The Hunt for the Black Tyrant
Only the Mind Knows - Chapter 1
His eyes began to open, but at a dreadfully slow rate. The first thought that came roaring into his head was the intense pain he felt, well, everywhere. He let out a weak moan and felt as if he lost all strength to stand or even move as the pain seemed to grow more aggressive. There was nothing but total confusion in his mind, a thing which he found himself unable to dispel with each new excruciating surge. Desperation filled his chest and there was only one thought that prevailed, “I’ve…I’ve got to move. I have to stand up.” Uttering a hoarse grunt, he struggled to force his hoof out from under him. “There,” he thought once he had completed the task. He was slowly regaining clarity of mind, but the pain had failed to subside. “Now, for the rest of me. Ah, damn! What the hell did I do to feel like this?” With sluggish and shaky movements, he eventually picked himself up off the ground, but his legs refused to become fully stable. His vision was still hazy, but his head had cleared a fair amount and he could gauge that he was in some dark room that smelled of rust and rot. He recoiled at the first whiff and was brought back to earnestly trying to figure out what was going on. He heard a metallic clink and a pull at his hind leg as he attempted to take a step forward, hoping to make light of the situation. At this noise, he was filled with an unrelenting anxiety, but couldn’t figure out why.
Warily, he drew his attention down to where he had heard the sound, but it was not its origin he noticed first. Beside him was a unicorn. And not just any unicorn, but the most beautiful one he’d ever laid eyes on. Her coat was a light gray and appeared to be as soft as downy feathers and was wonderfully complimented by a turquoise that faded from the gray of her body down to her legs. Both her mane, which was bound into a ponytail, and tail were a darker gray that were both gracefully tipped with that same glimmering turquoise. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the stunning mare and could only wonder how he and she had ended up where they were now, but then something else drew his attention. A thing that was at first outshone by her entrancing beauty: On her body were several severe cuts, some still bleeding, accompanied by horrendous bruises, her mane and coat matted with blood and her breathing short and raspy. To top off the horrid spectacle was her horn, broken and bleeding at the tip. Two different emotions immediately came storming into his heart: the first being despair that the life of such an innocent-looking creature appeared to be at its gruesome end; the second was that of a seething rage toward the pony who dared lay such a violent hoof on her. This whole torrent of his emotions coupled with the intense pain in his body brought him to do something he hadn’t done in a long time: a tear fell from his eye, then a venomous trickle, and finally a bitter stream.
He didn’t truly know why he wept, but he understood that at this moment it had something to do with the terrible scene before him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hoofsteps. His heart surged once again as this sound shocked him out of his brief moment of sadness, flooding his mind with panic. “Get a hold of yourself, damn it! Do something!” Head darting around the room, still unable to gain a true scope of its size and contents his eyes fell back to the mare, her chest now still. He gave over to impulse and rushed to her stumbling over his chain, wholly decided on what to do next. There was a split second where he thought that she had passed in that short time and that the unknown hoofsteps had entered the room, but that vanished once he heard a weak noise produce from her. Now was the time. He vaguely remembered that he had once taken a course on CPR and hoped to high heaven that he could remember all he had to do; her life depended on it.
Beginning with compressions, he carefully yet firmly gauged his movements as he fought the best he could through his pain to get her heart beating. Next came mouth-to-mouth where once more he hesitated before banishing the foolish notion of it being too personal. The process went on for a few minutes and with each action he grew more desperate. A cough rang out through the room as he felt her chest heave with the much needed air. Her convulsion had sent some of her blood into his mouth, but he was too relieved to care. He sat back on his hindquarters exhausted and let out a sigh followed by his own cough that carried out her spittle. And worryingly, some of it seemed to be his. Those hoofsteps he had heard earlier had ceased causing him to quickly spin his head around the room in caution. Fortunately, he found no sign of some other pony’s entry, but he did not feel any more relieved, since this time he had observed the entirety of the dim chamber. For a moment his heart seized from the shock of the sight, but gradually dropped to a quick and hard thumping.
Both of them had been shackled to the floor of what was clearly a torture room. Now, he had visited medieval torture chambers before for the sake of his studies, but never in his life had he seen one so terrifying or to put it in laymen’s terms “recently used.” Nausea began to bubble in his stomach and he fought hard to keep down the bile. “Breathe,” he thought. “Just breathe,” but this was in vain. With each breath he inhaled the foul stench of the rotting and massacred flesh of the ponies before him. He could fight no longer and his abdominal muscles violently contracted as his throat forced out the putrid substance onto the floor. The taste was awful and the sensation greatly unpleasant, but for a moment he forgot the knowledge of his current dwelling. An irresistible weariness began to creep over his body and he slipped on his side back onto the floor. He gave a weak attempt to stay awake, but being fatigued, disheartened, and terrified his eyes slowly shut as he fell deep into darkness.
. . . . .
Another cough echoed in the chamber as her chest convulsed once more, this time waking her from an uneasy slumber. She ached terribly, but even with all that she had endured her strength had not yet departed from her. An effort was made to stand, unsuccessful at first, but a second one did the trick. The memories of last night’s excursions returned to her one by one, some reinforced by the clinking of her chains, but all causing her stomach to tighten. These were not things she wanted to think about, but she knew they were too vital for her to forget. Looking behind her, she gave her chain a tug with her leg, hoping that it may have loosened. No luck, unfortunately, but she had escaped from this before, sometimes with more precarious obstacles. But there was something in her mind, some incessant nagging that sounded as if it was desperately trying to warn her. That this particular capture was far different from the rest. That something was almost blatantly off. That something was definitely wrong. Yet she shook the feeling away and resumed contriving her plan of escape.
There was also another tinge in her mind that didn’t exactly appear as such, but as more of a speeding train. Her heart nearly stopped when she looked down to her side to not immediately find what she was searching for, but a few snaps of her head around the room soon relieved that anxiety. He was just a few feet to the right of her, resting it seemed but giving short and strained breaths. A small pool of bile and the hard stone floor served as his bed, but even with all that he still laid fast asleep. She rushed over to him in her joy, but caught herself thinking it would be best to let him wake on his own. So, she quietly sat down beside him and stroked his ashen black mane gently with her hoof. On his flank were wounds much similar to hers: the cutie-mark cut into an uneven and bleeding-red six-pointed star. Oddly enough, his appeared to be complemented by the ghastly marks, the sight of it unnerving her somewhat. He also bore other significant injuries, those just as awful as hers and staining his dark grey coat red, but he was still alive. Thank Celestia, he was alive and to her that was all that mattered at this moment. Each had suffered serious lacerations, but what he had gone through mentally, what that she-demon had put him through all for the sake of torturing her too… Tears began to form in her eyes as these things passed through her mind and filled her with grief. “No, I have to be strong. I have to fight through this and figure out a way of getting us out of this Godforsaken hell-hole!”
She scanned the room, searching for any apparatus amongst the “demon’s teeth” that were hung or scattered throughout it. Even though the blood and rust-stained things were meant for a far more sinister purpose, they had before proven useful in her escapes. The demon would always seek to present some new challenge every time she was captured, such as coating the tools in some sleep toxin, shackling her to the ceiling, or even turning the rest of the complex into a maze lurking with unsightly creatures. But somehow, every single time she had escaped by some method or tool presented by her tormentor. No matter how difficult freeing herself might be, there was always without a shadow of a doubt some way of doing it. Usually, the demon’s methods were to harass her for a few days, every now and then becoming more creative with it, but then disappearing for some time. It was always then that she made her getaway, which sometimes lasted even longer than the torture sessions.
But there was present a unusually disturbing factor about the whole scenario. It seemed, no, it was undoubtedly true that the demon took some delight in the hunt, that this whole thing was merely sport to her. Yet she (she meaning our heroine) knew there was far more to it than that sickening catlike mentality. She was the source of power for the demon, for it was her struggle and strife that the vile thing fed on. Without it, the she-beast would fade and eventually disintegrate into dust, and surprisingly enough neither could let that happen. But this time was unusually different, one reason being that she had already easily plotted her means of escape. She heard no sounds of growling produced from the corridor and the sunlight from the small barred window practically guided her eyes. The torture was also exceedingly strange. She in fact had only been subjected to the methods that took place the first time. It also wasn’t the involvement of loved ones that was unusual, but it was rather what she had done to him. The whole thing made her uneasy and somewhat nauseous wondering what the demon might actually be planning.
Her train of thought was broken by a weak moan from the stallion before her. “Ah, thank goodness,” she said under her breath as he began to move slightly, his face now turned up towards hers. His eyes opened, revealing the lovely silver irises to her, always kind but seeming to forever hide the secrets that lied within. She had noticed this on the first day they met: a stallion not much older than her, but with eyes that appeared to have seen a lifetime of tribulation. One’s that, at first sight, could never be believed to have ever given off a spark of rage, but it had happened. Eyes don’t become as tired as those without having felt the inferno of wrath, and what a frightening inferno it was. She believed that she was one of the miniscule number of ponies who had seen that fire, and of that same number who never wished to do so again, much less have it directed towards them. Now more than ever did they appear wearied and grief stricken, those kind eyes which no one would ever dare hope would bear witness to sorrow. He brought his hoof up to her face, rested it there and said, “I never knew an angel could be as beautiful as you.” She couldn’t resist smiling at these words as she placed her own hoof on his and wept.
They sat there in a tender silence, he staring up at her and she weeping softly, but they were soon interrupted by an appallingly smooth and low female voice, “My, isn’t that sweet.” Her tears immediately turned from ones of joy and sorrow to those of rage as she gently set his hoof on his chest and vigilantly rose to meet her torturer. Before her stood another unicorn with a sinister grin stretching the corners of her mouth, her tormentor, and someone she knew all too well. For this mare was not only the bane of her existence and the inflictor of all her sorrow, but they too shared a close bond, one they equally loathed. This mare, this she-demon, she was her. It was difficult to tell, though, since she bore an appearance far different from that of our heroine. Her coat was gray and as straight and smooth as her voice and horridly tipped in a similar fashion to the tortured mare, except this time with a deep bloody red. Her light gray and well-kept mane ending in a brighter red hung to the right of her head, exposing her large, dark gray hook of a horn tipped in that same sanguine color. She bore a white collar with a red bow tie around her neck and a black cape upon her back, keeping her cutie-mark hidden from sight. And to finish, her serpentine eyes contained a flaming red that beamed with malice.
"You bitch! Why the hell are you doing this? Why now? Why to him? Why..."- the turquoise-tipped mare’s words were cut off by the tears now streaming from her eyes, nearly blinding her. Try all she might, she could not hold them back as her voice was choked with sobs. Her head dropped from the eye level of her nemesis in a deep anguish as her legs lost their strength. The demon's mouth grew even wider as she watched the girl that had given her so much damn trouble finally sink her head in defeat; that at last, after so many long years of pursuit, she had succeeded in not only breaking her spine, but also her spirit. The despairing unicorn fell, her knees hitting the ground hard once her legs could no longer sustain her. Her tears fell bitterly and for the first time in her life she felt weak. She felt that all her strength was lost, all her will sapped from her, all her resolve whittled away, and all her courage melting out through her tears. Why was it this time that she couldn’t fight off her nemesis? Why now, after every single victory she had taken, why now did she break? Maybe, maybe it was that she only ever succeeded with luck. That she only ever escaped with her neck coming too close to the blade out of sheer happenstance.
But she knew that couldn’t be true, since in all those times she had always something to hang onto. She had always had one bright light to cling tightly to amidst all that darkness. Sometimes it was family, sometimes friends and even sometimes the light of the sun that shone through that tiny barred window. But now, this was different. This time it had turned to something far viler, something far more twisted than a torture necessary for life. Now, the demon had been filled with a different kind of hatred, one that deeply penetrates the spirit and can ne’er be shaken on one’s own: that putrid sin of envy. That damned witch was jealous of her, but why? Not once had this ever occurred, since the witch cared not for any friends or family of the mare lying destitute on the ground. “Who could possibly be”- she turned her head toward the stallion lying beside her, his eyes once again closed. Then it struck her, harder than a fifty-foot tall oak toppling off a two hundred-foot ledge onto the ground below. “Damn it! Why didn’t I make that connection sooner!” she swore aloud.
“I’m just as surprised as you are, Magic. I would’ve thought that after all those times you’ve escaped that you'd be able to figure out something as simple as that,” the demon mocked. “I guess there really isn’t much more to you than a pretty face.”
“Just shut up! Just shut the hell up, you damned bitch! How could he have any meaning to you? What could you possibly gain from this?” Magic’s eyes were once again swelled with tears, but her strength was now returning as she lay on the ground. She felt her rage boiling within her at such injustice. That this Lucifer-incarnate had the audacity, had such an intense hatred of her to ensure that the only emotion she would ever remember feeling about the stallion was one of deep sorrow. She fought to say more through her tears and the anger that welled up within her, but she was unable. Yet now, she found that she had once again gained the strength to stand and brought herself to face the demon who was still grinning at the sheer pleasure of watching her most-hated struggle so greatly.
"Fool, why do you stand? There is no more you can do, for you have already lost."
"No!" Magic shouted in return, her wrath clearly visible upon her furrowed brow and clenched teeth. "I still have a chance. He still has a chance. You've not once kept me here and I know that you never will."
Magic's foe only laughed at this, a deep, slow cackle. "You're right, I haven't kept you here." Her devilish grin then suddenly dropped into a grimace as she ignited the red magic of her horn and caught Magic's own fractured one by it. Magic let out an anguished scream as all her resolve once again faded. Her body grew weak at the sudden insurgence and intensity of the pain and she could not remain in her defiant pose. Her foe continued with far more anger in her voice than before, "But do not say, no do not even dare to think that it was by your own hoof you escaped. I know you know this to be true, which only further disgraces yourself and more importantly me. Do not forget that without me you are nothing. Without me you have no reason to fight. Without me you have no reason to live. And you have the blatant flippancy to mock me with that pathetic thing lying on the floor in a pool of his own bile!? We are forever one in the same and nothing and no one can ever change that!"
As the demon spat her venom, the power exerted on Magic's horn grew more intense and nearly caused her to lose consciousness, but she still held to that light. Her tears came less and she felt almost as if death had come to shake her hoof, but now she had also figured out the reasons for her nemesis' frightening behavior and it gladdened her. Her voice croaked, "I... remember." At these words the demon immediately recoiled in terror, releasing Magic of her terrible grasp and letting her fall to her knees.
"N-no... d-don't...don't say i-," the demon stuttered, but she was cut off as the turquoise-tipped mare went on.
"I remember when we were once together. When we were only you. When Midnight Murder ruled our body and Midnight Magic was forgotten. Those were dark days and the one who was our master taught us many things which I regret knowing, encouraged us to many actions which I regret doing..." She paused here, reminiscing on her past as a drop of salted water rolled down her right cheek.
Murder was hunched over, ears laid back flat upon her head as she breathed heavily. She had always feared hearing these memories, even more so when they were spoken aloud by Magic. For what they did was weaken her, since it was at those moments in their past where Magic had fought to regain control as she sought to bring light to the terrible things they had done. Yet, she may have been beaten back, but not put down and flew into a furry, taking advantage of Magic's pause. Her horn ignited once more and this time her magic engulfed all of Magic's body as she sent her soaring across the room into her rack of tools, effectively knocking the light gray mare out and the torture apparatus off the wooden frame. Her mane had been tossed about and combined with the rage in her visage gave her a disheveled, murderous look, a thing which would strike fear into the hearts of all those who saw it. Her eyes glowed bright red with hatred as she approached the unicorn that lay in a heap. Her horn gave forth a spark and glow in taking up a particularly gruesome looking knife from the misshapen “teeth” strewn about on the floor. The red murderer spoke to the marred mare, the irritation firmly present in her voice, “Do you know why, even after you had run as fast or hidden as well or fought as hard as you could, you always ended up back here?” She gave a chuckle. “Of course you do. You couldn’t forget even if you tried, for such a thing would spell the end of both our lives.”
She brandished her weapon a little with her magic, reveling in all the suffering she had caused with the rust-stained thing as she looked upon it. A wicked smile appeared on her lips as she thought of what she intended to do to her enemy. There was for a short moment a gleam in her eyes, yet it quickly passed into a terrifying darkness. Magic had begun to regain consciousness as her eyes opened, revealing her bright turquoise eyes. This filled Murder once again with a deep and seething hatred and she caught the girl’s head with her magic, yanking her up to her eye level as she let her dangle. Still wielding the knife, Murder stared deeply into the eyes of Magic, almost as if she was searching for something that was present there not too long ago, but had since vanished. She looked as hard and intensely as possible, but could find no trace of it in the recalcitrant mare’s eyes. And then something in Murder snapped: her face became twisted in a different way and Magic was more than surprised to find that there were the beginnings of tears in the demon’s eyes.
“You really did find a way, didn’t you?”
“I did. After I had lost all hope, I finally did,” Magic retorted quietly as she gave a weak smile.
“How could you?” Murder whispered in disgust, the feeling of betrayal clear in her words.
“Because…” Magic began, but then paused. She couldn’t find the words. There was hardly anything she could say to describe what she felt.
“Because why?!” Murder demanded, her tears now coming as a stream.
Magic was now beaming, “Because he is the most wonderful pony that I’ve ever met in the entire world.”
“It shouldn’t matter who or what he is! You cannot escape me! You need me! Without me, you lose everything! You will no longer be what you are!”
“You would think, but now I’ve come to realize…”
“No!”
“That with him…”
“Don’t you damned dare say it!” Murder choked as she blinked away tears.
“I’m finally free.”
“NOOOOOO!” Murder screamed as she cast Magic hard back onto the ground. Her tears pooled at Magic’s feet as they now spilled out as a river. “Then,” Murder forced Magic onto her back and pinned her down. “I will just have to take what’s mine!” She raised the knife above the terrified unicorn’s heart and let out a loud and cracked cackle as she brought down the “tooth” that would end the girl’s life. Silence. There was no sound of the blade entering the flesh, cutting the bone and slicing muscle and organ, only the recent whistling of it passing through the air. Not even the breathing of the two unicorns was heard, for they were both holding it in shock. The would-be weapon of another death was completely still as it floated between the two adversaries and was engulfed in an opaque cloud of white, billowing smoke. They of course shared totally different expressions: Magic’s that of great disbelief and relief, Murder’s that of enraged surprise and disappointment. The demon gave an incredible effort to continue the blade along its predetermined path, but found herself completely unable. Then the rusted steel began to vibrate, then shake, and then erupt with erratic movement until finally it started to crack with beams of that same white light. Both mares quickly realized what was about to happen, each now seeking some shelter from the potential explosion, but Magic was too weak to move. For a moment, Murder thought that she should protect her nemesis lest she be killed in the blast and they both vanish, but immediately rethought the notion and proceeded to turn towards the room’s entrance.
Panic filled Magic’s heart when she saw that she might meet a far different end than by Murder’s hooves, but suddenly found herself enclosed in a shield the same color as the smoke. A final crack appeared right down the middle of the knife and at last exploded in a brilliant and bright scene of steel fragments and smoke. Murder was too late in her escape and was caught by the blast, being hit with both its force and sharp debris. She careened into the other side of the room and felt a sharp crack in her left shoulder on impact, causing her to give out a harsh grunt. Magic had reopened her eyes and observed that the shield had vanished. She turned herself back onto her stomach and attempted to grasp the meaning of the whole situation, “It…it’s just not possible. There’s no other unicorn in here and this place is too well hidden for any other pony to have found it. Who could possibly have…?” She finished her thought and looked up to hopefully find the answer to this incredibly perplexing question. In the center of the room was the stallion, his eyes glowing a brilliant white with white smoke billowing out the sides, but that was not all. There was large and jagged scar on the left side of his chest that gave forth the same glow as his eyes. The star on his cutie-mark shared the same glow, and the cut on his ear and legs and a great many other scars that weren’t there before now riddled his whole body and each were dripping with a red liquid.
“P-Plato…what…what’s going on? Wh-why are you bleeding so much? How are you even doing this?!” Magic asked desperately trying to gain some light of the situation.
The dark gray stallion smiled gently at her and walked over to where she lay. He placed his hoof on her chin and looked her directly in the eye, giving her the kindest look he possibly could, nearly causing her to cry once again as said in a deep and tender voice, “Don’t worry, you’ll understand soon enough. For now, you should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.” He bent down and kissed her on the head and her eyes gently shut as he slowly set her down onto to her forelegs. He turned round to face the red unicorn that still lay unconscious and bleeding on the other end of the chamber and proceeded to her position, puddles of blood trailing him. Her cape and bowtie had been blown off in the explosion, now revealing the place on her flank where he cutie-mark should have been. What had taken its place was a black scar in the shape of an uneven six-pointed star, now bleeding the same as his. “Now, I’ve got to figure out what to do with you.” The unicorn was engulfed in white smoke as Plato lifted her off the ground and gave her a shake; her eyes opened and were immediately burning with wrath once she laid her crimson serpentine eyes on the scarred stallion.
“Go to hell!” She spat.
“Oh, I’ve already been. It’s quite nice this time of year, not as warm and…screamy.”
Blood dripped from her mouth and she spat out a rather nasty glob of red mucus. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” She snarled.
“As a matter of fact, yes. And I would hope that it continues to serve me well.”
“Oh, shut up. You have more mouth on you than you have brain in you.”
“I don’t deny that that has before proven to be the case. I am still clever, though, but for reasons other than what you’re thinking right now. According to that look on your face, I bet you believe that I’ve always had this kind of power and chose now to use it to play hero, but I cannot tell you how wrong you are.”
“Oh, is that so?” Murder said sarcastically.
“Indeed it is and you in fact had a hoof to play in its appearance.”
“Ah, don’t give me that bullshit. I know what you’re really trying to do.”
“And what is it that you think I’m trying to do?”
“That you’re trying to have both of us end up dead.”
He recoiled a bit at that accusation, but recovered himself hoping that she didn’t see it. The words that came out of her mouth next proved contrary to that hope. She had found a possible opportunity to gain the advantage over the immense power that now bound her.
“Ah, so you do believe it,” she smirked.
“You know nothing,” he replied sharply.
“Oh, but I do. I know everything about you.”
“What you did, that spell you cast on me, what I saw, that wasn’t me.” He was irritated, a thing which could be potentially fanned into a rage. She pressed him:
“Of course not. How could your own mind and heart not be you?”
“It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. There’s just no way…” He began to fade into meditation, but caught himself knowing she would use the distraction to gain the upper hand, even though she was greatly weakened. This mare could take a good amount of punishment and still find a way to counter her opponent; he had born witness to it before. “The only that could have felt so much like real life is either that it actually was or if it was only a mind trick. And knowing you, that latter option seems far more likely.”
Her smirk hadn’t left her mouth, “Knowing you, it was actually the first. You see, I didn’t trick you, since there is not much I could gain from doing so. In fact, that may very well have made you all the more admirable to her and me all the more hated, that being one of the reasons that it was never my plan in the first place.”
“Then what, by God, was it?” The inferno had begun to gather its fuel.
“Please, allow me to explain: Some time ago as I was searching through Sombra’s old library and I came across a strange text. It was an unusual thing, since it wasn’t a book on the tyrants of old, or of black magic, or even of crystal formations, but rather a collection of ancient poetry. I of course was confused as to why it dwelled amongst the belongings of a stallion who didn’t care much else for conquering empires and enslaving ponies, so I decided to browse it a little. It was filled with some perplexing titles, some uninteresting ones, some unreadable and others too disturbing even for me to recount. But as I continued to look, I came across a page that was oddly marked with some charring and bloodstains. It was titled “Only the Mind Knows” and I wondered, based on the quality of the page if it bore any significance to my previous master. So, I began to read and what I found altered more than just how I thought. It persuaded me to a whole other lifestyle and for some time eliminated any resistance from Magic. I’ve had it memorized ever since that day. Would you care for me to recite it to you?”
His wrath was nearing its tipping point as he responded through gritted teeth, “Please.”
She smiled. “With pleasure:
‘There is in all hearts buried a seed
One of malice, lust, and unjust greed
One that if given waters sinister must grow
To consume its host and thus be known
As the master of deeds putrid and vile
But for all minds it does beguile
Them to a mannerism vile and frightful
And practices of darkness they find delightful
For what this seed produces is in all ways plain
A thing only the mind knows
That true evil does the heart contain’”
She emphasized the last two lines as she finished with her mouth spread into a sly grin.
Plato was finding it exceedingly difficult to contain the fire building within him, but was able to force out a response, “And what, pray tell are you insinuating by that?”
“I think you know perfectly well or else you wouldn’t have as big of a scowl on your face as you do now.”
“Silence. Stop lying to me. Stop trying to ruin Magic’s life just because you cannot stand the fact that she finally found a way to be free of the hell you put her through. You have done enough.” He brought himself muzzle-to-muzzle with the unicorn as he said this, hoping that she might become spooked by the wild sparks in his eyes and stop pressing him. It unfortunately only served to ensure her that she had succeeded. It was time for the final push.
“All I did was open the door through your mind to find your own seed. For you see, after I had read that poem all those years ago, I nurtured mine as best as possible and became a vital asset to Sombra and as well as removed any chance of being restrained by Magic’s conscience. Oh, silly me, I keep separating Magic and I as individual ponies. It’s just that we seemed so different when she used that spell to cast out all that evil from her, but based on what I’ve seen throughout these years is that you can never destroy the seed. We really are the same.”
“She is NOTHING like you!” the bleeding stallion spat. “Nothing!” He found himself unable to say anything more, for the blood loss and increasing rage were beginning to take its toll on him.
She couldn’t resist laughing at the desperate denial of the stallion that had finally fallen victim to her trap. All it took was one more trigger. “And I thought you were supposed to be one of Equestria’s greatest philosophers, but all you are is an actor who played his part so well he ended up playing himself. Everything that I have done is a stain that will never be removed from Magic’s hooves. And everything you saw, all those ungodly deeds, all those “thoughts of hell,” that was you and none but yourself. Sombra knew all too well what it took to be who he was and I am more than fortunate to have discovered his secret: how he conquered a nation and ruled with a ruthless iron hoof. Each and every one of us is capable of such cruelty and reveling in the power it bestows. A thing only the mind knows…”
“That true evil the heart doth contain,” he sighed. She was taken aback as she watched his anger suddenly dissipate and subside into sorrow as he now understood her words, but there was only present on his face an explicit sternness. “I suppose that now I know why you dragged me through that excruciating place and exposed to me to what I had feared to be true. It would seem that you hoped that through it Magic would come to fear, despise, and ultimately reject me. That if she could only see what laid deep within myself, that she would continue running, and you resume hunting.”
The smirk had been replaced with a scowl of her own. “And it damn would have worked if she hadn’t magically given you amnesia and shut you up before you could spill out your guts. I had to give the bitch a good beating and break her horn for it and I could have sworn that I was about to burn you out.”
A bit of a smile turned up the right corner of his mouth. “I suppose you don’t know me after all,” he chuckled. “I also need to thank you for assisting me in gaining this power.”
“Oh, don’t bring this up again.”
“But I really should. I had been experimenting with conjuring it before, but was unable since I couldn’t find the right catalyst. I suppose all I needed was a little trauma.”
“If you let me out of this damned smoke, I’ll give you more than just trauma!”
“I think you’ve done enough. For now, you will sleep.” The smoke around her vanished and shell fell with a splash into a lake of blood unconscious. “That took far longer than it should have,” he sighed as he turned his eyes back to Magic who was lying fast asleep. “She’s just as beautiful sleeping as she is awake,” he thought. He ambled quietly over to her and looked her over, his brow furrowing in concern. “I think it’s best that I fix you up before we leave,” he said aloud as he placed his hoof on her head. Shutting his eyes, he sent what remained of his magical strength into her body, her wounds now illuminated in a bright white light. The bleeding ceased and the wounds began to close and with it all the light in the room, except for the dim glow of the sun dissipated. A kind smile passed across his lips upon seeing his success. He bent down and nudged his head under her body as he lifted her onto his back, using his hooves to assist him.
“Now, it’s time to get you out of here,” and he walked towards the room’s entrance, passing by the other unicorn that lay asleep in the very substance that defined who she was, yet he ignored her, knowing that their business there was finished. He entered into a dimly lit corridor that stretched for a good way, but the turns were visible enough. There were other doors, some labeled, some not, but each characteristically stained with some discolored substance. He didn’t have much of a comprehension of the layout of the complex, but he at each fork or turn he noticed a faint tinge of what appeared to be sunlight reflecting off the walls. A few more turns were made, a few more doors with windowless rooms were passed, but after what seemed like an eternity, they exit was now visible, light uttering forth from a great rectangular opening. His pace quickened, but he was careful to keep Magic stable upon his back. First a trot, then a jog, and then a controlled gallop until…
“Wow,” was all he could say. He found himself in what appeared to be a forest thick with great oaks and bushes, but there was a clear indentation of a path leading up to Murder’s lair and this he began the long trek home on. The sky was filled with gray clouds and could smell in the breeze that a storm was brewing, but from what he observed it would only be rain. And soon he felt the drops as the first few fell upon his muzzle, eventually giving way to a light torrent. The force of the water coming down began to wash away the blood that matted both of the ponies’ fur and collected into streams that followed the contours of the road. The only way out of the giant enclosure it seemed was via this path, which proved useful for avoiding a mishap with a fork or two. It also meant that Murder would know exactly where to go to catch them once she woke up, but he was positive that she would be far to hurt to even get out of the complex. “I think that it’s best that I don’t think about that right now,” he corrected himself aloud. And so he trudged on down the uneven terrain, stumbling a little and nearly falling on his face every now and then, but still managing to keep the mare on his back. This went on for a few hours, until he rounded a turn to find an opening in the forest line that revealed what looked to be a grassy clearing, filling him with relief.
But something happened, something that sought to ensure he would fail now when he was so very close. A wet snap rang out through the trees as he felt a sharp crack in his back and a roaring surge of pain. “AUGH, SHIT!” He dropped to one knee, trying the best he could to support himself, but the pain coursing throughout his entire body nearly sapped him of all his strength. His mind was filled with agonized screams, but he fought through the noise scolding himself, “Damn it, son! You did not come this far just to be taken out by a fractured vertebra! Come on, MOVE!” He shouted that last part intending it as a rallying cry and gradually forced himself back onto his feet. “Ok, now take one step. Ugh, damn it! Come on, now another. You can do it, son. You’ve been around the world once and gone through hell twice. This is nothing compared to anything you’ve experienced before. Now, move!” He pep-talked himself like this for the next twenty minutes as her pushed to take each harrowing step, but finally, with Magic still propped atop his back, he collapsed at the forest edge, the pain now raging within him. Breathing heavily, he found himself with his head lying on a small comfortable patch of grass and his eyes had begun to grow weary. There was a final surge of adrenaline that told him to get up again lest his weakness get them both killed by the madmare that was surely on their tail by now. But he couldn’t. There was not even the remotest trace of strength left inside him, and he felt the urge of sleep completing its conquest. “Heh, I guess I really am just an actor,” was his last thought as a pair of hooves appeared before his fading vision. Darkness consumed him.
Author's Note
A few complaints and apologies:
I thought thesauruses were supposed to be my friend.
I apologize for my plot holes being bigger than your whoring arses.
I apologize if I get preachier than you when you're defending your ships.
I should write a poem titled "In Praise of Run-ons"
Why is writing so haaaaaarrrrrrrddddd?!?!?!?
