“Is there anything else we should know?” Twilight asked, wringing her lavender hands. Spike watched with wide eyes behind her.

“Just keep changing her bandages for the next two weeks, and she should be fine,” the nurse advised Twilight. She and the rest of her friends were receiving their last instructions in the hospital waiting room before Rarity was finally discharged.

“I’m already fine,” Rarity assured Twilight, though her knees wobbled as she said it. Pinkie and Fluttershy were by her side, anxiously watching her. “Honestly, Twilight, I can take care of myse-”

Rarity cut herself off, gasped, and pointed at the television in the waiting room corner. “Oh, my goodness! Girls! It’s him!”

Rarity’s desperation made the other girls turn as well, and each of them made sounds of surprise, shock, or anger. The Tonight Show with Johnny Cake was on, and a very familiar face, so to speak, was in the guest seat. The rest of the waiting room, a dozen or so ponies of varying ages, were glued to the screen as well.

A nurse hesitantly tapped Pinkie Pie on her bare shoulder. “You’re free to leave, if you w-”

“NO!” Pinkie roared, whipping around, and the nurse recoiled from the ferocity in her face. “We’re watching this till the end, got it?”

“O-of course, ma’am,” the turquoise nurse surrendered.

Luna was brought back to reality by a hard jerk, and her world spun wildly in a blur of color before dissolving into darkness.

“Sister!” Celestia cried. It was faraway and fuzzy.

Luna shook her head, making a noise like a cowbell. It brought the royal chambers into better focus. “Tia, what in Eques-”

“The Prophet’s on television!” Celestia interrupted.

That shook Luna to full consciousness. Luna shot to her feet; she was sitting on the bedside. “What? How do you know?”

Celestia levitated a sticky note with a hospital logo in the corner. “Twilight just sent me this through Spike.”

Which actually helped solve one of Luna’s problems. Ever since Ponyville, Luna, in between giving all of Equestria wet dreams, had been on the lookout for the Prophet in his dreams. In the dream realm, Luna had scoured its depths looking for the mind of the human prophet for information, and for sabotage chances. But there was nothing there. Luna knew he was present, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out where he was or how to attack him. It must have been his warlock powers.

But now here he was, in full view, completely exposed. What was his deal?

“We're going to the hospital,” Luna said, even though it didn't need to be said.

“In our lingerie?” Celestia asked semi-rhetorically.

“They've seen us in worse,” Luna brushed aside. “Quickly, before it ends!”

“So you're telling me you've been living in the wilderness for months on end?” Johnny asked with surprise.

“Where else would I go?” Peter answered.

“And I'm honestly surprised you don't smell like manure,” Johnny said, and the mention of manure made the audience chirp with laughter. “What, do you take showers in waterfalls?”

“You'd be surprised,” Peter curtly replied. He remembered Faust showing him how to take a shower from the first rock he had lifted.

Johnny settled back in his chair. “So, mister public enemy number one, tell us a little more about yourself! That we totally won't use in a police report, I promise.”

Nervous laughter from the audience.

Peter rapped the edge of his armrest and thought for a moment. Then he raised his head a bit higher. “I'm the human you're searching for. I'm the one that destroyed Ponyville. Not because I wanted to see blood and fire, but because I didn't want to see your abominations continue. It's unfair to the lives yet to be born to have them grow up in broken homes and under broken people.”

“And how much time have you spent in Ponyville, exactly?” Johnny asked, mildly but with an underside of passive aggression.

“Enough,” Peter answered. “To see that it can't continue.”

“Neither can your little crusade,” Johnny rebutted. “All you do is spread pain and misfortune– that's not characteristic of God.”

“Justice is,” Peter said. “And it's come far too late, because She's merciful to only cut you off here, at the brink of destruction.”

“Then Faust’s not tolerant of our lifestyles?”

“Of course not.”

Johnny sneered. “That’s also not Godlike.”

“What do you know about the character of God?”

“That you should be kind!” Johnny insisted. “Ever heard of the Elements of Harmony? To keep things in harmony, just be nice to each other, and everything will work out. Now, I personally may be an asshole, but at least I’m not pretending to be religious while I do it!”

Peter hummed and steepled his hands. “To be a jerk, there needs to be its opposite– morality, and virtue. How do you decide what that virtue is?”

“I just know!” Johnny confidently expressed. “The Elements of Harmony’s only job is to make things obvious to the weak-minded. I don’t need some God to tell me how to be a good person. If you do, then you have problems.”

Common Sense philosophy, Peter thought. Self-evident truths. That they’ve promptly ignored in favor of filth.

“Your lines of morality are arbitrarily drawn,” Peter told Johnny, and there was an irritated growl in his tone. “Without God in the equation, any lines you draw are subject to change, until you end up in a cesspit of double standards and rampant corruption. If no God is in the way to stop you from wrecking homes, then there’s no God to stop me from burning them down. Why do you care so much? Shouldn’t you mind your own business?” Peter leaned forward a bit to emphasize his upcoming sarcasm. “Can’t we all just get along?”

“SWAT’s coming in fifteen,” the olive green guard reported. The maroon guard was still speaking over the radio. The rest of the control room uneasily returned to their stations, taking in every tense word the two in the studio were saying.

In the front of the control booth, the small wirey intern glanced up at Apple Bee. “Sir?” There was a pained, conflicted look in his eyes. “This Prophet’s really good at saying things.”

And the intern wasn’t. “Don’t take it seriously,” Apple Bee warned. “You do know what’ll happen if you take the side of a guy like him, right?”

The intern evidently got the message. “R-right, sir.” He was still for a few moments more, then spoke: “What about the rest of Equestria? Surely there’ll be a few ponies who listen to him.”

“They’re of no consequence,” Apple Bee swatted aside. Including the intern, if he didn’t shut up. “Just fetch me another mug. Black, no sugar. Ugh, this’ll be a long night.”

With a deafening pop, two princesses clad only in underwear appeared in the hospital waiting room. This only drew attention from the dozen or so ponies for a few seconds before they reverted back to the public television. Skin was a common sight, after all.

Twilight, Spike, and her friends rushed over quickly. “Celestia!” Twilight greeted anxiously. “What do we do?”

Celestia glanced at the television. From outward appearances, there wasn’t any violence happening between the two, but that might change.

“We wait,” Celestia cautioned, holding out a hand without looking at her protege.

“It pains me to say so,” Luna concurred, hugging her bare waist in the chilly waiting room. “But we must know our enemy. There will be no other chance.”

All of them watched the screen, straining their ears for the faint conversation. Rainbow Dash growled impatiently. Rarity and Fluttershy made small noises of understanding. Applejack and Spike huffed with fury. Pinkie made no noise, but narrowed her eyes. And Twilight folded her arms, flattening her pointy ears.

Why would he do this? Twilight wondered. What does he gain?

Johnny reached into his pocket as he was talking. “So you think all of Equestria should follow this one set of rules? Irrespective of culture or beliefs?”

“Yes,” Peter said as Johnny popped the cap off a pen. “That’s what unity is. Equestria needs it badly. Otherwise, it would be a loose… confederation of…” Peter trailed off when he saw Johnny writing on a slip of paper. “What are you doing?”

Johnny swiftly put the cap back on his pen. “Writing a check. Prophet, I'm aware that you're from a different dimension, so you don't know how the money works here. A bit is a standard gold coin, worth about the day's wage at a fast food restaurant.” He turned to the camera. “Which needs to be raised, by the way!” After the spontaneous cheering from the audience had died down, he addressed Peter again. “Three of them a day for construction, four per plumber's job. A police officer earns a hundred and fifty every two weeks, and the average lawyer in court earns two thousand bits per client.”

Whereupon Johnny slid the check across the table. Peter peered upon the amount written down.

“That is the last three month's pay I've gotten from being a late-night host,” Johnny Cake elaborated. “Ten thousand bits. Out of my own account. And all this is yours if you come to your senses, wake up from your fantasy, and deny the existence of God, right here and now.” Johnny spread his arms. “You're never gonna get an offer like this again, man. I suggest you take it. You don't even need to earnestly believe it, just say it and keep on doing your religious stuff. Nopony will judge. It's your life.”

Peter picked up the slip of paper. It was a real check, all right.

“You can start over,” Johnny laid down, softer this time. “This is enough to get you settled permanently in Equestria, in some rural spot nopony will come near. You don't even have to see any of our so-called degeneracy. And even if Faust takes away your powers because of this, you'll still live comfortably for the rest of your days if you're wise about it. You can have it all.” Johnny leaned in closer to Peter. “You don't have to be the bad guy.”

Peter didn't say anything. He lazily flipped the check over, his head down in apparent thought.

“You won't get a chance like this again,” Johnny said again, patting Peter on the back. “For everyone’s sake, stop while you're ahead, open up your heart to love and acceptance, and live the life that you know, deep down inside, you want to live.”

Peter finally turned back to Johnny Cake. His masked expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a hardness in his visible eyes.

The check spontaneously burst into bright orange flame and floated off Peter's hand, disintegrating into smoke.

“You spawn of the devil,” Peter slowly denounced, without breaking contact. “Did you really think that would work?”

Johnny had managed to recover from his momentarily shocked expression and had pulled his face in a fake smile. “Why, it couldn't hurt.”

“Righteous men aren't controlled by money,” Peter firmly said. “And you were lying, anyway. ‘I'll give you the money,’ you said, but you wouldn't, and you’d just get me to say what you wanted me to on national television. I’d disrespect Faust for nothing. That's a devil's trick, and you'll get a devil's reward unless you repent.”

“And there it is!” Johnny proclaimed, gesturing at Peter. “Whenever prophets come along, it’s always the same thing. Repent, repent, be more humble. I’m sick of it. You can predict what they’re going to say.”

“I see,” Peter commented. “If prophets come along telling you to do better, you cast them out. You say he’s a sinner, that he’s self-righteous and evil, that he’s the devil’s servant. You’re angry with him. But if prophets come along saying to do whatever you want, that what you’re doing is A-okay, to go ahead and sin because there isn’t a consequence for it, then you praise him and give him money! How long do you think this can go on?”

“As long as it takes,” Johnny easily answered. “Before you prophets finally stop showing up.”

“You’ll regret it,” Peter warned. He turned to the studio camera. “In the day when Faust stops warning you, you’ll wander the ash piles of Cloudsdale, seek for survivors in the bloodstained rubble of Canterlot, trudge through the flooded wreckage of Manehattan, and cry to the smoky skies, ‘I’m sorry. I killed the prophets and didn’t repent, it’s too late now.’ If you squint hard enough, Johnny, you can see the demons all around you. Why can’t you? Are you afraid to be exposed to them?”

Johnny’s smile only broadened. “Sounds a lot like a threat.”

“And you get shocked when I follow through?” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Passive-aggressive nagging isn’t how God operates– which, of course, you don’t understand.”

“Of course I don’t understand! How can I understand something that doesn’t exist?”

“Disbelieving in Faust doesn’t mean She vanishes. Sticking your head in the sand isn’t what news hosts do. They proclaim truth, not beliefs. Why on ear– Equus, would you not believe in God?”

Johnny Cake sighed and leaned back in his swivel chair. “Because I don’t believe in a God of hate and control, especially since we already have so much better magical alternatives. And I don’t want to teach my audience– all of you guys– to succumb to stupid rituals and performances given by priests who want nothing more than control and money and power.”

And you happen to be one of them yourself, Peter thought as even more brainless applause sounded forth. Spreading the good word of the devil.

“You might think religion makes you free,” Johnny denounced. “But it only puts you into a drugged state. You might think your little prophecies are true, but you don’t actually know it. You think Equestria’s a sinful and awful place, but we’re just looking up with boldness and strength against the cruel reality of nature. There’s nothing you’d like more than to lead Equestria into a lie, so you can have control over our futures, initiate us into some cult, and make us live in constant fear of offending some God– a being who’s never been seen or known, and who never was and never will be.”

The applause this time was even louder than before and went on for longer. Johnny addressed the audience and made little bows as this happened. Throughout it all, Peter didn’t move. He wanted to wait for a time when he could actually be listened to, and he was also thinking of what to say.

Faust, he thought. What should I say? I don't want to mess this up. Put words in my mouth and guide me.

Upon saying it, Peter felt a warm pressure upon his breastbone. Peter felt himself take a back seat, so to speak. The words planning to come out of him were God's ideas now, but just in his wording.

Once the applause had died down enough, Peter began.

“You say I’ve worked in an attempt for money? Or power?” Peter asked, steepling his hands. “I already have the power of God. Why do I need your approval? I refused your money, and I’ve been sleeping in the wilderness for the past month. Why else do you think I would be doing this?” He leaned forward to Johnny. “Because following God is the best formula for success.”

“Your God,” Johnny clarified. “Because out of every other god that Equestria could conjure up, yours is definitely the only one worth following.”

“Yes,” Peter said, like Johnny was stupid for saying it. “Do you actually think I’d just go around intentionally deceiving Equestria?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think I’m brainwashed?”

“Yes.”

“I know that God exists.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove that God doesn’t exist. Comb the universe and find no sign of Her– but then you’d be a God yourself, wouldn’t you?”

Johnny didn’t say anything. He just put on a fake smile again.

“In my home dimension, I was always interested in astronomy,” Peter expounded. His eyes went distant, past the camera. “Ever since I was a kid. I had also grown up religious, but I was never really into it for a while. Certain… other trials drove me away from God even more. But when I studied astronomy in higher schooling, and I saw the fixed laws and ratios of the universe, and saw how physics, math, science, and spirit came together, I came to realize… that there was no way this happened spontaneously. Order doesn’t just come out of chaos for no reason; it happens in the opposite direction, that’s what entropy is. There needed to be someone who shaped that order and set in place the rules.

“Nature’s rarely arbitrary, and it may be cruel, as you said– but it’s also fair and works according to its own laws. The more I studied the gorgeous and bedazzling natural world with the lens my family gave me, the more I became convinced of a supreme creator. I’m not an accident. Ponykind is not an accident; we are made in God’s image, as sons and daughters of the king and queen of heaven. Each of you is a prince or princess in the eyes of God. We are grand and glorious beings who deserve self-respect. There is purpose and clarity once we understand that. We are meant for more than our appetites; we are made for eternity.”

Somewhere out there, across Equestria, someone was listening. Someone was waking up. The feeling came across Peter to the point where it was a surety to him. It could have just been the strength of his own convictions, or it could have been actual revelation; Peter wasn’t sure.

“So you touched grass. Big deal,” Johnny brushed aside, waving a hand and laughing briefly. “Just because nature’s pretty, that doesn’t mean God exists. You’re following a fallacy.”

“The order of the universe is one thing, but even greater than that are the words of the prophets that came before me, the beauty and clarity of life, the conclusive feelings of truth given by the Spirit. All things denote there is a God, and I have all things as a witness of God,” Peter irately continued, tapping his foot on the ground. “And so do you, Johnny, but you’ve shut off your heart to them. Or perhaps you once were attuned, but you’ve surrendered your heart to evil things.”

“You know what?” Johnny announced, putting his hands up. “Fine. You got me. IF you show me a sign, if you prove that you have the power of God, then I’ll believe you.”

“You’ve had enough signs,” Peter snapped, his temper flaring. Despite his testimony– which Peter had put intentional thought into– had nothing gotten through to Johnny? “Signs follow believers, not lead them. After slandering God and Her prophet, don’t expect to get one on demand. Unless you want a curse. You’ve seen Ponyville, and you have the testimony of Twilight and her friends. What more would you like?”

“I will not believe unless I see for myself that you’re telling the truth,” Johnny Cake maintained. “Unless you’re either a pussy or you’re weak, you might be true, but this next part depends on you. Burning my check? Party trick. Fillies can do that on accident. Does your God have no more power than a foal who shits himself?” Johnny jutted out his chin.

Johnny’s provocations bristled Peter’s mind. Was it worth demonstrating the power of God on this poor fool? Or should he just leave and end the conversation?

“You could just be a charlatan terrorist, or you could be a prophet of Faust,” Johnny blathered on. “You can’t be both. If you don’t answer, I won’t obey. Because Faust doesn’t really seem worth following anyway– why should I worship some jealous whore that destroyed Ponyville?”

Peter got his answer.

“I’m disappointed,” Peter muttered, turning to the golden pony. The rest of the studio was as quiet as the grave. “How can one man be so stubborn and hard-hearted? But if this prevents Equestria from listening to your sewage, perhaps it’s for the best.”

Johnny smugly smiled yet again. “Sorry?”

“You get what you want,” Peter elaborated, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll show you that God exists. You can be a public example.”

“I’m not saying Faust doesn’t exist!” Johnny blatantly lied. “I just don’t believe in Her if She does. And unless you show me a sign, right here, right now, I won’t believe in this jealous whore of a goddess.”

Peter's patience ran out. “Then this is your sign, Johnny. You will never speak again.”

Johnny laughed loudly and gestured at him, making speaking motions with his mouth. But nothing came out. When this happened, his entire face contorted in horror, and Johnny clasped at his throat, pounding on his desk. Johnny stared into the camera, his eyes pleading. The crowd gasped.

“Did you expect me to inflict a sign on someone else? What were you planning to do if this actually turned out to be true?” Peter rhetorically asked the struggling stallion. He smiled under his mask. “Have you something more to say?”

Johnny swiveled to face Peter, fear and fury in his countenance. He lashed out, and Peter knocked his hand aside, then grabbed him by the head and bashed it on Johnny’s mahogany table. Blood dripped from his nose, staining the wood permanently. The crowd screamed in terror.

“Then listen carefully,” Peter hissed in Johnny’s ear. Electrifying adrenaline made Peter's body tremble. “If you didn’t want prophets to tell you to repent, you shouldn’t have promoted pornography, you mop!”

Peter raised Johnny’s head up and slammed it into the desk again. Blood poured from his nostrils like a faucet, creating small thick pools on the wood.

“Aw, do you need help? You should call out for it!” Peter bellowed, gripping Johnny tightly by the base of his mane. “Or perhaps you have a bad joke to make right about now? Come on! Get it out!”

“All right, that's enough!” came the cries of security, and four blue-shirted guards rushed in from either side of the stage, converging on the table.

Peter shoved Johnny Cake into the first guard to his left, leaving Peter free to sock the right-most guard in the face. It didn't take him down; the guard threw a wild hook at his face and rattled his wooden mask. It hurt the guard more than Peter. Johnny kicked him right in the sternum, shoving him and the one behind him back to the ground.

The left guards had shoved a flailing Johnny out of the way, brandishing tasers. Peter backed away from them as far as he could, snatched the coffee mug off Johnny's desk, and bashed it against the first guard's skull. He dropped to his knees, moaning in pain.

Peter swung the serrated edge of the shattered mug at the last guard, who swung his taser in response. Neither wanted to get closer to the other for a few seconds.

Then Peter dove in headfirst, and the taser connected with his wooden mask– which didn't conduct the electricity. Peter tackled him around the waist and threw him to the floor, shoving hard at the right moment for some extra oomph. Peter staggered upright, feeling embarrassed– that had all been caught on camera.

The doors at the top of the studio banged open, and Peter wildly swung his head. Peter could see half a dozen SWAT units come in, black and armored and armed with even more tasers– were there no firearms in Equestria?

Peter indicated the six ponies by the door, willing them to be blown back into the hallway. But nothing happened. No rush of power, no boil in his blood. The units just descended faster upon him.

A surge of desperation clutched his heart, and Peter tried again, more subtly. Again, nothing happened. He was reaching out to the Sparks in the air and in all the physical world around him. Peter could feel his connection to them. But the Sparks just wouldn’t obey.

So Peter retreated behind the table further, bending down and holding Johnny Cake’s neck in an armbar for a hostage. The SWAT didn’t know he couldn’t do anything!

And Peter's arms were covered in three primary-colored auras of magic, which pried his hold off Johnny. Peter belatedly realized that this particular SWAT team had magic-users!

Now fully enveloped in magic, Peter was flung forward like a ragdoll over the desk, shoving everything on the desk and toppling them to the floor. Peter collapsed to the ground, with a buzzing and static feeling in his dead arms.

Then came the boots. They stomped on Peter's back and arms, kicked themselves into his ribs. Peter had to curl up to protect himself. Peter's panic was on high alert. Why wasn't the Bestowal working?! Did Faust want him to get captured? Did he do something wrong?

One particular boot stomped so hard on the top of Peter's mask that it cracked right in half.

And Peter’s mask came right off.

Another kick to the stomach, and Peter let out a sound of sickness. A half dozen more to the head made patches of skin peel off and caused a yellow bruise on his cheek. Peter was seized from the neck by two guards and dragged to a standing position. Right in front of the studio camera.

For the first time since Ponyville, his face was in public. Peter’s expression was furious, pained, with blood splotches matting his blonde hair and dirtying his small beard. It came from his mouth, shining in the cracks of his gritted teeth.

“What are you doing?!” Peter snarled. It was at the guards, but a part of it was also at Faust. “You don’t know what you’re getting into! Stop!”

A punch came to his head, and Peter reeled back. The pain didn’t stop him from squeezing more words out.

“Don’t do this! You’re all going to die!” Peter struggled yet again. “Stop it, st-”

One more to the head, and Peter’s world went black.

The waiting room was abuzz with sound. Some initial cheering, some hesitant murmurs, some interested pointing fingers. The camera was following the SWAT team carrying an unconscious human over their shoulders and out of the studio, to the sounds of applause and cheering from the studio audience.

For the princesses, Twilight, and her friends, the truth had come out at last. The Prophet had given answers. His face was seen. The Prophet was in custody, and the tables had turned.

The ponies all gaped at the screen. Pinkie and Applejack especially squirmed in place.

“So we did know this guy,” Applejack finally piped up. She took off her hat and held it to her chest. “Ma little boy toy…”

Pinkie gasped, but it was subdued from her usually obnoxious ones. “Oh yeah! I do remember! This guy, he said he was… um… It wasn’t a normal name… Brow? Bron– Browning! Peter Browning!”

The rest of the girls and Spike slowly turned to the two earth ponies, and it was Twilight who slowly but firmly spoke. “Applejack, Pinkie, I need you to tell me everything you did to him.”

“...What're ya plannin’?” Applejack cautiously probed.

“This human– Peter, had a bad first day,” Twilight maintained, saying his name for the first time. So that was his name. Peter. Better than a title or adjective. It was a good start. “Peter was scared, he was unsure. And he chose to run away because we didn't make him feel welcome.”

“You mean I scared him off?” Pinkie accused, a hand to her barely-covered chest. “Twilight, I was just doing what I do best!”

“An’ Ah jus’ helped ‘im try an’ get comfortable!” Applejack defended. “What, you gonna say this is all ma fault?”

“I highly doubt this was all their doing, Twilight,” Celestia soothed before things could get worse. “Peter had been brought here by Faust, so he would have done Faust’s bidding sooner or later. It was not Applejack that drove him to attempt genocide.”

“Well, yeah, but-” Twilight started, then sighed. “Look, I need to know.”

“And you will,” Pinkie assured Twilight, clapping her on the back. “Once you’re done interrogating him more.”

Twilight blinked. “Sorry?”

“We’re going to Manehattan!” Pinkie squealed, and life seemed to come back into her step again. “And now we won’t have to worry about Peter anymore. You can join the rest of Aus for some window shopping once your day is over, Twilight.”

Celestia slid behind Twilight and held her by the wrists as she murmured in her ear. “She’s right, Twilight. As a princess, you have the power to examine him.”

“He showed the power of Faust to us,” Luna declared, taking Twilight by her purple hand. “Now it’s time for you to show him your power.”

Twilight stiffly considered it. The rest of the girls and Spike watched with expectancy.

“...Let’s go,” Twilight decided. “Time to convince this m– Let’s convince Peter to come to our side.”

“And if not?” Celestia murmured.

“He will join us or die, Twilight,” Luna crooned.

Twilight could only make an uncertain sound in her throat.

Author's Note

Debates suck. Just call each other losers and be done with it.