The Phoenix and the Dark Prince

Sunset sat next to Gilda, chatting idly with her. Celestia sat behind her desk, deep in thought. Skipting sat in a chair, elbows resting on his thighs, and Blóðþrá was cleaning her axes. The assassin's mind was currently fixed on his mother.

Once he had informed everyone at Celestia's house of the identity of Anon-A-Miss, he had gone upstairs to his room and sat at his desk, and pulled out his copy of the journal, which Mother Nightmare had created for him a long time ago, so they could keep in contact. Mother Chrysalis also had a journal that was connected to theirs, so she could keep herself informed on what was going on in her wife and son's lives.

He had been looking forward to informing her of everything that had happened since he had arrived in this world…

… until it came to describing the events of last night.

It had been hard for him to write the words, as his hand had been shaking uncontrollably, but the daemon helped him write, which he was thankful for. He had successfully suppressed his rage for nearly seven years now since his return home—with the exception of his occasional aggressive behavior and violent outbursts, and of course, his killing of Adrastos last year, and his fight with Iron Will shortly after his return from the war.

Unfortunately, the occasional brief bouts of madness he had suffered throughout the year following his return home from the war had been almost impossible to control.

How could he not go mad, when so many dear to him had had their lives unfairly cut short?

How could he not go mad, when he had slaughtered hundreds of thousands of people, gods knew how many of whom were likely forced to go to war by their tyrannical ruler?

How could he not suffer from periods of anger and insanity, when two of the people closest to him were now gone, and thus his entire family was broken for it?

How could he not fall into the dark pit of madness, when nightmares plagued him in his sleep, and not even Discord could help him?

Skipting had kept his emotions in check as best he could, so that the daemon would not feel a need to take over his body and handle a situation, only to falter and allow his emotions to cloud his mind once again. He was ashamed to admit that he had tormented and killed the Diamond Boys just as he had slaughtered countless Mongol soldiers during the war.

Well… only part of him was ashamed.

Only the side of him that always tried to drive him to make all the morally right decisions, to exact justice and deal with his enemies in a "morally and lawfully right" manner, was ashamed. That part of him said that the Diamond Boys needed to die for their crimes, just as Celestia's soldiers in Maedwyn did.

The other part of him, however, always told him to do what he believed was right, regardless of laws and what was deemed “morally right” by others, to make sure that his enemies would never be able to harm anyone ever again. That was the part of himself he listened to.

He did not care how much his enemies tried to persuade him that they would change their ways for the better, how much they begged. Nor did he care for their status in society, their political and social connections.

Be they simple farmer or owner of some large and wealthy business…

Be they mere servant or high class aristocrat…

Be they local guard or military soldier…

Be they common man or royalty…

Whatever their crime, all deemed guilty would fall to the sword of Discord’s Sixth Blade of Chaos.

He could tell when his enemies and targets were telling the truth, and when they were saying things just to save their own skin. If they were telling the truth that they would change their ways for the better, then he would let them live, and help them change. Lydia and Rarity had taught him that people deserved a second chance. Rarity had proven it, too, with Fluttershy's reformation of Discord, and her and her friends' reformation of his aunt Freyja soon after the second attempted invasion of Equestria.

But if they were trying to lie their way out? They would know true terror. Skipting allowed that hidden, twisted side of him to emerge as he and the daemon made their prey beg for mercy, of which he had none.

People like that did not deserve mercy.

It had been almost sixty-eight years of living with the daemon bound to his soul after returning home.

It had been nearly seven years of living a false reality, of one particular spirit bound to him taking a physical form outside his body so the two could pretend that they were together again, like they had been before the war.

It had been wonderful, getting to see its face again during those moments, spending time together as though the spirit had never become what it was in the first place.

It had been especially wonderful, giving the spirit the chance to see its child and partner again. The look on its face when it saw how much it little boy had grown since it left to fight in the war, when it saw how its baby had become a man, was unforgettable.

But its face when it learned—and then saw—that its precious little bundle of joy had found love, and started a family of his own?

That was far more valuable than anything in existence.

A great source of pride for Skipting was his killing of Adrastos, which was an accomplishment of untold importance for him. The daemon and the spirit had helped him kill Adrastos, the spirit having taken a physical form outside of his body, but it had done so out of a desire for vengeance, and to fight alongside Skipting like they did in the old days.

Afterwards, Skipting had placed a few trophies from the successful hunt on the shrine he had created for the spirit, which was constructed alongside his shrines to each of the Twenty-Seven Fears, and his shrine to his beloved grandfather. The shrines, located in the sanctum that could only be accessed through a portal in the topmost section of the North Lunar Tower, were not created out of obsession, as some ignorantly believed, but to honor the dead. The sanctum was forbidden to all but the Lunar royal family, and the beloved relatives and friends of the Fears and Skuggastál, the loved ones and friends who truly cared for the fallen.

To prevent anyone from entering the sacred sanctum without permission, it was heavily guarded at all times by ten quick, deadly, and highly skilled Hunters of Sanarath, twelve warriors who served alongside him in the Legion of the Moon, and five holy knights who served the Royal Family of Drakestone Castle and the old Storm King, all twenty-seven of them handpicked by the Dark Prince himself. They were all allowed to enter the sanctum to pay their respects to the dead, as many of the fallen Fears—fifteen, to be exact—were close friends, family, and brethren.

Mother Nightmare was, of course, absolutely furious that such a thing had happened to Sunset, and was upset that the incident caused her beloved son such great sorrow and pain. She had written that she would inform Princess Twilight, and that she would likely inform Koz, Lady Zoe, and Kael-Vulough.

While her response was somewhat comforting, the last part of it greatly worried him.

“I know you and Blóðþrá may not agree with what I am about to do, but I am afraid I have no choice. She must be brought back to help her daughter. Londo would have said the same.”

Skipting dwelled on those final three sentences. It frightened him greatly. There was no telling what might happen if Celestia came to this world.

Well… that was not entirely true.

People see Celestia as a caring, loving, peaceful ruler who will do everything she can to handle situations peacefully, he thought.

But I know the truth.

His hands clenched into fists, and he gritted his teeth.

I am certain that had Blóðþrá's, Talon's, and my parents' and lovers' pleas not convinced her to not punish me after Maedwyn and Dragovan, or had they not been there at those two very moments, she would have killed me where I stood. After all, she had no issue with condemning and essentially disowning her own son for “crimes” similar to what Hvíslandi and I did.

Ever since our return home from that blessed village, I have wondered why she always put on that damned mask of hers around us. Perhaps she was afraid of retribution?

He chuckled darkly to himself.

I know the Hunters, the Legion, the Knights of the Storm, Her Majesty, and the High Lords would love to "repay" her for her "kindness."

Skipting unlatched the armor pieces from his right arm, rolled up his shirt’s sleeve, and inspected his arm. He quickly found what he was looking for. On his shoulder, just barely visible, were the faintest signs of metal, the faint jagged scars from his injury, and the marks left by the surgery.

I am quite thankful Rarity was able to get me to Lady Zoe in time. She truly is a master of her craft. It is a wonder she was able to hide the scars so well. Celestia should have been thankful how lucky she was that I was able to prevent a war against a force that even Discord himself fears. The High Lords were furious when they heard what happened.

He raised his left hand and brought it to his neck, slipping it under his breastplate and the collar of his shirt. He felt the thick, slightly warm, cracked stone of the talisman resting against his chest.

He let out a soft sigh.

Londo, I don't know what to do. If Sunset knew the truth… she would hate me. She would see me as nothing but what I truly am: a monster. I want to tell her the truth, really, I do. Even if she knew why it had to be done, I don't know if she could ever forgive me. She was so heartbroken when she learned of your death. I can still hear her cries, her wails and screams of sorrow when Celestia told her you were gone. They still haunt my sleep, just as my memories of the war do.

He took a breath, steeling his nerves and strengthening his resolve.

But I have to tell her. She more than deserves to know the truth. Even if she hates me until the end of time, at least she will know the truth.

And I have a promise to keep. Celestia will know and accept the full truth, no matter how much she wants to deny it. Why she ever decided to deny the truth surrounding your death is quite frustrating, to be honest.

He took a deep breath, rolled his sleeve back down, and put his armor back on.

The Prince suddenly felt two massive surges of magical power wash over him. His eyes widened as he immediately recognized the source of the surges. His left arm suddenly erupted in pain, making him grunt in pain as he reflexively got up, only for his legs to explode in pain, causing him to fall to the floor. He grasped his left arm above the elbow, the claws of his gauntlet tearing through the material of his shirt sleeve, exposing the skin beneath, then cutting into his arm and drawing blood.

Everyone in the room immediately turned their attention to him with wide, concerned eyes.

"Skipting!" Sunset cried, jumping out of her chair and going to her cousin's side, with Celestia following suit.

Skipting's head turned, and the moment Sunset's eyes met his, she froze.

His left eye was normal, but the right was that horrifying blood crimson.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

In an instant, Sunset and Celestia found themselves thrown away from Skipting, landing a few feet away. Blóðþrá was crouched next to her brother, staring at the two with fury in her eyes, her fangs bared.

There wasn't much that scared Gilda “The Gryphon” King. She had nearly died more times than she could count, and she had seen all sorts of disturbing and terrifying things. She had survived the psychopathic asshole she called her old man. She had done business with Sombra and his Santa Solana cartel, the Howlers, and the Darkhounds before she met Jackal. She had a sociopathic, gun-toting, vigilante, Matrix- and John Wick-obsessed lunatic for an older brother, and a scary as fuck ex-cartel member for a sister-in-law. It took quite a lot to actually scare her.

But there were a few things and people that utterly terrified her.

The first was the idea, sight, or sound of Sunset crying or in pain, and miserable. She hated it when her Sunflower was hurting. She hated it when she cried. She had been absolutely terrified last night. Sure, she knew Nolan would never do anything to hurt Sunset, since he was one of the kindest people he knew. But the blundering, violent, hot-tempered imbeciles he unfortunately had to work with would have gladly done so. She was thankful that Blóðþrá had pretty much worked for Nolan, and kept said imbeciles in check—although, she was a little grossed out and creeped out by her preferred method of “dealing with” troublemakers.

The second thing that truly terrified her was Franklin Avellino. She had heard of—and seen the aftermath of—what that bastard did to people. The Montoya-Sombra family, Principal Soleil and Vice Principal Mond’s family, and Gilda's own family were just a few of his biggest victims. Pretty much everyone with half a brain was scared shitless by the mafia boss, and for very good reason. Even some of his own family was terrified of him.

The third was Violenza and Sunrise, although mostly Violenza—or “Violet,” as she and many of his friends called him, or even simply “V.” Alone, Sunrise was more frightening than even the most brutal and cruel of Franklin Avellino's capos. She could be pretty damn brutal when she felt like it, but she preferred quick, simple, and easy methods of killings.

But Violet…

He was infinitely more terrifying than Franklin Avellino and all of his capos combined. He preferred brutal, drawn out, bloody, painful methods of killing and torture. He reveled in the suffering of his enemies and victims. He took trophies from his more noteworthy victims, with his favorites—and the most notable—being their skulls, which he would turn into chalices, water and food bowls for his beloved pets, and pots for his beloved plants, with the help of Sully.

His powers were terrifying, unnatural. He was a master of the dark. He commanded it. Hell, even one of his titles, “De Abismo,” meant “Of the Abyss.” He was Violet of the Abyss, the “Bright Flower of the Abyss.” And in accordance with the meaning of violets in the language of flowers, he had proven countless times his loyalty to the Abyss, and he would grant his prey enlightenment to the consequences of betrayal.

He would show them some of the true horrors the Abyss could conjure. And he would enjoy every. Single. Damn. Second of it.

Even with everything Gilda knew about him—and she knew practically everything about him, what with being one of his closest friends—the sociopathic leader of the Nightstalkers Clan didn't scare her as much as Sunset's misery and pain did, but he came pretty damn close. He was as respected and beloved as he was feared. When it came to punishing traitors within La Sociedad Oscura, Violet personally took care of it.

His fearsome yet beloved reputation was also greatly strengthened by the fact that his “De Abismo” title was also very, very literal. He was the first true child of the Abyss La Sociedad Oscura had seen in centuries. He was also one of Ulfric and Sully’s closest friends, as well as a really close friend of her and her brothers. Hell, her family had even sold weapons to his father back in his “business” days. Not only that, but there was no doubt that he would marry the son of Gealach Lag’s deadliest Huntress, and he already had the love, trust, and support of everyone in the village.

The newest things that scared her were Skipting and Blóðþrá. She was almost instantly reminded of how Skipting bared his fangs at her last night, and the rage she had seen in his face as his eyes turned crimson. The Prince's reputation as one of the deadliest assassins and soldiers in the history of Equestria was already unnerving. The fact that he carried a ridiculous amount of weapons was more so.

But the knowledge that he had single handedly killed hundreds of thousands of Mongol soldiers and their leader, had killed all sorts of dangerous beasts and fought mythical creatures, was the son of a goddess and a queen of a race of shapeshifters, and bore the title of "God Killer?"

She would be insane to not be at least a little terrified of him!

Meanwhile, Gilda knew next to nothing about Blóðþrá. All she knew about the giantess was that she was Skipting's older sister, she had spent the past couple years helping the Fortunate Angels, she was immensely strong, she had "a bit of a temper" and some anger and aggression issues… and she enjoyed eating people.

Gilda was snapped out of her sudden pondering by a soft murmur coming from Skipting.