Faust's Commandment

It seemed like weeks.

Peter had been left chained in the basement, alone– well, almost alone, of course; the scantily dressed charcoal mare who wordlessly tossed him his meals with a disgusted look was about the closest he got to human interaction. She also removed his waste; there was enough room for his hands to slide a provided bucket under his jumpsuit, which had a hole in it that, if he sat wrong, exposed his bare skin to the floor. Peter was barely able to maneuver his arms to the point where they could scoop food into his mouth.

It could barely be considered food. Gummy, sloppy, or stiff were the only allowed conditions of his bare rations, and they had been tampered with. Peter spat out a small weed in his oatmeal one morning, and another day he had felt a small crunch in some unidentifiable dinner slop that turned out to be broken glass. (He had abruptly stopped eating.) And about three weeks in, Peter’s insides seemed to curdle up, and he fell deathly ill for two days, falling in and out of consciousness with a high fever. It was highly likely a defective poison.

To top things off, it had all been without a shower or bath to boot. Peter’s hair felt stiff and grimy, itching his scalp and oiling his forehead. His patchy blonde beard on his cheeks and chin turned fuller and longer. It was the longest he had been without a shave, and it scratched his neck.

Day after day, his mind pondered. Surely Faust had some reason for keeping him in here for as long as She was. But until he received confirmation, there was nothing he could do. Like there was much to do anyway.

Peter choked down the last of his cold oatmeal with his fingers. No brown sugar or raspberries or anything. His stomach had convulsed several times already, and it did so again on his last bite.

He tossed the bowl aside and leaned more fully against the wall, groaning in exhaustion. It was odd; he wasn’t even doing anything, and he was this tired? Perhaps it was the soreness. Perhaps it was because there was no one around. No one to listen to him. Even Faust.

Could Rose Water have been right? Could it really have been an expertly cunning devil, or someone like Grogar or Discord in disguise? Maybe he was simply imagining it all.

There were some things he knew for certain, though: God existed, and Christ was king. There was objective good and bad. So with that in mind…

“God?” Peter mumbled, bowing his head. It scratched his scraggly neck. “I’m not sure what to feel. What to do. I haven’t gotten any answers lately. I do know that you’re there, so that helps. I’m not insane or anything. Even if everyone else says I am.”

But didn’t that make him sound more insane?

“And thanks for… you know, everything. Keeping me alive. I know that you have a reason for everything you do, but…”

But upon saying the words, Peter couldn’t stop lying to himself.

“You know what?” he snarled, lifting his head. “No. God, Faust, whoever’s there– what’s the big idea? What is your will? How am I supposed to follow it when you throw curveballs like this? I know you know what I’m saying, I know you can hear me, so stop pretending like you don’t! What, are you using the bathroom right now? Did you leave your phone inside? If something’s blocking your view, take it away and do something, for goodness’ sake!”

Nothing happened.

“You can do anything you want to, Faust. Literally anything– Well, not literally anything, but you know what I mean! Come on, what’s stopping you from freeing me? You said that I’d be your servant. If you remember me, show me! We have a job to do, remember? Burn Equestria until they remember you and become more humble. Do you think capturing me is going to humble them?”

No discernable answer came.

“Look, what happened?” Peter tried again. “You were so open and responsive before. Was it something I did? If it was, I'm sorry, but what was it?”

Nothing.

“Figures,” Peter grumbled, rolling his head. He said no more.

His eyes drooped. It became harder to keep them open. Once they closed, he kept them closed. He stayed like that for quite some time before falling into slumber.

How long he stayed like this, Peter couldn’t say. The dark and the cool made things hard to discern. But it was a bright light that made finally Peter wince and open his red-tinged eyes by a millimeter.

Faust was on her knees, at his eye level. Her white, flowy dress lay flat on the dark and depressing cement, and it seemed to glow on its own. Her vivid violet eyes were creased in concern.

It had been so long, and she seemed all the more beautiful for it.

“Peter,” Faust whispered, reaching out and touching his cuffs with a finger. They opened with a snap and clattered to the ground. “Come here.”

And she took Peter by the shoulders and hugged him tightly. Peter, stiff and unsure, allowed it to happen without reciprocating.

“You must have so many questions,” Faust gently murmured in his ear. “It hurt me to see you like this.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Now that the initial joy of meeting God was over, he could let everything out. He withdrew from Faust’s embrace, sat criss-cross applesauce, and gave himself a moment to compose his thoughts. When he did, he spoke.

“Then why did you ignore me? Was it your plan to put me in prison? If it’s a punishment for my actions, what did I do wrong?”

Faust also sat criss-cross applesauce. “It’s easy to think I was ignoring you. I really don’t blame you. But I was listening to your prayers, and I was aware of your suffering. The same way I was aware of the suffering of every pony on this planet, and the suffering of all the planets I’ve made.”

Peter got the message and bowed his head. “So you can’t just intervene whenever we get boo-boos.”

Faust sadly nodded. “Pain and unfairness are some of those things we agreed to when we decided to become mortal. Granted, you’re enduring a little more than a boo-boo. It makes you strong. Brave. And when you’ve endured it well, you will be exalted on high and shall triumph over all your foes. This I swear as God.”

“My foes,” Peter repeated numbly. “Yeah. Enemies. Faust, I’m a little… Well, I don’t know. They were saying some things. How you manipulated me. How you’re a demon in disguise. That I need to open up my heart to real love. I’m just… It’s hard to tell. Especially when I’m alone. With you, it isn’t there, but, you know, that could also be the case if you weren’t God. I know that they were lying, that they were deceived, but I’m also unsure if I was doing something wrong. Am I? I mean, of course I do things wrong, I’m a human being, not a god, so… Well, I don’t know…”

Faust waited patiently until Peter was sure he wasn’t going to say any more. Peter appreciated that much.

“Don’t worry,” Faust soothed to begin. “You’re on the right track. You were smart to be suspicious of my intentions, especially in a more magical place like Equestria. But please, Peter. After all I’d done when we were together, I would have expected you to have more faith. You handled me and knew I had a body, so I wasn’t a devil. I urge you now, Peter, to doubt not, but be believing. Anything I would say wouldn’t mean anything if I were a liar, though, so the decision to believe in me is up to you. Knowing what you do about Godliness, truth, and reality, I will ask you for the second and presumably the last time: Follow me, or follow some other path.”

It wasn’t a choice at all.

“I’ll follow you!” Peter reaffirmed. “Really, I will. I’ve always wanted to. Even if you hadn’t commanded me to, I would have stuck to my guns. I just… fail to see the sense in keeping me here.”

Faust nodded with understanding. “And I imagine just saying, ‘Dude, trust me’ won’t do it for you?”

Peter jolted as Faust spoke. “Don’t… Sorry, I-I never thought a god would say dude.”

Faust gained a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Ay yo bruh, don’t fret abboudit, ya mid homeslice. I be cappin through my grill if I said-”

“STOP!” Peter cringed, putting up his hands. “Geez, mom, no one- Wait, you’re not mom. Guh, it’s still...”

Faust was giggling, though, and Peter sheepishly contributed a few laughs of his own.

“It’s still not cool,” Peter finished when he was done laughing.

Faust tilted her head. “God’s always cool,” she gently declared. “What else would be? What does the world have to offer that can supersede God? All cool things came from me in the first place.”

“Well then, is the world good or bad?” Peter asked.

“The natural man is my enemy,” Faust answered with certainty. “It always has been and always will be. But my children can put off those natural tendencies and become saints through my gospel. At the moment, though…”

Faust’s demeanor turned regretful, and she rested her chin in her hands

“At the moment…” Faust grimaced uncomfortably. “I’m angry. The things my children accuse you of are themselves guilty of in the extreme, and what they love to push on others will be heaped upon their own heads. For too long have the innocent been punished by the wicked, and before my eyes is a continuous scene of abomination and sacrifice and flailing about for nothing. Their hopes shall be blasted away like a shirt in a furnace, and they shall drink their own blood and eat their own flesh in the ruins of the countryside, and will they finally accept the truth? No, they shall lift their eyes to heaven and curse me and die. Their minds are blinded, for they don’t see that what you’ve done was within my will. Their bank accounts and barns shall be emptied, their bodies shall wither like a weed, and their posterity will be smeared away in red stains. Vipers don’t inherit eternal life. If they don’t repent in this life or the next, they shall instead be smothered in the scummy molten slag of eternal fire.”

The hair on Peter’s arms stood up at Faust’s words. But he had hung onto one crucial sentence. Within Faust’s will. It felt a little roundabout to ask this after her words of doom, but…

“So… I’m not in prison for what I did at PBS?” Peter clarified.

“It was my will that Johnny Cake be silenced,” Faust confirmed. “None of your actions at PBS warranted a permanent stay in jail. Even your lapses of character– Moses was no better. Even for breaking Equestria’s law– my orders supersede mortal laws, especially those of a wicked nation.”

“Then why am I here?” Peter patiently asked, rubbing his temple. “Is it to build character or something?”

Faust sighed through her nose and smiled. “Peter, of course it builds character. If the ashen jaws of hell opened up against you, it would build character. It would give you experience. There’s always one who’s descended further than that. Surely you’re not greater than He?”

Peter had nothing to say. Christ had truly done it all.

“I can give you peace of mind regarding why you had to go through this. Besides building character.” Faust held up several fingers. “First, the choice to imprison you was a free usage of my children’s agency. And interfering with this choice would go contrary to my law of freedom.”

“So when do you interfere?” Peter wondered, spreading his arms. “When do you figure that it’s enough?”

“When conditions arise where the rising generation doesn’t have a fair choice between good and evil,” Faust easily answered. “In these last days, darkness veils the earth and plagues the mind and heart. My beacon must shine ever brighter.”

Peter said nothing while digesting it.

“Second, because I allowed your arrest, now all of Equestria knows that I am the one that works these miracles, not you. And that if I could put you in jail, I could easily take you out again, and there’s little they can do.”

Peter, astonished, nodded in agreement.

“Third, it puts you in a position where Princess Twilight will voluntarily come into contact with you. We both know that she is the most receptive to the gospel.”

“She is, yeah. But why her?” Peter inquired, indicating something invisible. “Why not, say, Fluttershy, or Rainbow?”

“She chose to hear you,” Faust said. “She allowed my words to enter into her heart, and she’s pondering on them as we speak.”

Peter’s brain prickled with curiosity. “How many other ponies have listened? Not just heard?”

“Hundreds,” Faust informed him with a smile. “I’ve been answering their prayers all across Equestria for the last few weeks. And they’re too afraid to say it in public, but they are telling their friends. Some have listened, and some have rejected them. My message is hard to bear for the wicked.”

Peter felt electrified. So he had made a difference! At least a few people had listened!

“Will that be my next task? Going to those ponies and teaching them?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Faust said. “After Manehattan is destroyed, of course. I’ve already warned the righteous to evacuate and head to Foal Mountain. That’s your next destination.”

“Will they meet me there? Or will I poop the party again?” Peter couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“Soon,” Faust divulged. “I promise, Peter, you will leave this jail in rubble. There’s still a task to be done involving Twilight before that.”

“I’ll do my best,” Peter promised.

Faust smiled. It felt like a beam of warm sunlight through a window. “Thank you for understanding, Peter.”

Faust reached behind her and withdrew a checkered picnic blanket. She laid it out carefully. The second time she reached into emptiness, there came forth a tray of softened butter. Faust kept on taking picnic materials from that weird in-between world that all cartoon characters had behind their head– Hammerspace, that’s what it was. Except for Gods, it wasn’t a cartoon.

There was laid before Peter a simple meal of baguettes and butter, and cheese and crackers. Two goblets were there as well, almost brimming over with what Peter recognized as blomberry juice.

“Eat,” Faust invited. “Drink. Share a simple meal with me.”

Peter suddenly felt famished. He took the proffered bread, but hesitated. “Should we pray?”

Faust began giggling again. “What do you think we’ve been doing, silly?”

Peter couldn’t help but snort too. And without another word, he wolfed the baguette down. The brown crust was crunchy and crumbly, the warm and puffy white bread seemed to billow forth into his mouth, and the pale butter was smooth and salty. The crackers and cheese were wonderful too– slices of soft white goat cheese with dillweed and salt. Peter couldn’t get enough. There was some quality to the celestial food that made it more filling and tastier than it should have otherwise been. Peter downed two baguettes and ten slices of cheese without stopping or speaking, taking sips of opaque blomberry juice here and there. The juice wasn’t sour and didn’t irritate his mouth or have a bad aftertaste. It was pure natural sweetness and fruity flavor.

Faust, of course, ate as well, but more measured. Little pieces of bread broken off here and there.

When a panting Peter finished his last bite of bread, he groaned with pleasure and drummed his fingers on his belly. “That's beautiful. Better than restaurant bread. Man, even the bread in heaven's better than earth food.”

Faust smiled, bowed her head, and tore off another piece of bread. “Thank you. I'm flattered. Mom makes it better than me, honestly.”

Peter's eyes bulged. “...Sorry?”

“My mom,” Faust repeated. She proffered another piece to Peter, who mindlessly took it. “And her cookies are something else, too.”

As Faust ate more, Peter's face creased with confusion. “But… Wait, your mom? But you're God!”

Faust nodded and swallowed her bite. “And a mother. And no mother was not first a daughter. I didn't have my kids so that they would be my servants. They aren't my dogs, chewing on my celestial slippers. I want them to mature, grow up, and become perfect. Continue the family business. Remember what I said when we first met, how gods by definition are perfect beings?”

Be ye therefore perfect, even as my father in heaven is perfect.

“Well, yeah, but… but we don't worship any other god. You even said that my service to you would be counted for God– well, my God.”

“There are many parents in the world,” Faust put it. “And you only call one of them father and mother. Earth life is a pattern for heavenly life. That’s why family life on earth matters so much! That’s why I care about these ponies’ sexual choices. Those that can’t be trusted with the gift of life won’t have offspring in the eternities. For life extends before me, and after you. Peter, this I promise: you will be a father to generations.”

Peter’s gaze turned away; he had never thought about it that way. His heart squirmed in place just picturing it in his head: an infinite family tree, with billions in the first generation alone, extending into eternity, beginning at him!

“There's no better way for my children to honor me than by becoming the gods they are meant to be.” Faust knelt and began picking up the picnic materials. “I remember when I was a mortal, how tempting it was to indulge in food and sex and such. I understand perfectly what it’s like to feel wronged, hurt, betrayed, and alone. But through the power of my God, I overcame such desires and depths. And my potential to do wrong is still there, but it just never gets past the temptation.”

“Gods can be tempted?” Peter wondered, eyes wide.

“Why else is God’s goodness praised?” Faust said, shrugging. “If I had no choice but to be good, I would be no different from water that has no choice but to boil at a hundred degrees Celcius. Do we praise water for that? Your job isn’t to change my will, of course, but I also trust your judgment, Peter. And my mercy is far-reaching to those who seek it.”

“Listen,” Peter said, a bit firmer than he wanted. “I’m glad you said all this. I’m just… I don’t know how to take it. Christian, and all. It’s different.”

Faust shuffled on her knees over to Peter and put a hand on his shoulder. “We could all use a little different. Sometimes what’s different is simply an expansion. Thank you for trusting me with this information. Do you still trust me now?”

Of course he did! Like he would trust his own mother! Peter couldn’t answer any other way. He swallowed and stammered, “Yes.”

Faust’s eyes began to water, and she pulled him in for an embrace, still holding the picnic basket. Peter returned the hug as strongly as he could; it had been so long, and she felt so soft and gentle.

They stayed like that for some time before pulling away. Faust’s hand tousled Peter’s unscrupulous hair when she did. “When you get out, take a shower,” she advised.

“Yes, mom,” Peter blandly replied, a teasing smile on his face. “That was the plan.”

Faust sighed and took Peter by the hand one last time. “I really do love you, Peter. You’re a fine son, and your mother would be so proud of you.”

That alone made Peter’s throat constrict with emotion. Unwilling to speak in a croak, Peter nodded.

“I’d hate to put you back into those chains,” Faust mourned, glancing back at Peter’s spot beside the rusty pipes. “But we must avoid suspicion.”

“Wait!” Peter hastily said, scrambling to his feet. “Before you do…”

Faust nodded in understanding as Peter stretched his muscles for the first time in what felt like forever. Then she wordlessly stood as well, came behind a bent-over Peter, and poked him between the spinal disks with a single slim finger.

“Hey! That…” Peter gasped and bent back up. “Holy smoke, that’s good!”

“Surprise,” Faust blandly said, then huffed with laughter. “My touch won’t always be there, but make no mistake, Peter. I am with you.”

Peter smiled shyly. “D’aww, stop saying stuff like that.”

“No,” Faust flatly denied.

And the two of them began laughing again.