Demented: The Beginning

by ForgottenNight

Rating: mature
Tags: Profanity, Gore, Princess Celestia, Dark, Death, Human, Main 6, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other
Length: 3819

So much blood must be spilled. So many lives must be lost. I must have them notice me.

They call me mad, but I don't think I am. On the contrary, I'm completely sane. It is they— the ones who accuse me of insanity— who are crazy. They don't believe our saviors will answer my calls, but I'll prove them wrong.

WARNING! Contains:
Missing organs, dismemberment

Published 2018-04-25 14:50:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-25 14:50:06 UTC

Prologue

"Do you know why you are here?" the officer asked. It was a rhetorical question, of course. Everyone knows why I'm in a padded cell, awaiting death row. Naturally, I smile my pleasant smile— which once brought joy, but now strikes fear into the heart's of those who view it.

"I'm aware of the circumstances that lead me to this point. Asking such a question must mean you wish me to repeat my story."

"We are documenting this conversation to ensure you are as insane as we believe you to be," he said. His tone had a hint of severity. Maybe he is overworked, or maybe he is done talking with me. Either way, I'll retell the story of what lead me to this point. Keep in mind, however, that I'm of sound mind, no matter what they say.

It was a normal spring day, mid-afternoon. The sun shone like a golden ball of fire against a sky blue canvas. Life on Earth was relatively calm and quiet. Not a bird chirped, nor did a car honk. It was peaceful, so peaceful— in fact— one would mistake the serenity for a monastery.

While all was quiet, I stirred. I had a feeling deep down that something wasn't right. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling. It was then that I decided to go for a jaunt. It was nice. I waved hello to persons I crossed paths with, I walked with a bouncing stride, I paid for a kid's ice cream when they cried about not having one. Nothing was wrong then, so why did I still feel that burning feeling deep inside my soul? It wasn't long before I glanced at a television— for a neighbor had left their window open on this perfect day— that was airing a children's show. I've seen it before, and I've just forgotten about it.

The show depicted sentient, vibrant equines. My Diminutive Equine I think it's called. I might be wrong, I only glanced at it. I had this sudden urge to bow down every time this purple 'alicorn' appeared on camera, an urge to worship her. It was then that I realized I was believing a children's show to be reality. That the characters on-screen would jump out and we'd all be praising these beings as gods and goddesses. I thought I was crazy then. Ponies actually being godly beings that display their lives for entertainment? Preposterous!

Although, the more I thought about it, the more the idea became engraved in my mind. Yet, the idea scared me. Should anyone find out, I'll be branded a heretic. Perhaps if I conceal these concepts, they'd go away. I blocked them out, repressed them to the deepest chasms of my unconscious. Immediately, I raced home and barricaded myself in my room.

"No, no, no!" I shouted at myself. "They are not gods, they are images on a screen! It is wrong to worship any false gods! Remember the first commandment: 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' What would your father think if he were still among the living? He'd disown you, beat you."

Father was a very religious man. Catholicism was important to him. Any naysayers would feel his wrath. Hell hath no fury like my father. In fact, he and mother divorced over their religious differences. Mother believed in Judaism, proven by the fact that her grandparents had survived the worst punishment in human history. I needn't say it, for no one wants to talk about the millions of lives lost during that time.

"What is there to worry about?" a voice asks me as I'm contemplating the possible punishments. I look around the room, only to discover that I'm the only one present.

Trembling, I ask a question of my own, "Who said that?"

"I did," it replies. Every time it speaks I hear indiscernible whispers, yet one voice is clear among the confusion. It's loud, yet quiet. Deep in tone, yet soothes my nerves. "Don't worry about a thing. I promise they will protect you."

I realize what he's talking about. "They don't exist," I say.

"They do exist. You just need to look in the right place. I can help you. All you have to do is trust me." A simple task, yet complex at the same time. Trust a disembodied voice? One that is pressuring me into accepting the treacherous thoughts?

"What do you want? No one offers help without something in return." I expect it to say it wants me to do something nearly impossible, but it only chuckles at my question.

"The only thing I want is for you to be happy. The entrance to their world is closed at the moment. However, with your help I can open it." An enticing offer. This could satisfy my need to worship her, but it could also be a trick.

"I'll consider your offer, but only if you prove what you say is true." The voice didn't respond. I looked out of my window, and saw the moon shine. A sliver of silver shining through a cloudy sky. I hadn't realized how dark it had gotten. Nevertheless, I made my way downstairs.

And that was when I saw it. A pale blue portal in the middle of my living room. I was worried the in neighbors would catch sight of the spectacle— for I had maroon wallpaper. I hastened to shut the blinds, and in doing so I heard something crooning— humming a merry tone like a mother does with her child. I peered at the portal, and saw a sight most unusual.

An aquamarine unicorn was treating her ill friend, an Earth pony. Baffled, I reach outward-- expecting the portal to vanish. But it didn't. It remained as if undisturbed-- impervious to my touch. Nay, instead my hand phased through it. Nearly could I have caressed the mare on the top of her head. Nearly could I have brought her to me- bring her to my world and be made famous.

I withdrew my hand from the portal. Surely this was still but an illusion- a trick of the mind? Perhaps I'm slumbering in my chambers, and all this is false. Or maybe I've lost my senses- my wits. Maybe I've become insane. That would explain the voice and the gateway.

It was then that I heard a voice so somber, yet it still stirred wonder. Wonder of the choice I offered before. Now I wish to accept the gift it so gives, a gift for which I now implore.

"You have seen my power," it said, "that I've been granted. You wish I send you to the realm enchanted, for it'd be a place of joy and more."

"Yes," I say. "This I want, and nothing more. Give me the power, I beseech you. Know now I believe it true, the power which they bequeathed you, bequeathed power of gods unspoken- surely you are their token. May they understand my doubt initial, for I am naturally judicial."

The voice says nothing more. Perhaps our encounter's over, or maybe it's Passover- maybe our gods may be upon us, and we've followed thus. Know I am aware of my speaking, something I've been acutely tweaking- tweaking in preparation for the night's act of forgotten lore. A play in bleak December, clearly you must remember- remember the bird on the Night's Plutonian shore.

I decided to stop speaking that way. I have studied that aplenty, and it is this which why you resent me- resent my knowledge of unending... and I'm done. Sorry. I have the slightest idea how to rhyme, nor knowledge of old English. Let me continue to the day I passed through to the other world, where it all went down.

Thrill of the Kill

Today marks a month after I entered their world. It's more glorious than I expected. The residents care for one another- they see one another. They don't just walk past and ignore each other, they greet their fellows with a resounding how-do-you-do. Unlike us humans, where we— or rather, they— greet relatively vehemently- vociferously. It brings joy to my heart to know the love these ponies have for each other.

Hearken! the sounds of love and laughter, that so elegantly echoes in the breeze. Calmly do they play games, calmly do they go about their affairs. Nay, say I, do the residents of God's green Earth enjoy such gaiety. Our world could be saved, perchance. If these goddesses saw our dilemma, then they might be willing to fix us-- restore us-- reshape us into their form.

"Nay!" said I. "These beings must be left in peace, they must be left at ease." Their perfection is what makes them them. Humans are imperfect, and we do well. So why do I believe this? I cannot tell.

For days unending, during my own repenting, I felt darkness in my core. Darkness to take the life of these godly maidens, ones who'd call me laden, those who I truly do adore. May the gods that hath sent me, forgive these sins which I abhor. Know my mind is now broken, no thought is left pure golden— I cannot live like this forevermore! May I be cast out in corruption, even when they ask my presence be scorned.

"Your making too much of this," said a, now familiar, voice.

"Too much? Truly it's not enough!" I cried. "My thoughts darken the longer I stay here in pure joy. No single power can dissipate the feelings in my soul."

"True," it agreed, "but if you do a little something to show your worship, they'll let you stay." At these words my heart stopped beating, but only for a second. I was hidden in the shadows, so no one would worry about me talking to an unseen being.

"What does thou offer now?" I ask genuinely curious. From there my mind goes blank. I remember not a single thing. Maybe the others can fill-in the gaps.

So he's finally done talking? Good. He never learns to shut up, especially when he starts doing that way of speaking. Honestly, that author is dead, but he's obsessed with him. Anyway, I'm Abaddon. Don't ask why that's my name, it just is. Anyway, after Obed asked that question I took over.

"You must sacrifice one of them," the voice had said. "Only then will they acknowledge your worship." I made that deal. I don't worship anything, but I have a feeling Obed would appreciate it. I don't care that I have to do it, he obviously won't— the coward. So I wait until eleven at night. 'A sliver of silver shining through a cloudy sky' as Obed would say, the fucking playwright.

One pony— the things he puts me through— is outside at this time. She seems young, maybe a filly. Purple and pink mane, white coat, and a horn levitating her stuff into her saddle bag. She may resist with her powers. A difficult task, but I've done more challenging things. No adult is watching her, so she's alone or too far ahead of her guardian. Regardless, I plan my attack.

Using a burlap sack I... 'found', I toss it over her and tie it closed. Her shouts were muffled, but still deafening. I raced to the cave we found day one. We've made a few improvements to it since our arrival: a dungeon, makeshift kitchen, and bed. The dungeon is for any intruders we find, but now it's for victims.

After tying her to four wooden posts on a table and gagging her mouth shut, I run to grab tools. What a helpless being. She struggles to free herself, but to no avail. I return with the tools: a meat hook, two sai, a cleaver, a scalpel, and a hammer. I know the human body— I studied it in school— but I know little of her's. Sure, she is technically a horse, but I never studied that. Only one way to find out.

I stab the meat hook through her stomach, and drag it til the wound is seven inches in length. Slowly, I retract it and find that her intestines were torn out in the process. She's spitting up blood, coughing whenever it enters her lungs. A consistent flow of tears never leaving her face. Does she expect pity? Does she expect me to show mercy from now on? I never pity— never show mercy to my victims. She isn't the only one who has experienced my wrath. One dozen before her begged— cried for me to stop, but I continued. Taking the meat hook in my left hand, I plunge it through one front hoof, nailing it in place. I take the cleaver in my right, raise it above my head, and swing it down, making sure it is exactly at the joint. She cries out in agony, and looks away from her dismembered limb.

"Get over it," I hiss. "This is only the beginning." She won't stop crying, her voice weak from all the shrieking she's done. I retrieve the meat hook from her detached limb, yanking it out. Once more I punctured her front hoof, and once more I chop it off. She's drifting in and out of consciousness now, the blood loss taking its toll on her. Nevertheless, I continue my 'work'. I glide the scalpel across her chest, making a 'Y'-incision. Pulling back the flaps of skin, I gaze upon her rib cage. I frown a little, disappointed by the fact that her heart still beats.

It taunts me. The continuous rhythm beating like a drum in a marching band. How I loathe the sound. A deep passion to silence it overwhelms me, and I act upon it. Taking the hammer, I swing repeatedly until her ribs are reduced to fragments. Judging by her flinching upon each hit, it must be agonizing. Oh well, I have no care in the world. Grabbing a sai in each hand, I ponder my options. Should I puncture her eyes, rending her blind, or should I end her life? Decisions, decisions. I went to see if I had something extra to use. Guess what I found? A machete! Not only can I now use the sai to blind her, but I can also pierce her heart— maybe even go through her spine. And that's exactly what I did. You should have heard her breathe her last, utter the name of someone she hoped would find her. While I question who 'Rarity' is, I know she'll meet the same fate— except in a different manner. My work done, I surrender control to another.

Burying the Broken

Poor girl. Abaddon got carried away, not like he shows mercy. They didn't even allow me a chance to comfort her. I tried negotiating with Abaddon to not do what he did, but obviously he didn't listen. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Eir, the only female amongst us.

Unlike the others, I am merciful. The only thing I do is care for others. For example, I urged Obed to purchase the kid an ice cream. You should have seen the child then, I'll never forget the joy on his face and on such a fabulous day. But now I must care for her body. And the others want me to make sure her famille see her.

Before we came here, my little loisir was carpentry. Naturally I made the casket, only from the finest wood: apple. I had us study the symbolism of trees, and my research says that "[The Apple tree] represents youth, [joy], [healthiness], [elegance], and magic." Fascinating isn't it? Listen to me, rambling on about tree symbolism when I should be preparing the body. The flowers, and/or plants, I've picked are: white rose, coral rose, basil, and rosemary. Even if you could, don't ask me why. Anyway, the fabric on the interior is silk with cotton underneath for support.

Now I have to clean her up, and either stitch her together again or find a way to censor the damage. The latter of the two sounds easier, but is it really? I guess it would be best to do that, for not even I know the equine anatomy. I extract the sai from her eyes— the ones that were once a beautiful forest green— clean them, and cover them with a silk blindfold. Her hooves I placed in their own separate boxes— both made exactly like the casket in which she resided. I cover her open chest, along with her stomach, with a wool blanket.

I stare at her, taking in every detail of the work I've done to show mercy. Perhaps she can rest easy now. Maybe she understands I'm someone different from the one that ended her life, I'll never know. Just before I close the casket, I utter a final goodbye.

"Puissiez-vous trouver la paix. Repose en paix." I shut the casket close and begin my journey to give her to her family. She's a beautiful girl, and there is the most gorgeous bouteq in this small town. Perhaps she works there, or maybe she lives there. One thing is for sure, someone will find her.

A scream penetrated the peace of the night. Ponies came rushing to the sound, ending up at a bouteq. A lone mare laid on the ground outside in tears. Next to her was a casket, made from the wood of an apple tree. Bewildered— or maybe frightened— a few courageous souls approached. While two were attempting to calm down the delirious mare, the other— an ordinarily happy pink Earth pony— gazed at the open box. Upon closer inspection— one she'd soon regret— she came across the scene of Sweetie Belle's decimated corpse. Tears blurred her vision, her voice to weak to announce what she is witnessing. Even without the blood it was still gruesome. After finding her voice— tears still visible— she quietly told another mare— a cyan Pegasus— to send word to the princesses that a murder has arose. The Pegasus unquestioningly took off at breakneck speed.

The town was worried. The happiest mare was on the verge of outright crying. Whatever was going on it was bad. No doubt they were right. Within twenty seconds of the Pegasus leaving, she returned along with four alicorns. They urged the onlookers to return home, and leave this to them. Two more mares came to the scene, after hearing about it from others who came by.

"Rarity, are ya all right?" the country Earth pony asked, while taking the sobbing mare's hoof in her own. Too delirious to respond, Rarity only cried more. Applejack embraced her, trying to comfort her while staying strong.

Fluttershy never glanced at the corpse, as she was squeamish. Rainbow Dash looked, and was horrified. Not even she could stand such a sight. Pinkie was crying as well, here was somepony she knew and now they're dead. No party could make this better.

Only the princesses looked upon the body without emotion. Not because they didn't care, but because they wondered who would do a thing like this.

"What should we do?" asked Twilight.

Celestia, using her magic, closed the casket. Producing a scroll and quill from thin air, she wrote a letter to the coroner— telling them to prepare a funeral and that a body will be arriving tomorrow. After sending the letter off, she looked down at Twilight. "The only thing we can do is bury her, and hope this will stop before it gets worse." With that, she expanded her wings and flew off into the sky.

"We can't just hope!" Rainbow Dash exclaimed. "There's some sicko out there who's probably looking for another pony to butcher!"

"I agree with Rainbow," Pinkie said fighting back tears. "We can't let somepony else die that way."

"W-What am I going to tell my p-p-parents? H-How are they going to take the news?" Rarity choked. She had calmed down some, but was obviously still grieving. "I never even got the chance to say 'Goodbye'."

"Rarity, I'll come with ya to yer parents. Ah can't just letcha go off by yerself," Applejack said. Rarity hugged Applejack, all the while thanking her. Applejack planted a kiss on Rarity's cheek, and reassured her that everything will end up better.

Only Luna remained quiet, since Cadence went back to the Crystal Empire to inform Shining Armor of the tragedy that struck. Luna's silence concerned Twilight. She trotted up to her, stopping when she was next to her.

"Princess Luna, what's wrong?"

"My sister has trouble grasping the concept of death," Luna told them. "As an alicorn, death is something we will never experience. We age without aging, and watch as others we know wither away. Some go peacefully, others not at all. No matter the reason, we are always at their funerals. Friends or enemies. Their last thought should be that somepony cares about them, and will miss them when they pass. It's the best we can do."

Luna spread her wings, and flew a feet in the air. She turned to face them all, her face stoic. "I suggest all of you get some sleep tonight. I promise we'll have the funeral in the morning." She took off into the air, as her sister had did. However, before she left, she arranged the stars to form a young filly's face.

It's nearing midnight now. One week after the first kill. I've watched the funeral from afar. Actually, I've watched the funerals. Yes, you heard right. Many more perished at the hands of the deranged man. They tried finding him. As well as passing laws to be indoors before night falls. Tonight won't bring death in the morning, though. On the contrary, it will be peaceful tonight. The insane are resting, for they're tired of the events that have taken place.

They might start again tomorrow, if not the the day after. I don't actually know. But they will start again. More will die, even more will mourn. But soon will come the day where it all ends, and I'll be there to witness it. I'll be there to make sure they can't escape— can't flee and return to kill. There'll be arrests and executions. But they won't be long gone. I'm powerless now, but with enough time I can bring them down. As for their victims— past and future— they'll find their happy ending. That's how some stories work. Darkness in the beginning, joy at the end. Sometimes, it'll be reversed. Other times, one or the other, maybe even neither. Just know that this will all come to an end, as the way every story should. Another chapter in a book. Another paragraph on a page. This will end for all of us.