An Equestrian Rogue

‘Endure and adapt. Endure and…’

A searing pain ripped through his body as a brand was pressed into his chest over his weakly beating heart. The sound of it filled his ears, a sickly hissing as skin was burned. But it wasn’t from the heat of flame that the brand blossomed into existence.

‘Magic…’

His heart rate rebounded as the mark took the effects. The scent of what he thought was his own burning flesh was instead the scent of meat sizzling on an open fire. It crackled and popped as the juices dripped into the open flame. He actually let a chuckle upon thinking that his own burning skin was so flavorful in smell.

“Something funny, servant?”

‘Oh hey Satan.’

“Yes, Master,” the servant spat the word like poison from his lips. “I thought you were branding me with fire, yet it appears to be magical. Still hurt like a bitch, however.”

“Pain is a way to keep you subservient. I will reward you for when you do good, but since you refuse to believe that this is real and you need a leash put on you, I decided to kill two birds with one stone.” The elderly male voice crooned on.

“Of course, Master.”

‘When I get free, I will kill you… In the most bloody way imaginable. I’ll skull-fuck you, gods damn it!’

“Still believe you’re in… What was that name you called it? 'Hell'? And that I was… 'Satan'?” the sagely voice chuckled. It was dark and tortured, wrought with years of strife. A voice fit for a sage, but one who only knew death and destruction.

“So far, Master, you haven’t proven me wrong. I’m shackled, surrounded by intense heat that feels like fire, in what appears to be a desolate wasteland, and now I have a magic brand over my heart. This is what I get for studying the occult I suppose.” Another humorous chuckle escaped the captive. “If you are to be believed, I am in another world. Still very much alive after what was likely my last night on Earth.”

“It is all true.”

“So. You’re not a demon. You’re a centaur.”

The hooded figure rolled the meat over the pit it was cooking above. It made his captive grimace. One side was nearly charred black. “Indeed I am. Cast out for the magic I can do, but it doesn’t make me any less of what I am. A centaur.” With that, the hood came off and with it, the entire cloak. “And you were…?”

“Lord Thorne.”

The centaur scoffed. His entire being rippled as he did, his four hooves tapping against the red rocks as it moved close to Thorne. He was muscular, but in a way that showed survival, not training. His skin and fur were all reddish and brown; the colors making it appear like rust. Long white horns curled from his skull. A bullish face was accompanied by a jeweled nose ring, it plated in gold. The jewels themselves looked like emeralds. All of them seemed to thrum with power. Long hairs from his mane mingled into a beard that went down both past his withers and his chest. It was a pallid white, more sickly and matted, while the white of his horns was eggshell and pristine.

“Lord. Ha! As if that title means anything here, slave.”

‘Ah, I’ve been demoted.’ Thorne thought to himself. ‘Too bad I already knew what I was. Once a slave, always a slave.’

“No, I believe you said you were a ‘human’, correct?”

“Yes, Master.”

“A human. Intriguing. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but seeing as you’re some entity from another realm, I suppose that is to be expected. You do not look like much. You’re as tall as me I would assume. At least when not on your knees. You look rather muscular as well. Fit and well trained. Tell me more about yourself before I send you to your mission.” The centaur waved his hand toward the food. “Tell me and then I have a simple task for you to do in order to prove your loyalties. Then you will be free to eat.”

“I didn’t think you would care, Master.” There was so much sarcasm; it was easily picked up by the hooved creature.

“You have a quick tongue, I will give you that. But I asked you a question, slave.” The hand of the mage rose up, the palm filling with a sickly green magic. The brand upon Thorne’s chest began to pulse and he did everything within his power to suppress a scream of agony. Upon seeing the reaction from his prey, the magician let his quarry go. Thorne could only gasp and pant out a moment, his mind trying to rapidly bring him back to normal.

After a moment of magic-induced pain, the slave responded. “I am Lord Thorne. Though that is my self-appointed title and my call sign. You will not have my real name, monster.” Thorne spat on the ground, his mouth dry from a day without his thirst being quenched. He got an eyebrow raise in retort but continued. “I led the paramilitary organization known as Black Roses.”

“Self-appointed. Ah, I see. Someone thinks very highly of themselves. Led a militant group, hmm? And what did you do?”

“I did it all. Theft, extortion, protection, conflict incitement and resolution, trafficking, smuggling of contraband, and assassination. And those are the fun things in my book, especially the first and last one.”

At that, the beast clapped. “Good, good! My spell worked! I asked for a skilled assassin and one was given to me!”

‘A magical spell that summons someone just to be an assassin…’ Thorne let a soft sigh. ‘Yep. Never messing with the occult again. Fuck magic. And fuck infinite universe theory.’

“A strange oddity you are, however. You will be noticed and likely summoned to see the targets I have in mind. Which is a good thing, though… I still doubt your combat prowess. And you are a cripple.” The centaur gave a flat stare at the left arm of his captive. It was shackled, though the iron was clamped above the elbow. The chain on his left side was longer than the one on his right; the right being chained at the wrist.

“I never caught your name,” Thorne interjected.

“You say that like we are to be equals. You don’t give me yours aside from a designation. ‘Master’ suffices for now.”

‘Good to know I can change the conversation on a dime, though he is quick of wit… These creatures aren’t just beasts it seems. And he isn’t easily riled.’

“Besides, if you were to be captured and you managed to utter a name before your death curse, then that would reflect back onto me now wouldn’t it?” The centaur almost cooed the words with a knowing smirk.

‘Ooo, and cunning too. A little respectable.’

“Right, Master. As far as combat prowess, I am rather undefeated. That is why I led my group and assumed the title of Lordship. However, when you summoned me, you saw the strange mechanical device on my arm and assumed it was a weapon--” Thorne was cut off as a face was now pushing against his with a snort.

“Assumed it was a weapon?! It was a weapon!” The Master snarled. “You took the conniving chance to bow before me before a hidden blade came rushing out of it like you were testing me! I barely managed to dodge your blow!”

‘Heh. Okay that riled him. Can’t blame him.’

“I never said I wasn’t an asshole, Master. And I was testing you. Listen, if you had thought you just wound up in the afterlife yet you still had access to your weapon, wouldn’t you try to slice and dice the first entity that came into your view?” Thorne retorted with a smirk.

Another hot and foul snort was firmly planted in his face. The centaur backed away and shook his head, turning away from Thorne. “No. I don’t believe so. So that means you’re rather cunning. Or an idiot. You wanted to establish dominance from what I could tell.”

‘I am a top, yes. A generous one, but still.’ The human almost lost it at his own musing but went back to a poker face once the centaur turned around.

Master took an appraising look. “You’ll have your strange device back once I get what I want out of you. What were you muttering about as I blasted you back against the rock face?”

“That I was in Hell, Satan looked very differently from the books, and that I had apparently done something right with all my occult shit.”

“And this… ‘Occult shit’... What is it?”

Thorne snickered. “Sorry. I should say it like that. I shouldn’t swear at my Master. But the occult of my world would be the magic of this one. Though, magic never existed there. Or if it did, it’s far lesser than anything here.”

“And what made you think it had worked?”

“With all do respect, sir, I was at death’s door. I was ready to die. I thought I had died when suddenly this strange portal opened under me as I was lying down to go to sleep for the last time. I even left my mechanical arm attached to my body so I could at least be buried with it--it is a tool of my own making. I’m quite the genius, if I say so myself. Not to brag.”

“You’re very much bragging,” the centaur said with a bored glance.

‘Someone’s a mood killer.’

The centaur brought a hand up to his chin to stroke through his beard as his tail swayed in thought. “You thought you were dying. Once you were unconscious, I decided to scan your body. I found no malady within you. No disease. Nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. And before you say ‘how’, with magic of course.”

“I was awaiting death by execution.”

That got a quizzical look.

“I’d rather not go into it, Master. I’d rather just get on with why I was brought here. And preferably have some clothing and a meal at the least.” Thorne stated matter-of-factly.

“Clothing is something I cannot give, though I can give you a shawl to at least protect you from the cold and heat as you trek across the desert. As far as why you are here, you are here to assassinate the Princesses of a foreign land. Four of them--though one had a daughter and she should be slain as well.” The centaur went over to the human and began to unshackle him. “I’ve given you a death curse which will only activate if you attempt to kill me, flee from this world, or if I deem you a lost asset. It will fade from your skin and lie hidden so you can pass by inspection from the natives of the country you intend to infiltrate. They have never seen something like you, so you’ll likely be brought before your targets in some way or fashion.”

Thorne was freed and fell forward, his arms aching. Finally he could focus on his hunger and thirst, though he knew it wouldn’t be something he could obtain at the moment. Firstly, he had several questions and a few statements to make.

“You mentioned one having a daughter… I would like to inform you, Master, that I have three rules that I operate under. And I never break them. If you’re asking me to do this, I ask that you kill me now.” Thorne’s voice never wavered as he spoke. He was resolute.

“Tell me these rules. Silly that a criminal has rules, but go ahead.”

“Honor among thieves and all that. Rule one: I do not kill children. I will subdue and incapacitate, but never kill. Rule two: I do not use seduction on targets. I never mix business with pleasure.”

This got a chuckle from the centaur.

Thorne rubbed the stump of his left arm. He slowly rose up to his feet. Sure enough, the man was as tall as the centaur. Though the centaur was only a few inches above six feet at full height, he had taken the opportunity to browse some paintings the Master had within his home. Some of his kind seemed to grow to fantastical heights and sizes. This one seemed tame.

“Finally, the last rule: Let me handle things my way. Any criminal activity I commit while on the job that wasn’t specifically ordered is my own. Or if it isn’t ‘criminal’, then anything I do are choices that I make. Examples include: trafficking and using stimulants of some kind, or perhaps stealing from someone in order to further my own ends.” Thorne gave a stare at his Master. “You may be in charge of me and even put a collar on me, but I will see that I have freedoms.”

“A bit demanding aren’t we?” The centaur said with a sly smirk. “But, you’re the expert in these matters. And now all I need from you is to prove you will do what is needed.”

“And what is that, Master?” Thorne raised an eyebrow.

The centaur went over to retrieve the mechanical arm. He handed it back to the human who had nothing but a curious glance at the beast before him. Next the centaur disappeared behind a cloth curtain. It gave Thorne a moment to attach his arm and check the status on the read out.

‘The batteries will last another two months… Should have changed them. Two months until I’m back down to one arm. I need to find a library in this world. Perhaps I could make my own batteries. Crude and rudimentary, but I could do it.’

He took the lull in the conversation and company to watch the fire for a moment. Then his eyes went wandering about the hovel. They were in some sort of desert it seemed and they appeared to be a natural cavern, given the mouth that was emitting daylight. Though dusk would be setting in quickly, if this world worked anything like his own. The sun seemed to be setting in the west--what he assumed was west, any way. He began to theorize about making a compass, though he didn’t even know if the natives had mapped out the cardinal directions. From everything around him, it seemed as though he was in a fantasy game. Surely they had some technical advances. But this was also a world of magic. And magic, at that moment, seemed like heresy.

Impossible, yet plausible. Fantastical, yet graspable. He mused over if he would ever be able to channel the magic of this world. He hadn’t stopped trying on his own, why would this one be any different?

He wandered over to a nearby mirror. He noted the knick-knacks on the walls. Paintings and tapestries that seemed to tell stories of the centaur race, though he couldn’t decipher much of it. Thorne had been amazed to even understand the language, though something told him it was magic. Something deeper told him it was due to that brand.

‘Here I am on a brand new adventure and I don’t even have to study a new language,’ he mused as he inspected his brace that went over his elbow and held the robotic arm in a more stable position. He had to take a moment to brace against the pain as he snapped it into the synapses that connected it back into his controlling nerves. He growled out and began to run a diagnostic, tapping idly on the screen. ‘Bastard just tugged the thing off. Surprised he didn’t break it, the brute. No lasting damage… No broken gears or servos…’

Thorne sighed and looked into the mirror. A male human stood naked, though he had no shame in his body. He was muscular and toned, his skin slightly tanned. He wasn't a body-builder, but it was clear his body was put through the paces of a military life. It was also abundantly clear he had seen a life-time of war. Scars littered his body. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, impacts from shrapnel. Every soldier he had encountered always seemed to have a thousand-yard stare after a few tours. Those that didn’t gained what he called ‘the madness’. And he had soared clear over that, he felt. At this point, it was numbingly easy to take a life. To do any sort of criminal act. He instead made it a game--which led credence that he was mad in his own right. One that he owned up too. He wore it proudly around his neck.

It was a sterling silver chain and ornament that hung loosely from around his neck. Instead of dog-tags or any type of identification, instead, Thorne had the alchemical symbol for ‘Chaos’. The Chaos Star, as it was called. He had lived his life in chaos. He had become its adherent. A devotee of it. It was another reason he had gotten into the occult. It was just a symbol of arrows pointing in each of the cardinal directions, all connected at the center in unity. A symbol of an ever-changing and ever-expanding universe. But to him, it was a promise.

‘In all there is, let the Chaos be your guide. Listen to the symphony it brings. Hear the cacophony of reality being bent and twisted. Let it snap and rebound. Find the peace within. Find the strength to overcome. Find the Order within it. Latch onto what is around you. Make it permanent. Make it yours. Once you have found your balance, endure and adapt!’

He sighed.

‘Endure and adapt. The pinnacle of humanity summed up in a simple phrase.’

He reached up with his now functioning left hand and ran his fingers gently over his face. He inspected his eyes. Gold as the day he was born, though they lacked the luster he usually had. He had no reason to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the moment. He chuckled as he thought about that ‘thousand-yard stare’ he had seen so many times and how now, of all times, he had apparently found his.

His hand went up, inspecting the rest of him. It went through his short gray and silver hair. He was only thirty, but he had gone gray early--a gift from his father. He would have blamed genetics, but at this point he felt it was more fate than anything. At least it gave him a look of superiority. Those mechanical fingers then went down to the goatee he sported. It had been a few days since his last shave and already the shadow was coming in around it. He’d need to shave, but that was a priority far in the back of his mind. Instead he began going over a mental checklist as he stared at himself in the mirror.

‘So much to do. Research is a priority. I’ll need time to find the targets. I’ll likely be walking to my destinations. I’ll need to build weapons… No first, steal some clothes. Would they even have clothes for someone like me? What do the natives of this land look like if I’m talking with a centaur…? Okay. No. First things first: steal money. Research the currency. Then the politics. Find out what is acceptable and what isn’t. I’ll need to probably ham it up and get the locals on my side… The problem is getting attention to myself. He said that I’d be an oddity, right?’

Thorne frowned. He brought both hands up to his head. “Raaah... fuck! Come on, think damn it!” He sighed and dropped his hands. His eyes closed a moment, his chest rising and falling as he deeply inhaled to find his center.

‘Okay. Yes, step one: Prey upon the locals. Act distraught and in terror. Play upon, what I hope, is their good nature. That works.’

He found himself staring at his own gaze with a confident smirk. ‘That’s the ticket!’

“Admiring yourself?”

The voice startled him out of his musings. “Just thinking, my Master,” Thorne said with a shaken tone.

“Hmm. Good. You show considerable promise, then. Come, this way,” the Master motioned. “One thing to do before I feed and water you.”

Thorne raised an eyebrow but followed the creature back behind the curtain. This room was much the same as the foyer--what could be considered that, he thought. A cavernous hole lit up by torches. Though there were some stairs that led down, worn with years of hooves upon them. It was a short descent, but the space opened up into a much larger affair.

And in the center sat a cage. And trembling with the cage was an equine creature--what looked like a small horse. Though, it wasn’t what Thorne was expecting from a horse. This one had a horn upon its head. It’s eyes were gray and almost lifeless. It had a colorful mane and coat--the mane was blue with a stripe of yellow running through it, while the coat was a minty green. It was garish in his opinion, but it made several questions arise.

Questions that were quickly silenced by words the creature spoke. “Please… help me…!”

“Silence!” The centaur roared.

‘It spoke…’ Thorne said mentally to himself in a disbelieving tone.

The Master turned back to Thorne. “Kill it. This is your test of loyalty to me. You will get your meal and your freedoms once you end its miserable life. I’ve no need for it, I’ve siphoned the magic from it already. It is useless.”

The human stood there, drinking in every feature of the unicorn. It reached out a hoof in a pleading manner. It was male by the way it sounded, though with the way it was lying down, Thorne couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. It was a horse. Or a pony, rather. It looked as though it barely went up past his own stomach, even with the horn.

Thorne stared at his Master a second too long afterwards. The centaur snorted. “Too weak-willed?” He questioned.

The human stepped forward. “No, just surprised is all. This a native of the land I’m going to?”

“It is indeed,” the Master said with a pleased tone. Thorne assumed he was pleased at how astute his pawn was.

“Very well,” Thorne sighed and knelt down, reaching out to stroke the mane of the pony in the cage with his right hand. It shivered and shied away from him. “Shh, shh. It’s okay…”

‘It’s not okay. But I’ll make this quick. It’s you or me,’ Thorne thought.

His left hand came forward, stroking under the chin of the creature. With a flick of his fingers, a hidden blade extended and went diving into the pony’s throat. In a singular motion he sliced downward and deeply, ripping viscera from the colorful equine. Blood sprayed violently from the sheer force of his thrust, it splattering back over him. He stared into the creature’s eyes. It had this pleading look--far more than any animal he had ever seen. ‘Those eyes were so expressive,’ he thought to himself. Within moments, the life force drained from the mint green captive. He held them there a moment before retreating away with cold professionalism. The blade retracted into its hidden compartment.

‘Endure. And adapt.’