. It all started that early morning when Twilight woke him up to test out a spell. He distinctly remembers her cutting him, then over charging the spell, and, most horrifically, he remembers his head exploding. However, his next memory was waking up again as though nothing had ever happened. A few seconds later, Twilight had pranced into the room calling his name, wanting to test out a new spell. The same spell as before. Upon trying to explain to her what had happened, Twilight had just scoffed and told him that it had been a bad dream. Even when he showed her the torn out page from the spellbook, she didn’t believe him. Instead she grounded him from having gems for two weeks for intentionally damaging a book. Which was totally unfair. It wasn’t his fault the page had been torn out. If that had been the only strange thing that happened, Spike would have chalked it up to a dream. However, a few days after the weird event, something else happened. Something horrible. A shiver ran down Spike’s spine as he remembered the horrible pain in his chest from a group of heartworms, all because Twilight wouldn’t get a refill on his medication. The pain, the blood, the inability to breath. Spike remembers them all. He remembers the room slowly fading as darkness took him… ...and then he remembers waking up the morning before the event. The first thing he did was freak out. The next was to run to the palace nurse and get some more medication (putting a tab on Twilight’s account of course). The third thing was to find that spellbook and try to figure out what was going on. Unfortunately, after days of searching, he was unable to find anything to explain what was happening to him. So, here he was. Heading to the one pony that might be able to help him. Turning down a vacant hallway, he makes his way towards a large door with a motif of a shining sun on it: Princess Celestia’s personal chambers. Princess Celestia let out a low groan as she removed her golden peytral. It was not a happy groan or a relieved groan, but the groan of someone who is in a good deal of discomfort. Tossing the chest piece off to the side where it joined the rest of her regalia, she collapsed unceremoniously upon her plush bed. “Oh dear me,” she groans again as she rolls onto her back. Rubbing her slightly-bloated stomach with a hoof, she winces as an un-princess-like gurgle emanates forth. The pressure grows. “A pox upon the griffon king,” she moans. Whenever the griffon visited for diplomatic meetings, it was customary to include a few dishes from the visiting dignitary’s homeland. For the griffons, this included meat. It was also customary to partake in the foreign dishes. Normally that’s not a problem, as Celestia can somewhat stomach a little meat from time to time. However, there is one particular dish that her stomach just can’t stand. Another gurgle, louder and bubblier than the first, reverberates through Celestia’s abdomen. “Ugh, why?” Celestia laments. “Why? Why did it have to be shellfish? Anything else would have been better. Steak, pork chops, veal; I would have been fine with veal. But no, it had to be shellfish. Ugh!” She curled up into a ball as her stomach gave another twinge of discomfort. “Even the curry from Saddle Arabia doesn’t hurt as much as this does!” As she bemoans her luck, a third gurgle sounds, and with it comes a horrible pain that causes Celestia to double over. Her eyes widen in alarm as the pressure in her gut grows suddenly. Her tailhole puckers as it realizes what is coming. Reacting quickly, Celestia lights up her horn, years of experience allowing her to react instinctively instead of plan. She casts two spells in quick succession. The first one washes over the room, turning everything within it temporarily fireproof to the point where not even the sun would burn it. The second spell puts a dampening charm around the room, allowing no sound to escape to the outside world. Both spells are completed within a second of each other, just in time for Celestia’s sphincter to fail. Up from the depths of her bowels rumbles a demon that no mortal being hath seen before. A demon that one whispers of in the dead of night when all are asleep, for fear of earning its wraith. Gritting her teeth, Celestia flicks her tail to the side and prepares to relieve herself of the horrible, gut-churning pressure. With her entire room fireproofed and no one able to hear what happens, she doesn’t have to worry about any collateral. As such, her eyes are squeezed shut tight as she pushes, and thus she does not see the door to her bedroom begin to swing open. Spike debates to himself whether he should knock or not. Normally there are guards on either side of her door to announce visitors, but they are absent at the moment. Glancing down the hall and seeing no one, Spike slowly lifts a claw and knocks upon the door. At first there was no answer, but then Spike’s ears picked up the faintest of groans from the other side. “P-Princess?” he called out. “Princess Celestia?” Placing his ear to the door, he heard another muffled groan. “Princess?” Receiving no answer, Spike did what any sensible creature would do in such a situation. Standing on tipclaw, he grasps the doorknob and gives it a turn. With a click the door begins to swing open. “Princess Celestia?” Spike says as he peers through the doorway. “Do you have a moment to talk? It’s important—” And thus, Spike’s dragon eyes beheld a sight that no moral pony had seen in centuries, and which no pony would see for centuries to come. Too young to truly understand the gift he had before him, Spike could only start at the winking ponut in confusion before, without warning, the muscles rippled and a gout of plasma-like fire erupted from it accompanied by what sounded like a foghorn. The baby dragon was engulfed. With his scales still soft and not yet fully developed, Spike was burnt to a crisp in seconds. Much like the mice he practiced his fire on in his free time. After a good solid thirty seconds, the flames died out. Celestia breathed a sigh of relief, only to yelp when a soft thud came from the door. Glancing over, her eyes widen upon seeing the charred remains of the dragon. “O-oh… oh no!” she gasps before scrambling quickly to her hooves. Racing over, she stares down at the burnt crisp in horror, only to collapse on her rump a second later. “Oh, oh mercy me! Spike! Oh no, no no nonononono! Oh, this is horrible!” There was a pause as she drags her hooves down her face. “Who’s going to clean the library now?” She pauses again, only for her pupils to shrink. “Wait, even worse! I’ve killed Twilight’s note taker!” Getting to her hooves, Celestia dances in place in a panic. “Ooooh, she’s going to be so upset,” she whines. “I can hear it now. ‘Please slow down, Princess. I’m trying to keep up with you, but I can’t take notes as fast as Spike… who you killed.’ Ugh, she’s gonna be a nightmare to live with after this.” Grumbling to herself, Celestia’s gaze returns to Spike’s burnt form. Slowly, her ears perk. Lighting up her horn, she snaps off one of Spike’s charred fingers and, bringing it to her nose, gives it a tentative sniff. Her face scrunches up and she snorts, trying to clear her nose of the smell. Giving the scrap of flesh a disgusted look, she then turns and holds it aloft in her magic. “Philomena! Here, girl. I’ve got a treat for you. Your favorite: dragon jerky!” Author's Note In case you hadn't realized yet, most of these chapters are created under the influence of booze. I am destroying my liver for you entertainment. You're welcome.
It Begins...Prologue: In Which Spike's Misery Begins “Spike? Spiiiiiike!” As the cry echoes around the apartment, Spike cracks open an eye with a groan. Glancing blearily around, he barely has time to awaken before he is yanked out of his basket by a rosy aura. Held aloft, he blinks as the blurry lavender face in front of him slowly comes into focus. The large smile on Twilight’s muzzle would have sent anyone else running, but to him, it was business as usual. “There you are!” she chirps. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Come on, I need your help.” Without waiting for a reply, she turns and trots happily out of the room, all while levitating the baby dragon behind her. “What time is it?” Spike asks through a yawn. Rubbing at his eyes, he peers at a passing window only to groan again. “Twilight, the stars are still out. What time is it?” “It’s about four in the morning,” Twilight answers. “Twilight, it’s too early for this.” Twilight scoffs. “Nonsense! I’m just finishing up with some late-night experimenting.” “Finishing up… Twilight, did you even go to bed yet?” “Nope,” Twilight chirps. “I have to finish up with these spells before morning if I want to be able to show them to the Princess. Now, come on Spike, this will only take a few minutes.” With that, he was unceremoniously deposited onto a large pile of pillows. Unable to stop himself, he sinks headfirst into the pile, the plush pillows pushing in around him and smothering him. As Spike struggles desperately to free himself, Twilight flips through a tome held in her magic. “Let’s see here. Redecoration… Refrigeration… Ah! Here we are! Regeneration!” Scanning the page for a few seconds, she nods once before closing the book. “Alright, let’s do this.” Turning, she pauses upon seeing Spike, still buried head-first in the pillows and still struggling to free himself. A frown crosses her face. “Come on, Spike, this is serious,” she says as her horn lights up. A rosy aura surrounds the struggling dragon, and he’s yanked out of the pile. Once freed, he gasps for breath, his face a slight blue-tinge. “We don’t have time to fool around,” Twilight continues as she places him down upon a large pillow. “I need to perfect this spell in the next—” she glances at the clock on the wall “—three hours if I want to be able to show Princess Celestia before Day Court.” “And what spell are you learning, exactly,” Spike asks, fighting back a yawn. Sleep still clung to his senses, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. He had stayed up late last night putting all of the books from Twilight’s last research session back on the shelves, and now it looked like he was going to have to do it again. Books littered the room, stacked one on top of the other in large piles that were easily triple his height. And when he finally got all of those back on the shelves, Twilight would have already started another research project. It was a vicious cycle of pain and weariness. “Regeneration,” Twilight says before lifting a large, serrated knife in her magic. Spike is no longer asleep. Spike is also no longer comfortable with his current situation. Spike’s bladder is also debating whether or not it should jettison its load. “Now, hold still,” Twilight says before descending upon him with the knife. Spike tries to run, but finds himself held in place by a cloud of magic. Brandishing the knife, Twilight grabs one of his arms and, with no hesitation, uses the teeth of the knife to cut through the scales and into the skin. Pain lances up Spike’s arm as blood begins to flow, dripping to the floor below where it slowly began to pool. “There,” Twilight says happily as she releases her hold on the dragon. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Spike shot her a tearful glare, but she missed it. “Now, to test out the spell!” Her horn begins to glow again, and a cloud of magic surrounds the wounded arm. Slowly, the wound begins to glow, small glints of light dancing across the edges. A strange tingling sensation runs up Spike’s arm, followed by a pleasant warmth. The glow begins to intensify, as does the tingling and the heat. Then, in a flash of light… ...there came the sound of flatulence as the spell suddenly dies, leaving Spike still dripping blood on the floor. “W-what?” Twilight gasps. “B-but, that doesn’t… that should have… why didn’t that work?” Ears folding against her head, she begins to pace back and forth. Rolling his eyes, Spike uses a pillowcase to attempt to staunch the bleeding. The material quickly becomes stained crimson. Holding the pillowcase to his arm, and his arm above his head, Spike waddles over to the tome Twilight had been reading. Luckily enough, it appears as though Twilight has bookmarked the page. He kicks the book open, even as Twilight trots past him, muttering under her breath. “I followed every step perfectly. Why didn’t it…” Spike eyes the spread book curiously while attempting to keep from dripping blood on it. On one page, the words ‘Regeneration’ stare back at him. The pages are covered in magical theory and mathematics the likes of which Spike cannot even hope to understand, but which must make sense to Twilight. Nonetheless, he scans the page for information. After a few seconds he spies something. It appears that at some point somepony has torn a page from the book. Curiosity piqued, Spike uses his foot to turn to the table of contents. “Huh… Regeneration, page 321. Reincarnation, page 323. Hey Twilight,” he calls over his shoulder. “I think I figured out the problem.” Lost in her own little world, Twilight doesn’t hear him. “I did everything right. Maybe… maybe I just didn’t use enough power…” she mutters under her breath. “Somepony tore a page from the book,” Spike continues. “You are mixing the regeneration spell with a theoretically reincarnation spell.” “That’s it. That’s gotta be it! I just need to use more power.” “That’s why the spell didn’t work. You’re using the wrong equation.” “More power, and the spell should work." “Now, how about you take me to the nurse, okay?” “Alright, let’s do this!” Whipping about, Twilight’s horn lights up. There is a flash of white light. Spike’s head explodes. Author's Note Drunk writing is best writing.
In Which We Get to the Heart of the MatterIn Which We Get to the Heart of the Matter Chapter written by anonpencil Twilight surveys the library thoughtfully for a moment, then frowns. There’s dust on the shelves, dust on the spines of books, and dust damn near everywhere. This sort of poor workmanship is simply inexcusable, she tells herself. She’ll have to spend all day cleaning up what Spike has failed to do. Speaking of Spike, where is the little slacker? As if on cue, Twilight hears a soft cough from the entryway to the library. She looks to find her small assistant, cowering there, looking as embarrassed and useless as he always does. She frowns at him. “There you are!” she says gruffly. “Where have you been, these shelves are absurdly dirty! How did you ever let it get this bad?” Spike kicks the ground with one stubby claw, and steps timidly towards her without meeting her gaze. “Um…Twilight?” he says softly. She’s so caught up in cleaning everything that Spike has missed that she barely hears him. The levitating feather duster moves swiftly through the air, creating magical looking-puffs of dust that swarm the air around Spike. He coughs slightly, but she doesn’t seem to care. “What?” she asks, sounding more annoyed than interested. “Well…uh…I thought I’d remind you,” he stutters out. “That it’s time for you to refill my heartworm medication.” Twilight stops mid motion and turns to Spike with a look of surprise and disgust. “Really? You’re out of those already?” “W-well it has been a year.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes before returning her attention to dusting her precious book collection. Spike waits for her to respond a moment, but she’s silent for long enough that he coughs again to get her attention. Partially to remind her that he’s there, partially because of the dust. She looks down at him again, as if she’s surprised he’s still there. “Yes?” “W-well…could we go get it refilled today?” Another scoff of disdain. “Look Spike, those are expensive. And do you really need to have them every single year?” He winces with every word, and when she’s done, it looks as if he doesn’t know how to respond. He takes a minute to collect his thoughts before he at last musters up the nerve to speak. “We’re actually supposed to do it once a month or so…” “One a month!” she nearly shouts. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure I can whip you up something magical instead.” “Oh…today?” Twilight stops and shoots him a look that makes him cower all the further. But then, almost deviously, she began to smile. “Actually, Spike, my dear little helper,” she croons. “If you can dust the library, then I’ll make you a heart-worm spell. Sound fair?” Spike brightens a little. Twilight is kind to him sometimes, usually when others are around, so no one suspects, so maybe this is her just trying to be nice in private for a change. He even begins to smile hopefully at the thought. “Sure thing Twilight!” he says dutifully. “What part of the Library?” With a beaming expression, Twilight grandly gestures to the full expanse of the library with one hoof. “All of it!” she proclaims. Spikes smile falls. The castle library is…enormous, to say the least! Surely, she can’t mean all of it! Not in one day, and there’s no way she’s holding his heartworm medication for ransom until he’s done…is there?” “Y-you mean-” he starts to say, but Twilight interrupts him. “That’s right! I mean all of it, in one day, and I’m holding your heartworm medication for ransom until you’re done, okay?” Spike can feel every single one of his scales sag in defeat. “But…that’ll take forever.” “Well then you’d better get started!” Twilight says cheerily. With that, she plops the feather duster down into his miserable outstretched claws and trots past him. She gives him one, final, glowing smile before she slams the massive castle door behind her. There’s a scrape and a click as the key turns, locking him inside. Spike shuts his tear-lined eyes and sighs, before turning his attention to the bookshelves to begin dusting. Like she says, he’d better get started now. For a moment, Spike feels a pang of bitterness, of anger at the whole situation. The shelves stand over him, looming, judgmental of his own weakness, and he can feel every book staring down at him. Maybe if he’d just been more assertive. Maybe if he’d stressed the importance of the situation. Maybe if he’d offered to do that weird thing she likes with the area under her tail. Maybe then she’d have gotten him medication, or at least figured out a helpful spell. But no. He’s Spike, her sweet little helper. This is his life, and he’s going to accept it, he realizes it, even if the work is just killing him. It’s only a matter of hours before Spike notices that his cough isn’t going away. Sure it might be the dust or…just maybe…could it be that… No, there’s no way. But then, a little while later, he feels a sudden pang of exhaustion, far greater than he’s felt before. Then comes dizziness, a lack of appetite, despite the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. Then he feels as though his chest itself is swollen, bulging out past where his rib cage should be. By the time he brings his claw to his nose, then brings it away bloody, he knows for certain what’s going on. With a cry of despair, Spike throws himself against the library door. He bangs and scrapes against the heavy surface for dear life, but it’s no use. Blood runs down his face, mixing with fearful tears. “Twilight!” he screams. “Twilight, please let me out! I have to get my heart-worm medication! Before it’s too late!” But it’s already too late. The mosquito bit him that morning, and without the medication, the larvae got into his bloodstream and made their way to his heart. He knows they’re there inside him now, reproducing, thriving on his unmedicated body. Spike curls up on the floor, feeling his eyes going hazy as a sudden pain in his chest thuds through him. The sound of his feeble coughs ring through the empty library as he twitches with a sudden, pained seizure. “N-no…” he croaks out, gripping at his chest. But there’s nothing he can do now. There’s nothing anyone can do. The heartworms continue their cruel work, and in the next few minutes, Spike coughs his last, blood-tinged cough. Then lies still, dead in the dust he has so carelessly left on the library floor. It takes a few days for Twilight to even notice that he’s gone.
EnlightenmentNervously wringing his claws, Spike makes his way down the dimly lit corridors of the palace. It’s in the evening, the sun having set a couple of hours ago, and only a few ponies are still present. They pay the little dragon no mind as they pass him. He doesn’t really mind though, as he has bigger things weighing on his mind. For the past few weeks now, strange things have been happening to the poor dragon. It all started that early morning when Twilight woke him up to test out a spell. He distinctly remembers her cutting him, then over charging the spell, and, most horrifically, he remembers his head exploding. However, his next memory was waking up again as though nothing had ever happened. A few seconds later, Twilight had pranced into the room calling his name, wanting to test out a new spell. The same spell as before. Upon trying to explain to her what had happened, Twilight had just scoffed and told him that it had been a bad dream. Even when he showed her the torn out page from the spellbook, she didn’t believe him. Instead she grounded him from having gems for two weeks for intentionally damaging a book. Which was totally unfair. It wasn’t his fault the page had been torn out. If that had been the only strange thing that happened, Spike would have chalked it up to a dream. However, a few days after the weird event, something else happened. Something horrible. A shiver ran down Spike’s spine as he remembered the horrible pain in his chest from a group of heartworms, all because Twilight wouldn’t get a refill on his medication. The pain, the blood, the inability to breath. Spike remembers them all. He remembers the room slowly fading as darkness took him… ...and then he remembers waking up the morning before the event. The first thing he did was freak out. The next was to run to the palace nurse and get some more medication (putting a tab on Twilight’s account of course). The third thing was to find that spellbook and try to figure out what was going on. Unfortunately, after days of searching, he was unable to find anything to explain what was happening to him. So, here he was. Heading to the one pony that might be able to help him. Turning down a vacant hallway, he makes his way towards a large door with a motif of a shining sun on it: Princess Celestia’s personal chambers. Princess Celestia let out a low groan as she removed her golden peytral. It was not a happy groan or a relieved groan, but the groan of someone who is in a good deal of discomfort. Tossing the chest piece off to the side where it joined the rest of her regalia, she collapsed unceremoniously upon her plush bed. “Oh dear me,” she groans again as she rolls onto her back. Rubbing her slightly-bloated stomach with a hoof, she winces as an un-princess-like gurgle emanates forth. The pressure grows. “A pox upon the griffon king,” she moans. Whenever the griffon visited for diplomatic meetings, it was customary to include a few dishes from the visiting dignitary’s homeland. For the griffons, this included meat. It was also customary to partake in the foreign dishes. Normally that’s not a problem, as Celestia can somewhat stomach a little meat from time to time. However, there is one particular dish that her stomach just can’t stand. Another gurgle, louder and bubblier than the first, reverberates through Celestia’s abdomen. “Ugh, why?” Celestia laments. “Why? Why did it have to be shellfish? Anything else would have been better. Steak, pork chops, veal; I would have been fine with veal. But no, it had to be shellfish. Ugh!” She curled up into a ball as her stomach gave another twinge of discomfort. “Even the curry from Saddle Arabia doesn’t hurt as much as this does!” As she bemoans her luck, a third gurgle sounds, and with it comes a horrible pain that causes Celestia to double over. Her eyes widen in alarm as the pressure in her gut grows suddenly. Her tailhole puckers as it realizes what is coming. Reacting quickly, Celestia lights up her horn, years of experience allowing her to react instinctively instead of plan. She casts two spells in quick succession. The first one washes over the room, turning everything within it temporarily fireproof to the point where not even the sun would burn it. The second spell puts a dampening charm around the room, allowing no sound to escape to the outside world. Both spells are completed within a second of each other, just in time for Celestia’s sphincter to fail. Up from the depths of her bowels rumbles a demon that no mortal being hath seen before. A demon that one whispers of in the dead of night when all are asleep, for fear of earning its wraith. Gritting her teeth, Celestia flicks her tail to the side and prepares to relieve herself of the horrible, gut-churning pressure. With her entire room fireproofed and no one able to hear what happens, she doesn’t have to worry about any collateral. As such, her eyes are squeezed shut tight as she pushes, and thus she does not see the door to her bedroom begin to swing open. Spike debates to himself whether he should knock or not. Normally there are guards on either side of her door to announce visitors, but they are absent at the moment. Glancing down the hall and seeing no one, Spike slowly lifts a claw and knocks upon the door. At first there was no answer, but then Spike’s ears picked up the faintest of groans from the other side. “P-Princess?” he called out. “Princess Celestia?” Placing his ear to the door, he heard another muffled groan. “Princess?” Receiving no answer, Spike did what any sensible creature would do in such a situation. Standing on tipclaw, he grasps the doorknob and gives it a turn. With a click the door begins to swing open. “Princess Celestia?” Spike says as he peers through the doorway. “Do you have a moment to talk? It’s important—” And thus, Spike’s dragon eyes beheld a sight that no moral pony had seen in centuries, and which no pony would see for centuries to come. Too young to truly understand the gift he had before him, Spike could only start at the winking ponut in confusion before, without warning, the muscles rippled and a gout of plasma-like fire erupted from it accompanied by what sounded like a foghorn. The baby dragon was engulfed. With his scales still soft and not yet fully developed, Spike was burnt to a crisp in seconds. Much like the mice he practiced his fire on in his free time. After a good solid thirty seconds, the flames died out. Celestia breathed a sigh of relief, only to yelp when a soft thud came from the door. Glancing over, her eyes widen upon seeing the charred remains of the dragon. “O-oh… oh no!” she gasps before scrambling quickly to her hooves. Racing over, she stares down at the burnt crisp in horror, only to collapse on her rump a second later. “Oh, oh mercy me! Spike! Oh no, no no nonononono! Oh, this is horrible!” There was a pause as she drags her hooves down her face. “Who’s going to clean the library now?” She pauses again, only for her pupils to shrink. “Wait, even worse! I’ve killed Twilight’s note taker!” Getting to her hooves, Celestia dances in place in a panic. “Ooooh, she’s going to be so upset,” she whines. “I can hear it now. ‘Please slow down, Princess. I’m trying to keep up with you, but I can’t take notes as fast as Spike… who you killed.’ Ugh, she’s gonna be a nightmare to live with after this.” Grumbling to herself, Celestia’s gaze returns to Spike’s burnt form. Slowly, her ears perk. Lighting up her horn, she snaps off one of Spike’s charred fingers and, bringing it to her nose, gives it a tentative sniff. Her face scrunches up and she snorts, trying to clear her nose of the smell. Giving the scrap of flesh a disgusted look, she then turns and holds it aloft in her magic. “Philomena! Here, girl. I’ve got a treat for you. Your favorite: dragon jerky!” Author's Note In case you hadn't realized yet, most of these chapters are created under the influence of booze. I am destroying my liver for you entertainment. You're welcome.
