In another world in a different time, I once deemed my name unimportant. It was during a time where I set out to see if I could set the world on fire. And at that time, in that world... I succeeded.

I went on a genocidal crusade because I wanted to die as violently as possible, making sure to bring down as many bodies as I could with me. I killed everything I saw. I’ve killed men. I’ve killed women. And don’t think for a second that I even spared children. I did it all because I hated humanity, and I still hate it. I also hated life. I hated having to live every single day in a stinking, rotting body. Doomed to die of old age only to further rot until nothing is left. Hell, I still hate life. The thought of having to move around in this filthy body still sickens me to this day. And for the longest time, I’ve wanted to solve my problem of being alive. If only those damn ponies didn’t make wanting to die so difficult.

Whatever cosmic entity is responsible for my being in this world filled with anthro ponies needs to choke on its own stupidity. Thanks to it, I almost forgot what it was like to hate life. Thanks to it, I was saved from my imminent death. I was lying on the ground, bleeding out after a squad of soldiers filled me with lead in a nuclear power plant. I was fine and dandy with knowing that the world was going to burn because of me. I was fine with all the people I killed. And I was fine knowing that I would probably burn in hell. But instead, I get sent to a world filled with magic and friendship. And for the longest time, I hated it there.

The place I was sent to was just like some gay faggot’s dream. The grass was green, the birds would sing, and the new race I had to live with would go on every day like nothing bad could ever happen to them. And that’s just the thing, nothing bad really happened. And they were nice to me, despite my menacing appeal. They reached out to me and gave me a home to live in. They built it just for me, and some of them were even willing to give me a job. I can’t believe I accepted the job offer from a fucking candy store owner.

God, what a bitch my boss was.

Her name was Bon Bon. She was a cream-colored mare with a navy blue mane that had thick streaks of pink. I thought she was a bitch. She thought I was an asshole. The only reason why she gave me a job was because...

Oh God, I’m remembering her again.

Bon Bon only gave me a job because her best friend saw something in me. I still don’t know what she saw in me, and she never told me.

What did you see in me? Every fucking time I would get pissed off at not knowing why you would giggle in a way that I found... Adorable.

Just when I thought I couldn’t find beauty in anything, she came into my life. She showed me that ponies aren’t human. She showed me the bright side of things. She taught me how to not hate. And she taught me how to not hate life...

Why? Why is it so fucking painful to remember her! Why did those fuckers have to barge into my life and take all that I’ve ever valued from me!? She was the only thing I ever actually cared for!! I told her about my sins and in return, she told me that everypony deserves a second chance!!! Why!!! Why Did I Fucking Love Her So Much!!!...

She was the love of my life.

I might be a darkness, but her light filled my void of a soul with such brightness. I should’ve hated everything thing about her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I shamelessly slaughtered crowds of people who couldn’t defend themselves, yet I attempted to cut my arm open at the thought of hurting her. And she stopped me from doing it with tears in her eyes. Tears out of the golden globes that were apparently her eyes. She had a fur coat that was the color of mint ice cream, and a sea foam green mane with streaks the color of white toothpaste that she kept short. She would always wear clothes with simple patterns like light green pants and a matching striped shirt. She was beauty incarnate, and she mattered more to me than my hatred for life itself.

I have to tell you her name, don’t I. Fuck, stabbing myself in the stomach would hurt less than having to say her name. Especially how she was taken away.

H-her name... Oh god, her name was as beautiful as her.

Lyra Heartstrings. Her name was Lyra Heartstrings, and I took her for a lesbian at first. I thought as much because of how much she would hang out with her best friend and how much they would hug each other... And when she showed me such friendship... Why couldn’t that student of the sun bitch teach me friendship, yet Lyra could? She built such a strong bond to me that she would let me touch her. She would let me take out my frustrations on her, but she knew I wouldn’t dare hurt her. The songs she would sing were the only kind of music that I actually wanted to hear.

I have a record from an artist named DJ Pon-3. It has only one song on it. Lyra offered to sing in it, and that’s the only reason why I even own it. The record has been played so many times that the only sound that doesn’t make my ears bleed is Lyra’s voice. She found out that I liked that song, so she brought out her guitar and sang it to me herself. She sang it to me next to a creek that ran through a field. That moment has to be when I realized that she almost made me forget how to hate. She looked so beautiful in the dress she wore that night. We slept in that field after we did what I can only describe as truly making love.

I wanted to be with her forever. She wanted to be with me forever. And the next morning, she was taken from me. She was taken from me and harmed before my eyes. But I had forgotten to hate, so I only ran away to my house. Originally, it was a pigsty. Lyra taught me to keep it clean. It went back to being a pigsty after I boarded up the windows and lived off the stockpile I kept in my basement.

For the past two years, I’ve been living in regret, relearning how to hate because I finally have something worth hating. I hate the fucking worthless piles of flesh who took away my friends. I hate the things that invaded a place that I actually consider a home. I hate that which took away what was changing me into a new man. I hate the son of a bitch named Dainn, and I hate the Caribou.

For a while, my name held importance. But now it’s back to not meaning a damn thing.

Right now, I’m going into my basement for supplies. But not the usual survival meals that I’ve been surviving off of for two years. This time I’m pulling out a box that Lyra and I would pull out when we wanted to shoot clay pigeons and stationary targets. It’s a box of “sports equipment”. At least that’s what Lyra called it. She knew exactly what I used it for before we used it for fun. I take the box out of the basement and onto a table that hasn’t been wiped down for a few days, but it’s still clear enough to pull out my tools that will once again be used for destruction. I pull out an M4A1 that I took from a soldier, a Glock 27 that I took from a cop, and a double barrel shotgun that I made for Lyra. She loved trap shooting, and she was good at it. But her friend Bon Bon was better. She was a bitch that could pass for a quick draw with how good she was at target shooting and trap shooting.

I’m getting off topic. I need to remember why I’m going to die today.

Interesting...

I start coughing up blood on the floor, but it doesn’t hurt. The blood burns and melts away at the floor like it’s some kind of acidic lava. Weird.

Anyway, I return to looking inside the box. There are magazines for the M4 and Glock, and ammo for all three of the weapons. Underneath the weapons and ammo is my old black leather trench coat. I modified it some time ago to better hold the Glock and ammunition. I have a back holster for the shotgun that also works for my M4. I put on the leather trench coat and start stuffing if with Glock mags, M4 mags, and shotgun shells. With all the pockets full, I holster my Glock and shotgun then pick up my M4. I load a magazine into the M4 and walk over to a wall with a single picture. Lyra hung up all kinds of artwork around my home, but this picture is the only one that's important to me. It's Lyra and I holding each other under a moonlight night in a field of flowers. Bon Bon snuck up on us to take it, and I took a swing at her for that. She blocked the hit. She was a lot stronger than she looked. As I look at the picture, a burning hatred builds up inside. It has been building for a while, but this is the last push I need. As I grit my teeth, I start to glow red and that acid-lava blood from earlier starts dripping off me and my vision literally goes red.

Okay, what the fuck?

Do not worry about the blood that is dripping off you, your body is preparing itself for a change.

Okay, who the hell are you?

As you have stated about yourself once before, my name is not important. What is important is what you are about to do. I can see your hate. It boils your blood, making it almost as hot as my own.

... What are you getting at?

Only that I will be watching you. Continue on your quest of righteous genocide. I would like to see how far you will make it.

My cause is not righteous.

It is in more ways than you would like to know. I will bother you no more. Go forth and kill as many as you can. It might take you beyond death.

... Whatever. Lyra was taken from me, and dying violently is my goal. This time, I won’t fail.

You may find yourself disappointed...

... Well, the voice is gone. I don’t know what the hell he was on about. But it doesn't matter. The red glow is gone, and I can see in colors other than red. I hope I don't hear that guy again.

Now that I’m back to what I was doing, I put the picture of Lyra away in my pocket. I walk up to my front door and I kick it open. Outside my house is where a fountain once stood. Lyra and I built it, Lyra designed it and I put it together. But the fountain has mares with red collars playing in it now. They are completely naked. They don’t have any Caribou or Stallions currently fucking them senseless, and this occurrence is strange to me. I listen around for the sounds of hoofsteps but still hear nothing.

“Hey!” Call out to the collard Mares, “Where the hell is everyone?”

“There’s a gathering happening at Dainn’s castle.” One of the mares answers, “I think it has to do with Dainn’s death and the machine who lives at Sweet Apple Acres. It might also be about the Demons of Canterlot.”

Wait, Dainn’s dead and a robot lives on Applejacks property? And demons are actually at the capital? I thought that was a kids’ story. And I didn’t know there was a castle in Ponyville until I looked over to where Canterlot comes into view.

There it is, the place I apparently need to go to. People are going to die today, and that’s where.

Author's Note

With blood and rage of crimson red…