Author's Note
Sometimes you just want to watch the world burn.
I can't, so I write it down.
1 - Nagging Thoughts
Genocide isn’t inherently a bad thing.
I mean, think about it. If it is, then eating meat should be considered a bad thing. Domesticating animals for the sake of growing them up big enough to later be slaughtered should be considered evil. Eating plants, too. Plants are also considered alive, so why do we treat plants like they don’t?
Imagine an edible sentient crystal that grows on its own if you give it water. Now imagine that crystal screaming in agony every time somepony harvested it. Would it be considered evil to grow them on an industrial scale and methodically and periodically slaughtering those that have matured just enough to bear offsprings?
No. No, it won’t be considered evil, because we’ve already been doing that with pigs and chicken and lettuce and tomatoes, except the two last ones don’t scream when massacred. It’s essential for our survival as a species, though, and that’s why we justify it. The only reason genocide isn’t justifiable is because the victims are ponies.
Such a selfish species we are, aren’t we? We consider agriculture a good thing because it keeps society alive and running, not considering at all how bad we’ve degenerated those plants into being unable to survive should they find themselves on an uncultivated land.
Consider turkeys. How many ponies know that turkeys can’t reproduce without the farmer’s interference? A lot, actually, considering there are a lot of extinguishing duties for that specific argument annually. It’s one of my expertise in dousing: simply state that it’s irreversible now, and the only thing we can do about it is to keep on farming them and helping them not go extinct. Job done.
With that being said, it should be reasonable now to conclude that murder is fine. We ponies murder things on a daily basis so we can survive. A lot of past cultures understood that, you know, to the point of ritualistic sacrifice and cannibalism. Murder between members of the same species is essential to their genetic evolution especially if they’re an alpha predator: there aren’t that many outside factors to decide which gene is better. They’d be outcompeted should they choose to become pacifists.
So why is it, then, that we as a species chose to decide that we shouldn’t kill each other? When asked about it, the only answer one can ever get is, “Because it just is.”
Such an unreasonable creature, ponies are. Like this mare right here, unable to understand how right I am in this argument.
“You killed her!”
I roll my eyes. “And what about it?”
“And-and-and-and that’s—that’s your captain!?”
I gently poke the white viscous liquid covering my fire-retardant uniform. “A little overcooked, but still good.”
“You ate her!?”
I lick the liquefied form of the former Fire Captain Celestia. “Now that it’s not melting hot, she actually tastes kinda sweet.” I lick her again. “Like cotton candy-flavored marshmallows. Or marshmallow-flavored cotton candy.”
Pinkie takes a step back. “But, Sunset, w-why would you do that!?”
“I like marshmallows.” I lift the flamethrower with my telekinesis, letting the morning sun bask it from the confectionery’s multi-hued window pane. “And she talks a tad bit too much.”
“There’s no such thing as too much talking!” She unreasonably reasons. “Talking leads to thinking! Thinking leads to—”
“Your death.”
Liquefied Pinkie tastes too sweet. She doesn’t taste like pie at all, too. How disappointing.
Oh, well, time to go on with my life, it seems.
The Salamander is already waiting outside the now-burning confectionery, bold and imposing as always, the numbers 451 written in big letters by its side: the temperature at which marshmallow liquefies.
It’s also, coincidentally, the temperature at which octirosene ignites, creating a blue-green flame that uses magic as its oxidant. Balefire, it’s called. It’s a beautiful flame, if I do say so myself. You can see it yourself here, in this very confectionery, how beautiful the Balefire spire spins around in a vortex above the slowly liquefying building and the screaming ponies all around me thinking that somepony living inside is a user of a Tool of Ignorance.
“There isn't any.”
“Nonsense! Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a Balefire here!” The stallion scoffs. “I’ve always suspected that Pinkie is a… user. I guess I’m right afterall.” He nods. “Serves her right to defy knowledge and awareness. I mean, can you imagine what’s going on inside that head to think that it’s better to ignore the world around us and indulge herself in a never ending cycle of pleasure and regret? I mean, maybe I can, if I read a book about it. I know I have one, but it’s still on my Waiting-to-be-Read shelf, twenty books away from now. It’s amazing how we’ve gone from living like…”
I tune him out. It’s a technique I’ve only recently learned from Sweetie Belle. (Bless her, may she rest in peace.) It’s a nice skill to have and something I don’t know can be done. I mean, history books tell that ponies of old did that all the time, but merely reading about it still makes it sound… inconceivable. Unattainable. Unrealistic. Fictitious.
Now that I can do it, I feel like a newly-born god. Thousands upon thousands of words can just be… ignored like they never got uttered in the first place. Snapped out of existence; past rewritten, present altered.
That’s blasphemy, right there. That word, ignore. One does not simply offer an idea that ignorance is justifiable without being sent straight into rehab and having their house burnt down. Like Sweetie’s house. Or Rarity’s, whatever, it refers to the same thing.
And it is since then that I found how utterly wrong that thinking is. Ignorance is not deadly, like most ponies have thought. It’s essential.
Take a look at this orange and blue blob, for example. This used to be the stallion standing next to me, talking away his mind endlessly like everypony always does. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn about following our doctrine and just stopped talking, he wouldn’t be screaming and melting and being tasted by me.
He tastes horrible, I tell you. If you’ve ever accidentally put detergent in your mouth, liquefied him tastes like that. Don’t ever eat… I don’t remember his name. Flash? I think it’s Flash. Flash Sentry, that’s his name! Don’t ever eat liquefied Flash Sentry. He’s a jerk. That contraction is ‘was’, by the way. The guy’s dead now.
What is it with these ponies, screaming and screaming!? My ears hurt! Yes, ma’am, I know how you’re not used to the sight of a pony being burned down by Balefire and losing his body’s molecular integrity due to the loss of arcane energy and turning liquid, but you can, you know, avert your eyes if you’re horrified!? That’ll prevent a heck lot of trauma, y’know. Instead of indulging your eye sockets with this ‘horror’ as you call it and analyzing its every detail and saying it out loud with other onlookers—alright, I’ve had enough.
Wow, she actually tastes kinda good! She tastes like red velvet and cheese. I love red velvet and cheese! I ordered a red velvet cheesecake for this year’s anniversary.
One… two… three. Three new flavors to taste, and possibly mix! Oh, uhm, should I? I don’t really know how to cook, and I don’t really know what will happen if—y’know what? Screw it.
Hm. Creamy and buttery… This one… bleh, she tastes like gasoline. Nope, not touching this one again. I think her name’s Daisy. The creamy butter one was… Lily! Oh, I like her, even before she’s dead. She gave me flowers for my anniversary last year! Twilight loved them. Now that I think about it, maybe it was all these three mares that gave us flowers? The red velvet one was Roseluck, and… yeah, I think it was them.
Roseluck and Lily. How do you two taste like together?
Ugh… well, I’ll take a bit of Roseluck for my way back, nevertheless.
Back… where should I go now? I don’t have a house, I don’t have a job now that I’ve killed my boss… I guess I should just go back to my wife. She’s most likely at the Rehabilitation Center now, waiting for me.
But what would she think of me!? Oh, no, I haven’t thought of that! Would she be upset that I’ve killed ponies? Of course she will, dumb Sunset! You haven’t told her about your thoughts concerning murder and genocide! She may never will and call the police and the fire department and I’d be put in jail or worse they will—
Wait a minute, I am the fire department! And now that The Salamander’s here, these gaping onlookers won’t get any help but from the pathetic police force.
And here they come. Oh, boy, this is going to be fun! All aboard The Salamander!
Come at me, ye pathetic whelp! I’m gonna—Oof! Alright, remember that, as indestructible as this thing is, it still got a heck of a recoil when slamming even those mealable junk that many called ‘police cars’.
‘Junk’ also refers to ship, y’know? Sailing across the Celestial Coast from before the invention of the internal combustion engine. Only, those were strong, mighty, and grand, unlike these pieces of defecation products.
And another one down! That. Was. Beautiful. Considering their uselessness to this day, we should consider repurposing them for fireworks. 10/10, majestic and exciting. Would recommend.
Why do we still have the police department, anyway? It’s not like anypony ever breaks the law outside those handled by the fire department. Look at these guys, slow and fallen out of training. This one can’t even take that sharp turn. It’s only ninety degrees! Look, I can do sixty!
Oh, wow, he didn't even know there’s a wall there. Heh. Ideaaa~
Boom, head-to-head. It’s like all police officers are stupid or something. Nopony is stupid anymore these days; our system doesn’t allow it. Stupid people got trained in the Rehabilitation Center to be smart and aware. And thinking. And asking. And talking. And being annoying. Like this one officer here, talking through her megaphone along her train of thought. I wonder how many ponies got offended when she said that one bit about tomatoes being fruit?
Meh. I’ll end your suffering before it begins, Officer Whoever-Your-Name-Is! Ouch, sorry, I meant it to be quick, honest! Now get out of my window.
Being persistent, are you? Well, how about some nice, hot, Balefire? Great, now I got liquid police all over my windshield.
Hm, a little spicy, with a hint of grass. Strange, but not awful.
Was that the last one? Phew, that was exciting! Enough fun for today, I guess, back to—
...Twilight. God, what have I done? She’d be so disappointed when she heard about all this. I can already hear her saying, ‘Sunset? My wife? You must be mistaken, she’s the loveliest pony I’ve ever known!’ And sorry, my love, I’ve just proven how wrong you are about that.
What brought me to this, anyway? It was just Celestia reciting our doctrine! I heard it all the time, from when I was a generic filly with pure hatred toward anypony reciting those words to a reasonable teen that began to understand its importance to an adult that recites those to the young. I’ve heard those so many times and I’ve come to love it!
Never stop asking.
And… that’s the one thing that killed Sweetie. She kept on asking herself, ‘Why am I not happy yet?’ and came out with the answer, ‘It’s the price of awareness.’ And then her house burned down, and she chose to go down with it ‘cause there’s no point in living anymore which is entirely correct since the physical existence has no inherent purpose. We’re all meaningless and our life is futile and there’s no destiny nor fate that ultimately controls us because even if there is that supernatural force won’t bat an eye to a speck of greedy chemicals.
And… what’s the point of doing anything, anyway? Why am I still here? Why am I reflecting upon my actions? Why should I concern myself with the consequences of my actions if all this fear of disappointing my wife only came from a bunch of acid that had been rewritten for millions of years through the ridiculous process that is evolution?
Nothing. Nothing, that’s what. There’s nothing to really be done. There’s no purpose or end point, no reason to do anything, no definitive answer to why anyone really does anything. Not even our doctrine has an inherent purpose, even if it claims to, ‘Create True Happiness’ because, hey, why should we be happy? Happiness is just a condition of needs fulfilled. Happiness is the driving force to do things, not the purpose itself.
Think about it. If our purpose of living is to be happy, then what’s after that? Cease to exist?
No. After happiness comes misery. And in that moment of misery do we seek happiness, and claim that it’s the ultimate purpose of existence.
Stupid, I say! You hear me, random passerby!? It’s all stupid!
Wow, you taste like boiled eggs.
The building goes down in flames, concrete melting and flowing into the sewage as if they’re ice cream put too long under the sun. Nopony ran from inside it, of course, for survivors just doesn’t exist when Balefire is concerned.
Or maybe not, since Balefire doesn’t concern herself with anything. She just burns and burns, sucking in all ambient magic until there are none and liquefying anything she touches. Just enjoying her short existence, y’know? Not caring about her inevitable death and the ultimate impermanence of everything. The Balefire is an ignorant bastard, yet nopony ever questions her. Why, oh why, is life so unfair? Why can’t life be unfair to my advantage?
Ha! What am I saying, of course it can! Life as a firemare means that I’m physically and magically more competent than half the population combined. Look at this jaw, so easily breakable with my hoof. Even if I take off my lead-reinforced gloves, it’ll still literally break it, like you can clearly see here as the pony lay unconscious with his/her lower jaw separated from the rest of his/her body. I don’t know, the body’s already all molten now. I can’t see what reproductive organ was present, and it’s not like I care; I’m good with either.
Low buildings everywhere, bah. I need to go to the skyscrapers, see how the glass will melt.
Aboard The Salamander, shooting like a rocket without a care in the world! And here we go, fillies and gentlecolts! The tallest skyscraper in Canterlot! Watch as, in a matter of seconds, we need to resort to past tense.
...Alright, maybe minutes. But still! Look at that. Ain’t that beautiful? Reinforced 50mm-thick glass, further enhanced by the building’s arcane generator, all burning down like a popsicle on a summer noon? All those—oh, shit! Well, now that’s fallen.
Oh, boy, look at that! It’s spreading! Oh joy, oh joy! Everything’s burning now! No, c’mere, you random pedestrian! Look at that masterpiece, bright and beautiful. Under the bright sun, the off-yellow of the walls contrasted beautifully against the fire’s green-blue, no? Ah, of course, you’re not aesthetically inclined. Well, isn’t it beautiful, nonetheless? What’s that? Leave you alone? Oh, nonono, yer comin’ inside me tummy.
Gleh… Onions. I need something salty and juicy and—
What!? Oh, come on! Alright, alright, you stupid octirosene tank! I’ll let you replenish. In the meantime, why don’t we overlook the street from high above?
Oh… beautiful. Look at all those ponies, screaming and galloping like their pants are on fire, despite it’s their tail that’s melting. Wow, that one looks delicious! ...nah, I’m not coming down there. The view from up here is too good. Look, I can see my former house from here! And the fire department!
Oh, right, that thing. I need to kill everypony I know and love, don’t I? Sigh, all in a day’s work.
“Good afternoon, firemares!”
“It’s morning, Sunset.” Rainbow, that prideful son of a bitch, raises her eyebrow. “What have you been burning? You seem excited.”
“A lot!” I flash her a smile. “And there’s another in the waiting line. Want to take the honor?”
“You’re unusually cheerful today, Sunny. What happened? An amazing anniversary with your wife? Acknowledging the uncaring gaze of the cosmos and how utterly amazing it is for a creature so insignificant as us can comprehend this much of the universe? Or maybe you did the thing with your wife?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “If so, tell us all the details.”
I giggle. “Why don’t I show you, instead?”
Spitfire’s sound comes, “Woah, woah, no such thing in the office, young missy!” She winks mercilessly at the reddened yellow blob of Fluttershy. “Outside, though, s’all good.”
I took the Balefire flamethrower from the passenger seat of The Salamander. “Nah, just stay still.”
And there we go, all melted and ready for s’more. The octirosene tank underground will shortly explode, though, so I better hit the gas right away. Just after I take a taste of—goodness, Rainbow Dash tastes so good! Alright, I’m taking you with me. There’s a jar here, alright, now in with the Liquid Dash… Rightgottago!
Boom!
-shakalaka. Goodness, I wish I could listen to a song right now. I need something portable if I want to do so while burning the rest of the city down, though. What can I—
My hoof met an airpod in my uniform’s pocket. Seems like Celestia really meant it when she said she valued our privacy.
“Sweetie…” Well, no good lamenting her death, now. Just close your eyes, wipe away that stupid tear and remember: you still have a lot of marshmallows to cook, and a lot of campfires to light.
Forget your worries, enjoy the song. Eat marshmallows.
Speaking of, there’s one such marshmallow gaping at the sight of the fire in the fire department. Such irony. Anyway, ma’am, you mind if I ask for help? No, just stay right… there. Lower your head, yes, just like that. Now, hold still. Let me take this rebar here…
Viola, a marshmallow on a stick! Look at those eyes, goggling around like an idiot that she was. She should be grateful, I fixed her strabismus! By impaling it with a metal rod through her eyes and out her rectal cavity, but still.
And now she’s melting, oh melting~
Oops, I forgot that metal also melts under the Balefire. Oh, well, let’s see how you taste.
Bland, coarse, with a hint of rotten cheese and a bitter and horrible aftertaste. 1/10, don’t eat, it’s poison.
And the best thing about all these melting-ponies businesses is that nopony could know that the colorful pool of liquid under them was their neighbor. Nor can they know that they’re going to shortly join that state of matter.
Who’s this one again? Trixie, right, let’s see how better you are compared to Muffins. Hold still, you useless sack of cringey pride! Get back here! Oh, you asked for it…
I make a good javelin thrower, you know that? Well, you do now. With a signpost penetrating your left flank and out your right shoulder blade, it’s pretty hard to deny it. Especially that you can’t answer me! Ha!
...Minty and salty, with a banana follow-up and clean aftertaste. Huh. Maybe all that horrible taste from before came from the molten rebar after all.
Now that you’re officially the fifth horsemen of the apocalypse, that is, Arson, what’re you gonna do?
Arson, of course. That’s a silly question. So go take a ride and spit fire all the way down the country’s roads! Look at all those asphalt, melting under the burning sun and my flaming flamethrower’s nozzle! Look at all those pedestrians, running for their meaningless lives in vain! Nopony escapes the burning death I brought upon the world! I am become Arson, cooker of marshmallows!
West Canterlot is almost all burning, woohoo! Let’s dive into the remaining survivors! You there, survivor-under-a-fallen-building-debris! How do you feel about all this party? Hm? Mhm. Intense pain? Life is pain, mate! Now, what else have you got? A rebar through your hoof? Well, you sure hope that rebar had punched through your empty heart, huh? What? Yes, a pony is a big, elongated donut, with the hole coming in from your mouth and uninterruptedly going down your intestines and out your anus. Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll put this metal bar in your mouth and it’ll easily come out of your butt. See? Oh, stop the gurgling! It’s not that painful!
Well, he won’t answer me anymore. Let’s see what this guy tastes like.
Stingy and minty, but sweet.
