The Bright Side of Death

by DaemonWulf

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Human, Drama, Adventure
Length: 1813

Set in an alternate version of Equestria, a man down on his luck finds himself stuck protecting a little girl from a world full of dangers. From magic, to monsters, to people with wings Kyle struggles to raise a child who is more than she seems.

Gods: All powerful entities who guide the world towards good, evil, and everything in between. Beings who actively influence the world in the most indirect ways lest their very beings tear the world apart.
Demigods: The offspring of gods and mortals. Blessed with amazing abilities, long life, and sometimes even crippling weaknesses. Most demigods even share visible characteristics with their godly parent. A demigod of nature may have shaggy green hair while one of war could possess scarlet eyes that blaze like fire. Whether they champion the ideals and goals of their progenitors, or strive for their independence demigods are subjects of legends the world over. Their legacies ended but never forgotten.
So what happens when a child is conceived between god and demigod?

First attempt at writing Fanfic.
This humanized Equus idea has been stuck in my head ever since I read my first HiE fic.
Coincidentally this world came into being when I tricked my DnD group into playing an MLP campaign.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-11-18 03:34:39 UTC

Ch. 1

Equestria 0783 After Nightmare:  Hollow Shades Orphanage

run.

Fight or flight, make a desperate last stand or a mad dash for survival? The most basic instinct that is shared by every living being.  Most civilized species can go their entire lives without ever encountering this particular crossroads.  Those few that do rarely even realize it until their gamble pays off.  If their gamble pays off.

This can be especially true for the young.

She didn't know why she was running. She hadn't done anything wrong.  Except steal a few cookies, but that was mainly the baker's fault for making them so deliciously stealable!  Besides, she already got spanked for that, and even apologized!  Miss Mayweather saw to that.

She didn't know where she was running to.  Miss Mayweather wasn't very specific when she yelled for the little girl playing with her dolls out back to run away.  The kind old caretaker did sound scared though.  More scared than the time she caught the girl playing outside with a pair of timberwolf pups.  So running the opposite way seemed like a good idea.

Run.

What she did know was that she was being chased. She was being chased by guards.  She was being chased by Royal Knights in shiny white and gold plate armor, except one who looked like he spilled the tomato sauce all over himself.  All three of which were using foul language and calling her to stop and face judgment for her sins.  While swinging swords as long as she was tall.

Which only confused the girl even more.  She'd never met a Knight, but the few guards the remote village did have were very nice.  They even gave her candy when the other kids teased her about her wings.  Her useless oversized unflyable wings that would be really useful right now if they could fly!

RUN.

Veins full of adrenaline fueled terror the little girl sprinted towards the dark forest that surrounded the village she called home with a speed she never knew she had.  The heavy armor clad adults slowly fell behind cursing the swift child all the while, as well as the old hag who had warned her.  Not that she heard or cared what they said.  She just needed to get away from them.  Tears fell freely from her face as she crossed into the dense wood line with one thought repeating itself over and over in her head.

"That wasn't tomato sauce."

RUN!

So she ran.  She ran until she couldn't breathe.  She ran until her tears dried up.  She ran even though her legs felt like they were on fire.  She pushed through the pain of shrubbery scratching her limbs and catching in her long silver hair.  She ran ignoring the fading light blocked by the thick forest canopy.  Until eventually in the dim light filtering through the leaves she tripped and fell, too tired to attempt any sort of recovery.

Exhausted beyond reason the little girl lay sprawled on the ground desperately gulping air into her oxygen deprived lungs.  Rolling onto her back she realized that her surroundings were no longer the dark and treacherous forest that she had been fleeing through.  Instead she found herself in a small clearing with an open view of the evening sky above.  As much as she wanted to enjoy the twilight tapestry in the skies above the girl knew she had to keep moving.   Sitting up she was surprised yet again when she noticed it was no mundane root that interrupted her journey.

At her feet lay a large leather bound tome with a silver clasp  opened to a random page that was emitting a dull blue radiance.   The girl didn't know much about magic, never having met a magi herself, but she did know that magical objects were expensive.  Especially magical tomes since supposedly most magi refused to part with their hard earned knowledge.  Leaning over the book she saw the open pages were covered in a swirling silver script that moved hypnotically around the page forming random words and shapes.  Denying her the knowledge of what lay within.

So entranced was the girl that she didn't even remember why she had been running in the first place.  Neither did she notice herself slowly reaching a hand towards the mezmerizing display of unknowable knowledge.  Until the faint sound of breaking branches and clanking armor brought her back to the present.  In her haste to escape her hand finally closed the last few inches between it and the magical book.  Then everything went weird.

The all consuming fear in her mind was washed away like dirt in a gentle stream.  Replaced with the knowledge that her small tired legs wouldn't be able to out run trained knights forever.  Nor could she fight them off with her frail little body.  But magic could.  Slowly the silvery symbols fled the book, rising into the air to form two perfect circles.  One was slightly larger than her hand and remained floating before her. While the other was easily six feet across and lowered itself onto an open patch of ground in the clearing.  When the symbols came into contact with the grass they caught fire, silver flames burning themselves into the very ground.

The girl couldn't read the silver script slowly circling her outstretched hand, and she knew nobody else could either.  But she didn't need to read the symbols to understand.  The book wanted to help.  The book could save her from the bad men who wanted to hurt her.  But it needed power to do so.  Power it knew she had.  Closing her eyes she pushed both of her delicate hands into the circle wishing with every fiber of her being that someone, anyone would save her.  There was a searing heat on her forehead but she ignored it.  The wind howled around her and lightning ignited several branches around the clearing as the air seemed to warp inside the larger circle.

Had her eyes been open the girl would have seen eldritch fire tear a whole in the very fabric of reality.  If her will was not entirely focused on pouring vast amounts of energy into the spell she would have noticed dirt, leaves, and entire branches being sucked into the black hole that she had created.  Neither did she notice the dazzling emerald light that glared from behind her bangs.  Harder and harder she pushed on the circle, both mentally and physically.  She felt like she would collapse at any second but she refused to give in.  Until with a final boom the hole in space collapsed violently.  The girl opened her eyes just enough to see that the circle her hands were in was spinning rapidly shooting silver sparks in every direction.  Until with a crack the symbols exploded and everything went white.

Afghanistan 2073, Sangwhari Province

Fire, smoke, the screams of the dying and the stench of voided bowels.  Truly war never changes.  The terrain, the reason, and even the method may differ from battle to battle but one could never mistake the symphony of war.  For every war created a hellish tune which people danced to willingly or not.

  "I never would have thought I'd end up here."  Croaked a man on the brink of death.  "Wonder what the folks back home are doing."

Kyle Solomon, age twenty-eight, former business man turned mercenary.  Earned a dual Bachelor's in Consumer Behavior and Principles of Marketing.  Then found himself in the middle of a civil war during his first job for a new overseas branch of some pharmaceutical company he couldn't even remember the name of.  He'd had his whole life planned;  start a career, have a family, and eventually settle down somewhere rural to live out his days.  A simple dream of contentment that went up in flames when he discovered his exceptional skill at killing.

Rising from a lowly corporate employee  to a seasoned slayer of men, animals, and generally anything life threw his way Kyle became something of a local legend during that first war.  A legend he continued to build on during the six years that followed.  Traveling across Africa, South America, Central America, and even parts of Asia.  Never caring who was right or wrong Kyle followed the trail of gun smoke and profit.A trail that led him to his current predicament.

On a good day he was an average five foot eight.  It hurt too much to look but he was pretty sure he was much shorter now.  Having been blown up by a mortar from the same people who just yesterday were his employers.  Kyle now lay in a growing puddle of his own blood somewhere in the Middle East.  He really wasn't feeling the whole windswept desert thing at the moment.

"It's not all bad" he thought, not even able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears.  "at least I won't have to pay the cell phone bill this month.

Chuckling to himself over the wetness in his throat Kyle relaxed and accepted what was happening to him.  He'd seen (and caused) enough death to know what was coming next.  Everything would go numb and cold.  Then he would feel his breath leave him without the strength to draw another.  So he would close his eyes and let death take him.  Plus shit his pants of course, no longer able to control his sphincter.  He'd always thought that part was funny.

So focused Kyle was on enjoying his last breath he nearly missed a quiet voice in the back of his mind.  Till it came again, a little louder this time.  Straining to make out the words he could barely hear what sounded like a little girl asking for help.  But that was absurd, there were no children on this battlefield.  He'd made sure of that himself even going so far as to commission a couple of buses to evacuate the local villagers.

Playing it up as a trick of his dying mind Kyle tried to focus on his breathing again.  It was much harder now.  Every breath was a struggle through his blood soaked throat.  Then he realized he couldn't hear the sounds of battle anymore.  Strangely in its place there was a strong wind, and rain, and for some reason he thought he smelled flowers.  Amidst these strange sensations there was one sound that stood out from the rest.  As clear as if he was sitting in a quiet room, from seemingly right next to him he could hear sobbing mixed with feminine grunts of effort.  Along with the same phrase being repeated over and over.

"Please help me."

"How?"  Kyle coughed.  There was too much blood now.  Or not enough, he couldn't tell.  He knew this would be his last breath.  Regardless if he could use it to make this unseen girl feel better it would be worth the effort.  Seemingly struggling to control her tears it was several agonizing seconds before the voice replied.

"Protect me."

Not being able to move Kyle knew he was going to be dead within a few heartbeats.  He knew he was being asked the impossible.  But when faced with the sheer desperation he heard in her voice, he knew there was only one reply he could give to the unseen girl.  So he put all his will into one final task.  With his last dying breath he whispered his reply as the the cold consumed him.

"Always."