Chapters The sun's warmth on her eyes woke Pinkie. She mumbled something unintelligible and sat up, still sticky and sore all over from the night before.
The window only let a small amount of light in, but it was enough to illuminate Twilight snoozing on one side and Bulk Biceps snoring on the other. Pinkie was in the middle, but she managed to get out of bed by crawling to the end and slipping off. Her bare feet touched the ground, and there was still some unidentifiable slimy stuff in between her toes.
There was something different about today; Pinkie couldn't tell what. Her Pinkie Sense directed her to go to the window, and so Pinkie did, pressing her face against it.
“What the…” Twilight's sleepy morning voice called. “Pinkie, are you…”
Pinkie wasn't paying attention. There, in the town square, clutching his head in fright and circling in place, was an unfamiliar figure.
Well, perhaps unfamiliar figure wasn't the best word for Pinkie to use. The best words would be…
"A new friend!" Pinkie squealed. She unstuck her face from the window and hurriedly reached on the ground for her only clothes: a tight baby blue sleeveless top and neon yellow booty shorts. She kept talking as she pulled on her clothes. "So sorry, Twilight, but I've got a new friend to meet, so could you, uh..."
It took a moment, but Twilight finally got it. With a lazy ignition of her horn, all the sticky spots in Pinkie's crevices and hair disappeared.
“Thanks!” Pinkie said.
"How are you…" Twilight grunted before yawning. "So energetic this early?"
Pinkie bent right over the prone Twilight. "Because I'm Pinkie Pie," she said in her best Batman impression. She poked Twilight in the breast, and Twilight winced. "We've been over this before."
"It's still sensitive," Twilight moaned, flopping in bed.
But Pinkie was already across the room and opening the door. "See ya, Twi!" Pinkie called, saluting as she shut the door.
Twilight's only response was a groan.
Within a minute of gauging his surroundings, Peter wanted to sit down in shock.
The town looked like it always did, only more realistically shaded and solid. Sugarcube Corner especially did the trick for him. Peter could not deny it: unless this was an elaborate recreation…
"I'm in… Ponyville," Peter breathed out. He slowly rotated in place, taking in all the details. It was early in the morning; the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon to his left.
Peter reached out and gently stroked the edge of Sugarcube Corner. The stone was solid and uneven to the touch. Peter backed away from it, coming to the center of the street. He was in a busy intersection of dirt roads, but there was nobody out right now.
There was a simple brick fountain in the intersection. Everything was scaled to his size. The doorframes on the buildings, the width of the streets, and the height of the signs and lampposts were all normal sized. It likely meant the ponies were all eye level, and it didn't matter if they had been scaled up or if he had been shrunk.
"Hiiiii!" sang a familiar voice.
Peter froze. It was her.
He rotated in place. Skipping towards him, coming out of Sugarcube Corner, was a girl with smooth pink skin and long poofy pink hair. She was humanoid, oddly enough, and equally odd was the fact that there was a tail coming out of her behind and long pointed ears coming out of her head. All she had on, besides her shoes, was a thin sleeveless blue shirt and very small booty shorts.
"I haven't seen you before!" Pinkie declared– for undoubtedly it was Pinkie. She finally got close enough for Peter to, if he felt so inclined, reach out and touch her very large chest. "What's your name? Are you new to Ponyville? Are you alone? You better not be alone for much longer with me around!"
"...Pinkie?" Peter wondered in shock.
"Wowee!" Pinkie exclaimed, recoiling slightly. "You know me?" After a second, she shrugged. "Well, the Elements of Harmony are famous worldwide. My mistake! You here for an autograph? Or any other kind of service?" She gave a half-lidded smile. "I would be more than happy to do anything for my biggest fans."
There was something in the last sentence that didn't sit well with Peter. He took a step back towards the fountain, examining Pinkie with a more critical eye. It was possible that this was just really good, really inappropriate cosplay, but still…
When Pinkie's words got no response, Pinkie giggled. "Checking me out, huh? I don't blame ya."
Peter waved his arms in an X. "No, no! I-I'm just confused. Are you really… I mean, you're the real Pinkie. You sound too much like her."
Pinkie tilted her head in confusion. "What other Pinkie is there? I haven't visited the Mirror Pool in some time now. Last time I did, we had some… interesting times with each other." She licked her lips slightly.
Peter felt his stomach churn. He looked once more around him, then back to Pinkie. "I'm in Ponyville," he breathed once again to no one in particular, and he weakly sat on the edge of the fountain. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “And why is it anthro?!”
"...Hey," Pinkie's voice hesitantly piped up. "Something wrong?"
"Wrong?" Peter demanded, taking his face out of his hands to glare at Pinkie. "What's wrong is that I'm not where I'm supposed to be! I'm in college, I was studying astronomy! Back on earth, not… not wherever this is! Another dimension or planet or plane or dream world or whatever. But all of a sudden, I appeared here, in the middle of town." He began to do invisible calculations in the air, muttering. "I remember falling asleep. I was in bed, I had just taken my finals. I came home and I hopped into bed… That must have been it. Is this just a dream? Maybe. I've thought dreams were real before, there was that time with the car crash-"
Pinkie hissed uncomfortably. "I, uh… Look. What's your name?"
"Peter," he replied. "Browning."
Pinkie hummed. "That is different from pony names."
"I'm not a pony," Peter revealed.
Pinkie stared in astonishment. "You're… oh, yeah. No ears. Wings. Horn." She had pointed to each of the missing features on Peter's body. Then she smacked him solidly on the lower back. "Tail."
"Hey!" Peter protested.
"Now you know you're not dreaming." Pinkie shrugged. "So you said something about dimensions?" she deflected. "I can break the fourth wall, but I don't think that's the same thing as dimension-hopping."
"Listen," Peter irritably cut off. "Is there any way I can make it to Twilight's? If anyone can send me back, it's her!"
"Twilight isn't in her castle," Pinkie supplied. "She's up in Sugarcube Corner recovering from a threesome with me and Bulk Biceps."
Peter physically recoiled. It felt like he had been struck in the solar plexus. "What?!"
"Yeah, it happens all the time," Pinkie negligently confirmed. "That's just what's on the weekly schedule. Then she's off to a bondage session with Rarity, and I'm off to an orgy I've planned. This one's going to be twice as big as the other five this month. It's going to be so exciting! Aaah! I can't wait!" She stamped the ground with excitement.
Peter groaned and put his face in his hands once more. "What kind of Equestria am I in…? "
"The best kind," Pinkie replied; she had heard his plea. She pumped a fist into the air. "You have no idea how well we have it here! Once Equestria discovered that sex is the bestest thing ever, we just kept on making more and more things acceptable until now, we're all free to do whatever we want, whenever we want, with whoever we want! It makes all my parties so much more fun!"
That snapped something in Peter. He rose from his seat and faced Pinkie down; he was several inches taller than her.
"No, Pinkie," Peter firmly said, pointing a finger. "This isn't the girl I know. You're better than this, you're deeper than this! I don't know what's gotten into this world or why, but this kind of behavior is something you need to fight. This is going to break you, Pinkie! If you're real, if this is really the pony I know, then please, keep up the fight and stand for something better than this!"
Peter thought it had been a good talk; it had come from the heart. Pinkie had always been one of his favorites.
And then Pinkie burst into laughter, and Peter's hopes fell with every second.
There came the sound of opening doors, and Peter quickly looked around. One anthropomorphic pony after another had opened their doors and was leering at him. Peter only recognized a few background ponies– there was Colgate, pale blue and almost sparkling from her recent shower as she leaned out of her upstairs window. And there was Amethyst Star, too, blocking the open doorway of her home. She had on nothing but a clear white nightgown that showed every inch of her slim pink body.
Peter's head swiveled from one pony to the next. A crowd was beginning to form as everyone seemed to simultaneously recognize a newcomer. Each of the background characters in the windows and doorways had been completely sexualized and turned into what was supposedly the most alluring shape an animal could get.
The display window for Sugarcube Corner had its blinds rolled up now, exposing the treats inside for all to see. Glass platters showed off things like solid chocolate penises and vulvas. Freshly "frosted" each morning! boasted one poster in the window above a cake thickly coated with thick white… well, what was supposed to be frosting.
"But that's the thing," Pinkie said, giving a wide grin. "We aren't the ponies you know. I don't know what other version of myself there is, but we've grown past it. Changed. And we've done it for the better."
Peter took another step away from her, his eyes flickering to the other assembling ponies. "Pinkie? I, uh, I don't like where I am!"
Pinkie bounced right over to Peter in a single bound and snatched him by the wrist. "Alrighty then! You can just come with me! I can show you a room."
"No!" Peter refused, swishing an arm and failing to detach Pinkie. "Just get me out of here!"
Pinkie sighed, forlorn. "Fiiiine."
And in the time it took Peter to blink, Pinkie had made a zipping sound and he felt incredible whiplash, ending after a second. Peter blinked hard and staggered, casting his eyes about.
Pinkie had apparently used Pinkie physics and sped him out of the assembling crowd in town square. Peter and Pinkie stood in a shadowed side alley between two hay-thatched stone buildings. The sound of the crowd had disappeared completely.
"First time?" Pinkie asked rhetorically, slapping him on the back. "I never forgot my first time."
"Yeah, yeah," Peter waved aside. Could Pinkie talk about something other than sex for once? "Look, thanks. I, uh, I think I can find my way from now on."
"Now, now, mister," Pinkie refused, coming to Peter's front. "Where do you live?"
Peter took too long to answer.
"Oh yeah, that's right. You don't have a home. And you still haven't thanked me for taking you out of the crowd." Pinkie wrapped herself tightly around Peter's arm like a cat. "I have an idea that solves both."
Peter's heart rate was like a snare drum. His gaze came to the front of the alleyway, and he gasped and pointed with his other hand. "Gah! It's Soarin' with his junk out!"
As Peter furiously looked the other way, Pinkie whipped her head around to where Peter had pointed. "Where?"
But Soarin' was not there. And it allowed Peter to yank his arm out of Pinkie's grip and begin sprinting down the opposite end of the alley.
Pinkie realized this diversion too late. She let out a frustrated scream and turned in time to see nothing at the other end. Peter had disappeared.
Pinkie sprinted to the end of the alleyway, poked her head out, and looked to her right and left. She had come out into another street, and the only person in the streets this early in the morning was a homeless gray pony sitting on his mat.
Pinkie groaned in consternation and pounded the left wall with a fist. He had gotten away! And she hadn't read far enough in the story to see where he had gone!
She glanced at the homeless pony again. His sign said Will work 4 sex.
Pinkie strolled over to him. At her approach, he looked up. This unnamed pony was dirty and had an overgrown beard with small food stains in it. His brown eyes were sunken and baggy, and flies circled above him.
"I'm here to make you an offer," Pinkie said without preamble. "I'm very worked up, and I need your help to find someone." She got on her knees, now at eye level. "So let's do business."
Peter jogged through the streets at an even pace, hoping he wouldn't get called out by any more background ponies. Fortunately, he seemed to be in less of a residential area by now and the business day had started. Although honestly, shops could be anywhere.
Peter finally slowed down enough to catch his breath. He moved out of the street and onto the side of one of the homes, which was right across from a stall selling flowers. No sooner had Peter stabilized his breathing than he heard the synchronized cry of three mares.
“Hi, handsome!” came from the stall. Peter looked up and recognized the three girls as the flower-selling mares, but couldn't remember their names.
“We're selling our flowers at a very cheap price today!” one announced.
“Sweeter than perfume, and less expensive!” the second added on.
“And after you get a smell, you can get a taste!” finished the third.
“Pluck our little flowers!” they synchronized once more, in a whinier and pleading tone.
“Shut up!” Peter yelled at them. And he immediately resumed his running, this time slightly faster.
It wasn't long before Peter left them behind. The houses were growing further apart by now, and Peter could see the vivid red of the Sweet Apple Acres barn in the distance. Peter, after a moment of contemplation, altered his course to head there.
He rounded a corner and pushed past a yellow mare carrying a crate of potatoes and wearing nothing but a pair of very small overalls. He squeezed in between two more skimpy mares, one of whom spanked him on the butt as he passed by. Flushed red, Peter continued.
“Hey, mister!” came a voice, and Peter skidded to a halt. He wouldn't have paid much attention, but for the fact that it was the voice of another of his favorites.
Peter quickly scanned the streets. There wasn't much of anyone, so he easily spotted her: gray, nappy blonde hair, cross-eyed. She was in a mailmare's outfit that exposed way too much of her midriff and cleavage. Like everyone else, her pony ears and tail were still there, but she had the addition of a small pair of wings on her back poking out of her outfit.
“Are you all right, mister? You seem kinda scared,” Derpy observed.
“Derpy,” Peter wondered. “You're here.” And honestly, it was weird that he ran into her so soon.
Derpy blinked in surprise, setting down her enormous box in front of her appointed house. “You know me?”
Peter nodded, his throat dry. “You're everyone's favorite mailmare…”
And you're reduced to this, Peter's thoughts finished, trying to not look into the depths of her deep cleavage. There's more to your appeal than this! I hate seeing you reduced to a brainless addict!
Derpy, meanwhile, laughed in remembrance. “Yeah, that is what everyone says after they're done with me.”
Oh, no, Peter bleakly thought. “Done with you?” he demanded incredulously.
“Every house I go to, they pay me with sex,” Derpy explained, her voice high and silly as a smile came to her face. “And I just love sharing my special muffin with them!”
It actually made Peter clench his fists. This was the worst disrespect for Derpy that Peter could imagine! He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and turned away from Derpy and began jogging more. No more would come out of the conversation anyway. Anyone would want to talk to her, sure, but not when she was like this!
There was only about one house left before he came outside the town limits. He soon passed that, and he emerged into a large field of short grass. Peter didn't stop, but upon seeing how far he had to go, he let out a groan of frustration before starting his run.
Peter's mind was going as fast as his legs. What on earth had he gotten into? Why had he been taken here? Why was everything so sexualized, like a third of the fanart or fanfiction everyone back on earth used to make? It was literally as if he had gotten plucked into one of those, and Peter hated it. Perhaps other men would have had fun in this world, but not him.
Stinking perverted fantasy land, Peter thought as he jogged through the field towards Sweet Apple Acres. Why couldn't I have come to a place that at least wasn't Anthro?
If he had been told beforehand that he was going into Equestria, he would have been excited to go. Now, he would give anything to get out as soon as he could.
Because a part of Peter did think the animals– that's what they were– were attractive, sexy, and beautiful. It was almost as if they were designed specifically to be that way. Perhaps he was just in a simulation? Awfully realistic, if that were the case.
Peter took in his senses as the simulation thought came across him. The grass was cool and wet beneath his feet, and it was thick enough that no pebbles or sharp stuff got stuck in his heels. The gentle sun was fully over the mountains by now, and it couldn't be more than about 8 or 9 in the morning. The wind deafening his ears as he ran made things a lot cooler than it would have been.
No simulation could accomplish this much. At least none he knew. It was real. He was stuck here in Equestria.
Peter timed a sigh with an exhale as his jogging slowed down. If he couldn't find a way back, was the life he had lived up to that point just… meaningless?
No, Peter scolded himself. Don't think about that right now. No action ever came about through moping.
But he still thought about it.
The border of Sweet Apple Acres on the side of his approach was nothing more than a white fence. Peter hopped it easily.
As Peter passed the road and rows of apple trees, he took the time to run his fingers on the bark. It was rough, but the bark came away easily.
How does apple bucking as a human work? Peter wondered. See, this is one of those things you don't think about when making Anthro content, dear people back on earth!
There was a relatively undamaged apple by the roots of an upcoming tree, and Peter suddenly felt ravenous. He snatched it up and began consuming the best parts. It was crunchy and juicy, but the flavor could be a bit stronger.
Peter was done with it by the time he reached the barn, which loomed far above him. No one had spotted him so far, which was odd. Didn't people on the farm wake up early?
Unlatching the barn door and swinging it out was loud, and it made Peter hiss in alarm. He quickly shuffled inside and shut the door, making sure the latch didn't shut as well.
It was dark in the barn, but enough sunlight came through the cracks for Peter to see his way inside. A glint of the light came off the polished end of a hanging metal sheet at the end of the barn, and Peter drew closer to see his reflection.
Peter adjusted his long blonde hair so it was more sticky-uppy. He ran a finger along the edge of his angled chin; he had shaved recently, so it was smooth, but it wouldn't be long until stubble grew back. Peter rubbed his small nose and blinked hard several times; there were slight bags under his vivid blue eyes from studying for the past week. He smiled at himself, first without teeth, and then with them, to lift his spirits. It didn't last long.
Peter then plucked at his clothes. Whoever had taken him here had been merciful enough to take him when he had actually worn clothes to bed. It was just grey sweatpants and a blue shirt emblazoned with the Destruction symbol from The Elder Scrolls in white, but it was better than nothing.
Directing his attention to the rest of the barn, Peter noticed that the cow pens were empty. Applejack or someone else must have released them earlier today to graze. Or perhaps they barely came in at all. Peter couldn't remember. The pens would make a good, innocuous spot for sleeping, though.
Peter came into one of the pens on the far end of the barn. Nothing much, just a pitchfork and a pile of hay in the corner. Bucket, stool, shovel, manure. Nothing really useful, but the hay would be comfy, if smelly.
It would be worth sifting through the hay to make sure there wasn't anything harmful. Peter looked down at his fingers, still uncalloused, and sighed. Then he began prodding at the pile with his bare foot.
The barn door creaked open, and a square of light illuminated his area.
Peter froze. He swiveled around.
An orange-skinned girl wearing an unbuttoned cut-off flannel top, Daisy Dukes, and cowgirl boots was there, gazing upon Peter with surprise. The surprised look in her eyes quickly turned into intrigue.
"Why, howdy, Sugarcube," Applejack called, leaning on the side of the doors. "It's real nice ta see ya in th' barn. Lookin' fer a roll in the hay?"
Peter backed deeper into the cow pen. "...Yes. I dropped it in, my meal was ruined."
Applejack giggled. "My, my. Funny boy."
Peter felt unease creep up his back. "I was just… looking for a place to sleep, and I thought the barn would be unobtrusive."
"Are ya now?" Applejack wondered. She began strutting into the barn, her boots making clacking sounds on the floorboards. "Yer in luck. Ah've got a bed with yer name on it."
Peter's heart began to race. "Stay back!"
"Ah won't hurt ya, hon," Applejack assured. She leaned on the gate of the cow pen and tossed her braided hair behind her. " 'Less ya like it that way."
Peter snatched the pitchfork out of the corner and leveled it at a suddenly stunned Applejack. "STAY! BACK! I MEAN IT!"
Applejack stopped and gaped, astounded, as Peter stayed there, aiming the pitchfork right at her heart.
Only a few seconds of this, and Applejack tilted her head. "Yeh've never done this before, have ya?"
"First time for everything," Peter threatened, jabbing the pitchfork. He began to move forward out of the cow pen, and Applejack gave him some room as he did. "What you're offering, I'm not interested in."
"Ah don' understand," Applejack admitted, and it sounded genuine. "What's yer problem? Have ya really… never taken a mare before?"
"I'm saving myself," Peter informed. “For the right girl.”
Applejack blinked innocently. “Aw, shucks. And I'm not?”
“No,” Peter bluntly answered. He had managed to edge past Applejack, still pointing his only weapon at her. “For many reasons.”
Applejack put her hands on her very wide hips. “Tell ‘em to me.”
Peter's back was to the barn door now. He could leave! But he decided to indulge Applejack. “Well, I'm looking for a different personality. Lifestyle. I also want someone that's the, you know… same species as me.”
“Same species?” Applejack repeated, folding her arms. “That's kinda bigoted.”
No, it's not! Peter wildly thought. Unless she means it in the same way we mean race. In which case… yeah, I still do want her the same as me.
“But it means you're looking for sumthin’ specific, ain't ya?” Applejack was saying. “Ya sure I can't be that mare?”
“No!” Peter denied, backing away some more. Applejack was taking a few more courageous steps towards him regardless of his weapon. “I mean, yes, I'm sure. I don't like how, uh… available you are. How everybody is. You've destroyed yourselves, and you don't even know it!”
Applejack leaned on the side of the cow pen fence, looking Peter up and down. “You don't like how available I am. Hon, everypony in town is fuckin’ like rabbits, and Ah still get requests from dozens of mares n’ stallions. I'm a standout natural at what Ah do. You just don't know it yet.”
Peter, taken aback by the swearing, made a dismissive sound and turned away.
And immediately had his leg yanked back, throwing Peter to the floor and sending his pitchfork clattering away. Peter felt a tightening around his bare ankle, and felt his entire body get dragged back to Applejack. He twisted in place to see her bring her lasso up to her face.
"Let me go!" Peter yelled, reaching for the rope at his ankle.
Applejack just yanked harder on her rope, and Peter's entire lower body came off the ground. "That's gotta be it," she concluded, eyeing Peter hungrily. "C'mon, Ah'll break ya in."
Peter's heart rate spiked. “No, stop!
But Applejack was already sauntering out of the barn with Peter in tow. The angle she held the rope at made it impossible for Peter to bend up and unloose himself. Peter was dragged back out into the sun, banging his back on the barn steps.
“HELP!” Peter cried as he bent forward. “SOMEONE!”
“Go ahead, scream all you like,” Applejack invited teasingly. “You might wake th’ others up, and they'll join in!”
That made Peter stop immediately. Mental anguish consumed him, torn between crying for help and making things worse. Who would actually come to his aid?
Applejack reached the edge of the pigpen right outside the barn and quickly looped her rope around the corner post. She snatched Peter's thrashing arm in a viselike grip, threaded it around Peter's wrist, and tied it to his other wrist. Peter was bound by his wrists to the fencepost, one leg spread wide open.
“Stop,” Peter whispered, impotent and embarrassed. “Applejack, you don't want to do this!”
Applejack bent forward so Peter could look down her bosom. “Sugar, Ah really, really want to do this. And you'll be glad I did.”
Applejack reached into her very small back pocket and pulled out a multi-tool. With a deft flick of her wrist, a small blade came out.
"HEL-" Peter cried, but Applejack slammed her hand over Peter's mouth. With Peter muffled, she plunged her knife into Peter's shirt and loudly ripped it right down the front. It exposed Peter's peach-colored chest and stomach. Another few cuts of the knife, and Peter's shirt came entirely off him, completely unusable now.
Applejack's hand next snaked under his waistband, and Peter could feel the cold handle of the tool against his testicles. Peter's heartrate skyrocketed at the proximity of her knife to his penis, and he froze up.
Applejack planted a kiss on his forehead. “Hon, if ya didn't want me to worship yer cock, ya shouldn't have worn grey sweatpants.”
And she yanked his waistband down. She was exceptionally strong, and his sweatpants ended up around his ankles.
As Applejack took her hand away, Peter's struggling rebounded, and he snarled at the farm girl as she cut through the rest of his boxers and pulled them entirely off.
"Geez," Applejack remarked once she was done, tossing her knife away. "Ah didn't even cut the skin. Ya big baby."
"Stop," Peter wheezed. "I don't want this!"
"Ya haven't even tried it yet!" Applejack shut down. She tossed his clothes into the pigpen behind Peter, and they landed with a thick glop into the mud.
“I don't want to try it!” Peter yelled, scooching his pelvis backwards, but there wasn't much room. Applejack still snatched his semi-erect penis and twisted it gently in her hand.
"Now you listen here, big boy. Ah'm not doin' this fer my sake," Applejack informed him. "B'tween myself, my friends, my family, and th' pigs…" She indicated the pigpen with a jerk of her head. "...Ah've got plenty of satisfaction. Naw, this is ta show you just how we on the farm do things."
"So you tied me up?!" Peter roared.
"That's part of the experience," Applejack said. “Just one part of it, though. Another is milking.” Her finger rubbed against his glans as she said so. “Let's give you a shot at it.”
Applejack stopped her stroking to gently pry her breasts out of her shirt. They were already really close to coming out, though; Peter had no idea how they had managed to stay in.
Applejack's left breast dangled right in front of his face. "C'mon, sugar. Come get a lick."
It was a beautiful breast, to be sure. But Peter was most certainly not in the mood to appreciate it.
Peter snarled with effort and lunged forward. And with all the effort he could, Peter chomped down with his teeth on her areola.
Applejack yelled in pain and anger and forced her breast out of his teeth. A resounding, burning smack to his cheek came next, making Peter cry out. Applejack had put all her force into it.
"Don't you dare," Applejack growled. And she backhanded him on the other cheek, making Peter yell again. "You think you can play rough with me?"
"I don't want this!" Peter protested, on the verge of tears. "Please, let me go!"
Applejack shrugged. "Maybe if ya hadn't bitten my girl, I woulda. This is what you deserve , after all!"
She had said it on such a condescending, babying tone that it infuriated Peter enough to struggle some more.
Applejack guffawed when she saw it. "Yeah, try it, sugar. Jus' like that. You wanna play rough? Ah'll do it!"
And she planted a palm between his ribs while she spat on his erect penis. Applejack began to stroke with the other hand. It left Peter short of breath as she continued to work him.
“Gasp fer me,” Applejack encouraged. “Lemme hear ya scream fer it!”
And given how short he was on breath, Peter really was gasping, heaving, and finally crying. Once the tears started coming out, Peter's impotent rage just made them come out faster. They trailed down the inside of his nose and made his eyes red, so he shut them.
“Oh,” Applejack noted, clearly taken aback. She slowed down her stroking. “Oh, wow. Made you cry, huh?” And she let out a chortle. “Ah'm that good? That's a first. You are all sorts of entertaining, sugar. Lemme speed it up.”
And it was at this moment, with Peter's vision black and blurry, that he did something he hadn't done in more than a month.
"Dear God," he whimpered, blinking his vision clear. "I need your help! Break my bonds and free me, please! I need your help!"
"God?" Applejack wondered. She chuckled. "Yeah, that's it. Ah always knew you were a submissive little boy. Didn't know it was to a master that didn't exist, though!" And she broke into full-on laughter.
Peter's teeth and fists clenched. He began to yank even harder at his bonds.
"Yeah, that's it!" Applejack encouraged, stroking even faster. "Ah like it when ya struggle. Just you wait till the rest of ma family comes an' sees this. Granny Smith's real experienced. She'll show ya things nopony's seen. Apple Bloom? Oh, you're gonna love ma sister's tight, fourteen-year-old pussy. And you are not prepared for what Big Mac's gonna do to you! He's gonna turn you into a drooling, gooey lil' hole, an' you'll be my personal boy-toy forever!"
The horrors assaulting his ears made Peter want to gag. It made him want to cry. But Peter just got madder.
It could have been a loose knot. Perhaps Peter was stronger than he thought. Maybe it was simply God's touch. Most likely it was all three of them.
But with one last hard yank, the bonds on his hands were broken.
Peter didn't even consciously realize it. His hands just went right for Applejack's throat. Surprised, Applejack tumbled off him and to the side as Peter finally scrambled atop her and applied more pressure.
"Kinky!" Applejack gasped. Peter's thumbs just buried deeper into her neck. "Ah like… guh, I… " She gasped for breath again.
Peter swiftly used a hand to strike Applejack in the throat. Applejack began coughing hard, and Peter did not relent, immediately going back to choking Applejack out. He planted a knee as hard as he could into Applejack's already-sore breast, making her cry out in pain. It came out gurgled and small.
Peter let out a bellow from the depths of his throat as he slammed Applejack's head back into the dirt and fired his knuckle as hard as he could into her neck. He went right back to choking her. Applejack's movements got weaker and weaker.
Finally, Applejack did not move at all. The instant this happened, Peter stopped the pressure and rolled off her half-naked body.
Applejack's knife was unsheathed and lying in the dust. Peter wiggled over to it, grabbed it after failing twice, and sliced off the ropes around his ankles.
Standing up, Peter couldn't help but regard the prone figure of Applejack lying unconscious in the dirt. Applejack the sexual assaulter, the abhorrent abomination who was so far removed from what he knew Applejack was supposed to be that it would be fair, it would be justice, to take her own knife, tightly held in his fist, and plunge it-
Peter recognized the temptation. He tossed the knife away upon realizing it. If Applejack was going to pay for what she did, she needed to be conscious for it. It was at least not cold-blooded.
There came a distant clatter on glass, and Peter whipped his head to the house. On the top level was a topless fourteen-year-old girl with an enormous red bow in her hair curiously eyeing his naked form.
Horrified, Peter covered himself with a hand and began backing away, not turning his back.
Two other girls appeared at either side of her. One was orange with purple hair, and the other white with two-toned pink hair. Both were also topless. All three were smiling devilishly.
At that point, Peter saw no reason to keep eye contact. He needed to get away!
The Cutie Mark Crusaders disappeared from view, and Peter could only assume the worst. He immediately turned and sprinted out of the front yard.
The adrenaline in his blood kept Peter going even when his bare feet felt pierced all over from pebbles on the dirt path. Even when his lungs felt about to give out. He passed row after row of apple trees and eventually made it to the front gate. Peter leaped over the top of the white fence and didn't stop.
Not too far to the east, to his left, was a tree line. Most likely the Everfree.
Peter kept sprinting right for the trees, welcoming their cover. By the time he reached the first tree, he was gasping and heaving for breath.
Peter crashed through the low foliage, pushing aside the young trees and brush. By the time he got to a tree big enough to fully conceal him from view, he had splinters on the soles of his bleeding feet.
Peter collapsed against the tree and curled up on the roots. He felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest, like his face was on fire. No matter how much he hyperventilated, he could not calm down.
And now he was free. All that could be heard was the rustling of wind through the trees and Peter's heavy breathing.
Peter stopped to swallow. It just made him tear up. And once the tears started again, they didn't seem to stop. Peter grabbed at himself, turning into more of a mess by the second.
Humiliated, furious, horrified, and hopeless, Peter curled up and wailed like a newborn.
For a long time, Peter huddled at the foot of the tree. He still occasionally shook or chattered his teeth. He was naked, and though the sun was high in the sky, there was a chill in the air.
Peter could still feel on his chest the phantom hands of Applejack– or at least, what looked like Applejack, but who was most definitely not Applejack. She would never do something like that to a man who needed help! She would never do anything like that, period!
Peter scooted up against the tree once his breathing was finally steady. The bark scratched into his bare back. Even though no one was around, he kept his knees together to conceal his genitals.
There was no way he was going back into Ponyville. It simply wasn't safe. For the time being, the Everfree, chaotic and unnatural though it was, would be the safest option.
No, wait, Peter thought, furiously wracking his brain and pondering his available options. There's the Castle of the Two Sisters. It's a hollowed-out wreck, but it's secluded and private. Actually, why stop there? The castle's built right on top of the Tree of Harmony in a cave. A good cave sounds nice.
But before that happened, he needed to cover up his dignity. A short look around quickly revealed a cluster of enormous thick green leaves drooping from seveal trees on the side of the road.
Peter hurriedly picked the torso-sized leaves. It wasn't long before he realized he needed a way to attach them.
Applejack had rope back at the barn. Peter briefly considered it. But not seriously. He was not going back into enemy territory. So, gritting his teeth, Peter set forth into the Everfree.
The Everfree forest was thickly sown and very humid. Peter quickly found himself sweating. Some of the plants Peter recognized, but there were many vivid and peculiar ones that he didn't even think existed on Earth. With that in mind, he tried to avoid touching or going near plenty of the mysterious, colorful wildlife.
Only several minutes later, he did come across a good-sized vine stuck coiled around a thick dark tree. Peter poked the tree and found that it at least wasn't sentient. He unraveled as much vine as he could reach. Quickly finding a narrow rock at the roots, Peter hacked at the vine until it split. Finally, he tied one of the large leaves around his front with a simple square knot, making an apron of sorts.
Only then did Peter feel properly clothed again. The vine bit into his back, and he still felt bare, but it was better than nothing.
Peter looked around him once more. He sighed. "Not bad." And he chuckled, changing his accent. "Not saying I want to build a summer home here, but the trees are quite lovely."
But there was no one around who got the reference, and there never would be. The Princess Bride didn't exist in this world. And once more, after nothing else happened, Peter felt helplessly alone. He slumped his shoulders and leaned on the vine tree.
Was there a way to eventually warm up to the ponies and expose them to better things? Perhaps with earth culture among them they'd…
No, Peter thought. It wouldn't make any difference. They wouldn't listen. And I'd probably mess the storytelling up, too; I don't have anything beyond my words.
Perhaps Bible stories. That gave Peter more thought. He didn't have many verses memorized, but he knew that God loved His children. How, then, to tell these ponies to repent and believe? They would either ignore him or assault him.
He could figure that out later. For now, Peter needed shelter and food.
Peter squinted through the verdant canopy. Where was the Castle again? Equestrian geography was not his strongest suit.
Peter gagued the tree. It seemed very tall. After brief consideration, he leaped up and grabbed one of the nearly-black branches. He curled up and wrapped his legs around the branch, then, with great effort, came up on top.
Peter continued to ascend the tree, keeping close to the trunk. Three-quarters of the way to the top, the branches thinned out so they became too thin to bear his weight. Or at least, Peter refused to risk it.
At this height, Peter tried to squint through the foliage. He was quite a ways up, but he still couldn't see much over the tops of other trees. There was nothing distinctive he could use for a marker.
At a loss for action, still clinging onto the branches, Peter bowed his head and closed his eyes.
"Dear God," he hesitantly began. "I'm scared. I'm lost, and I need guidance. I don't know why these things need to happen, but… I do know you love your children. I'm hoping for the best here, but if you have something else in mind, give me the will to accept it. Thanks for everything. And… in Jesus' name, amen."
He waited for a few seconds, searching for something, before opening his eyes. Initially, nothing happened. But something to his left caught his attention, and he swiveled his head.
There was a light, a wavering, shimmering effect like the sun off water. It came through the tree line, so Peter couldn't see the end result. At the same time, there came a tug at his heart and a burning in his chest.
As Peter hurriedly clambered back down the tree, he reflected. That was two for two now that God answered his prayers almost immediately in the same day. Something extraordinary was happening.
Peter hit the soil, adjusted his apron, and headed off into the wilderness with nothing else. He could feel the tug at his heart like a magnet, and it knew better than him, so Peter let it take him wherever it would.
It might have been half an hour or three hours later. Peter didn't keep track; it was just long. He tromped through the Everfree with his heart as his guide, occasionally snagging his skin on thorny bushes and stepping on wet leaves and sticks. Some things he knew to avoid, such as rocky-looking things in a creek and a small clearing full of bright blue flowers. The last thing he needed was Poison Joke to shrink his penis by half, or something. Or double the size. Either way meant trouble.
By the time Peter came within sight of the tree line, his feet up to his shins had been dirtied and scraped. Holding on to the shred of hope he had for sure shelter, Peter advanced on and eventually emerged out of the Everfree.
He was on a small grassy ledge that led to a stone staircase leading down into a ravine. On the other side of the ravine was the Castle of the Two Sisters, dilapidated, overgrown, and on the verge of collapse.
Peter examined the ruins. Now that he was there in person, he was glad he hadn't held onto hope for shelter in them. The castle was likely infested with beasts and disease, and the mortar holding the stones together seemed as solid as stale bread.
So he started coming down the steps into the ravine. The transition from soft underbrush to hard stone wore down on his feet even more, and with each step, Peter felt aches overcome his heels. But he was almost to the cave.
It was only when he reached the bottom of the steps and reached soil that he noticed something off about the cave. Curious, he approached the entrance, but Peter didn't need to go far before he got to a vantage where he could see all the way into the back of the cave. There, he could see that The Tree of Harmony was-
Peter gawked. It was on fire!
The Tree of Harmony was thickly coated in a wavering, otherworldly substance that was undoubtedly fire, swirling and snapping up in curtains that left nothing on the tree uncovered. The flame was white, though, almost translucent, and the crystal tree was not being consumed by it. The fiery flickering light reflected off the surfaces of the cave like sunlight in a pool.
The inferno pulsed, briefly taking on a turquoise hue.
"Peter Damascus Browning."
It was a gentle voice that had no physical origin as far as Peter could tell, but Peter knew that it came from the tree. And the voice…
"Mom?" Peter breathed. He scrambled forth, edging himself over the boulders and into the cave. That was impossible! How could he be hearing her voice here in Equestria?
As the tree grew closer, Peter could see details of the tree better. The long flame tongues were coiling and snapping all over, enveloping the enormous tree and licking the ceiling of the cave. But the inferno made no sound except for a small whisper, like a breath of wind on a calm day.
Peter's bare feet had been cold on the rocky ground at the cave's mouth. But upon coming near to the tree, he felt like he had been submerged in a hot bath. Peter visibly relaxed. The tense tremors and sores in his body melted away in the presence of this otherworldly, divine being.
"Thank you," his mother's voice said from the burning tree. "I am so proud of all you've done so far."
A root extending from the tree sprouted a crystal stalk two feet out of the ground, right in front of a startled Peter. The stalk quickly grew branches and red bulbs that formed into fruits the size of Peter's fist. Meanwhile, the ends of the crystal root split and grew before reforming, creating a full circle that leaked its substance into the circle, filling up with pure water.
"Eat," the Tree of Harmony invited. "Drink."
Peter, rightfully hesitant, plucked a fruit off the small stalk and squished it in his palm. It gave way easily. He gave a tenuous bite and widened his eyes at the first chew. He immediately set about devouring the treat. It had no peel, pit, or seeds, it was uniformly ripe, and tasted far sweeter than any fruit he had previously known. It didn't taste quite like any particular fruit Peter knew, but Peter knew he would rather have this fruit than any dessert in a fancy restaurant.
Peter ate three more while sitting cross-legged. Then he dipped his hand into the water, brought it to his mouth, and took a sip. The water felt like wind in his mouth, was free from any minerals or metals, and was the exact temperature he preferred: slightly colder than lukewarm. It was like melted fresh snow. Peter went back for much more.
It was a while before Peter stopped. All the pain in his feet had dissipated by now, along with all the other subtle aches and pains he had been unconsciously experiencing.
Peter stood back up and gazed more deeply into the flaming Tree of Harmony. This hadn't happened in any episode he had watched. "Who… are you?" Peter wondered.
The tree pulsed in power once more. "I am Faust."
Peter froze. As in, Lauren Faust, the creator? In that case, to these ponies…
"You mean… you're God? Pony God?" Peter clarified.
"You could say that," the tree said. She hummed in sweet laughter, and the tree flickered accordingly.
Peter's knees, already weak, threatened to give out altogether. He stumbled back, and luckily a boulder was high enough to hit his knees and plop his butt on the rock.
"I d… I don't understand," Peter mumbled. He lifted his trembling hands. "Faust? I-if that's really you? That's …"
"Hard to accept," the tree said. "I understand."
Peter breathed deeply, in and out, clutching his midsection. Hearing his mother say all this– the very concept of pony God, in a pony dimension he was in– Peter felt his head spin. He grabbed the sides of his head and bowed.
"Peter," the tree– Faust– said. "Do you need help?"
Peter took a few more deep breaths. "No, no," he refused. "I just… man. Give me a sec."
As soon as Peter steadied his breathing and looked back up, the burning tree started speaking again.
"There are many dimensions, Peter, and this one is alternate in that the My Little Pony show you are familiar with is real. But it has also diverged from its original route. Now it's a dangerous and volatile place. Please, Peter. Don't refuse my help. It is only through me that you will be safe, and your purpose fulfilled."
Peter tilted his head. "Purpose?"
"Who do you think brought you here?"
Peter pointed shakily at the tree. "You took me here? To this… nightmare Equestria?"
"Not to punish you. I promise you, Peter: all of this shall help you grow into a great man."
Peter clenched his fists on his knees. It was a relief, to be sure, to know that it wasn't a divine smite from God. But still…
"What's 'this?' What are you planning to do with me? Why– how– wha– look, Faust, I'm just a guy. Why me, why, why?"
It occurred to Peter as the words left his mouth that he was whining, and in the presence of a God who had just fed him.
In frustration, he winced and bowed his head again. "Sorry, sorry! I shouldn't be saying… Sorry."
"Look up."
It was said with such care that Peter instinctively did.
"I love you, Peter," his mother's voice said from the tree.
Peter was already threatening to cry before this. Those words put him over the edge, and tears leaked down both his cheeks. He growled and hissed, wiping the water away.
Faust stayed respectfully silent while Peter recovered. When Peter finally sniffed and got his breathing under control again, Faust continued.
"I have brought you to this dying world to bring others to a knowledge of my love," Faust said. "They are my children, and I want you to gather them to me."
"Gather… how?" Peter got out.
"You've seen my people," Faust clarified. "You are aware of their depravity, their lasciviousness. It hurts to see them suffer so. I have taken you here, Peter, to be my mouthpiece, to perform my strange work and do my mighty wonders."
Peter felt his spine stiffen and his heart race. "You want… to operate through me?"
The tree pulsed.
Peter searched for the right words. "But why use me? I mean, a human. Why not use a pony here?"
"Who would I choose?" Faust sadly but rhetorically asked. "And even if I did, my children would insist the miracles come from their own hands. I chose you, Peter, a magic-less child of Elohim, so my power and influence in your life and the lives of my children is undeniable."
Peter jiggled his head in acknowledgement. It did make sense.
"Peter, I am willing, I am eager , to bestow you with the power and authority of God. Great things will be done in my name through you, and you shall blossom as a rose in glory. But this requires your decision. Will you take it?"
Peter's heart thumped. A once-in-a-lifetime chance. To work for… someone that wasn't God?
"I don't know," Peter admitted, shifting in his seat. "No offense, Faust. I'm sure that I'd grow and learn a lot. And thank you for the offer. But… I've promised to serve no one but God. My God."
"I understand, Peter," the tree consoled, pulsing and flaring up once more. "It's a very serious oath you've taken. You're right to stick by your principles. What better service is there than pledging allegiance to a perfect being?"
Peter smiled. If nothing else, Faust was willing to listen.
"I will reason with you, then, in the way mortals do," Faust continued. "I am Faust, the queen of heaven. I swear it by my throne and my honor: I am God in this dimension. God is a label applied to perfect beings. Can you be perfect and not be a God? Elohim is perfect. I am perfect. Whether it be my voice or His, our commands are the same."
Peter hesitantly indicated a few things in midair. "So you're saying… if God– Elohim, if He said the same thing, I'd… Wait, God's not the only God out there?"
"There are infinite dimensions where the differences in intelligent life lead to creatures not made in Elohim's image. These ponies are in my image, and I maintain divine authority within my bounds. I simply asked Elohim for help with a domestic problem, and He allowed me to use discernment to pick you for the task. This is completely under your God's control. When this task is done, you will be taken back to your home as if no time has passed."
"...And if I die?"
"Your task is done," Faust answered. "So too if you refuse my offer. I shall send you back if you say no, and without a cursing or tracking. But nopony will have learned anything. Nopony would have grown or changed. Nothing would have been gained. There would be only confusion, and loss."
Silence reigned. All that could be heard was the flickering of transparent silver flames on the tree as Peter pondered it.
"Peter," Faust softly said from the tree. "You have tremendous potential. And even if you may not have faith in me, I have faith in you."
Peter swallowed. It hurt. "So… Elohim's good with this?"
"He will count your work and faith in His name. You need not swear allegiance to me. Only to the will of God; to the way of light and the pursuit of perfection."
For a short time, Peter considered it.
Then he stood on trembling legs and took several steps towards the Tree of Harmony. He could feel the heat radiating off it, see the silvery flames snap out harmlessly at him.
Once Peter got close enough to reach out and touch it, he knelt, hissing as he put pressure through his knees into the stone.
"I swear to… do God's will," Peter mumbled. "The wishes of God, of perfect beings. If this is what you would have me do, if it's the same as God would want, then… I will do as you ask."
Peter felt his heart expand and flare as brightly as the tree did at those words. And Peter was filled with the utmost assurance that this was correct. It simply felt right in his heart and mind.
"Stand," Faust invited.
Peter did. His legs were steady where before they were trembling.
"Reach for the tree," Faust chimed.
Peter did. When his finger plunged into the flames, it was only as hot as bath water.
Then the flame traveled up his arm, and Peter yelped in fright. The flame didn't hurt, but it did tickle. The silver flame, like an expanding bubble, coated his entire arm. Then it spread across his chest, spidering into his other shoulder, down his stomach, and up his neck. The flame did not consume his flesh, but Peter did feel himself becoming smoother of a sort as the flames enveloped his other arm, then his waist and legs. The leaf apron he wore smoldered and detached completely, burning and curling up.
Peter felt the flame come up his cheeks and cover his eyes. He shut them as the flames then covered the entirety of his head, closing on the crown of his skull.
Once that happened, all of Peter had been immersed in blinding flame. Peter's eyes instinctively opened, and he gasped. It was like a baby taking his first breath.
After only a few seconds, the flames seeped into Peter's skin. In no time at all, only a few flickers of fire remained on him, and they soon died out.
Peter patted himself down once his baptism was complete. His skin felt refreshed, smooth, and clean as he ran fingers along his arm. The muscle underneath was firmer, denser. His bowels felt cleared, his nose and ears more sensitive.
"What was that?" Peter asked out loud to no one in particular.
"Health in the navel and marrow in your bones," Faust informed from the burning Tree of Harmony. "Your body is sacred and ought not to be defiled."
Peter nodded. "And you want me to give this message to the ponies here?"
"Among other things. You shall be my ordained prophet. I don't expect you to be perfect, but you must try."
Peter examined his hands again. Thinning his lips, he clenched them. "I get it."
"But you must prepare to face my people first," Faust set forth. Peter's attention turned to the burning tree again. "Spiritually and physically. It would be wise to have permanent clothes, for instance."
Peter looked down, barked in alarm and embarrassment, and crossed his legs. "Gah, I'm sorry! It's just the leaf, it burned off when you, you know…"
"Every mother has seen their sons naked," Faust's voice breezed aside. "It's nothing to fear."
Peter huffed and turned away, still blushing. "Yeah, I get it. It's just personal."
"Of course," Faust allowed. "I have already prepared for this. If you'll follow me…"
And a piece of the fire on the Tree of Harmony broke off, coalesced into a sphere, and began hovering out of the cave.
Peter, with a lump in his stomach and a burning in his bosom, followed at a pace.
Author's Note
I hope I didn't say anything sacrilegious.
When Peter woke up, he immediately creased his face in disgust. There was still dried blood and hair and other crud all over his body. Sitting up, he scraped what he could off his arms with his fingernails. Of course there couldn't be a river nearby, right?
The early morning air was cool enough to give Peter goosebumps, and the sun's light didn't seep into the cave; it was coming from the east, and the cave faced west. Peter plodded out of the cave, with no other option.
The campfire had gone out. Peter sighed as he saw the ashes in the stone circle. True to Faust's word, the bear had not attracted any jackals or wolves during the night; not even a fly circled above it. So he had that going for him.
“Faust?” Peter called, turning in place. She was nowhere to be found. He kept casting his eyes about. “Faust, I need you. You promised you would help! Don't just leave me here!”
“You don't need to yell,” came his mother's response, and Peter whirled around. Kneeling at the dead firepit, who most definitely hadn't been there last he checked, was Faust. Despite her ethereal white dress being in contact with the ground, it wasn't dirty.
“...Hi,” Peter said. He sighed. “Is this going to be common?”
“No,” Faust answered, grasping the ashes in one hand. “I don't usually appear right beside my children. I speak through the head and the heart. But you need some instruction.”
“The Bestowal,” Peter remembered. “Yeah, I could use a primer.”
“But first, you need to eat,” Faust said. She stood up while dribbling the ashes from her fist. As they came down, the powdery ashes transformed into the vivid green stalk of a plant that spontaneously grew stalks and leaves, which soon became burdened with growing red fruit. Peter recognized it as the same fruit he had eaten in the cave.
Peter shook his head violently and blinked hard; the notion of magic being real was still something he had to get used to.
Peter and Faust both ate their fill; Peter had more than her. As Peter plucked the strange sweet fruit off, a replacement would immediately reform on the thin branch. And as Peter ate, he felt warmth inside his blood rise to combat the cool air outside.
“What even is this?” Peter wondered after he finished his fourth and sucked his fingers clean.
“An exclusively heavenly treat,” Faust shared from her log. “Blomberries. You can grow them to the size of watermelons.”
Peter whistled. “Please?”
“One of these days,” Faust promised. “Once you get the hang of it, you can do it yourself. But please, try to vary your diet.”
Peter nodded, but didn't really mean it. He stood up and stretched, then shook his hands. “All right, Faust. Speaking of which, if you're ready…”
Faust gracefully arose. “Then I shall begin.”
Peter nodded again.
“To begin, Peter, I ask you this. What is spirit?”
Peter thought for a moment. But nothing really came to mind. “Something I can't see with the naked eye.”
“And yet it is still matter; immaterial matter is a paradox. All physical things are comprised of spirit matter infused into physical matter. This rock I have my foot on, that log behind you, the crystal of the Tree of Harmony, and the acid in your stomach. I created all things spiritually before they were made physically.”
Unsure where this was going, Peter kept nodding along.
“The spirit matter is itself comprised of, shall we say, Sparks. The Sparks are individual entities that possess agency and willingly obey me, since they understand my authority and worthiness. Normally, their agency is used to do what is natural for the object they are infused into. But if a man comes along with the authority of God and the worthiness of one, they will alter matter in the way he desires. I commanded the Sparks in the ashes to transform into a Blomberry plant, and they obeyed, since they acknowledge me as God.”
“Oh, wait,” Peter spoke up, looking into his hands. “So all the miracles in the Bible… did they work the same way?”
“Yes,” Faust answered. “The Sparks recognize God as the best authority to listen to, since He's perfect. God gives commandments, not out of anger or fear, and the Sparks obey His will. And He doesn't need to use flourishes, words, or wands to do so, although they all can help focus your intentions. Spirit exists all around you and is in everything. It's simply more elastic and refined than anything you're used to.”
“Use the Sparks,” Peter intoned, imitating someone else. “Strength flows through the Sparks.”
“Star Wars had a few elements of truth in it, believe it or not,” Faust caught on, gesturing at Peter. “We are luminous beings, not just crude flesh and blood.”
“Are there midichlorians here too?”
“No.”
“Great. Cause– Hey, wait a minute.” Peter began doing more calculations in midair. “So the ability to manipulate objects using magic is a gift given by God, right? So what about Equestria, with unicorns and whatnot? How does that work?”
Faust pointed at the ground, and Peter followed her finger. A square of flat stone was playing footage, a four-screen montage, of FiM. They focused on the more magical side of things; everything Peter saw involved unicorns.
“When you see magic at play in the show,” Faust said as Peter watched Twilight perform examples of telekinesis, transfiguration, and conjuration, “you see the result of scholarly study by a few select ponies who were born with the gift to use it. Their efforts do get them somewhere; intelligence, or light and truth, is the glory of God.”
Peter hummed in surprise. He hadn't thought about it like that. It also made him feel a bit better about his decision to go to college; it was tough, and Peter had often found himself questioning which career path to take. He had a reason for studying astronomy, however. It was something he enjoyed. But why?
“I allowed magic to be given in this way to test my children. Not just what they choose to do with my gift, but also the reactions from those that don't. If they can handle jealousy, they will eventually come to the right conclusion: majesty and magic are everywhere.”
“But what about magic users that don't follow the laws of harmony?” Peter asked, turning away from the flat-screen rock. “Like Tirek and Discord?”
Faust's face grew grim. “There are two ways to manipulate matter. One is to ask, and the other is to force. The closer to my will you are in alignment with, the more likely it is that the Sparks will obey, and when they do, you will be in complete harmony. Those that force the Sparks through their willingness to descend into sin have a tenuous grasp on the struggling Sparks, and between them and those with the Bestowal, the Sparks will listen to those with the Bestowal– the authority of the recognized ruler. Ponies who force compliance are adulterers, Peter– wanting to enjoy the privileges without the commitments. The devil has some level of control over the elements, but they are not his to own.
“Now then,” Faust continued, coming beside Peter. “Let's begin. We can start with something simple. Take that large stone over there and command it to rise.”
Peter's legs felt shaky as he pointed at the appropriate stone. It was oblong and large enough to encase him and Faust side by side. “Rise,” he said.
The large stone did not.
“Do you have faith?” Faust asked, putting a hand on Peter's bare shoulder. “Confidence, trust, willpower? The greatest of all miracles happen through your trust in God.”
“Well, yeah, I do,” Peter hastily answered. “It's just new, that's all.”
“Then exercise your faith the same way you exercise a muscle. It doesn't matter if you're strong if that strength isn't used, pushed. Put your will into it this time.”
Peter nodded, then pointed at the stone again. “Rise!” he ordered.
The stone didn't.
“Don't crack a whip over the Spark's heads. Speak to them. Let them know you're a friend.”
“How will I know they accept me?” Peter asked. “They won't speak back, will they?”
“Just be calm. Let peace fill your mind. And then direct your will into the stone. Remember, Peter; you're worthy of this power, and this is within my will.”
That got Peter to be silent. He turned his thoughts inward as he stepped forth, out of Faust's reach. So there was nothing to fear after all, was there? Peter exhaled slowly and softly closed his eyes. And the more he thought it over, the clearer it became: why shouldn't this work? Faust had promised it, hadn't She? Did he truly trust her? Did Peter have the confidence, the faith, to have this work?
Well, there were certainly doubts. Peter had jokingly tried using the Force on the faraway tv remote or his phone before, but that was when he knew it wouldn't work. But this, this was entirely different. He needed to put trust in Faust's promise. But what if he did put his trust in, and then it still didn't work? He'd look like a fool, he would be a fool. Peter couldn't be expected to simply put in more trust than he already had put in, right?
Peter squeezed his eyes in anger as the doubting thoughts solidified. Those didn't come from God! Even if Peter hadn't done this before, he knew a few things for certain, and he reviewed them in his mind. Faust loved him and trusted him. He believed that God existed. He knew that he was worthy of actually using the power he had been given– no, he wasn't going to doubt it!
Peter raised his arm once more, keeping his eyes shut. He was going to trust completely in Faust that it would work. Why else would She be saying it?
And he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Rise,” he said. He didn't need to yell, or persuade, or implore, or even ask. He just said it.
After a second, Peter opened his eyes.
Peter didn't see it hovering, but he also didn't see the stone on the ground. He tilted his head and let out a noise of surprise; the stone was traveling steadfastly upwards to the point where he could see it get smaller.
“That's good enough, stop!” he feverishly yelled.
The stone stopped.
Peter’s heart hammered in his chest. He was actually doing it! He pointed a trembling hand into the sky again. “Now gently, back down.”
And he saw it slowly descend. Peter didn't need to keep his finger on it like zero-point energy, but he still did. The stone grew larger as it came closer to the ground, and Peter surreptitiously scooted back.
“Don't be afraid,” Faust quietly advised. “Fear doesn't come from me.”
“Does caution?” Peter asked, not turning back.
“In appropriate amounts,” Faust admitted.
Peter made an affirmative sound, then gently settled the rock back down. He did so on its end, so it would be permanent proof that he had wielded the power of God.
“Great work!” Faust congratulated, tapping Peter on the arm once he was done. “I'm proud of you, Peter. It will come more naturally as you work in practice.”
“But I need to walk before I run,” Peter said, putting his trembling hands on his hips as he admired the stone from top to bottom. So that’s what it was like! Sending the stone up in the air would… “Hey, wait a second. Faust?”
“Yes?” She was already at the rock's side, running her dainty hand on its surface.
“When I lifted the rock… what actually happened? Did the Sparks reverse the rock's personal gravity? Or was I manually doing it, as if I was holding it in my hand?”
Faust shrugged. “Does it matter? It's what you intended. You choose. Be creative. Make stones shine like lightbulbs, make them spring forth water, turn them into bread and the water into wine– it's all possible. Perhaps don't go doing it for fun– that was Discord's problem. Just because you could, it doesn't mean you should.”
“Do I need to know the chemical properties of bread to make it more accurate?” Peter asked.
Again, Faust shrugged. “Doesn't hurt. Intelligence is the glory of God.”
“But what use is knowing how… you know, gravity and inertia works, if you just bypass it anyway?”
“You need to know the rules before you can break them,” Faust replied. She slit a finger up the front of the rock as if cutting a banana long-ways, and as if to punctuate her statement, a thin, gentle current of water burst out and began darkening the stone floor of the ravine. She stepped to the side, out of the stream. “But before we do anything more, you need a shower. Try using the Bestowal while you do.”
And she turned and walked away.
It took a second for it to sink in, and when it did, Peter untied the vine around his back and dropped his apron. At least Faust respected his privacy.
He stepped in and instantly flinched away from the water; it was cold! He held a hand under the stream for a few seconds before lowering it. This wasn't plumbing; it wouldn't get hotter.
Unless…
“Warmer, please?” Peter asked the water.
Only a few seconds later, and the temperature did rise to a comfortable degree. As Peter stepped in, steam began to form.
“Who woulda thought?” Peter muttered as he began scraping more dried blood and dirt off his chest.
Peter bowed his head to wash his hair and frowned in thought. The implications Faust was suggesting! Anything was possible, anything at all, within his grasp… What would he do with it?
Well, obviously, if he abused his privileges, they'd be taken away. So trying to be selfish or pursue his own seat of power would be out of the question. The best thing to do would be to align his will with God's. But how to best do that?
Peter squatted in the steam and examined the ground. He found a good-sized pebble that could fit in his hand. “I need you to become soap,” he told the pebble. “Please?”
After no noticeable change happened, he picked up the rock anyway. The texture was far softer, slipperier. Peter squeezed it, and it shot out of his hand and landed out of the shower.
Peter sighed and made as if to get out of the rock's stream, then stopped himself. And he just curled his fingers. “Get over here.”
As fast as it had shot out of his hand, the soap pebble fired directly into his gut and dropped at his feet.
Fuming, Peter picked up the soap. And he could have sworn he heard Faust giggling.
It was another normal day in Ponyville. Mares with enormous assets were busy taking on several stallions in public streets, husbands and wives had split up to go find alternative partners for the day, and the schoolchildren under Miss Cheerilee were having yet another sex ed lesson. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the public water fountain had a milky tinge to it.
There was a line of ponies at the doors of an enormous crystal tree on the outskirts of Ponyville. To pass the time, most were sucking the others off, but the ones nearest the front were incredulously discussing among themselves. Two of them in particular were deep in thought.
“Is Twilight even in there?” Octavia Melody wondered. “She'd better be away on one of her friendship missions.”
“I'm sure she's doing something important,” Vinyl Scratch hesitantly said. Her headphones, still playing nightclub music, were resting on her neck. “Twilight wouldn't keep us waiting unless she was busy.”
On Twilight's now-soaked emperor-of-the-universe size bed, six mares and a teenage dragon lay panting, exhausted and groaning.
"Gosh," Fluttershy gasped, clutching her bare yellow chest. "That was… so intense!"
"Simultaneous climaxes… always build bonds between… the ponies that do it," Twilight recited between deep breaths.
"Egghead," a naked Rainbow weakly egged. She let out a hoarse laugh and grazed Twilight's shoulder with a punch.
Applejack groaned and sat up. She started popping wet fingers into her mouth, and when she was done, she whooped gently and pumped a fist into the air. “Ah love these weekly get-togethers, Twilight!”
“It was a stroke of genius to have us all climax before actually getting down to business,” Rarity complimented. She fluffed her latex one-piece by its wide-open front. “It clears the mind. You good girl!”
Twilight flushed even harder than she already was. "Well, er, on that note, while we're all here, is there anything we need to talk about?"
"Um, I was just wondering," Fluttershy piped up, rolling onto her stomach. "Have any of you seen Harry, my bear? I let him into the Everfree so he had a change of scenery for the day a while back, but it's been several weeks and he hasn't returned."
A chorus of negative replies sounded from the enormous bed.
"Harry'll be fine," Rainbow assured her, flapping her wings on the bed. "He's a bear!"
"Oh, but I'm so worried for him!" Fluttershy meeped, rubbing her arm. "He was my favorite animal whenever I felt pent-up and I needed release! He was so big and warm…"
“I know how that feels,” Spike contributed. He flung his hand to clean it off. “It's an entirely new dimension of feeling, Twilight!”
Twilight craned her head to her number one assistant sitting on her pillow. "Oh?"
"Yeah, Fluttershy showed me something when I visited her last week," Spike reported. He put up his fingers as he began listing things off. "If you take a male goose, and then at the right moment you cut his throat, you get to experience anal, homosexuality, bestiality, sadism, necrophelia, and even vore all at the same time!"
"Wow, Spike!" Twilight praised. "I'm so proud of you for knowing what all those words mean!"
"You kinda have to," Spike negligently brushed aside. "There's a lot to cover when it comes to kinks. Besides, with all this time around you, your knowledge rubbed off on me. Among other things, am I right?"
"Of course," Twilight cooed, crawling over and kissing Spike on the lips. "Let me know when you need more things to rub on you, all right?"
"Okay," Spike bashfully said.
"And I'm really proud of you for being so creative!" Rainbow praised, slapping Fluttershy on the butt and eliciting a meep from her. "I mean, living alone kinda accelerates it, right?"
Fluttershy whimpered and nodded.
"You can go now, Spike," Rarity instructed. "It'll just be girl talk for a while now."
Spike narrowed his eyes. “Rarity.”
Rarity gasped. “Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry, Spike, I forgot that you're a girl now!”
“You're lucky you're my friend,” Spike muttered.
“Oh, I know!” Rarity groaned. “It's just only been two weeks now since you came out as a girl dragon, and I've been so used to the stud you were that I didn't think to look for the beautiful woman within!”
Spike's cheeks turned pink. “Well, thanks for supporting me. It's been hard.”
“Harder than your scales?” Fluttershy piped up.
“Harder than your cock?” Pinkie tacked on.
“I-I dunno about harder than my cock,” Spike admitted, scratching his spines.
“Speaking of which,” Twilight recalled, snapping with wet fingers. “Spike, do you want surgery for that?”
Spike folded his arms. “Why would I want that? Girls with dicks exist, right?”
“Well, yeah, but I just want you to be… comfortable in your own scales, is all.”
"Oh, that reminds me! You would not believe the visitors I got several days ago!" Rarity exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "I was just putting all my outfits on display for the day, when who should come in but the Diamond Dogs!"
Pinkie perked up. "You mean the ones back in season 1?"
Rarity, confused, shrugged it off. "More or less. They wanted to say sorry for what they'd done way back when, but what they didn't know is…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I enjoyed it." Rarity giggled. "The helplessness, the adrenaline, the degradation! When you eventually found me, all covered with their mixed seed, I felt so drained , so used, but so alive! And then I got to thinking, 'I want everypony I know to experience that. I'm the Element of Generosity, aren't I?' Hence why I, erm, act the way I do."
"So that explains it," Fluttershy thoughtfully realized. "I'm just so happy you turned that experience around for the better!"
"What dija do to 'em?" Rainbow eagerly asked.
"Well, I didn't want to leave any bad feelings there, so I allowed their apology– as long as they paid for it. I ordered each of them to undress and expose their beastly red rockets."
"And then?" Pinkie asked, eyes wide in wonder.
"I cut them off." Rarity's smile turned sadistic as she remembered it. "Then I sewed them back on with magic so it was brand new, then I cut them off again. I edged them like this for an hour, and then allowed them to take me all at once to even it out. Oh, the thrill! It can not be replicated, Twilight, I assure you."
“I wish I had magic,” Fluttershy mumbled.
“Ah don't need it,” Applejack humbly bragged, leaning over Rainbow's inert body and teasing a small circle on her nipple, making her grunt. “Ah'm good enough at ma job.”
“And I don't need it because of Pinkie Physics!” Pinkie concluded. “Like seeing the future or making references nopony understands, or… Pinkie shifted her eyes to the side. "Oh yeah…"
"What is it?" Twilight wondered, turning to her.
"There was this one thing a few weeks ago," Pinkie reported. "We had just gotten done with a sleepover threesome with Bulk Biceps, remember, Twilight?"
Twilight put a hand to her chin. "You mean the one two weeks ago or the one three weeks ago?"
"Could have been longer than that, I dunno. But I had just woken up and I saw a super awesome looking new friend standing in the middle of town, and I was going to say hi to him!"
Twilight slowly nodded. "I think I remember now."
Pinkie spread her arms. "He looked really confused, though. He said something about alternate dimensions and college and stuff, and he looked kinda like us, but didn't have any pony ears or a tail."
"That is odd," Twilight mused. She tapped her cheek in thought. "To my knowledge, no one from alternate dimensions has visited Equestria before. At least, no one looking like your description."
Applejack perked up. "Wait, wait. Hold on. Did this guy have thick blonde hair?"
Pinkie nodded slowly.
"Was he kinda peach-skinned? Handsome blue eyes? Fidgety and scared? Had a huge cock?"
"Wait, you saw him naked?!" an outraged Pinkie yelled.
Applejack softly chuckled. "Eeyup, that's him, alright."
"You never told me you came across him!" Pinkie exclaimed, stamping her feet. "And I've been recruiting every homeless pony in Ponyville to keep an eye out for him!"
"Finders keepers," Applejack philosophized with a smirk.
"But… you didn't actually keep him, did you?" Rarity daintily clarified.
Applejack stopped smirking and leveled a glare at Rarity. "No. Ah didn't. He broke outta my bondage an' started chokin' me out. Thought it was a kinky twist at first, but he actually knocked me out. He either went too far or he was actually trying ta kill me."
"Well, either way, he needs to be tamed." Rarity stroked the length of her thigh. "Just bring him to me, Applejack, and I'll whip that boy into shape."
"What, and give 'im over to you?" Applejack angrily suspected.
"There's plenty to share," Rarity coyly suggested.
"Well, if we can find out who sent him, we can persuade 'em to send more," Rainbow suggested. "Twi, you sure you don't know who it is?"
"I'm sure," Twilight confirmed. She sighed and clambered out of her bed. "I think this warrants a visit to the Princesses. They probably have more information in the Canterlot archives."
"All right," Rainbow grunted. She waved her off while lying down. "Go and figure it out or whatever."
Twilight's horn ignited, and various small articles of clothing floated over to her. "You sure you don't want to come? It's something about sexuality we know nothing about!"
"Yeah, but research is more your thing," Pinkie lazily added. "And besides, we'll all be busy setting up for the new statue unveiling. You can show us what you've learned when you come back."
"Of course," Twilight assured, awkwardly slipping on a pair of crotchless pink panties. "After I personally share my results with the princesses."
Spike slipped off the bed and gestured to the curtained window. “But first, do we need to deal with the ponies outside?”
Twilight faltered as she was putting on a shirt that left underboob. “Oh, yeah, the renters. Well, I'll leave that to you, Spike. You help get them all situated with private rooms and facilities– and remember to leave one open for yourself when I get back, all right, Spike?”
Spike smiled shyly and twiddled his thumbs. “All right.”
A shockwave of translucent, blue-tinged fire erupted from the impact of Peter's hand with the tree trunk. The entire thing crackled as it slowly keeled over, snagging on the other branches and staying in a diagonal position there.
Peter examined the edge of his hand and compared it to the burning stump he had just created. Never before had he thought he could do something like this.
“Will and worthiness,” Peter repeated. “Worthiness…”
So he was worthy of divine power. That still came as a shock to him. What made a man worthy of the gifts of God? How could a man be imperfect, but still possess the power of God? If that were the case, then God's mercy must be extraordinary.
Between Faust's guidance and Peter's newfound power in the past few weeks, Peter had been able to fully skin, tan, dress, and prepare enough of the bear to give him a pair of furred trousers and some slippers. The rest of his garments were coming along nicely.
Peter reached out and curled his fingers. The leaning tree began to lift off the ground, without an aura covering the length. Peter slowly turned it vertically upside down and settled it down again. Once more, it leaned down on the other branches in the forest. Wood snapped and crackled as it settled to a leaning resting spot.
It was pointless, of course; Peter just enjoyed the feeling of it. His control over the natural world was still crude, but it was better than it used to be. And so now the problem was training for war.
Peter grimaced at the thought. War! Why did there even have to be war in the first place? Why couldn't the Equestrians simply be Godly and humble, intuitively living the laws of the gospel like in the show? What had even caused this to happen?
According to Pinkie, they all just kinda woke up one day and realized it was fun, Peter remembered. Fun in the moment, but it brings heartache afterwards. Surely they would have felt it. Unless there was someone or something telling them it was okay, that they should ignore their consciences. Someone had to do this to Equestria. But who?
“Staying safe?” his mother inquired.
Peter turned around to see Her, all regal and flowy. Her wardrobe changed each day, but only subtly; the trim of her robe, the shape of her veil, the collar of her dress, the floral pattern on her sleeves, all varied every day he saw Her.
“More or less,” Peter admitted. He spread his arms allowingly, then smacked the stump of the tree he had knocked down. “Safer than him. I was just thinking.”
"I see. Any questions?"
"A few."
Faust smiled. "Please, ask."
Peter nodded. "So when you tell me I have to kill these ponies, does that include their animals? Like King Saul was asked to do?"
Faust's expression became grim. "Eventually, Peter. The sins of Equus have penetrated the animal kingdom, so to speak."
It dawned on Peter, and once he got it, he let out an audible gasp. "What?!"
Faust nodded. "This only really happened in the last four years or so. I have given them ample time to realize this mistake, but they have not repented. Even the bear was a victim. Fluttershy's victim."
Peter's hands started shaking. His throat immediately dried up, and it became hard to swallow. Fluttershy, sweet, delicate Fluttershy! She couldn't have just…
"B'tween myself, my friends, my family, and th' pigs, Ah've got plenty of satisfaction."
Applejack's voice came to the forefront, and Peter's disgust doubled to the point where he had to lean against the tree he had knocked down. His stomach felt on the verge of emptying.
As Peter ran over the revelation in his mind, he had a mental image of the childlike, beautiful Fluttershy ruined and ragged and bloody from a bear's penis. Rarity, lying sprawled with her tongue out while Diamond Dogs gleefully slapped her in the face with their genitals. Applejack, caked in white and surrounded by six muddy male pigs.
"Animals," Peter breathed in horror, clutching his turning stomach. He hacked, tearing up. "They'd… Oh, no, no, no, please, Faust, what… Why would they– Why?!"
"Their creativity was running out," Faust answered simply.
Peter managed to pause his hyperventilating enough to get something out. "But… but surely, Faust, don't they know that they shouldn't?"
"Shouldn't." Faust let out a humorless laugh. "That word has been scorned and mocked. Why shouldn't they fornicate with animals? Why shouldn't they, in the name of freedom? When my children forget their identity as my children and degrade themselves to the level of an animal, it's only natural that they get treated as such. It's natural that they begin to see animals as their equal. And it's natural that they eventually drag animals into sexual sin. It would never come to their minds otherwise."
Peter had managed to calm his breathing rate, but not the intensity. Fury started to spread from his heart into his clenched fists. Anger at this world, at the alternate versions of the girls he knew, at the ones who made the world like this. Who would dare introduce these ideas into Equestria? Those ones needed to die, and slowly.
The height of abominations! What could drive a woman to give up on her life and fornicate with dogs and pigs and goats? Was it a competition now to see how disgusting and how far into the abyss one could get?
He stood up, silent, piercing his palms with his dirty fingernails. Suddenly being a party pooper sounded extremely satisfying. He needed to stop this.
“Do you understand my frustration now?” Faust whispered. “My indignation, my insistence on their deaths? Can you make peace with these ponies and accept their culture?”
It wasn't a question that needed answering.
“How much worse does it get?” Peter numbly asked.
“It can always get worse,” Faust replied, looking down into her clasped hands. “Sexual sin is a wide umbrella. Adultery, bestiality, homosexuality, transgenderism, incest, and all other sorts of disgusting and abominable acts abound here. But it doesn't exist in a vacuum. Someone had to push it, and someone had to accept it. That requires pride, jealousy, and inaction. The sexual sins you see on display are a symptom of the underlying problem, which is an abandonment of my influence.”
Peter slowly looked into his palm. It was toughened and calloused now, and had tiny cuts in the thumb muscle.
With a silent order, Peter commanded it to ignite. And a bundle of white flames the size of a tennis ball, the same type as the ones on the Tree of Harmony, burst into being.
“I'll make them remember you,” Peter swore.
Faust gave a small smile.
Peter perked his head up; there was a subtle movement in the maze of trees several meters away. He crouched and kept his eyes trained on the spot.
A few moments later, more movement came. It was upright and dark, and Peter caught a glimpse of several shiny reflections. Curious, Peter waited until it stopped moving, then crept through the canopy of the fallen tree.
The shape was moving back from where it came, and Peter could see more from his newer vantage point. It wasn't a woodland animal. It was on two feet, her back turned to him. There was a wide clay pot under one arm with various flowers and branches poking out. She was white and black-striped, completely naked, with gold bands around her wrists and neck, and pierced in her ears. She was bald except for a striped mohawk. Her tail flitted about from side to side as she sashayed away.
“Zecora,” Peter whispered as she went further into the forest. Honestly, it was a shock he hadn't encountered her earlier.
There was an urge within him to follow her, so he did. He went as quietly and as far away as he could, and his whispers to the Sparks in the trees telling him to conceal his approach helped a lot. But Zecora could honestly be playing along and leading him back on purpose, so Peter kept on guard.
He needed to follow her home and kill her. If not now, then when? Peter remembered the alternate dimension in the Season 5 finale when she became the leader of an underground resistance against Chrysalis. She would be a good contender for a substantial setback to his work. She needed to be the first. It would be practice, the tutorial boss.
Zecora led him into a more swampy and humid part of the forest. They came to a clearing that he didn't follow into. He stayed hidden among the bushes as Zecora came to an enormous twisted dark tree and entered through a lighter brown door.
After she shut the door, Peter narrowed his eyes and took a few more steps to get a closer look.
It really was Zecora's hut. Dozens of potion vials hung from strings on the branches, and a green tribal mask hung above the doorway. The raised twisting roots looked large enough to conceal a person in the dark depths, and it was surrounded by a dark green canopy of trees.
“I can't just burn it down,” Peter muttered in thought. “The rest of the forest would be destroyed too, and Ponyville would see the smoke.”
Which meant more covert and up-close ways to deal with her. Peter felt his legs begin to quiver. What would happen if he just charged right in? What if he made a finger gun and went, “Bang, you're dead!”
He emerged from the underbrush and approached at a crouch. There was a hole in the tree acting as a window, and Peter approached from the direction of the door, then circled around the tree until he was right under the window. Peter could hear the bubbling of a cauldron and the intonation of Zecora's deep voice warbling something.
“Rise,” Peter breathed. He was still more comfortable giving orders out loud. Peter began to float gently upward until he could reach the window, and he grabbed the ledge and peeked his head up.
The interior of Zecora's hut was a dark circle, and in the center was the cauldron, the green liquid inside bubbling merrily and steaming from the flaming logs beneath it. Shelves full of potion bottles and jugs lined the walls, and Zecora herself had her back to him, busily bent over a mortar and pestle on a desk. She was singing without words and hadn't given any indication that she knew of Peter's presence.
Peter cast his eyes about even more. There were more painted masks along the walls, grinning and gaping obscenely. And strangest of all, there was an idol on a table in the corner. It was clay and no taller than his leg, roughly hewn and painted. She was bald; it was undoubtedly a She from the facial structure. It was at the end of a red circle with painted shapes and broken gemstones on the circumference.
That hadn't been there since he last watched the show. Perhaps the showrunners were just afraid to show African tribalism too much.
Zecora perked her head up, and Peter flinched back down. She carefully gathered her ingredients and carried it over to the cauldron. As she poured them in, she spoke.
“Potion of stamina, boil and brew! Awaken your purpose, I command you! May all the impurities settle down.” And she turned directly towards the window and looked into Peter's eyes. “And come inside now, Peter Brown.”
Author's Note
"If you take a male goose, and then at the right moment you cut his throat, you get to experience anal, homosexuality, bestiality, sadism, necrophelia, and even vore all at the same time!"
This was a real thing that happened in Weimar Germany.
(Luigi Barzini, The Europeans)
What else could Peter do? She already knew he was there; he was looking in her grey-blue eyes. Stealth was blown. Running wouldn't accomplish anything.
Cowabunga it is, Peter grimly thought.
The window was too small, though. So he glared at the edges. “Engorge,” he said. “Or expand, or whatever. Ugh. I need to get through.”
Zecora wasn't making any moves as Peter widened the hole enough for him to pull himself through. It was as if she was simply inviting him in. Once his feet hit the floor, though, she began speaking again.
“A pleasure it is for us to meet. What's mine is yours; please, have a seat.”
“No,” Peter refused flatly.
“Ah,” Zecora replied, toying with the gold rings on her bare wrists. “I thought you might, from what I've seen with the spirit's sight.”
Peter blinked, surprised. “Sorry?”
Zecora tilted her head. “Do you speak one word at a time? That makes it hard to make words rhyme.”
Peter rolled his eyes, partly exasperated and partly amused. “Look. How do you know who I am? You can't use magic. You don't have the Bestowal.”
“But I know spirits, and divination too,” Zecora revealed, sashaying to the side of her cauldron and gesturing inside. Peter could plainly see her Cutie Mark of a black and white sun right there on her enormous butt. “There are many paths, and many truths. In my stewpot, before my eyes, I saw your location. What a surprise! A human in Equestria? It's been so long. And each time, they come saying something that's wrong.”
Peter immediately put his mind on high alert. She was trying to manipulate him; he couldn't trust her. But something had startled him; he wasn't the first.
Zecora wafted the steam from her cauldron to her nose, and sighed in delight. “This Faust you speak of. Powerful, is she. But Faust doesn't solely have divinity. I worship older gods, potent and strong! They have given me power, and their reach is long.”
“That's impossible,” Peter denied, moving around the circumference of the trunk. “Faust is the only God in this dimension. I don't know what other gods you're talking about, but they're not from Her. And if they aren't from Her, where are they from?”
Zecora winked. “Faith, dear Peter, is a powerful thing. No matter what you put it in, strength it can bring.”
“So you're a devil worshiper,” Peter clarified.
Zecora spread her arms allowingly, and Peter kept his eyes on her face and not her exposed bosom. “If I worship the devil, is it really so wrong? It doesn't impact you; can't we all get along?”
“No,” Peter answered. “To be honest, I'm not sure why I even bothered speaking for this long. Maybe to see where you got your powers. But it would have been better if…”
He stopped. His arms suddenly felt numb. As soon as he realized this, his legs felt numb too. With every quickened breath, it got worse.
“What?” Peter whispered. “What's happening, I…”
He had to lean against the wall. His knees trembled violently before giving out all together. Peter collapsed against Zecora's wall, and his breathing accelerated. Zecora, meanwhile, was watching this with a triumphant look.
Peter's blurry vision took in the cauldron’s fumes, and it came to him.
“You witch,” he breathed. She had been stalling! “That potion, it…”
“A depressant, dear Peter. It's high in demand. Ingesting its fumes make your legs feel like sand. It works well for you, but not so for me. For I have built up an immunity.”
High in demand? Peter's thoughts raced as he tried to not black out. So she was mass-producing the equivalent of rohypnol?
Zecora, meanwhile, strutted over to Peter and crouched down, making her breasts dangle in front of him. “I make potions for Ponyville; increased size and length, decreases in stamina, potions of strength. They pay me handsomely, all folks around. But for you, this is free. Now how does that sound?”
Zecora smirked and placed her palm right on Peter's solar plexus.
With a hissing ignition on contact with Peter's skin, Zecora's hand erupted into orange flame. Zecora yelped, backed off, and started to shake the fire off, and Peter stared in wonder at first Zecora, then his own chest. There was a clearly outlined smoldering indentation where Zecora's palm had been.
The blazing touch of pain, toned down though it was, awakened his resolve. With enormous effort, Peter pushed against the wall to slump upwards. The feeling in his legs, through sheer force of will, started to come back.
Meanwhile, Zecora had desperately plunged her hand into the boiling stamina potion to get the fire out, and she was now groaning and examining her twitching red hand.
“Try this rhyme on, you utter disgrace,” Peter hissed once he got to his full height. Instinctively, white flame was conjured around his entire upper body, making his golden hair float upwards and his blue eyes glow. “Touch me, and I'll break your face!”
The flames around him were repelling the fumes of the drug. It also seemed to be in his veins, purging the effects already within him. Peter appropriately felt like his veins were on fire, urging him to move and do something, now!
So he lunged. It was much faster and stronger than he anticipated, and his collision with Zecora spun her around and knocked her to the floor. Her mohawk caught on fire, and she shrieked and started to pat it out. Upon seeing her open midriff, Peter gave it a good strong kick, and she cough-groaned and curled up.
Observing his surroundings, he found himself next to the table with the spindly idol on it. It might be false and just a heap of clay, but it gave Zecora motivation and power.
So he snatched it up by the base. It weighed about fifteen pounds. Zecora had patted out her burned hair by now, and once she saw him holding it, she yelped in fear. “No, no, put that down! You know not its worth, Peter Brown!”
Peter examined the clay idol from another angle. He was still on fire, but the flames didn't hurt the idol he was holding. “This your God?”
“Rhynamatta, of fertility! Her power is great, and her mercy free!”
“Of course it's fertility,” Peter muttered darkly.
Zecora slowly got to her feet, as if she were the one holding it, and pointed a trembling finger. “I warn you, Peter. Acknowledge this truth: Accept all cultures, and their practices too! For we all are worthy, are special and valid! Destroying our cultures shows your heart's full of malice! Ask yourself this, boy. Take it to heart. What would your God do? It isn't that hard.”
Peter stared incredulously for a second. Then he spat out a burst of laughter and smashed the sculpture on her table. The idol shattered in a spray of shards.
“NO!” Zecora roared, and surged forward. Snatching up a cast iron ladle beside the enormous pot with her good hand, she swung it hard at Peter's head. It caught his hand instead, smashing a few fingers. Also enraged, Peter tried grabbing the arm that held the ladle, but she kept it out of his reach while backing away.
In the midst of his adrenaline, Peter couldn't help but laugh some more. “What, you don't have a rhyme for that?”
It made Zecora strike again. As she mindlessly closed in, Peter gave her a solid kick in the lung. It spun her back around and made her fall, striking the bridge of her nose directly on the edge of her iron cauldron.
Zecora ceased all movement, making sounds of pain and clutching her face. Peter could hear sobs as she curled up.
For a moment, empathy came over him. This was Zecora, from the show he had liked, and she was in pain, and he had caused it–
But I did so for a reason, he thought back. She roofied me and tried to do the same thing Applejack did! I came here with the intention to kill her, and she deserves to die.
So he dropped the idol stump, came behind her, and snatched her up by the back of the gold rings around her neck. Choking, she was taken to her feet.
“You're gonna love this,” Peter hissed, bending her over the bubbling cauldron. “You're gonna get high! But you're gonna do it on your own supply.”
He grabbed her by the base of her tail as well and hoisted her up, toppling her right over the edge and splashing completely into the boiling concoction. It flung some of the vile mixture all over the floor, and Peter scooted back before it got on his trousers.
Zecora burst out of the surface, screaming wildly and burned a solid red. Startled, Peter delivered a fast jab to the bridge of her nose again. Going limp against the edge of the cauldron, Zecora slumped back under the boiling surface. Peter couldn't tell which bubbles were her last breath.
Peter stayed there for a while longer, confirming that Zecora was, in fact, dead. Then he backed up to the broken idol base, picked it up, and tossed it in the foul mixture as well with a heavy splunk.
After the rest of the pieces were discarded as well, Peter scoured the house until he found a lid for the cauldron, then put it over the top; Zecora's curled raw body had floated to the surface, and he couldn't bear looking in. It would also lessen the effect of the fumes.
Once it was on, he pushed his arms outward. A small burst of hot air cleared the toxic fumes out of the house through the open window. It also sent several notes and sheets of paper flurrying about.
Curious all of a sudden, Peter shut off the flames on his body and began collecting the notes around the small hut. Most of them were sexual potion recipes, which he crumpled in one hand. The rest were old orders. The newest one was dated only two weeks ago, and Peter examined it.
Zecora,
Thank you for your Monster Futa X delivery; I had so much fun with the spa sisters when I last went in!
We'll need more of it, plus a modest amount of the rest of your collection; Ponyville's getting ready for a statue unveiling in three weeks, and I intend for everypony in town to have as much fun as they can in the festivities. I can pay double if they all come in on time.
Remember, your services are essential for the town. I should also say thanks to Fluttershy for always taking your potions into town; ironically, she's the only one brave enough to come to you. I suppose that's for good reason; you have a tendency for the unexpected. She'll come by the morning of to make sure it's all there.
Keep on being a badass boss bitch!
–Mayor Mare
Peter's fingers had crumpled the edges of the paper by the time he was done reading. Everything in this world was a perpetual reminder that the ponies in the show didn't act the same, speak the same, as the ones here.
There were also some details that were of interest. Statue unveiling? It was taking place a week from now. That would just barely be enough time for the rest of the garments to be done before he came into Ponyville. It would also ensure everyone was in one easy spot. What better time to introduce himself?
But he needed to do it before Fluttershy came by. She was another one of his favorites, and he didn't know if he could look her in the face just yet.
Peter turned slightly to see the oblong wooden masks with wide, gaping mouths hanging on the wall. Peter had almost forgotten about those.
He hummed in thought. They would actually come in handy.
Peter selected one mask that stood out to him. It looked like it would fit him, and he liked its appearance. If he could conceal his identity, it would make things slightly easier.
And besides, he could also finally do something with those bear fangs…
Peter looted the blanket and pillow in Zecora's bed. He wasn't comfortable sleeping in the same house as a devil worshiper, and as long as he washed it, they would be fine. He also saw a long black hooded cloak, and he snagged that as well; that would also come in handy.
Once he was finally sure that there was nothing else of value in the home, Peter stuck an arm into each of the shelves full of potions and swept them out, shattering each one on the floor. He took all the documents in her home and tossed them into the full, foaming cauldron.
He came out of her hut with her bedding in tow and examined the enormous tree from afar. Did he need to sink the tree into the ground? Peter eventually decided against it. And after some more thinking, he decided to leave with some words of closure.
“So ends your tale, O woman of woe,” Peter intoned. “You were nothing like the pony I know.”
And he turned away and followed his heart back to the Tree of Harmony.
Author's Note
Rhyming in this chapter was actually a lot of fun; it never felt tedious, but I'm glad it's done.
I don't want to do that again. Past this chapter, this is the end!
The early morning sun got in his eyes, and he blinked and kept them on the ground. Peter was grateful for his furry new clothing; it covered him from the neck down and kept him warm in the cool, misty air. Here on the edge of the Everfree, Peter could see the town in the distance through the many verdant branches.
Today was the day. Hopefully, everything would go successfully. With the power of Faust on his side, it should be smooth sailing, but Peter still did a once-over of what could go wrong.
Faust wasn't by his side. But, oddly enough, he still felt Her presence. The last time he had seen Faust was three days ago.
“Well, here it is,” Peter presented, laying out his bear-fur shirt and trousers and shoes on the rocky floor in front of the Tree of Harmony. He was clad only in a leafy apron. “The fruit of my labors.”
Faust, who had a hand on the unlit translucent Tree, smiled. “It is an everlasting symbol of your covenant, Peter. Treat it well. I won't always be there with you, so it will have to do.”
Peter squirmed slightly, his mood slightly dampened. “Yeah. You won't always be there.”
“In the sense that I'll leave the room, but still be in the house,” Faust elaborated, taking her hand off the tree and squatting near the garments. She reached out and tapped each part individually with her finger. Each part glowed briefly before dying down. When she was done, she stood back up. “When you wear these, think of me. It shall be like a comforting hug in your darkest hours.”
Peter had nothing to say to that. Initially. After some thought, he said, “Did the other humans you brought here make the same bear clothes?”
Faust spread an arm to the side and folded her ears. “Peter, are you trying to accuse me?”
Must have been something in his tone. “It's definitely something that would have been nice to know,” Peter put it. “And I had to learn it from Zecora before you.”
“You never asked,” Faust said. Her tail swished. “You're normally so inquisitive, but this just didn't come up?”
“I dunno, I just thought you'd… tell me.”
“I rarely ‘just tell’ anypony anything. If a man seeks, he will ask, and I will speak, usually through sources that have already been given, if he will seek it. Perhaps the answer to that unconscious question is what you were meant to learn from your sojourn to Zecora's hut. Perhaps, of course, if you will accept that answer.”
Peter sighed and turned away. “I don't like it when you keep secrets.”
“It's not a secret if you intend to reveal it,” Faust rebuked without moving. “Peter, you absorb information like a sponge, but if I were to unveil all the wisdom and knowledge in the universe at once, you would reject it, you'd turn away. You wouldn't be ready. I give knowledge to my children line upon line, bit by bit, here a little and there a little. Do you eat the entire meal at the same time? Is the entire story written at the same time? Does a child come out of the womb with all the skills needed to succeed?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Peter relented. He spread his arms in defeat and looked into the sky. “This whole thing is bigger than I thought, that's all.”
There was silence.
Peter turned back to his bearskin garments. They still retained a dim glow. He bent down and scraped the hair slightly. “Of course, that means I need you more than ever.”
“I'm proud of you, Peter,” Faust admitted. She came beside him and rested her gentle hand on his back. “And I need you as well. Perhaps through you, the best outcome for this world will happen. Perhaps through you, at least one pony will find their life.”
Too often, he thought of Faust like just another person, not Pony God. She was elegant and ethereal, to be sure, but she was also doing everything beside him. Until now. Becoming Equestria's greatest villain was a one-man job.
Peter's fist clenched the fanged mask in his hand tighter. The villain of the story. Of all things! Never had he expected to play that role; being evil wasn't on his agenda.
But it's this world that's evil, he reminded himself as he came to the tree line. The prominent red barn of Sweet Apple Acres was on the horizon just off to his left, and he shuddered at the sight.
Ponyville itself was not far away. A twenty minute walk down a hill, at best. Twilight's faraway violet crystal castle was the standout feature, even more than the rotunda of the town hall. The collection of homes, shops, and public buildings were predominantly made of colorful wood and straw.
Very easy to burn.
The town center was bustling with activity. A cloth-covered cylinder as tall as the town hall itself had been moved in some time ago; Peter couldn't guess when. There were also tents in every color of the rainbow surrounding it, and Peter could hear music and the underlying rumble of the crowd.
Peter rotated his shoulders, adjusted his long black cloak over his bear garments, and stepped out of the Everfree for the first time in a month. He sighed and raised his mask. “Show time.”
Something was off. Fluttershy couldn't explain it. She had come into the clearing of Zecora's hut, but there wasn't any smoke from the chimney. She wasn't cooking any more potions? Zecora usually was.
Fluttershy carefully trod up to the front door. There was a burnt smell, and something that made her gag reflex kick in. She normally had it under control due to all the penises she had taken into her throat, but this particular smell was acrid and horrible, like rotting meat.
Fluttershy knocked. “Hello?” her small voice called out. “Um, not to be a bother. It's just Fluttershy.”
No answer.
“H-Hello?” Fluttershy repeated, knocking again, and the unlocked door creakily swung inside. She was greeted with darkness; the candles had gone out. But enough light came in through the door and the open window for Fluttershy to see more as she hesitantly came inside.
Fluttershy set her backpack down and adjusted her white bra straps; aside from her pink sweatpants, she had nothing else on. From the backpack poked up the head of a small white animal.
“Angel,” Fluttershy warned. “Stay in the pack. This doesn't look good.”
Angel sullenly nodded and stayed put.
Fluttershy came further in, trying not to breathe through her nose. Her shoe crunched, and Fluttershy looked down. She had stepped on glass, that thankfully hadn't penetrated her foot. Checking the floor more, Fluttershy saw, in the dim morning light, dozens of shattered potion bottles and old stains that had seeped into the wooden floor. It was as if no one had lived here for a week.
And there was still that smell! Old and rotten, diseased and wretched. It was coming from the covered cauldron, sitting above cold white logs that were on the verge of turning into ash.
Fluttershy reached a trembling hand to the lid and whimpered in fright. Then she took the lid off.
Something enormous and pale was floating on top of the pallid brown concoction. It was rotting and overcooked, like the meat was about to fall right off the bone. Dull green mold had grown in several places.
It took a second for Fluttershy to realize: that meaty curvature was a pony’s back! There was the bony spine, prominently sticking out. There were some stripes on the meat, too: black ones, and there was some hair floating on top, black and white– and a series of golden rings was at one end of the grotesque floating back.
It was like she had gotten slammed in the breastbone. Fluttershy, her eyes bulging, collapsed to the ground and got pieces of glass in her palms. Her breathing came hard and fast, and she was trying to call out, to scream in horror and dismay, but nothing came out of her mouth but squeaks and terrified whispers. Zecora was dead! Boiled alive in her own stewpot, moldy and infected and cold and-
Fluttershy hacked and bent over, her stomach churning like a hurricane. More glass got into her legs and knees. There was fiery bile in her tightening throat, and she struggled in vain for every breath. Her wheezes became more and more strained, and her blurry vision was giving way.
Finally, she slumped completely to the ground, and Fluttershy felt like she could finally relax…
The fairgrounds were loud and jubilant, packed with ponies and making it impossible to relax. It was a feast for the eyes; banners atop colorful tents flapped lazily, streamers drifted down from seemingly nowhere, and bundles of multicolored ponies wearing very little clothing were spread all across the central plaza.
On one side of the town hall rotunda, there was a hastily erected wooden stage that led right into the circular concrete base of the mysterious statue. Some distance in front of the concealed statue was a simple stone slab as tall as a pony's waist. It was undecorated and unadorned.
In the crowd, three teenage fillies were accompanied by their temporary guardian as they approached closer to their viewing area. As they came close enough to see the stone slab, Apple Bloom tilted her head. “What is that?”
“I know that that is!” Mrs. Cake realized, leaning forward and addressing her temporary charge. “That's an altar, Apple Bloom. You sacrifice your newborn there as an offering to the Princesses. I remember doing one; I had to travel all the way to Canterlot to offer Pound and Pumpkin. But I never imagined there would be an altar made so locally!”
“You didn't abort them?” Sweetie Bell asked with some surprise.
Mrs. Cake fluffed the front of her apron nonchalantly; she had nothing else on. “Well, for a while, that was the best way to rise above nature; you could get pregnant, and then end it before it lives so you could keep, er, having sex without children getting in the way. But the princesses recently figured out that if the child was actually born and alive, the sacrifice is more meaningful; it's the height of independence, even more than abortion! But the foal couldn't just be tossed in the trash; it would be far more resourceful as an offering to help make your wishes come true!” She sighed, wistfully remembering. “My children meant… a lot to me. It hurt to let them go. But they at least died for my sake.”
“Huh.” Apple Bloom put her fists on her hips. “And here Ah was, thinking everypony just aborted. Everyone in ma class has done it. ‘Cept for Diamond Tiara.”
“Diamond Tiara hasn't had an abortion yet?” Mrs. Cake wondered, bewildered. “She's fifteen, she should have had one by now. What's the matter with her?”
“She's infertile!” Scootaloo announced, almost bouncing with joy. “That means she can have as many stallions creampie her as she wants, and she won't get pregnant!”
“But it also means she won't get to experience how liberating an abortion is,” Mrs. Cake lamented. She sighed, weighing something invisible with her hands. “Well, you win some, you lose some.”
Sweetie Belle hung her head in boredom, obviously not paying attention. “When is it going to start? I feel like we've been here forever!”
“It's only been two hours,” Apple Bloom supplied.
“Yeah, but I've been trying on some of my sister's outfits, and I want to get back before she notices. She has to stay here, what with her special role and all.”
“There'll be plenty of time for that,” Scootaloo promised. As she put her hands behind her head, the leather of her sleeveless jacket crinkled. “For now, we can enjoy the break. Since Rainbow Dash and Rarity and Applejack are all busy, we can do whatever we want in the carnival. Mrs. Cake, could you save our spots?”
“Anything for you, dear,” Mrs. Cake promised, kissing her on the forehead. “You run along now and be safe.”
Apple Bloom took Sweetie Belle by the hand and led her into the crowd towards a candy stand. “Come on, Scoot! They're selling Penis Pops. Whoever gets it furthest down their throats gets to Dom tonight!”
As the three girls raced towards the stand, Mrs. Cake sighed wistfully. “Well, they can handle themselves,” she excused. “Just like their sisters. They should be all under control.”
It was not under control.
“WHERE IS IT?!” Rarity screeched, holding up half a dozen different outfits with her magic and tossing them behind her. In the dim town hall, concealed by its walls, the rest of the girls were hastily preparing themselves for their role in the unveiling. “The black masquerade mask, Pinkie, where did you see it last?”
“Wherever you put it last,” Applejack retorted, bending over a bin of clothes and putting her almost-bare cheeks on display. “Well, Ah should have everything, at least.”
“You're stepping on it, Rarity,” Pinkie supplied without turning around.
Rarity lifted her high heel and spotted the offending mask. She let out a groan of consternation and levitated it up to her face. “Well, confound it. It's half an hour to curtains, and we still barely know our roles!”
“Rarity,” Applejack said simply, spreading an arm. “Literally all we do is come out when it's time to cut the ribbon, then cut it all together. Stop obsessin’ over one minute of exposure.”
“Well, yes, but it's still exposure , so it needs to be the best it can!”
“And where's Fluttershy?!” Rainbow exclaimed, zipping to the window and looking out. The dark tree line of the Everfree Forest was in the distance. “She should have been back from Zecora's by now! What's taking her so long?”
Fluttershy awoke to the feeling of paws on her face. She was lying on her back. Fluttershy blinked hard and shook her head, and the pawing stopped. A white rabbit was there, nestled firmly between her large breasts, looking her dead in the eye.
“Oh,” she groggily realized. “Hello, Angel. Thanks for… waking me up. I'm sorry, but I just…”
Saw Zecora's moldy, overboiled rotten corpse floating in a pot. And the stench was still there, too; Angel had his nose pinched with a clothespin and was looking anxious.
“Yeah,” Fluttershy admitted. She groaned and sat up, careful to not jostle the glass some more. Angel retreated to her lap. “I want to get out of here too, but I'm…”
Hurt and scared and alone and confused. The pain in her bloody glass wounds was enough to make tears form in her eyes. And when she reflected upon the fate of her friend, it drove Fluttershy completely over the edge. For a while in the darkness of the abandoned hut, there were only the sounds of Fluttershy's sobs, sniffs, and whimpers. Even Angel, tempestuous though he was, allowed her time to grieve.
Finally, Fluttershy sniffed hard and scooted to her feet. All of a sudden, she couldn't stand to be in the place. She staggered out of the hut, not even picking up the backpack at the doorway. Someone had done this to Zecora! Fluttershy didn't know who, but when she found out who did…
“Come on, Angel,” Fluttershy shakily ordered. “We need to tell the others.”
The rabbit, taken aback by her tone, hopped up Fluttershy's body into her hair. And Fluttershy spread her wings and took off.
Only a short while later, Fluttershy emerged from the treetops and into the cool afternoon air. Spotting the fair off in the distance, she took off as fast as her wings could take her.
As it turned out, she didn't have to travel far. As soon as she passed the tree line of the Everfree, a rainbow blur blazed to her position and skidded to a halt in midair. It was Rainbow Dash, clad only in a sports bra and booty shorts, her hair in a ponytail. “Fluttershy! What the hell took you so long?!”
“Oh! Oh, I, I, um-”
“Guh, never mind. Come on!”
And Rainbow grabbed her by the hand. Fluttershy felt a hard yank and a smack of whiplash, and all of a sudden she was staggering on the floor of the town hall's second floor, while Rainbow was gesturing at her. “Here she is!”
“Took you long enough, dammit! We needed you half an hour ago!” Applejack denounced.
Fluttershy's stomach had already been churning from the sight of Zecora's decomposing body, and this sudden whiplash made her lose it completely. She bent over and vomited with a splash all over the hardwood floor.
“Oh!” was the collective cry of all the girls, and all of a sudden Rarity was beside her, patting her heavily on the back and offering a handkerchief to her lips. “Darling! Darling, breathe. In and out.” And she craned her head to Rainbow. “Confound it all, Rainbow Dash! Be more gentle with her next time!”
Rainbow scoffed. “Rarity, telling someone else to be more gentle? The world's ending.”
Fluttershy's lips were trembling, her throat on fire, her knees weak. “I'm… give me a second.”
“Er, I'm not sure how much we can spare here!” Rarity understated, patting Fluttershy on the back harder. “The curtains are about to rise at any minute!”
“What kept you?” Pinkie inquired. “Ah, wait. Maybe it's a surprise!”
The firm brass of a collection of trumpets began sounding, and the five girls barked out cries of alarm and rushed to the stairs, speeding down as fast as they could.
The anxiety of the moment outweighed the horrors she had recently seen. Though Fluttershy from all appearances was all right, there was still something awful inside.
The triumphal trumpet flourish drew the attention of all Ponyville, and all eyes were upon the mayor as she ascended the wooden steps on the stage in front of the concealed statue. She came to the microphone embedded in the front podium and cleared her throat.
“I know you all want to get back to your festivities, so I'll make this quick,” Mayor Mare promised.
Some polite laughter followed.
Mayor Mare indicated the crowd. “Citizens of Ponyville. Friends. Countrymen.” And she turned her gaze towards the cloudless afternoon sky. “Celestia… princess of the sun and sky.” She rotated around to the veiled statue and jabbed a finger at it. “The Elements of Harmony!”
And a burst of white smoke erupted onstage. Soon, five mares emerged from the smoke, to the wild applause of Ponyville.
Each of them were in outfits that corresponded to their personalities. Applejack, in a slutty cowgirl getup, blowing kisses as she strutted alongside her friends. Fluttershy, small and timid in a homely pair of sweatpants and a bra, the secret outfit all men desire the most. Rarity, clad in a sleeveless leather jacket and black latex leggings, with black latex gloves and a masquerade mask, waving extravagantly. Rainbow Dash, sporty and spunky, in very revealing gym clothes. And Pinkie Pie, in a pair of pink sunglasses, a gaudy fluffy halter top, and nothing else.
As the applause finally died down, Mayor Mare gestured with admiration. “These very special ponies, celebrities and legends in their own right, have recently defeated Lord Tirek and saved us from destruction. In the process, they have given us this wonderful castle in Ponyville, and have made this town world-famous. So we have them to thank for the influence needed for the decision to be made to build an altar of sacrifice and a tower to the princess's glory right here in our little town!”
Once more, Ponyville roared with delight.
Mayor Mare reached into the podium and produced a pair of golden scissors as tall as she was, and handed them off to the five girls beside her, who positioned themselves so they were holding it symmetrically.
The girls headed to the back of the stage and onto the concrete podium, right in front of the ribbon holding the canvas sheet around the statue up. Mayor Mare raised her voice. “And so it is my great honor and privilege to present this Godly statue for all of Equestria to gaze upon!”
The five girls ponderously closed the scissors, and the ribbon split in two. The sheets and frame surrounding the statue came down gently, and all of Ponyville finally saw the long-awaited marble statue.
It was of the four princesses in the four cardinal directions, standing facing outward, with their left arms bent and their palms faceup, while their right arms stretched up and slightly backwards so it made a point in the center. It would take two ponies on each other's shoulders to reach up to the tip of the dangling stone penis between each of their legs; they were all naked and hermaphrodites. The princess’s hair was long and unfurled; their tails curled about one of their legs. The detail was painstaking; one could see the veins in each of the princess's arms and legs and penises and breasts. The statue was larger than life, it seemed.
The applause and roars of awe and wonder went on for what seemed like minutes. It left ringing in the ears. When it was finally all done, the Elements of Harmony took center stage beside Mayor Mare again.
"The hatred in this world has been conquered!" Mayor Mare proudly announced. "And love has taken over all!"
The entire crowd of ponies once again erupted into earsplitting roars of jubilee and celebration.
Once the noise subsided, Mayor Mare swept an arm behind her. "And today we dedicate this statue and altar to the Princesses, the powerful mares that made it possible to fully unlock our greatest potential and our deepest desires." She lifted a fist in the air. "Long live the princesses!"
"Long live the princesses!" echoed the crowd.
"Long live Equestria!"
"Long live Equestria!" echoed the crowd.
"Long! Live! Me!" Mayor Mare proclaimed.
The crowd emphatically repeated it and broke into cheers and wild screams afterward.
And just like that, everything changed.
A blinding chain of lightning roared out of the cloudless air and slammed down into the tip of the elaborate statue. Rubble and shrapnel blew apart and flew in every direction, clattering on the wooden stage and crumbling on the concrete base. The crowd's screams turned from celebratory to fearful right as the broken statue toppled in four directions. Each bursted on impact with the ground, turning into useless rubble.
A thick layer of dust where the statue used to be obscured everyone's vision of the stage. Mayor Mare coughed and sputtered, trying to wave away the cloudy particles. The crowd was on the verge of panic, but there was a collective curiosity as to who could cause this and why that made each pony stay right where they were.
The dust cleared slightly, and the silhouette of an upright figure could be seen in the cloud. After a few seconds, he stepped forth. Mayor Mare backpedaled to the very edge of the stage right as the chilling silhouette emerged from the dust cloud and revealed himself. He was the size and shape of a pony, but he was most certainly not a pony.
He was covered from the neck down in thick brown furs that looked like it came right off a bear, and he was wrapped further up in a flowy black cloak that concealed his hands. His face and hair was not shown. He instead had a dark brown wooden mask carved in the exaggerated visage of a jungle predator, and bear fangs decorated the gaping mouth and chin, sticking out and further enhancing the look of a fearsome animal. There were slits in the eye holes that allowed his striking blue eyes to barely be shown.
Mayor Mare slowly lifted a knobbly finger at him. "Who… are you?"
The man pointed a peachy hand at the mayor. "Who are you?" His volume-enhanced voice was deep and carried an undercurrent of authority and power. "You are a child of God, made in Her image. You have been given great blessings and privileges, which you have abused. And unless you repent, you will suffer the consequences of your decisions."
Mayor Mare had rolled her eyes at the mention of God, and when the man was done speaking, she loudly talked over him. "So you're a prophet?" And she let out a few high-pitched barks of laughter. "And here I thought we put an end to your kind ten years ago!"
The man tilted his head slightly at her words. "You know the words I would say already," he reflected. "But you refuse to obey. Though you're a daughter of God, you're a child of Hell."
And the crowd behind the mayor broke into angry yells. They consisted of outraged cries: “I'll show you consequences!" "You just ruined the show!" "I am God!" "Get off the stage!"
Mayor Mare pointed an accusing finger. “Listen here, prophet. As mayor of this town, I order you to leave and take your lies somewhere else.”
"I'll do you one better," the dark figure intoned, lifting his hand. Into his open palm came a spiderweb of silvery fire that danced on his fingertips. "As the prophet of Faust, Mother of Creation, this world shall be destroyed if you don't repent."
As the Elements of Harmony made defensive stances, with Rainbow Dash slightly opening up the pair of enormous scissors by herself, Mayor Mare slowly growled. “I will not serve a false god!”
The figure tilted his head down challengingly. “You already are.”
His hand clenched.
A deafening visible shockwave erupted from his fist, throwing the Elements of Harmony off the stage and scattering them all over the ground with heavy thuds. The screaming crowd scattered. One end of the golden scissors embedded deep in the ground, and the other was opened wide at an angle wide enough to impale anypony who was flung into it.
And with an explosion of blood, Mayor Mare was flung into it. She twitched, sighed, and expired, looking like a bug on a collector's pin.
Peter turned his attention away from the bloody corpse of the mayor to the edges of the crowd. It was beginning to disperse out of the central plaza and back into the thick of the town itself.
“Surround them,” Peter muttered. “Cut off their escape!”
He raised his hand and turned his head to see the results. In a synchronized line, a transparent barrier of eternally-sustaining silver fire formed around Ponyville’s perimeter. The train station was cut off outside the perimeter, and Twilight's castle, on the opposite side of town, was just barely within the borders of the flames.
"Kill him!" came several cries, and Peter turned to who said it. Instantly recognizable in the crowd, the twin spa sisters, Lotus and Aloe, were backed up against a three-story complex on the edge of the plaza, pointing and shrieking right at Peter.
“Keel heem!” Lotus petitioned the air. “Somevone, keel heem!”
Peter pointed his spread hand into the crowd. Blinding streams of white flame blazed out of each fingertip and struck with a sizzle into five of the nameless background ponies. After each one, the beams split, going into two more, then two more, until a sizeable portion of the retreating crowd had been pierced with sharp and vivid lightning.
Finally, Peter pointed a finger at the wide street many of them had gone into. Out of his fingertip, a basketball-sized comet blasted out, shrieked through the air, and impacted the ground with enough explosive force to throw a geyser of flame and dirt into the air. The three-story complex the spa sisters had been backed up against promptly collapsed with a shatter of stone and wood, burying alive anyone unlucky to be close enough.
Peter reviewed his mental notes as the flame wall was created in the intersection of street and plaza. He didn't need to kill all of the townsfolk right now. They would all eventually die anyway. But the sooner he could get the message out there, the better.
Peter declined his head. The five Elements of Harmony had gotten to their feet and were affixing him with glares of fury or fright. But one of them was missing.
“Where is Twilight Sparkle?” Peter slowly, impatiently asked.
“You,” Pinkie snarled, her poofy tail stiff in the air. “You big… fat… meanie! You're just a stupid party pooper!”
The word-for-word replica of the term made Peter chuckle. It echoed across the empty, flaming plaza. “Prophets have always been party poopers,” he repeated from memory, folding his arms.
So these were the Mane Six. Five, whatever. And Spike was nowhere to be seen. Peter caught Applejack staring with fury at him, and allowed a smile of satisfaction to cross his concealed mouth. And the counterparts of Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash were as equally disappointing to him as Pinkie and Applejack had been.
“Wait a minute!” Fluttershy exclaimed, pointing up at Peter's mask. “That's Zecora's mask! You took it from her hou-” She gasped, her hands to her mouth. “Oh, no,” she whimpered. “You… You killed her!”
The other four girls turned to Fluttershy simultaneously. “What?!” they cried in shock.
“I found her body this morning,” Fluttershy shakily revealed. “You did it…”
And the other girls slowly turned to Peter in anger.
Peter had been counting on Fluttershy finding the body. He nodded so they all could see. “And I would do it again.”
With a few hard puffs of her wings, Rainbow flapped twenty feet into the air, putting up her dukes at Peter and making him crane his head. “Come on, ya fat furry! One-v-one me! I'll kick your fucking ass!”
Peter winced at the language and looked her dead in the eye. “Down.”
And Rainbow's wings seized up, unmoving. She yelped in fright and plummeted twenty feet back down to the earth, landing hard on her side and smushing one wing. She didn't move; she had most likely broken a rib. Fluttershy gasped and rushed to her aid.
“You MONSTER!” came Rarity, and enveloped Peter completely in magic. Peter was raised into the air, and Rarity jabbed a furious finger up at him. “I show everypony pleasure and pain, but I'll forgo the pleasure for you! Stay back, girls!”
And a dozen bits of stone rubble were raised from the strewn plaza. Coated in Rarity's aura, they fired right at Peter.
Upon impacting Peter's skin, they shattered into even smaller pieces and blew away. Immobilized, Peter allowed her to exhaust all her ammunition this way. Then, through his will, he ignited his body into white-turquoise flame.
It made Rarity's horn catch on fire as well, which came as a surprise to both parties. Rarity shrieked and cut off her magic, and the flame went away. Peter landed to the ground with a heavy slam like a cat.
Taking advantage, Peter pointed right at Rarity. He didn't want to kill them, not right away. But he did want to give them a reminder. And a good example of one was almost hanging out of Rarity's unzipped leather jacket.
With a silent command, Rarity's right breast was shorn right off with a spray of blood.
The anguished sounds coming from Rarity were inhuman, unimaginable. She tried to keep it in place, but the slippery breast slipped out and squished with a blood-wet plop on the earth. Blood was getting all over the leather and latex, and Peter couldn't decide which she valued more: her body or her clothes. Rarity was hyperventilating and pawing at the ground weakly as more blood leaked out. He shut off the fiery aura once he figured she wouldn't be a problem.
The instant this happened, Peter felt a fist slam into his chest. The blow was absorbed by how thick the bear pelt was and the blessing Faust had given it, but Peter felt it enough to pay attention to his next challenger. Pinkie Pie, crouched like a feral cat and completely naked by now, screamed at the highest pitch she could reach and fired herself at him again.
At first, she came from the front. Then, when Peter blinked, she zipped away and came at him from the side, striking him a few times before coming from a different direction.
Pinkie's hits to the chest were hard; even after the hit absorption, Peter could feel each one. But he continued allowing them to land, staring her down as she continued to rapid-fire punches into him.
Then he threw his head up. Pinkie's face was in the way of his fangs.
Pinkie cried out and immediately broke into sobs, clutching her bleeding face. There were deep red lines in her chin, splitting her lip and going up her cheekbones and the cartilage of her small nose.
Peter wasn't done. His ruthless fist connected with her cut face, sending her plummeting off the stage and landing on her upper back. She curled up and began bawling.
Thick drops of blood dripped from the fangs and discolored the lower part of Peter's mask. The fire from his earlier ignition had set the stage at his feet ablaze, giving him fearsome lighting.
Peter regarded Applejack beneath him with narrowed eyes. Applejack's expression of fury was tainted by horror and fear, flickering here and there to her injured friends.
Peter's arm came up. His fingers curled twice in a challenge.
Applejack broke into a snarl and pushed her wide-brimmed hat over one eye. “You'll regret the day you came here,” she promised, as deeply as she could.
“I already do,” Peter promised, bending his knees.
With nothing else to be said, Applejack launched into the air. Her legendary legs were more powerful than Peter initially realized, and she flipped and came down with an axe kick a second after where he had once been. The heel of her cowboy boot splintered the stage.
Peter kept his eyes on her and his arms up to block the next strike, which impacted his forearms and made them sore. Applejack followed up with the ol’ one-two before delivering a spinning kick to his arms again.
“You think ya can jus’ waltz in and start killin’ us?!” Applejack yelled, launching a hard right hook next.
Peter caught her fist with his right hand. It took more force than he anticipated. “Obviously,” he quickly replied.
He shoved Applejack's fist right back into her face, then silently ordered the Sparks in the air between them to erupt. With a shockwave, they did.
It only blew Applejack back a little bit before launching another kick. As soon as the attack was committed, Peter ignited into flame again, sharpening his reflexes, and snatched her foot.
And while her leg was up like this, Peter's other fist fired directly into Applejack's groin with all the force he could.
Applejack toppled backwards and collapsed, clutching her sore vulva and making little whimpers and sounds of pain. Peter stayed right where he was, regarding her on the stage, and was suddenly struck by its familiarity. Once again, he was standing over a helpless Applejack, where he could easily slay her if he so desired.
He didn't.
Peter turned his back on her and squinted at something on the stone base that had miraculously survived the devastation so far. It was a simple stone altar. Mayor Mare had mentioned as much, dedicated to the Princesses. So that needed to go.
Peter gestured upwards, and the block of solid stone gently soared into the air. With one command, the altar snapped in half like a Kit-Kat. With another, the two pieces were loudly blasted in two opposite directions. One splooshed into the nearby river running through Ponyville. The other sailed in a clean arc out of the town and crashed into the tree line of the Everfree.
A hand gripped the back of Peter's cloak, and he whirled around, breaking the grip. Applejack was on her hands and knees, face contorted in pain and outrage. Her hat was off.
“Don't,” Peter warned.
Applejack ignored him and fired her fist into his groin.
She stayed like that for a few seconds before looking up despondently at Peter's emotionless mask. Peter hadn't felt a thing; he had ordered his skin to be as tough as steel.
She was in the perfect position for Peter to grip her by the base of her ponytail and drag her to a half-standing position, which Peter did. He marched to the end of the wooden stage, with her struggling the entire way, and hurled her, with enhanced strength, to the ground. She landed on her lower back, and Applejack yelped and went stiff.
Peter hopped off the stage as well and headed for the wall of fire leading into Ponyville. There were rubble and body parts along the way, and Peter avoided stepping on them the best he could.
“Hey!” Rainbow's scratchy voice bellowed. “Get back here, you! You think I'm gonna give up that easy?!”
Peter stopped. He considered it for only a moment. Then he swiveled on his heel and stalked right back for a startled Rainbow Dash, shakily on her feet and clutching her side.
Rainbow Dash. His personal favorite, and the one he was not looking forward to fighting the most. Peter had gotten Rainbow out of the picture quickly for that exact reason.
Rainbow stumbled over to him, wheezing and cocking an arm back. Peter knocked it aside as it closed in, then swung his arm and with a hard thunk backhanded her to the ground.
Rainbow was wheezing and coughing for breath. She got to her elbows and knees, bringing them under her, then rose up once more, face contorted in rage.
Which Peter punched as hard as he could. Rainbow stumbled back and collapsed once more, and this time, she did not get up.
Rarity had fainted from blood loss. Pinkie was still crying and clutching her cut face. Applejack was hissing and groaning, unable to stand. Which left only one.
"That DOES IT!"
The distinctive voice of Fluttershy was enough to turn him to her.
Indeed, there she was, briefly blinded by her rage so she had the courage to stand up to him. Her pointed ears were flattened and her long pink tail stiff in the air. The fires he had been heading to burned some distance behind him, and in the fifteen feet between him and her, there were pieces of rubble and spots of blood on the earth. The smoke had darkened the air around them.
Peter narrowed his eyes as his mind reviewed what he knew. This was a doppelganger. A monster who abused herself with animals, whose every waking thought was about sex and how to pervert it. If the real Fluttershy saw her, she'd want to get rid of her.
This monster pointed at Peter. "You do NOT just come in here and start destroying Ponyville for no reason! All the ponies you're hurting– what have they ever done to you? They are my friends! My lovers! They've brought me so much light, and here you are, burning it all down!"
Peter knew that she didn't know the entire picture, but there was only one answer to her accusation. So Peter folded his arms again and slowly nodded, making sure she could see it.
Fluttershy growled and put her hands on her wide hips. "If you don't stop what you're doing right now and offer us all an apology, I'm going to have to use… The OTHER Stare!"
Other Stare? There was only one. Then Peter remembered that she was living in a sexualized world, and he instantly knew what the first kind of Stare was. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.
That just seemed to infuriate Fluttershy even more. Hovering in the air on her wings, Fluttershy's gaze suddenly hardened and burned.
Peter couldn't look away. Fluttershy's gaze was strong, and vivid.
But the fear and guilt he was expecting… simply didn't come.
And the more Peter reflected on it, the clearer it became. The Stare was meant to induce obedience by influencing guilt, and Peter did not feel guilty about his actions. And anyway, Fluttershy's ideals were simply wrong, and he knew what was right, so why should he be coerced into doing her will?
So Peter, after allowing her to stare him down for a good ten seconds, thrust his chin out pugnaciously. "Try harder," he taunted.
Fluttershy almost stopped hovering in shock. Her very expressive face was pulled in confusion and distress.
Then Peter answered her with his own Stare.
His own vision was hazy, probably from the bright glare in his irises. He poured all his scorn and rebuke into that look, and it was amplified by the power of Faust, and Fluttershy was naturally bashful, so it didn't take long before a captive Fluttershy whimpered, winced, landed, and feverishly turned away from Peter's glare.
"Your gaze is strong," Peter acknowledged. He blinked, and his gaze softened. "But not enough. Don't you know that with a glance, the Goddess could smite you into dust?"
Fluttershy slowly turned back to Peter. She was not about to look him in the eyes again. So her gaze now roamed all over Peter, examining the bear pelt he wore. She froze after a few moments. Her eyes then traveled to the teeth on his mask.
"I know those teeth," Fluttershy breathed in realization. "I've kissed his lips too often! Did-" Fluttershy began to hyperventilate. "Did you k… kill my bear too?!"
It really was the same bear, then. Harry, if he recalled correctly. Peter felt revulsion sweep over him at Fluttershy's words. And also relief; at least Fluttershy couldn't do any more damage to the bear. Faust's purposes were truly all-encompassing.
Oh yeah, Fluttershy had asked him something. Peter nodded once more. “For his own good.”
That was not the answer that won Fluttershy over. She dropped to her knees and began to weep, palms over her eyes. “But why?!” she wailed. “Why are you destroying everything we love?”
“Are you sure you want to hear the answer?” Peter asked.
In the bundles of Fluttershy's enormous hair peeked out a small white face with long pink ears. It was Angel, the boisterous little thing. Angel, for his part, knew his loyalties. Much as he liked teasing Fluttershy, she was still his owner. And seeing her in this condition had made him boil over; Peter could see the scarlet in Angel's furious expression.
Angel bounded out of Fluttershy's hair and leaped to the ground, and then back up to Peter’s face, jaws wide open and fully intent on biting his face off.
For Peter, most likely because of his Bestowal, it was as if Angel was slowed down just a little bit, giving him more time to react. Peter's hand came up and clamped around Angel's face right before he reached him.
"No," Peter denied.
And he clenched his fist.
Angel's head was crushed in his grip with a burst of blood. His soaked lower body dropped to the ground at Peter's feet.
"ANGEL!" Fluttershy screamed in horror, falling to her hands and breaking into even more tears. She crawled on her hands over to the bloody corpse, gibbering the entire way. Upon reaching him, Fluttershy gently picked the body up with her dainty hands, gazing at Angel with grief and disbelief.
Peter finally felt guilt come upon him. The feeling in his hand when the rabbit's head had imploded was a disgusting, squirmy one. Peter never wanted to do it again. And murdering two pets, one of them a rabbit in front of its owner, was about as villainous as it got– Peter felt like the biggest douchebag on the planet. Fluttershy had gone through enough in one day already.
Fluttershy was still kneeling in front of Peter, weeping over Angel, with the enormous fires still blazing only a few meters away. Peter could have killed her too, like the bastard he felt like, but even though this was a completely different Fluttershy than the one he knew, his heart swelled.
"Fluttershy."
And the pony froze, bending her teary face up in reply. It didn't make Peter feel any better.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. But he also knew what Fluttershy was guilty of. "He shouldn't have gotten involved."
Fluttershy's face contorted in fury. She rose up and hurled a fist at Peter's mask.
Peter easily caught the fist with his hand. Even with all the force Fluttershy had put into it, she lacked any kind of threat.
"It's what needs to be done," Peter tried to reason with the struggling girl. "I know you don’t understand. You need to see with heaven's eyes."
"You mean…" Fluttershy's stricken eyes quivered. "You're really doing this in the name of God?"
Peter bowed his head to better address her. But he probably was just intimidating her more. Poor girl. "It wasn't my idea."
And he threw Fluttershy's fist back, sending her stumbling and plopping on her butt. She still held Angel's body.
“I’ve killed your pets,” Peter told Fluttershy while she was lying there. “But at least I don't bang them.”
And he turned and stormed away. Upon reaching the flame wall, the fires parted, and he went through without catching them on fire. The crackles of fire drowned out the weeping he had caused the girls to make.
But it didn't drown out the pangs of heartache.
Everywhere Peter went, there was chaos and destruction. For instance, when he entered a particular public square that was crowded with teeming and desperate souls, most ponies fled at his appearance, and the few courageous ones that remained soon followed.
As they fled, Peter pointed his spread hand into one section of the crowd. And he hesitated. Did he really need to kill them so directly?
An image came into his mind of the altar. What else could they be doing with it under a giant statue of the naked princesses? Something obscene, no doubt. Something normal for this world. Something unsafe for the unborn and the young children already here.
All this passed in a second. And Peter changed his aim so it targeted the older ponies first.
Blazing tongues of fire ripped through more than a dozen of them, and the rest of the crowd dispersed as quickly as they could. Peter was soon left alone in the town square. The fire wall behind him had spread to several homes, darkening the sky with smoke.
Incidentally, Peter recognized his surroundings as the same town square he had appeared in when he first came to Equestria. The reason why was because of the prominent building directly to his right.
Sugarcube Corner. Peter tilted his head up and examined it regretfully. Why did it have to descend like this? Where children could see explicit things carved out of chocolate in the window, where it was under the management of freaks that thought semen needed to be in everything.
Peter sent out a visible pulse that washed over the building. There were ponies inside, huddled behind the counter and under tilted tables. Upstairs, Mr and Mrs Cake hid in their room. There were cradles in the bedroom, but empty ones. Where were the children?
And Peter remembered the altar, and it all became clear.
Peter twisted his face in realization and disgust under the mask. He lifted his arm. With a flick of his hand, the walls of Sugarcube Corner ignited into flame. Not content, Peter willed the fires to rise higher, and soon the entire building was enveloped in snapping orange.
The glass display shattered, and one pony– the name came to him through the spirit as Flitter Gust– crawled through into the street, coughing. She recoiled backwards upon seeing Peter, though, and almost seemed eager to leap back into the burning building.
“Well, Flitter?” Peter proposed without moving. She had no discernable personality, but she had a name, which made her stand out to him. She only had on a pair of lilac bikini bottoms and her pink hair bow, however, and she was not the pony she should have been. “How clean are you in the eyes of God?”
Flitter Gust couldn't look him in the eye.
Peter also said nothing, and he turned aside and started to walk. Suddenly, something heavy struck him in the back, and he stumbled before whirling around.
Flitter Gust was recoiling in the air from her impact, flapping up and trying desperately to fly away from the flaming town.
Peter reached out with his hand and clenched. Fitter Gust was instantly held in place ten feet in midair. Redoubling her efforts to flap away didn't help, and she screamed as she realized it.
Peter couldn't just throw her back into the burning building, but he couldn't let her fly away, either. So, closing his eyes in guilt, he violently jerked her neck.
Peter heard her screams stop and her body hit the ground. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and whirled around, unable to look.
Flitter Gust wasn't going to do anything more, but the sounds of Flitter's screams and desperate cries still tore at his heart. So he left; nothing more was going to come from looking at her gray body.
The roar of Sugarcube Corner behind him couldn't quite drown out the pounding in his ears.
He set fire to every other building he came across. Peter was on a direct route to somewhere specific, but there was no time like the present.
He turned a corner into a residential street. Background ponies everywhere were panicking outside their homes. Between the tall fires surrounding the town and the fires within the town swiftly approaching, there was little they could do. A few pegasi were lifting ponies one at a time into the air, but they were mostly mares and couldn't carry as much as the stallions could.
Upon seeing Peter in the street, the screaming intensified; Peter scrunched his face at the noise. And he was met with an onslaught of voices clamoring with various things. Some were pleadings to spare them. Some were furious railings and accusations. But one voice above the rest caught his attention.
“OUTTA THE WAY!” bellowed a very distinctive pony, and he elbowed several mares aside as he pushed through the crowd. When he got in front of everyone else, Peter was surprised he even needed to get to the front at all to see; the pony was nearly twice as tall as the others. He was pale, his eyes red with madness. Every part of him bulged with muscle, to the point where his black wife-beater fit him like a loose sunburn. He probably couldn't fit through most doors unless he turned to the side.
“Bulk Biceps,” Peter recognized, tilting his head to look him in the eye. “I used to look up to you.”
“YEAH!” Bulk Biceps roared in triumph, assuming a double-gun pose that was more like a double-cannon. Then he quickly reevaluated. “I MEAN, SHUT UP!”
Peter folded his arms. So this was the one dumping his foul seed into Pinkie and Twilight every week regularly? In addition to who knows how many other mares. Peter could easily see it. But he cut off his mind before it went any further.
“YEAH, YOU! YOU SHUT YOUR FACE!” Bulk Biceps assumed a crouch that blocked out the crowd behind him, arms wide and ready to receive his opponent. He snorted like a bull, his bloodshot eyes unstable. “WHEREVER YOU'RE GOING, YOU GOTTA GO THROUGH ME FIRST! YEEEAH!”
And the crowd roared with triumph behind him.
Peter examined Bulk with exasperation for just a moment. Then he made a finger gun and pointed at Bulk Biceps’ head.
He fired, and Bulk's eyes glazed over. He swayed unsteadily on his feet before leaning forwards, and with a quaking thud , Bulk Biceps toppled facedown, brain-dead.
That's what David really shoulda done to Goliath, was the thought that came to Peter. He was tempted to laugh.
But the panicking townsfolk made it hard to do that. As Peter came forward, each of them dived into their homes, terrified to even breathe the same air as him. Peter ignored them as he passed by; the fires would take care of them soon enough.
Peter trudged onward, and everywhere he went, he was given a wide berth. He came into new streets and saw some townsfolk desperately having their last sex sessions with anyone nearby, before they were consumed. These ones Peter didn't allow to finish; he left their exposed bodies lying in the street.
Others were taking valuables and any small possessions they could carry and running somewhere, anywhere that wasn't where they currently were. Peter spotted, through the teeming crowd, a ragged, dirty old homeless pony snatch a blanket out of the arms of a pleading mother on the other side of the street. Peter quickly targeted and slew the homeless one with a bolt of white fire that sent him sprawling on the front steps of a home. When this happened, everyone scattered anew, including the mother who he had helped out, and Peter was left alone once more.
The worst ones were the ponies that didn't even attempt to move. On his path through Ponyville, Peter sometimes found these dead-eyed ponies staring at the fires swiftly approaching them. They had given up. They knew they couldn't be saved. Peter spared them and regarded them with a broken heart.
Finally, once Peter reached his destination, he had to swallow something invisible as he came to an abandoned small music box lying on its side amidst other debris. The music box was open, but Peter couldn't hear its tinkle over the screams of ponies in houses all around him.
Peter looked up sadly. He was at his destination.
Carousel Boutique's windows proudly displayed only lingerie, latex suits, and other lewd accessories and decorations. There were even throw pillows and blankets with the most obscene pictures and captions like Incest is Wincest, or Money's Tight, But Not Me. Past the displays, Peter could see plastic models and racks full of nothing but more of the same thing.
"So shallow," Peter mourned.
He lifted his hand and placed it on the side of the shop. Blazing orange flame blossomed out from his palm and covered the boutique's wall in a matter of seconds. With a nudge of Peter's mind, the flames spread to the entire boutique shortly after.
Peter stood silently, gazing into the blazing depths of the beloved set piece. It was a shame that Carousel Boutique needed to go, but it was very likely that all sorts of awful things had happened within. And now its filth was burning away.
After Peter had his fill, he slowly turned. The heat and wind from the powerful flames sent his cloak snapping out to the side, and he winced as he saw Ponyville as a whole now.
Pillars of inky smoke arose from dozens of spots all across the town. Several homes and shops had collapsed into piles of blazing wood and glowing stone. Peter could hear cries and screams and crackles of flame.
Peter winced as he folded his arms. Not at the sight of a destroyed piece of childhood, but the fact that he had done it. It needed to be done, and Peter had no regrets about destroying Ponyville, but if Peter said he enjoyed it, he would be either a liar or a madman.
Peter examined the scene further. Most of the inhabitants seemed to be flooding towards the distant Castle of Friendship. Boxed in by the flames, there was nowhere else to go.
"That won't save you," Peter murmured. He set off for the castle.
“Everyone inside!” Spike urged, holding Twilight's castle doors open for the flood of ponies coming his way. “Make room, make room! Quick!”
One pony in the crowd, Carrot Top, poked her head over the top. “Oh, it's useless!” she cried. “Can't you see? We're all going to burn! We're all going to die!”
“The castle is safe!” Spike yelled back before her words could be taken to heart. “It's from the Tree of Harmony, and it won't allow the castle to be destroyed! Now come on, inside! Twilight has rooms for all of you!”
Spike miraculously wasn't swept aside by the inundation of ponies rushing inside. His eyes started to get tired from the flashing of all the different colors of their skins, though. The smoke in the air wasn't helping either. Spike could see the fires that had consumed most of Ponyville only about 100 meters away, and the rush for Twilight's castle was never fiercer.
Then the screams became louder, the pushing more intense. As the last of the ponies came inside and Spike could finally shut the door with a ponderous bang, Spike saw the cause of the commotion.
There he was. The fires of Ponyville that stretched out behind him threw the Prophet's front into shadow. And Spike numbly realized that he was the only one left outside!
The prophet inclined his head in greeting. “Ah. There you are, Spike.”
Spike let out an uncertain whimper. He plucked at the front of his red button-up shirt and shuffled his feet without breaking eye contact. They were both the same height.
“I must say, you're taller than I imagined,” Peter said, stepping forward. Spike appropriately went backwards an equal amount. “The Spike I knew hadn't hit his growth spurt yet.”
The Spike he knew? But something was off. Spike set his face in stone, his courage returning. “I am not the Spike you know.”
“I figured,” the Prophet said.
“I mean, it's not his spurt. I'm a girl.”
The Prophet made no response.
“And I don't know you, so you must be some kind of stalker, or someth-”
The Prophet burst into laughter, bending over as it doubled. Spike felt his color rise in embarrassment and fury.
“A…” the Prophet got out. “A girl?! You're not…” He stopped laughing abruptly. “...You are serious,” he noted.
“I've never been so serious about anything in my entire life,” Spike affirmed.
The Prophet sighed in resignation. “And never have you also been so wrong.”
That did it. Spike lunged for him, baring his claws and fangs. The Prophet stepped aside right before his attack hit, though, and Spike snarled loudly and repeated the process.
With every swipe, the Prophet nimbly dodged, without even revealing his hands or spreading his arms. Spike would close in and snap his fangs, and the Prophet would suddenly be just out of range.
“You reach and you grasp, but it's just too far,” Peter taught, evading another lunge. Spike was getting increasingly angry as their little dance went on. “Some things aren't meant to be, my man.”
“I AM NOT A MAN!” Spike bellowed, stopping with tears in his eyes. “HOW DARE YOU CALL ME THAT, you stupid, you… you hateful-!” Spike snarled and screamed in frustration.
“Spike,” the Prophet said.
“SHUT! UP!” Spike bellowed, and a torrent of green fire came out of his wide mouth. It created a barrier between him and the Prophet, who made no attempt to bypass it. Spike jabbed a finger at him through the fire. “You don't know me! Not what I've been through!”
“But I do know biology,” Peter shut down. His dark image was hazy through the merry green waist-tall flames. “Spike, I could have hurled you a football field away by now, but I'm choosing to stay and say this to you, because no one else will. You will never be a woman! You’ll lose yourself for nothing!”
“Yeah?!” Spike fired back in his blind anger. “Well, you'll never be a good pony!”
Peter was silent. For a few seconds, there was only the snapping of flames as they stared each other down.
“I've listened to that lie before,” Peter said. “It came from the devil. So is the lie you're listening to now, Spike.”
“What if I want to be like the devil, huh?” Spike challenged, starting to encircle the firepit. Peter appropriately circled so he was opposite him. “What if I don't want anything to do with you?”
And Spike belatedly realized that by circling around the fire, Peter now had a clear path to the castle.
Peter pointed through the fire, which licked harmlessly at his arm. “Then I still triumph.”
And Spike was hurled backward at the speed of a train. He flew until he struck the splintered timbers of a collapsed house some distance away.
As Spike lost consciousness, his last thoughts were of intense anger at Peter's words.
With a deafening crack and burst of wooden shards, the twin heavy doors blasted into splinters and scattered all over the floor.
The monster was there, his hands balled in fists and his posture stiff.
Peter looked all around. The castle was the same as he remembered from the show. Rich deep purple carpets, angled crystalline pillars merged into the walls, emerald green doors and windows. Golden candelabras were stuck into the walls, and the high ceiling was firmly buttressed.
There was a long hallway to his left and right, and a hall going forward. Ponies were in all three halls, scrambling backwards from his terrible presence.
He set foot inside the castle. He might have been the first human to do so. It was momentous for him, at least. Peter cast his eyes about, partially admiring the castle's features, but partially observing the crowd. They were restless, rumbling with whispers and hisses.
“You know why I'm here,” Peter finally said, and the whispers died down. “Your sexual sins have offended God. This is your last chance. Repent and become clean again. Or die where you stand.”
“You're gonna kill us because we're horny?!” came an outraged yell. Some ponies yelled in agreement.
“Because you abused the gifts of God,” Peter corrected, turning in the appropriate direction. “Because you preach lies that turn your children away from truth and into darkness.”
“And what'll you do, set the castle on fire?! Crystal can't burn!" the same voice retorted.
Peter's mind immediately reflected on Faust at the Tree of Harmony. How the tree's heavenly influence extended directly into Twilight's castle. There was literally no way this crystal couldn't burn.
Peter couldn't help but break into a small, deep bout of laughter. He lifted his hand high in the air and instantly slammed his palm into the crystal floor. A deep shockwave accompanied a spreading circle of white flame centered on Peter. The flame, only as tall as grass, ate up the carpet just fine, but it traveled through crystal like it was gasoline, coming to the walls and pillars and immediately traveling up them.
The collection of ponies shrieked and started running deeper into the castle or up the stairs. Peter, straightening, raised his hand above his head, and the pale flames expanding all around him grew in intensity from grass blades to wheat stalks.
The flames on the pillars and walls reached the ceiling and merged into the roof. Doubtless the flames were reaching the upper levels now. Peter could sadly picture in his mind the ponies at windows and balconies, considering jumping.
Peter, of course, was unhurt as he started strolling through the castle in the midst of the surrounding flames. With each footstep, a new circle of white fire was born that grew in diameter until they merged into each other.
Peter reached a pair of wide double doors. A quick fist into the center of it smashed the locks and blew the doors inside.
Peter found himself in the circular throne room, with the prominent Cutie Map out in the center. As fire quickly spread throughout Twilight's throne room, Peter examined the active Cutie Map.
Most of Equestria had been defiled. The map showed that most of the landmarks and structures in the world had been twisted into various phallic images and suggestive shapes.
Peter gazed upon the map with growing resentment and horror. It had gotten to the point where the sexualization was honestly ridiculous. Canterlot's slender pearly spires looked explicitly like penises sticking into the sky. The Mare of Liberty in Manehattan's bay held yet another penis right above her gaping mouth. Las Pegasus… well, it was Las Pegasus.
Peter kicked Twilight's throne down until the headrest cracked against the edge of the table. From there, he strode across the back of the throne onto the holographic table. Peter towered over Equestria, looking down with absolute disgust.
"It really does need to die," Peter realized.
And he turned his eyes upward. The decorated roots of the Golden Oak Library were embedded in the ceiling. And with a lump in his throat, Peter realized that he would be finishing the job Tirek had started just a few months ago.
He held a spread hand up in the air, collecting coils of flame from all around the room in little streams. They coalesced into a tight translucent ball that grew bigger than his head. And, squeezing his eyes shut, he hurled the fireball into the map at his feet.
Fluttershy had been numbed to the sounds of explosions and battle by now. But one particular blast and flash of rainbow light made her turn her gaze to Twilight’s Castle of Harmony.
Or at least, what used to be it.
She saw branches and pieces of the trunk shatter and fly outwards. Where the crystal tree used to be, now there was a column of white-blue flame billowing outward and consuming the tree. A tower on the back end fell off entirely.
“No,” she whispered with horror anew. The rest of the girls saw it too, and they too made shocked and grieving sounds, then fell silent. The Castle of Friendship remained as a stump filled with mesmerizing, twisting blue fire.
Finally, Applejack stirred and got to her knees, hissing in pain as she moved her hips. “Shy!” she moaned, then panted. “Yer the only one… who can fly righ’ now. Get to Canterlot an’ find Twilight. Now!”
Fluttershy turned to her injured friends, fear and uncertainty etched deep in her face. “But…”
“Ah'll patch ‘em up. Go!”
Fluttershy whimpered in fright. But she took to the air, squinted through the smoke to the northeast, and took off for Canterlot.
The Canterlot Library was a beautiful getaway from civilization. Windows to the north and east showed wavy plains, deep green forests, and faraway settlements, but it was still an isolated spot in the world where Twilight could lose herself in research.
And yet despite all the research she had done so far, nothing had come of it. Even with magic assisting her speed, nothing within the Canterlot Library had made so much of a mention of contact from another dimension. From history and theological textbooks to biological and anthropology textbooks, from scientific journals to magical grimoires, and even the fiction and fantasy sections, the visitors matching Pinkie's description were an unknown enigma in Equestria.
There were some odd spots in recent history textbooks where interdimensional visitors could have easily fit in, but it seemed almost stricken from the record. For instance, in Manehattan forty years ago, there was a record of “an unknown individual” who had led a small public protest against the Marriage Equality Decree that had just passed. He died in an episode of street violence only six moons later, though, so nopony knew a thing about him. It would be awfully convenient if it were an alien or something, but there was no other proof.
Twilight groaned in frustration and plopped her face between the pages of Fillydelphia Funeral Records 725-775 ALB. The pages smelled so refreshingly old with every nasal inhale that Twilight sighed with delight. Perhaps endless research wasn't all bad.
A pair of hands clutched her small shoulders. “Twilight,” crooned a sweet, motherly voice.
“Princess Celestia!” Twilight exclaimed, turning her face slightly to look up. Sure enough, facing her was the kind-faced princess of the sun, clad only in a very revealing and thin white one-piece that merged with the color of her dainty pearly skin.
“Keeping busy?” Celestia asked, taking one hand and tucking a bit of flowy ethereal hair behind her own pointed ears.
And the feelings of frustration and disappointment came back. “Too busy,” Twilight mourned. “I've been in here a week now, and I haven't found anything about visitors from alternate dimensions.”
Celestia's expression flickered with surprise and concern before settling on curiosity. “Twilight, what in Equestria are you talking about?”
“Pinkie Pie reported seeing someone from another dimension, and so did Applejack, and I'm not going to doubt the Element of Honesty.”
Celestia put a slightly trembling hand on the table as she maneuvered to Twilight's side. “Describe this visitor.”
Twilight tapped a few times on her open book, then stuck them out. “Mostly he looked like us, but no pony ears or tail. Blonde hair, blue eyes, peach skin. And he didn't have magic at all.”
Celestia was silent.
“What?” Twilight asked. “Is that familiar?”
Celestia wrung her hands with concern. “Twilight, come with me.”
“But the books-”
“Won't help you,” Celestia finished. “Remember what I said five years ago? You can't learn everything from books.”
Twilight sighed with resignation. And she pushed the books aside and stood up. “Then show me.”
Celestia beckoned, and Twilight followed. Celestia strode to the library doors and creaked them wide open, and Twilight plodded along behind her.
As they walked through the castle halls, Celestia kept her hand on Twilight's upper back. “You are… certain of his description?”
“Yes,” Twilight confirmed. “Do all humans look like that?”
“Not necessarily,” Celestia taught, turning at an intersection. The guards at the hallway corners stiffened at their approach. “Their features are interchangeable, but not outrageously so. We've only had a small sample of humans that have come to Equestria so far, and each of them had some slight difference– hair, skin, or eyes, they were all alike. And yet each of them was unique.”
“How many have come here again?” Twilight wondered, looking up at Celestia.
“Six,” Celestia answered. Her pearly-white fingers caressed Twilight's shoulder. “Seven, if your reports are correct. Every time, their story has been the same, right back to the first one sixty years ago. He was a man named Steven who appeared right in the center of Canterlot. He had no idea what this world was, and after some adjustment, he lived in isolation in the city until a nighttime fire claimed his life. His body was never found, though.”
“What was he there for?” Twilight asked.
“Who knows?” Celestia asked thin air, reaching for a doorknob and twisting it. Celestia ushered Twilight inside the royal chambers, and Twilight felt her heart rate spike. She'd been in here before, on less business-oriented times, to have private sessions with the princesses. Perhaps there was something significant here?
Celestia was still speaking. “This human, Steven, identified himself and said he had no idea how he got here or what he was supposed to be doing. So he stayed here in Canterlot, as a local oddity, doing nothing significant until his death. And no other human was reported seen in that time, nor for twenty years afterward. Then another came, in much the same circumstances, to Manehattan. This time, however, he had a message for us.”
“What message was that?” Twilight asked.
Celestia led Twilight to the bedside and took her hands. “Repent.” And she giggled. “Can you imagine it? Coming across dimensions just to tell us to stop. Trent, he said his name was, and his skin was black as ebony. All he talked about during his time in Manehattan was repentance. Of our pride, of our ignorance, stuff like that.”
“This was forty years ago?” Twilight clarified.
Celestia nodded.
“So this was around the time when the Marriage Equality Decree was passed,” Twilight figured out, turning away with a finger to her chin. “Perhaps that's what he was protesting about?”
“Most likely,” Celestia said, coming behind Twilight and caressing her hips. “Trent was a man who for whatever reason was disgusted with the Marriage Equality Decree and heavily protested it. It wasn't from the Goddess, he said.”
“Goddess?” Twilight repeated, turning slightly to Celestia right behind her.
“Each of the humans after Steven had that in common as well,” Celestia muttered in Twilight's ear. “They talked about God and said they were prophets. None of them actually demonstrated any kind of magical aptitude, though. Not like you, Twilight. You're special in my eyes.”
Twilight sighed with lust as Celestia kissed her deeply on the lips. It lasted only a short while before Celestia broke away and pushed her on the bed. “Is there anything else about humans you'd like to know?”
Her brain was partially clouded by lust. But Twilight cleared her throat and sat up. “Er, yes, actually. Do you have any relics from them?”
Celestia frowned, almost regrettably. But before she could speak, a deeper, more musical voice interjected.
“Not much,” was the reply from the corner, and Princess Luna emerged from around the bend, wearing nothing but skimpy white lingerie. She took her time while strutting up to Celestia and Twilight, swishing her billowing cloudy tail on the floor. “Or at least none that tell us much about their homeworld. I had been out of the loop for a thousand years, so I kept an eye on the relics my sister had gathered. They told us very little, and every human that came here has either left or died. But one human decided early on to stop talking about repentance and instead realized that our world is full of love. He came to me, begging to be mine, and I made him mine.”
“Really?” Twilight gaped as Luna approached. “You married a human once?”
“No,” Luna replied, tilting Twilight's chin up. “I made him my servant and rewarded him with sex. He wasn't much different from the other stallions I've serviced. Not at all like you, Twilight.”
She smooched Twilight on the lips and leaned back on the bed, spread-eagle.
“Well, Twilight?” Celestia crooned, running her hand up Twilight's back. “Did we answer all your questions?”
Twilight took a shuddering breath and put her knees on either side of Luna's side. “All of them for now.”
“Then study me now, I beg of you,” Luna murmured, crooking a finger.
"There's a lot I want to study about you," Twilight agreed, hooking her finger around Luna's bra strap.
But before Twilight could pull it down, there came a metallic jiggling at the locked door, followed by a rapid knocking. From behind the heavy door came a muffled voice. "Twilight! Twilight!"
Twilight recoiled. That voice was small and quiet, but unmistakable.
The brass doorknobs were covered with Twilight's magic, and the doors unlocked. Instantly, they burst open to reveal Fluttershy, panting and shaking as her head was bowed.
"Well, this is a surprise," Celestia murmured, eyeing her hungrily. "But a welcome one."
Fluttershy, however, let out a loud sob. And the mood in the room abruptly changed.
"What?" Twilight asked, clambering off Luna. "Fluttershy, what is it?"
Fluttershy staggered in, her legs trembling and her hands pawing at her cheeks. She was making noises, but no words came out.
Twilight felt a bolt of alarm course through her entire frame. She leapt off the bed entirely and came to the crying Fluttershy, cradling her on her feet.
"Hey, hey, talk to me," Twilight cooed, rubbing the small of her back. Their skins felt so warm when pressed together. "Take some breaths."
Fluttershy wiped her eyes with Twilight's hair and covered her face with her hands. "It's… bad , Twilight!"
"What?" Twilight gently repeated.
Fluttershy pointed behind her. "In Ponyville," she choked out. "I… there's…"
"What about Ponyville?" Twilight prompted, unease growing in her gut.
Fluttershy just burst into more sobbing. "Oh, Twilight," she moaned. "What's ha… ppening to us? What have we done to… deserve this?"
Twilight turned her head to the princesses in confusion. Luna and Celestia both had shocked expressions, and Celestia, after a moment, turned to the south-most window and opened the blinds with a flick of yellow magic. Twilight turned again to look outside.
In the distance was a massive pillar of smoke rising from the approximate location of Ponyville. Twilight's breath caught in her throat; even the Castle of Friendship was nowhere to be found.
"By the stars," Luna whispered in awe. She set her expression. "Fluttershy, who did this?"
Fluttershy broke off her crying to reply. "A monster!" She took several deep breaths. "He was… wearing one of Zecora's masks, and… he killed my bear! He's wearing him as a coat! And he killed Angel! I saw his head get… Oh, Twilight!" And her crying redoubled.
Twilight, shocked, could only numbly pat her friend reassuringly on the back. Could it be…
“Fluttershy,” Celestia quietly but firmly ordered. “I need you to tell me everything you know about this monster. What did he look like? What did he say?”
Fluttershy didn't answer immediately. Her nose was too clogged to speak. But her tears had gone dry now, and she haltingly spoke. “H-he… he w-was like us. But n… no tail. He told us to r… r-repent, and he started just… shooting!”
No.
It couldn't be!
All three princesses gave each other stupefied, gobsmacked looks while Fluttershy kept clutching to Twilight. While this all processed, Twilight's mind went into overdrive. Her panic was only held back by her shock and drive to be strong for Fluttershy.
Finally, the residual fury locked inside Twilight leaked out, stiffening her posture.
“Fluttershy,” Twilight said, resolute and quiet. “Take me to him.”
“What?!” Fluttershy exclaimed, jolting out of Twilight's grip. “M-m-me? Go back?! I, I, uh…”
“Fine,” Twilight relented. “Where is he? Did he leave Ponyville?”
“N-n-not that I can remember,” Fluttershy got out. “Are you going to kill him, Twilight?”
“If I have to,” Twilight vowed. “Ponyville was almost destroyed recently by Tirek. And now this monster's finished the job. I can't afford to hold back.”
“There's a spare regiment of soldiers in the barracks,” Celestia revealed, all previous signs of lust gone and replaced with dread authority. “If nothing else, they'll be needed to restore order to what's left.”
“Fine,” Twilight allowed, heading for the open window. The mass of billowing smoke in the distance didn't entirely conceal the flickers of faraway residual flame. “Tell them to be ready on the double. Where's the survivors?”
“I-I'm not sure,” Fluttershy stammered, plopping down on the bed. “I left right as he was busy destroying y… your… Oh, no, Twilight, he destroyed your castle!”
Twilight's hands balled into tight fists, which slammed on the windowpane. Her stare towards the distant enemy was as hot as the fires he had set. So the last remnants of the Golden Oak Library were gone now.
Twilight would rain hell upon the Prophet for that.
On a tree stump on a hill outside Ponyville's smoldering remains, Peter sat and numbly oversaw his work.
The fiery perimeter of Ponyville's ruins had disappeared, allowing a small percentage of ponies– including plenty of named ponies, oddly enough– to escape onto the plains near Sweet Apple Acres, which he could see from here. There was an enormous resettlement program underway on those fields, likely overseen by Applejack and the rest of the Apple family. Rainbow, Rarity, and Pinkie were probably getting treated for their wounds by Nurse Redheart, or something. And Fluttershy…
Well, he knew Fluttershy had flown to Canterlot. He had seen her from the open ruins of Twilight's castle after he emerged from it. The princesses would come, or an army.
Peter bowed his head again, grasping his sweaty face with his cool hands. Once more, he was just a nervous college kid, in way too deep over his head in all this. An army! Because of his actions, provoked by his words! As the Prophet, he was uncaring, ruthless, determined to finish it quickly, so that he could get it all over with, because at his core, he was still just a guy! He didn't want this, he didn't want to even come here in the first place. Righting the world's wrongs sounded good in theory, but then doing the dirty work yourself…
Peter popped his knuckles, and it reminded him eerily of the snapping of Flutter Gust's neck. His stomach began to churn again, and he clenched it.
“Hurts,” he mumbled. “Faust?”
Oh, if the ponies could see me now, talking to my invisible friend, my imaginary buddy that they couldn't see! “There's a word for people with your condition,” they'd say. Murdering and muttering to yourself.
Peter growled at those thoughts and shook his head. That didn't come from Faust. Or God, or wherever. What, was he going to doubt his faith before he doubted his doubts?
“God?” he muttered, clasping his hands while his head was still bowed. “Is this really what you wanted? Did I really do a good job? I'm just… now that I've actually done it, I'm unsure. Could I have handled things differently?”
He paused and reflected on his actions. How else could he have said it to Ponyville? This particular world was almost cartoonishly evil– a caricature, that's what Faust had called it. Exaggerated. Fake. What if… this entire world he was in was just the product of someone else's awful mind? And because someone else had thought of it, it was now an alternate dimension, complete with its own God and its own destiny. The only reason this world existed was perhaps solely because of the disgusting mind of another person.
It was an intriguing thought. Peter's thoughts began to drift back to the simulation theory. Perhaps it truly was all just a test. But there were so many loose ends with how on earth he was put into the hypothetical simulation that he just discarded it.
Or, perhaps, out of the infinite multiverse, I happened to come to the boonies. Figures.
“Peter.”
Peter looked up. No one was there. But he heard his mother nonetheless.
“Faust,” Peter said into thin air uneasily. “If I'm not going mad, that is.”
“Nothing I can say will assure you,” Faust acknowledged. Her voice was in his head as clearly as if she was in person. “Do you believe it's me, though?”
Peter sighed and slumped. “Yes,” he relented.
“You've done well, Peter. I'm glad you had the stomach to do this; it's a very hard thing for righteous men to kill.”
“Kill,” he repeated, hollow. “I know that I… was determined before, but it hits differently afterward. Those deaths, those fires, my words… I can't undo it. I've set in motion things that can't be undone.”
“Yes,” Faust answered. “And so I urge you to commit fully to your choice; do not look back once you are set to the plow.”
Peter's throat hurt as he looked steadfastly down; Ponyville's ruins were awful to look upon.
If Peter did commit to his decision– which he was going to do; it wouldn't work out if he decided to stop– then how many times would these atrocities repeat? Would Peter be able to retain his identity, his sanity?
“I will do such terrible things,” he mourned, clenching the fur of his pants.
“And they will still not recognize their sins for what they are,” Faust mourned as well. “I will have a humble people, and since they did not choose to be humble, they must be compelled to be humble.”
“But by doing this, we aren't making it any better!” Peter objected, shooting up to a standing position. “They'll just hate us, they won't listen to us. Why should they? Shouldn't we be, I dunno… Once they see what I can do here, they should be more willing to listen.”
“I already told you, Peter, I'm not prioritizing that right now. If they are willing to repent, then I shall welcome them, but they were slow to remember me, so I shall be slow to remember them. My true biggest concern is the gift of life, and how it begins and ends, so I have placed strict limits on how ponykind uses the divine power of creation. And they squander it on fool's errands.”
“Yeah, I know,” Peter groaned. “But even the children? Faust, I killed foals. Fillies. Who does that– what servant of God does that?”
“Equestria massacred its own young for decades before I brought you here. Millions of innocent children every year, inside and outside the womb, dead at the hands of their own parents. Where's their pile of shoes, their museums and memorials, their sacred sites? Millions of voices are begging me to avenge their blood, Peter, and I will not delay judgment any longer. Perhaps through devastation, fathers and mothers will rediscover the value of life and the importance of their legacy.”
Peter was stunned into silence. Never before had Faust spoken so fervently about anything.
After some silence, Faust picked up. “Don't single children out, of course. Though children are brought back into my glory– since their agency hasn't fully been developed yet– if you target children because it's fun, I will make you wish you had drowned in the sea.”
The authority in her words made Peter go stiff as a ramrod, even though he had no intention of harming them in the first place. “Yes, mom. I mean… Guh.” His legs suddenly trembling, he plopped back down on his stump, wiping his face. “So it's maintaining a balance, then?”
“Don't hunt specific ponies down. This job isn't so you can have fun, and it's not even to slay ponies indiscriminately; as I said, if I wanted to destroy the world, I could easily do so. Your purpose is to bring to the world remembrance and repentance through fire and war.”
“That still doesn't make any sense!” Peter objected.
“It will come to you in time. Some things must be learned from experience.”
Experience. With killing. Peter snorted at the thought.
“You'll have company soon. Twilight is coming. And she is the one you must pay the most attention to.”
What on earth did that mean? Obviously Faust wouldn't explain it right now; experience, and all that.
“Do I have to fight her?” Peter whispered.
“No. Let her know that you don't want to fight. If she presses you, escape, and I'll give you instructions from there.”
Peter grunted to acknowledge it. He lifted his head to the mountain in the faraway skies. Through the smoke and in the distance, Peter could see tiny specks, like flies, buzzing around Canterlot Castle.
Peter stretched out his legs; they had grown stiff. He squared his shoulders and relaxed them, flicking his hands. “All right, Twilight. Let's talk. Done enough killing for today anyway.”
And upon saying it, the more he remembered every detailed and estimated death, the worse his stomach churned.
The spa sisters. Mayor Mare. Bulk Biceps. Flitter Gust. Hundreds who had taken refuge in Twilight's castle, and inestimable others killed by the wildfires. Their lives permanently being stamped out was one thing. The fact that it was all because of him was another.
He wasn't about to beg for apologies from the survivors. Neither was he going to renounce his service to Faust. But that just made Peter feel more alone than ever before.
Author's Note
One reviewer said Peter came across like a psychopath in the making. Does he really? Sure hope not.
With a creak of the barn door, sunlight spilled into the musky barn and illuminated the dust hanging in the air. It made Pinkie Pie blink and wince on her cot. Her eyes had been heavy and saggy for the last day from a lack of sleep and a surplus of tears.
“Everyone,” came her closest friend’s voice, and Pinkie perked, managing to sit up straight.
Indeed, there she was, illuminated in the waning sunlight like a descending angel, and dressed like one too, with the sunlight reflecting off her violet armor. Twilight’s eyes were cast around the barn, focusing on the other ponies lying on their cots. Rainbow, bandaged around her ribs, only grunted, not sitting up. Rarity was still unconscious, hooked up to an IV beside her bed to compensate for the blood loss from her missing breast, prominently missing from her softly rising chest. So, being the only other one, Pinkie waved in greeting; she couldn’t do much else because of the bandages around her lower face, and if she smiled, she’d hurt the stitches in her lips.
Pinkie’s action only seemed to darken Twilight’s expression, however. It confused Pinkie for a second before realizing that seeing her in this condition would make Twilight even angrier at the Prophet.
“Mmm hmm mm mm-hmm, Iwi,” Pinkie muffled in consolation; it was the best she could do.
Twilight’s lips peeled with grief, and she rushed to Pinkie and embraced her. It made Pinkie yelp– her back was still sore.
“He did this,” Twilight whispered into Pinkie’s shoulder. “That bastard, that monster! Not even Tirek…”
“Where’d he go?” Rainbow demanded, hoarser than usual. “Twilight, did you see him?”
Twilight took a few moments before removing herself from Pinkie and turning to the prone Rainbow. “Yeah,” she darkly said. “He’s not sorry.”
“Figures,” Rainbow sighed. “Twilight, I promise, I tried to stop him, but he… He’s just…” The words in her mouth seemed to hurt Rainbow more than her ribs. “...Too… strong. Gnaaah, I hate it!”
“There’s no shame in that loss, Rainbow,” Twilight reassured. “After all, he was using…” And she stopped in her tracks.
“What?” Rainbow asked.
“Magic,” Twilight said. “Wait, hold on. That doesn’t make any sense, they can’t…” And her face creased in confusion. “How did he get it? Prophets, is that like a warlock? Or is he being brainwashed, or…”
“You’re mumbling,” Rainbow observed.
Twilight groaned. “Yeah. I am. Sorry, I’m just… This changes everything. How come I never thought of it before? Maybe this is more complex than I thought.”
“What are you talking about?”
Twilight whirled around back to the barn doors. “Sorry, Rainbow. I promise I’ll explain everything when we’re all in a condition to contribute.” She raised her voice to the outside. “Captain! I’ll take these ponies in the barn to Canterlot myself. You start organizing efforts to take the rest. These ones need advanced medical treatment, and they’re my friends. Once they’re all safe, I’ll join you.”
Peter awoke, and squeezed his eyes shut. He hissed and slithered on his back, pulling up Zecora’s blanket to his face. A blinding, wavering white light reflected everywhere on the smooth black walls of the Cave of Harmony.
“Flashbang,” he muttered, curling up under the blanket. The blanket didn’t help that much, but it was something.
“It’s just me,” his mother’s voice said. It was echoey from the cave.
Peter sighed and paused. “All right,” he relented. “Gimme a sec.”
“One.”
“Come on,” he groaned, sitting up and stabilizing himself with his hands. He squinted up at the Tree of Harmony only ten feet away; it was rippling with white fire again, all over its branches and trunk. The vivid colors of the Elements of Harmony embedded within were swallowed up in the light of God.
“Arise and leave this place,” Faust instructed, her deep words washing over him like water.
Peter knew the day would come eventually. But… “Where should I go, Faust? To Canterlot?”
“Manehattan.”
“Manehattan?” Peter repeated with confusion. After some thought and hesitation, he sighed and threw the blankets off him. “Faust, I, er, will go to Manehattan, or wherever else you need me to go, but… but what about the princesses? Shouldn’t I start from the top down? If I influence them to pass decrees that outlaw this stuff, it'll fix all our problems.”
“If you do that, Equestria will rebel. And if you destroy the princesses, Equestria will splinter into tribes and factions. No, Peter, there's something else in mind.”
Peter began folding his blanket without looking at the tree. “And I assume you won’t tell me the whole picture because that’ll lead to me not doing what you need me to?”
“Some things can only be learned from experience. This much I will say: there’s a radio station centered in Manehattan that broadcasts all across Equestria.”
And it dawned on Peter just like that. Of course! With that at his disposal, he could get his message to everyone who happened to be listening at the time. Manehattan, the urban center of Equestria if Canterlot wasn’t. It would be there that his message would at least gain traction.
“And you’re sure that this is what’s best?” Peter asked, making the final fold in the blanket.
“Oh, Peter,” Faust said, and there was a wistfulness in her voice. “I always do what’s best. But it’s hard for my children to see in the moment. I wish I could help them more than that, but some things just have to work out that way.”
Peter frowned at that. “Have to? So, wait… You mean all things are all going according to your own whims?”
“Don’t use that word,” Faust sighed, and the fiery tree died down slightly. “My decisions are hardly based on a whim.”
“...Yeah, all right,” Peter allowed, plopping down on his blanket-seat. He was facing away from Faust.
“Peter,” Faust probed. “I sense doubt in you.”
“Yeah, well, what of it?” Peter wearily said.
“It’s a good thing to have,” Faust observed.
That made Peter turn around and regard the Tree of Harmony with a startled expression.
“Without doubt, there is no faith,” Faust taught. “It always needs to decrease, of course, but don’t feel down just because you have questions. I love questions. That’s how I speak to my children. Rebellion, however…”
“I’m not planning on that, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Peter made known. “I just… I don’t know, man. I feel like I don’t have any say in this, that’s all.”
On one of the branches of the tree, a vaguely humanoid woman formed out of the white fire and stood still, gazing down upon Peter. Peter, upon noticing it, gazed up with uncertainty.
“Peter Damascus Browning,” Faust said, reaching out an arm. “There is no one in this world whose word I trust and honor more than yours. I am tied to you, and I wish only the best for you. I love you, as I would a son. I allow you enormous freedom in actually carrying out my will, but my will must be yours.”
Peter twisted his lips and broke his gaze. A dozen conflicting thoughts were running through his brain. There was silence as he thought of how to respond, save for the soft ripple of flames.
“...Yeah,” Peter eventually decided. All the other thoughts had to wait; he needed to do something he at least knew. “All right, thanks. Let’s, uh, do it, then. Come on.”
And he hoisted himself up and started for the cave entrance, leaving Zecora’s folded blanket behind.
Peter got to the dark mouth of the cave and stopped, turning back to the Tree of Harmony. There was a soft blush on his face. “Er, Faust, I… Is it left or right?”
A ball of white flame broke off from the Tree and bobbed over to the cave entrance as if floating in water. Peter gave the peculiar orb plenty of berth as it came out and began going for the steps leading out of the ravine. Sensing a case of Deja Vu, Peter followed closely into the morning light.
The pale white and turquoise interior of Canterlot’s main hospital was crowded with recovering patients. The worst-injured residents of Ponyville had been taken in and were attended to by a slew of nurses. Initially, the nurses had all been dressed scantily, but after a few serious operations and accidents, they reluctantly began to wear coats that actually covered their bodies.
Rainbow Dash had been discharged after two days, requiring only a minor setting of the ribs and wing. Pinkie Pie, after more permanent stitches were put in, was released soon after. It was Rarity, however, which required a week for proper recovery. Even then, she wasn’t actually discharged just yet; she was still lying down in her hospital bed when the rest of her friends assembled together one slow afternoon. The rest of the ward was asleep or preoccupied, and only a few nurses at the other end of the large room were bustling about.
Rainbow and Fluttershy were sitting on little stools on Rarity's left side. Pinkie and Applejack were on the right. And Twilight, carrying an assortment of files and papers close to her chest, was at the foot, giving Rarity's missing right breast a pained expression.
“How’s it doing?” Twilight whispered.
Rarity’s face pulled with discomfort. “It hurts less than it used to. It’s the, er, weight displacement that’s truly odd.”
Twilight nodded, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help. Between the other patients and my research, I just couldn’t…”
“There wasn’t much to be done anyway,” Rarity assured her, waving a pale hand. “If the breast had immediately been put in ice, it might have been saved, but… Well, it just wouldn't the same afterward anyway.” She aimlessly toggled her remaining breast like a game controller. “Now I suppose I know how those Diamond Dogs felt.”
“What about magic?” Rainbow blurted out, leaning forward on her stool. “Twilight, you’re sure that magic couldn’t have helped, I dunno, regenerate it?”
“Part of my research was trying to figure that out,” Twilight admitted, coming over to Rarity’s bedside table. “I haven’t had to deal with regenerating limbs before now. And nothing I found said anything about that anyway. If I could, I would have, I promise. It’s just…”
Somber silence came over the entire group.
“Ah’ve seen fillies come over with smoke inhalation,” Applejack eventually said, twisting the bottom of her red plaid shirt. “You were right ta help them out first, Twilight. It hurts, hearin’ them coughin’ an’ wheezin’. Apple Bloom made it out all right– an’ so did Sweetie Belle, Rarity, don’ worry. If Ah could live in a world where we didn’t have to hear them again, it’ll all be worth it.”
“Which means taking care of the… Prophet,” Pinkie darkly declared.
Fluttershy whimpered and began shivering in place. She only had on a small tank top and jean shorts, which could have contributed, but everyone knew it was trepidation, not cold, that had that effect.
“So here's what we know about this human,” Twilight declared, plopping the documents down on Rarity’s bedside table. “He’s from a different dimension. He’s not afraid to kill or destroy to achieve his goals. And those goals are to enforce our collective sexuality into a limited state.”
“Likely so he can seize control over the population,” Rarity sourly noted. “Why else would he do it?”
“The Prophet didn’t seem like a dictator,” Twilight slowly observed. She began sifting the documents and photographs. “He wasn’t trying to rule, he was trying to destroy. And besides, as a prophet, he’s only a messenger for someone else. He’s doing this in the name of Faust. Could it be that he's an indentured servant?”
“Fine, then God wants to rule Equestria. Or the world. Not if I have anything to say about it!” Rarity vowed, swishing a hand.
“If he is indentured, he did a good job of hiding it,” Pinkie muttered. She folded her arms and pouted. “He was laughing when I called him a party pooper! He wasn't ashamed!”
“We can’t rule out magical possession,” Twilight observed, gesturing at Pinkie. “Remember Trixie and her amulet? The Prophet might be the same way.”
Applejack rapped the table with a fist in thought. “That… don’t sound too far-fetched, Ah’ll admit.”
“Especially because humans ordinarily can't even use magic in the first place,” Twilight clarified.
“How do you know that?” Rainbow wondered, then shook her head. “No, wait a second. This is what you learned from the Princesses, right?”
“Yes.”
“How did the Princesses know, then?”
“There's been humans in Equestria before,” Twilight revealed, sifting the documents some more before landing on the right page. “Six of them before this one, to be precise.”
“Does that include the human Pinkie and Applejack ran into a few weeks back?” Fluttershy asked Twilight, twisting an end of her long pink hair.
“That one? Maybe. But… no, I doubt it. Celestia couldn't have known.”
“So wait!” Rarity gasped, hands to her mouth. “So this human you two ran into… he could be the Prophet?”
Applejack and Pinkie squirmed in place.
After some tense silence, Rainbow erupted from her seat and started flapping in the air, her wing still askew. “You mean you couldn’t have prevented this? Taken him in and tamed him before he turned into a monster?!”
“How were we supposed to know? We'd never seen a human before!” Applejack defended.
“Yeah!” Pinkie exclaimed. “My Pinkie Sense didn't say anything about him! He was just odd, that's all!”
“We don’t know-” Twilight began.
“Yeah, well, what’s the price for it now? Ponyville’s a cinder!”
“You can only say that with hindsight!” Rarity denounced.
“We don’t know that the Prophet was that human!” Twilight burst out, and her friends fell into silence. “He might be, he might not be. Nopony knew, and what’s done is done. We can’t change what happened, but we can change what we do now.”
“So what do we do about this human?” Fluttershy meeped, folding her arms around her exposed waist.
“Well, we can’t force him to do anything,” Twilight ruled out, picking up a scroll. “He can take whatever we throw at him, short of the Elements of Harmony. But the Prophet was far more willing to discuss things when we approached him first. We could lure him into a trap, but if he can perceive our true intentions, that’ll be tricky.”
Rainbow groaned with exasperation and pulled at her cheeks. “Come on , Twilight! I know you’re not as bloodthirsty as he is, but we need to match it if we’re gonna succeed!”
“Even if we could, I’m not sure if that’s the best option,” Twilight mused. “I visited him with anger, but what I found was a man with endless power and no desire to fight. He could have easily ended my life– or any of yours! But he chose to either incapacitate or run. He’s not mindless, he isn’t mad with bloodthirst.”
“Yeah,” Fluttershy piped up, rubbing her arm in thought. “He did say that he would kill Zecora all over again, but he also said he was sorry for… for k-killing Angel. Twilight, does that mean he’s being forced to kill us?”
“Humans can’t use magic,” Rarity repeated in thought, putting a hand to her chin and sitting up a little straighter. “So he’s not the real problem here. He’s acting on behalf of Faust, so he needs to be freed from her influence! Perhaps he made a bad deal, or was coerced into it. If it’s true that he is a victim, then we can free him. I would certainly make a better mistress than God.”
“The Prophet still needs to pay for what he did,” Rainbow laid down, jabbing a finger into the table. “I’m not gonna have a debate with him as he tries to destroy the world! That’s not what we did with Chrysalis, or Discord, or whoever the hell else tried to ruin our lives!”
“I know, Rainbow,” Twilight sighed. “He deserves to be punished, and I really hope he does, but… In that moment, watching him disappear into the forest… He seemed unsure. Perhaps it was instead regret, or exhaustion. Perhaps it was even a plea for help. But something tells me we should try to reason with him before we kill him.”
Applejack’s eyes bulged. “Twi… Outta anypony here, you oughta be the most against ‘im. He was even more personal than Tirek. An’ Tirek was awfully violent and unyielding too, but you had no regrets ‘bout beatin’ the shit outta him.”
“This is different,” Twilight maintained, pointing at Applejack. “The Prophet has values, things that he earnestly believes are right. That’s worse than Tirek– he had nothing except hunger and deviousness. Tirek was just a force of nature. A wild dog to be put down. Even Nightmare Moon was driven by something– she felt abandoned by her people and her sister. And she could be reformed. Perhaps this Prophet can too– he’s no use to us dead.”
The ponies reluctantly digested it.
“We can be the bigger ponies,” Fluttershy eventually said. “Show him how to properly deal with our differences. Then Faust won’t have her prophet any more, and this whole thing will finally be over!”
“Once he actually pops back up again, that is,” Rarity dourly noted. “He disappeared, didn’t he?”
“It won’t be hard to figure out where he is next,” Applejack pointed out. “Jus’ follow th’ smoke, right?”
Rainbow gave a side-eye at Twilight. “I know that the Prophet was super tough, but you really just let him escape into the Everfree?”
“In there, he had cover and initiative,” Twilight laid out. “I wasn’t about to lose my life for nothing.”
Applejack, upon hearing this, smiled softly.
The door nearest to Rarity’s bed opened, and in came a light grey nurse with a firm white cap, pushing a small food cart that squeaked on one wheel. “It’s time for her meal,” the nurse explained.
“Gotcha,” Pinkie emotionlessly reported, and stood up. “Come on.”
Pinkie was the first out of the ward. Sharing dumbfounded looks because of Pinkie’s behavior, Applejack and Rainbow Dash followed. Fluttershy looked torn between staying and leaving, but upon seeing Twilight shoo with her eyes, she shuffled out. Twilight gathered all her unused documents up with a flurry of magic, and as they all came together in a pile in her arms, her eyes landed on the records of the Marriage Equality Act on the very top.
Twilight’s eyes narrowed. What if the current Prophet found out about Trent, the first active Equestrian prophet? He could step in and finish what Trent had started.
As Twilight turned around to leave, she heard Rarity’s horn chime to life, and the radio on her bedside table came to life. She tuned to the right channel by the time Twilight left the room and began to walk away. Twilight could still hear the radio’s words, though.
“-very unfortunate news, with the nationwide efforts to pitch in all going nowhere. At times like these, we must come together and unite against our common enemy. Just like we did here in Manehattan so long ago…”
The trip overland had been a long and uneventful one. It consisted mostly of waking up, following the lingering ball of fiery light, snacking on blomberries and fresh fish, and sleeping. Peter’s mood had gone from hopeful to monotonous to dark throughout his two-week travel.
Because throughout that time, Faust had never showed up in person. When She did talk, it was usually brief and about the day only, not about what to do when he reached Manehattan. Her decreasing time spent with him made Peter sullen, made him feel like there was something wrong he was doing. Peter did try talking to the ball of light as he walked along, but it didn’t respond, so he eventually stopped altogether. Three days on his journey, Peter didn’t even speak a word.
In fact, the day before he came to the outskirts of Manehattan, Peter hadn’t said anything either. There was nobody to talk to. So Peter replayed The Incredibles and Shrek in his head to keep his mind busy when the trail was slow. For the moment, Peter was going through Toy Story, and he had just gotten to Buzz Lightyear’s mental breakdown when he emerged from the edge of the forest and came to the crest of a green hill.
Peter squinted in the early morning sun and gazed upon the faraway grey, smoky skyline of Manehattan. He scratched at his patchy blonde beard adorning his cheeks and chin, and wiped some sweat from his sunburned forehead.
Even at a hazy distance, Manehattan looked unappetizing. Peter had always thought cities were ugly, but Manehattan seemed even worse than the ones back on Earth. On the hills outside the city, Peter had a good view of the harbor and some of the bigger buildings rising above the garden of steel.
A prominent landmark, of course, was the Mare of Liberty. Peter squinted at the faraway statue, his face pulling uncomfortably at the sight of the Mare of Liberty holding an enormous penis above her ahegao mouth. If there was ever a sign that this world was cartoonishly evil, it was that one statue.
Peter raised his arm, half giving thought to the idea of making the Mare of Liberty explode on the spot. How many children saw that statue daily? It represented reprehensible ideas and a descent into madness. Equestria would be so much better off watching it topple off its crumpled base and land with a deafening sploosh into the harbor. Peter could see it now…
…No, he eventually came to. He lowered his hand and clenched his fist. That’ll just draw unnecessary attention. That can wait for when the city falls eventually. Right now, I need a train.
And Peter scowled and turned away.
Peter’s hardest part was actually traveling on foot to the nearby outlying suburbs, on their own little plots of land. He came into the closest quiet neighborhood by lunchtime. Peter’s first stop was when he came to an abandoned, boarded-over shack with garbage strewn all over its weeded front lawn. He then bent down and turned a piece of scrap metal into a baguette. Breakfast of champions.
Peter ate on the road. He came out of the residential area, traveled on the dry dirt roads leading to town, and put up his hood. Peter kept his eyes peeled in the public square and wandered the small town, observing local maps posted on the dirt street corners and keeping his profile low. There wasn’t much of anyone out and about, anyway; it was working hours. Eventually, he found the location of a subway station in the late afternoon.
When he found the staircase leading underground right outside a sugar-and-dandelion cafe in the rural streets, Peter put on his mask, tramped downstairs into the dark, cool tunnel air, and came to the Ticketmaster’s glass booth; it was a slow hour, so he was the only one there.
The Ticketmaster herself paled at Peter’s approach. Her ivory fingers trembled on the iron register, and her cap vibrated atop her turquoise mane.
“Hi,” Peter said laconically.
“Oh… m-my goodness, I-I…” The ticketmaster was tremulous. She picked at the very shallow collar of her blue officer uniform and squished her breasts together. “It’s you.”
“It’s me,” Peter confirmed. Twilight must have spread his description to all the media she could. Poor mare, having public enemy number one just walk in. He spotted her shaky hand slowly reach for a button on the desk, and Peter waved a hand. “You don’t need to call for security.”
The Ticketmaster’s movement halted. And she swallowed. “...I don’t need to call for security.”
Peter swished a hand again. “I’m not the man you’re looking for.”
“You’re not the man I’m looking for.”
“You will open the gate.”
“I will open the gate,” the Ticketmaster agreed, and she fiddled with something out of Peter’s sight. The barred metal gate separating him from the tunnels swung open.
Peter headed for the gate and waved his hand once more as he passed through. “I wasn’t here.”
“You weren’t here,” the Ticketmaster agreed.
Peter swiftly made his way through, his breath coming quickly. He darted into the tunnels leading to the station before the Ticketmaster noticed.
So that was what a Jedi Mind Trick felt like? It was a strange sensation to actually try it out and have it work. Peter felt a buzzing in his veins, a thumping in his chest. He could just do that to anyone? And it would work?
And then his racing mind slowed down, and he drifted to a snail’s pace, and Peter actually thought about what he’d done. He had dazed and confused her, and overridden her personal choices. She was putty in his hands, and he had brushed it off as a cool party trick.
Well… Peter thought about it. It’s just a temporary thing. And it was tame compared to the brainwashing and agency-overriding going on all over Equestria. But still, am I just rationalizing things? Maybe Faust wanted me to do something else. I don’t see Her doing that willy-nilly. Could I have handled things differently?
That last question had haunted him ever since Ponyville. Was there no other way?
Peter arrived at the cavernous train station and waited, wrapped up in his black cloak over the bearskin garments. When he finally came onto the train car once it arrived, he was alone in the car. And for every stop until the end of the line, Peter was alone.
Always, always alone.
Peter emerged from the Maneway station. The violet dusk had fallen, and darkness and noise permeated the crowded streets of Manehattan. Peter’s gaze came to the vehicles; they were cars now, instead of pony-drawn carriages. For an anthropomorphized Equestria, there was really no way to keep it in continuity with the show unless it was like the little carts in China or Indonesia, or wherever– a rickshaw, that’s what it was.
The cars were late 1960s or 70s in style, at stark contrast with the more modern infrastructure of the city. Peter glared around, already feeling something awful creep up his back. It was too noisy, and it seemed like everyone was focusing on the wrong things.
Is there something inherent about cities that breeds contention and sin? Peter wondered as he strode along on the sidewalks deeper into the city. Pride, perhaps. Secularism. Removal from nature. Monotony. Pollution. The high concentration of people. We tend to see everyone else as beneath us, but here especially, since they just all blend together.
Which included him. ‘A million deaths is a statistic,’ and whatnot.
It wasn’t Peter’s plan to immediately flip the island over like a pancake; he wanted to give the citizens some time to repent. Even if it was just out of fear, it would be enough for now. Which was the point of the media outlet he was trying to visit. But now that he really thought about it…
“Where is it?” Peter muttered, lifting his eyes up. None of the dark buildings on the street he was on really stood out. He came to the next intersection and turned left, and the city grew darker somehow. There were few ponies on the sparsely lit streets, and those that Peter saw were engaged in other things off to the side or by themselves, so Peter came along unnoticed. He still drew the hood of his cloak up, just to be safe.
Faust, Peter prayed. Where should I go?
Silence, of course. Peter kept walking.
He passed the next intersection and crossed the street. And Peter spotted, on the lamp-lit corner of the street he was heading to, a barely-dressed, pale pink whore. She was expectant, in more ways than one.
“Hey, handsome,” the pregnant prostitute crooned as soon as he hit the sidewalk.She tossed her golden tail with one hand and narrowed her violet eyes seductively. “Wanna dip?”
Peter walked on without turning his head. His eyes narrowed as well, but with fury.
“Hey!” the prostitute yelled after him, her fists in the air. “At least give me an answer!”
Peter didn't respond. His mind was busy working.
Why didn’t she get an abortion? Peter wondered, keeping his head down. That doesn’t have a stigma here. Perhaps she wants to make a live child sacrifice, but perhaps she just wanted to be safe for as many creampies as possible. And the closer she can come to the delivery date, the riskier. It would add an element of urgency, some more adrenaline. It would also cater to a specific taste in her clients.
The more Peter saw in this world, the worse it got. Was that just Faust trying to demonstrate that Her measures were appropriate? The rationalizing of a Goddess? Was that another reason Faust needed him to come here, to get him to see things more in Her light?
If that was the case, then She was stringing him along more than he thought. Could Faust be desperate? Afraid? Jealous?
That line of thought didn’t go much further before Peter saw another prostitute come out of the next alleyway he came to. And Peter’s stomach churned at the sight.
A lime green child, no older than middle school age, emerged from the shadows and posed on the wall, swishing her thin magenta tail. Her underdeveloped breasts were completely exposed, and Peter kept his eyes up and forward– not because of lust, but from secondhand embarrassment.
“Feeling pent-up, mister?” the small mare asked as he came closer, her voice still squeaky from youth. “You look like you could use some tight young pussy.”
This time, Peter did turn his head as he passed by. The child very clearly became uneasy at the sight of his fanged mask. “And you look like you need to go back to school.”
“Come on!” the child protested as Peter left her behind. “Hey, not even a donation? I just want to buy a new watch, that’s all!”
Poor wretch, Peter thought, his posture becoming stiffer with anger. As he hurried along with his head down, he began pondering. She didn’t grow up thinking on her own, ‘I want to suck for a living.’ Someone encouraged her to do this, likely since she was a baby. Her mother, perhaps. But who encouraged her mother? Her peers, duh. But where did they get the idea that this is sustainable or desirable? Gotta be public media, or someone with the power to influence public media. Who in the upper class would have something to gain from weakening Equestria like this? It goes back to what Pinkie said, someone needed to tell them sexual sin was all okay and then suppress their consciences.
So who was the main culprit here? The princesses? If they were, then why would they just weaken their own country like this? Perhaps the princesses were simply on someone else’s payroll. Peter began to run through his mind any known Equestrian villains focused on money, or anyone cunning enough to take over Equestria from the inside out.
Nightmare Moon was gone. Unless they found some way to separate the consciousnesses. But Peter hadn’t seen her statue in Ponyville, so he dismissed it.
Discord? That one did seem more plausible since he was now in the Bizarro timeline, but this wasn’t exactly Discord’s style of doing things. Sure, this was a different dimension, but some things remained consistent– the Mane Six were all the same, if a bit insane. Peter wasn’t going to rule Discord out, but it was unlikely. Discord wanted chaos, not entropy.
Tirek was dead. Or in Tartarus. Peter still had no idea how that worked. Tirek also wasn’t nearly as subtle about his villain techniques.
The Flim Flam brothers were small-town con artists, not master manipulators. Starlight Glimmer fell into that category too. Day Breaker hadn’t manifested. The Pony of Shadows wasn’t even relevant yet.
Queen Chrysalis? Here, Peter began to solidify a theory. Why wouldn’t Chrysalis, the love changeling, be behind the sexualization of Equestria? She didn’t understand love, so this sick, twisted perversion of love could be her attempt to cultivate Equestria into her own doomed farmland. She’d send her forces to silently take down the culture from within, like boiling a frog degrees at a time. There could be changelings in high levels of government, infiltrating positions in education, commerce, media, religion, and the press. All of them advancing their own interests and purposes. A multi-generational soft war, turning the inside of the nation to mush like a spider’s prey, so when the wolves eventually break through the fence, Equestria would be too doughy to resist. Sure, Chrysalis would have attempted it already with the Canterlot wedding, but perhaps as a front only, to think the end had come for the changelings, so their plan would be even more of a surprise.
How deep does it run? Peter blankly thought, his hands balling into fists. Who has the patience to do this? What’s the end goal here?
“Lost, mister?” came a young mare’s Boston accent. Peter sigh-grumbled and turned to see, sure enough, another lady of the night come out of her alley. She was light blue, with solid poofy magenta hair. A white flower was near her ear, and her body was only sparsely covered with fishnets.
Actually, I am, Peter realized before he could bolt off. Could this be Faust’s answer to my prayer?
“Feel like a quickie?” the blue whore teased, winking one teal eye.
Peter turned his feet to her, and the prostitute flinched at the sight of his mask. Peter folded his arms and kept his gaze up. “No. I just need to get to a broadcasting headquarters. What’s the best one in Manehattan? I’m new here.”
The prostitute’s face fell. “Well, uh, if you want to go on TV here in Manehattan, the best is PBS.”
Peter jolted in place. “Sorry?”
“Pony Broadcasting Station.”
It made sense, but the name was still uncanny. “Ah.”
“There’s also EBC, but PBS has better programming.”
“Where can I find the headquarters?” Peter pressed after a small smile had passed over his face.
The prostitute pointed a slim finger up and to the left. “About three blocks that way, then turn right and go a little further. It’ll be the one with giant red letters PBS way up and on the side, all right?”
Peter nodded. “Thanks.”
“You know, every one of us wants to go on TV and show our talents for Equestria to see,” the blue prostitute informed Peter, sidling closer and tossing her poofy pink mane. “Each of us wants to be the next Baby Belle– she was an aunt of Rarity’s, by the way, believe it or not! And we would do anything to become the next big star!”
Peter nodded, uneasy at the revelation, and started to turn away. “I see,” he said.
“Oh, before you go!” the whore desperately cried. “You really gonna pass me by? Best blowjob in Manehattan, for only two bits!”
“Where's your mother?” Peter asked without looking back.
The blue mare nodded in understanding. “Oh, you want her? Can't complain, she does have more experience. She's over on Bridleway.”
And Peter's mind drifted back to his own mom. Would she ever go into prostitution? Was there any scenario where a successful mother willingly would?
“Your mother failed as a parent,” Peter said matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?” the prostitute growled, maneuvering in front of Peter’s path. “You gonna repeat that?”
“You heard me the first time, whore,” Peter expressionlessly fired back. As he strode forward, he shouldered her aside. “Go back to your alley.”
“You son of a bitch!” the daughter of a bitch cried, striking Peter in the back. It didn’t hurt much because she was weak and Peter’s bear fur was thick, so Peter kept walking. She kept up her assault, though, latching on to his arm and pounding him on the back and screaming. Peter sighed as he came to the intersection and she still was yelling incomprehensible things in her Bostonian accent. It was drawing attention from the dozen or so ponies waiting for the light, though, so Peter wrenched his arm free.
“He’s a piece of shit!” the blue prostitute yelled at the crowd. “He just told me to go to Tartarus and he started to touch me! He raped me!”
Peter, jolted at her words, turned to her. “Ew, no.”
The whore screamed with outrage and punched Peter again in the front. Though it didn’t hurt, Peter retaliated by backhanding her to the ground. She couldn’t follow him around forever.
Immediately, there rose a clamor from the dozen well-dressed ponies at the corner. Two of them attended to the (obviously faking) unconscious prostitute, and the rest of them started yelling and accusing him, telling him to take off his mask, to fight like a real stallion, to go to Tartarus.
Peter allowed them to yell at him for a bit. Then he quickly swished his fingers, and every one of them started to groggily drift off, their voices dropping, their limbs becoming lead. One by one, they slumped to the ground as well and fell asleep.
When there were only two left on their feet, the blue prostitute opened her eyes in annoyance and sat up. Seeing the bodies all around her, though, she gasped in horror.
“Take a night off,” Peter advised her, and swished his hand. “Sleep on it.”
She closed her eyes and sat back as well. Peter hissed with concern when her head hit the sidewalk, but it wasn’t hard, and there wasn’t any blood, so after checking the corner again, he crossed the street, going off the directions she had given him.
When he reached the opposite side, Peter sensed, but he couldn’t be sure, of eyes watching him from every direction. Surely they’d seen his activity on the street corner. They’d call the police sometime soon. A shame, of course, but he also couldn’t be inconspicuous forever. Peter hurried his pace.
Thinking back on it, Peter traced it back to his decision to insult the prostitute’s mother. It wasn’t needed– at least, not in the moment. It wasn’t nice, or even kind. And it wasn’t the sort of thing that Faust would have done.
So am I unworthy to use God's power now? Peter wondered uneasily. Faust, I'm sorry. That wasn't what I should have done. Please, just lend me your power for a little bit longer! I still want to do your will! I'm just prone to error, that's all. I'll try and watch my tongue. Promise!
Peter felt a burning in his chest again, but it was subdued, not as strong as it could be. Peter didn't want to push the limit.
But it might happen again, in a crucial moment. If his power cut off then, what would happen?
“Freaks, the whole lotta them,” Broad Sweeper denounced, peering over his coworker's shoulder.
“They're not freaks!” Flash Light defended, stacking up his Polaroids with pink on his navy blue cheeks. “It's called transpeciesm, you take part of an animal and you graft it on in place of your own. It's the latest fad, all the younger models are doing it.”
“Doesn't mean it's not freaky,” Broad mumbled. He folded his light gray arms across his fat chest, barely contained by his black security guard uniform. “Back ten years ago, this sorta thing was unheard of.”
“And we managed to think of it all by ourselves!” Flash rebutted. He stood up from his booth to address his fellow guard, who was moving away to the front of the hall, towards the doors leading into the streets. “It's a novel idea, a bright one. I mean, we thought it was strange when we figured out you could swap sexes, but it's all for the better that we did.”
“Broad, Flash!” came their superior's stern voice, and the two stallions snapped to attention as the head guard emerged from a glass door in the wall and approached them with claks of her high heels. “Talk about your fetishes on your own time. Police have been called on a street corner a few blocks away from here. Keep your guard up for any intruders.”
“Gotcha, Chief Petal,” Broad Sweeper reluctantly reported to the lithe green mare.
“Roger, Chief Petal,” Flash Light sighed, letting his gaze linger on Chief Petal's smooth but short pink mane.
“I've already informed the other guards on this level,” Chief Petal continued, casting a wary yellow eye on the glass doors. “It's getting late for visitors anyway. Let's close the security gate.”
Flash nodded quickly and headed to the front desk. Shutting himself inside, he fiddled with the buttons and activated the gate. A droning hum came from the doors as a metal grid, like an ancient portcullis, clattered in place and finally halted when it reached the floor.
Just in time, too; there was a pony that came to the glass doors right after the portcullis fell into place. Chief Petal reached for her truncheon on her barely-covered hip, and Broad Sweeper came closer to the gate, making shooing motions and visibly enunciating with his mouth. “Go away!” he emphasized to the lone pony. “The tower’s locked up!”
And the figure did stop in his tracks. But he didn’t obey Broad’s further movements. Instead, he raised his own arm and laid it on the glass. And the guards could see by now that he wore a fanged mask over his face.
That was enough for Chief Petal. She drew her weapon out, and so did Flash, in his booth. “Halt! Stay where you are!”
The Prophet let loose an exasperated grumble and narrowed his eyes.
“How’s the show coming along?” Director Apple Bee barked, coming to the front of the stage control room. Apple Bee was enormous, but not from muscle. His red tie, matching his flat mane, hung loosely around his neck, and the top two buttons were undone, exposing his glistening brown chest. “Everyone ready?”
His booming voice carried above the chattering of the PBS backstage booth, and everyone working inside began reporting at the same time.
“Gotta realign the lighting,” the teal lighting technician said, testing the controls on her console. “Gimme a sec. Whoops. Wait, hold on.”
“Sound’s all good,” the blue sound technician reported, giving a thumbs-up.
“Radio’s connected,” the ivory radio operator said.
“Camera’s good. Looks like makeup’s doing its last touches out there,” the green camera manager observed.
“As if Johnny boy needed more,” Director Bee grumbled, and took a sip from his coffee mug. There was something about it that just screamed at you to drink more. “All right, lights, are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good,” the teal lighting technician was happy to report.
“All right, we’re live in 30. Keep your eyes peeled– wait, make sure the line’s closed.”
The sound technician checked, then drew his head up. “It’s closed. We won’t be heard.”
The pattering of feet could be heard, and the heavy steel studio door swung open, sending every head turning. A young and wirey intern came in, a stack of papers pressed to his dress shirt. He passed the two miffed security guards beside the door and arrived by Apple Bee’s side, letting the heavy door close by itself. “So sorry I’m late, sir,” the young boy panted. “I was just getting those reports you wante-”
“Hush, boy! We’re starting in ten!” Apple Bee cut off, and he snatched the papers from his hand. “All right, everypony, let’s do this cleanly and calmly. In five, four, three–” He held up two fingers, then one, and bent it.
The camera manager selected the clips, and they began playing on his small screen and also on the monitor way up front. It was nothing much, just an intro with jazzy music and pop-up visuals of Manehattan. It eventually faded to the camera out in the studio panning and zooming in on the stallion of the hour: a pony with golden skin and short, smooth, curled salt-and-pepper hair. The deep blue sapphire of his eyes was echoed by the light blue tie on his full suit. His stage smile sparkled like diamonds, and the slight bow and wink he threw the audience sent them cheering and clapping anew, which the camera showed briefly before cutting back.
“Hello everypony, and welcome to The Tonight Show with Johnny Cake,” Johnny himself magnanimously introduced. “And for those at home just listening without those fancy new televisions, it’s a shame, because I look so devilishly handsome tonight.”
Approved laughter came from the paid audience he was addressing.
Johnny began gesturing with his golden yellow hands. “It’s been a long week so far in Equestria. Countess Colorotura’s latest scandal of the month’s kept us up all night, I promise you. We don’t have an interview with her tonight, shocking enough. But when you’ve retreated to Guatamarela for the month with her griffon escort, it’s a bit hard to keep in touch.”
More tame laughs.
“I can’t say I blame her, though– we all have been wanting to escape somewhere better than this world,” Johnny conceded, doing more useless hand gestures. “Ever since the, uh, events of a few weeks ago, there’s been a surge in demand for more of those fancy televisions, and I really gotta say, if you don’t have one, you’re missing out. We’re on air every day, and we’re not even pegasi!”
Back in the control room, the intern gave a quizzical look at the enormity of Director Apple Bee. “I thought Johnny Cake was a comedian.”
“He is,” Apple Bee said like the intern was stupid for asking.
“But he’s not funny,” the intern noted.
“That’s not the point!” Apple Bee barked, and the intern flinched. “Ponies listen to him. So if he can say relatable things by sacrificing ‘humor,’ then so be it. Besides, I don’t want to see you get fired, do you?”
The intern shook his head.
The show went on without complications for about an hour more. Johnny did about ten more minutes of his unfunny stand-up before the first celebrity came on: a griffon named Gabe Grayhorn who had written a new bestseller about a griffon serial killer who killed, raped, and ate his female victims in that order. It was a social commentary or something, and Johnny was very careful to not say anything bad about the griffon. Then there was a team collaboration onstage where Johnny, a single mother, and her five-year-old filly all played dress-up, complete with undressing down to the underwear, and Johnny Cake filled it with plenty of coquettish jokes. Commercial breaks for erotic lotion, hayburgers, mental illness medication, life insurance, other TV programs, and sex toys were played every twelve minutes.
At the end of one of these commercial breaks, Johnny was about to start yet another monologue when the two security guards at the entrance put hands to their earpieces and bowed down. It made Apple Bee glance warily at them.
“Sir, there’s an intruder,” the maroon guard on the left reported, his face resolute. He hefted the taser out of his holster. “No order’s been given to evacuate, but be on guard.”
Apple Bee froze in place. So did the rest of the workers, who looked uneasily around.
“Should we report to Johnny?” the intern asked tremulously.
“Wait,” Apple Bee advised. It was the best move so far.
About another minute passed, then the other guard, an olive-green one, widened his violet eyes. “Sir?” he asked, then swallowed; his mouth had evidently gone dry. “Visuals are coming in. It… matches the description Twilight gave. It’s the Prophet! He’s heading for the elevators!”
And now the entire room was filled with dread, and had gone silent. Soon all that could be heard was the whirring and buzzing of machines and monitors.
“Well, shit,” Apple Bee grunted. With a shaky hand, he set his coffee mug down on the nearest table. “Keep me informed, but we don’t stop running the show. If anypony’s gonna catch him on film, it’ll be us.”
The control room pressed on, and sweat adorned everypony’s foreheads. Death itself was coming upstairs. Johnny Cake’s dull routine was completely abandoned by now.
The maroon guard, after some static feedback, reported again. “He’s out of the elevator. He’s coming this way!”
The intern was gasping for breath now, backed into a corner. Apple Bee was pulling at the front of his tight shirt. Surely, the Prophet wasn’t thinking of coming onstage, right? Or was he just invited, and it was a surprise for everypony?
“He’s in the last hallway. Forces are engaging!” the olive green guard said. He drew out his own taser and peered out of the glass on the control room door.
But oddly enough, for the entire control room, there were no sounds of fire, no audible reports of tasers. Everything had gone silent.
And soon enough, there were new sounds. The cadence of footsteps, clear but soft.
The two guards peered out of the glass again.
Someone was staring back. Out of a blank fanged mask some distance away from the door, two vivid blue eyes caught the guard’s gaze.
Neither party moved. The guard’s hands clearly glistened with sweat.
And one of the Prophet’s eyes briefly went dark. He had winked!
The two guards exchanged worried glances.
The Prophet turned away and moved on, his black cloak billowing out behind him.
“Sir,” the maroon guard hoarsely hissed. “He’s heading for the studio!”
“Then keep the camera on him,” Apple Bee ordered. He turned back to the screen, to the doomed Johnny Cake. “If he does something on live TV, the entire country will see it. Ponyville was a personal tragedy. This might be a public one. And if he’s doing what I think he’s doing, we’ll have time for backup. Call a SWAT.”
“So let’s address the manticore in the room. Now we have this very pressing issue in Equestria right now,” Johnny Cake introduced, allowing his signature smile to fall. “Ever since Ponyville became a cinder several weeks ago, everypony has been wondering why, and who did it. I’ve got a personal interest in this guy, I’ve already told you; some of the casualties included my aunt and uncle, who ran a shop called Sugarcube Corner. I’m planning on erecting a memorial on the spot where it once was, as a… a testament against hate.”
Johnny wiped away a sniffle from his nose, which was obviously fake, but it was still there, and the crowd ‘aww’ed. After a deep breath, Johnny continued.
“You know, I thought it was strange, that someone would want to come along and undo everything we’ve worked so hard to accomplish in the past fifty years or so. But looking at this new guy, this ‘prophet,’ and doing some thinking, I think I understand now. For those of you who haven’t heard of Princess Twilight’s description by now, this guy calling himself a prophet is, uh, unique. He’s tall, so he’s got that going for him. And he’s got bright blue eyes, they almost shine like a lightbulb. But he doesn’t have a horn, or wings, or a tail. Or a face. Or a conscience. Or empathy. Or a dick.”
Approved laughter came from the small studio audience.
“But Johnny, why? I know that’s what some of you are saying. Why do you understand now why the prophet would do the things he does? Why is the prophet destroying everything we have, all our inclusive arts and culture and whatnot?” Johnny leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s because he’s jealous!”
The crowd responded with approved laughter.
“He’s jealous, he’s just mad that no one in this world would want to suck his dick. No mare, no stallion, no filly, no foal. Not even the animals!” Johnny smiled at his own joke. “Maybe it’s because no one can find it, you know? It’s so small!”
Even more canned laughter followed.
“Yeah, that also makes a lot of sense, why he teamed up with this Faust,” Johnny realized with exaggerated shock. “Because he’s a lonely shut-in who just wanted to take all of his internalized bigotry and hatred out on the world, and because even a Goddess gets lonely sometimes, Faust gave him this power to hurt others, and in return, she and him…” He laughed. “They get together and partake.”
And from the other side of the studio, where he could see it, the metal doors blew inward, banging one at a time on the walls. Johnny Cake, startled, looked up.
A silhouetted figure, rippling like Johnny was looking at him through a fire, stood tall in the dim red lighting. The bright shine of his blue eyes identified him immediately, however.
The figure said nothing as he and Johnny locked eyes. Then the Prophet strode forth between rows of the stage audience. The seated ponies shied away as he came close, but every eye was upon him. Even the in-studio camera had swiveled away from Johnny and rested on the Prophet as he came up to the stage. He paused right before coming onstage, however.
“Anything else?” the Prophet mildly asked Johnny. His tone, however, betrayed a softly-boiling fury.
Johnny grew a smile, but it was forced. “Well, that depends. How much time you got?”
“Plenty.” The Prophet swept up to the stage floor, headed for the guest chair, and swiftly settled down, flattening his black cloak. He turned to Johnny Cake, glaring through his mask. “Let’s get your viewership up, shall we?”
Johnny cleared his throat. “Well, for those friends listening at home, we have a surprise guest that just came into the studio. Everyone give it up for, er, the most wanted figure in Equestria: the Prophet of Faust!”
Author's Note
I've noticed that there's a lot of arguments, but not enough reviews or feedback. I'm not one to beg for it, but I'd like some sign of what I'm doing right/wrong literature-wise.
“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.
Cold grey cuffs bit into his wrists. Chains attached to them led to the white metal table in front of him. Peter was in an orange jumpsuit, and he was as exposed as if he was wearing nothing. The bearskin garments he had worked so hard to create, the ones blessed by Faust, had been stripped from him and taken away.
That was almost as infuriating as the loss of Godly power. Peter still had the Bestowal– once the promise was there, it stayed. But the actual enabling power was startlingly absent. Otherwise, Peter would never be here, under the watchful eye of two guards in the corners with unsheathed truncheons.
Peter did his best to not look at them. He did his best to not look anywhere, except straight ahead. The enormous mirror to Peter’s right was obviously also a window. Doubtless, a team of dozens were examining him. Perhaps to see his reaction to waiting for so long.
An hour ago, he had been promised that his lawyer would come in. But Peter had scowled at the news. He didn't want anything to do with lawyers or officers or any other law profession. The law would be changed to fit his crime, or vice versa– if the law was even just in the first place.
Peter grimaced. He remembered the feelings in the moment of bashing that corporate shill into his own table. It felt good, but it most likely wasn’t what Faust would do. Right? Perhaps– if Faust was okay with setting Ponyville on fire, then surely that wouldn’t be worse.
But perhaps it was less about the action and more about the feeling and motivation behind it. Peter had done that out of spite, not duty. Was it possible he was going to prison because of that one mistake?
I’m not sure anymore, Peter mourned. What’s going on? Am I powerless now, or is there something I should do now that I’m condemned? Come on, Faust, throw me a bone here!
A metallic squeak of the door brought Peter’s head turning. A light brown mare with a curled white mane and in a very small white blouse and pencil skirt sauntered in, businesslike and professional. A worn leather suitcase was in one hand.
“So,” she inspected, giving Peter a once-over. “You must be my client.” Her voice was deep and clipped, English and prim. There was reproach in her tone that made it very clear that she didn’t want the job.
Peter only numbly nodded. He didn’t dare look into her very exposed cleavage.
The mare gently settled into the chair opposite Peter, undoing the suitcase clasps. “I’m Rose Water, your criminal defense lawyer. You haven’t said anything since you were taken in?”
Peter shook his head.
“Good,” Rose huffed. “You aren’t that big of an idiot.”
Was she trying to get on his nerves? Peter didn’t answer.
“The goal here is to lessen your sentence as much as possible,” Rose Water continued, easing up the lid of her suitcase and extracting a stack of papers. “We all know you’re guilty of terrorism. You admitted it on live television. But perhaps if we can say that you’re insane or mentally ill, or even that you had a spell placed on you, we can-”
“I’m not,” Peter said, tilting his head down and crinkling the chains on his wrists.
Rose Water sighed. “Then pretend like you are. Otherwise, you go into the slammer and you’re never coming out.”
Peter didn’t answer.
“Ooh, suddenly you don’t have much to say?” Rose Water probed. She giggled. “Perhaps you just said everything you needed to. Now that I know you don’t have any God to silence opposition, let me say my piece.”
Peter’s irritated eyes briefly flickered to his lawyer.
“I’m not rooting for you,” Rose made known. “Nopony in Equestria is. I don’t think in the history of the world, there was ever somepony more plainly an enemy to progress as you. As far as getting out of here in one piece, I’d say you have a…” Peter’s lawyer glanced down at Peter’s crotch. “...small chance.” She giggled again, then posed on the side of the interrogation table. “But together, maybe you and I could make it bigger.”
Peter turned his head to Rose Water. His face creased with disgust as he glanced at her waist before looking directly into her eyes. “Fat chance.”
Rose put a hand to her bosom, her face betraying absolute shock. “Wow. Wow . Can any of you believe this? Guards, did you just hear him? How disrespectful can you get?”
Peter barely stifled a snort. How out of touch could she be? “You stupid woman,” Peter noted, then burst into uproarous laughter.
“That is IT!” Rose snapped, slamming her hands onto the table and startling Peter’s laughter. “If rotting in here is what you want, go ahead and do it! I’ll get paid better for the next job anyway.”
Rose crossly began gathering up her papers while Peter’s stomach did backflips at the news. But an announcement was made over the intercom before she finished. “You will be paid triple your current rate.”
Peter and Rose looked up at the speaker in the ceiling with surprise. Peter’s surprise, however, came from the pony saying it.
“The rule of law must be followed,” Princess Celestia’s voice soothed. “Even for a man such as he.”
Rose grumbled something and folded her arms under her enormous chest. But she stayed in the room. And no one else came in, either. But now Peter knew that Celestia was watching him. Likely, Twilight and her friends were too. Peter could imagine the collection of pastel ponies anxiously watching his every move from behind the wall-length mirror.
“I’m willing to talk,” Peter said.
“You’ve done enough talking,” Rose sourly mumbled. But she nodded in acknowledgment. She tapped her papers on the desk again and began sweeping them out. “So… Peter Browning. Prophet of Faust. How exactly do you intend to explain yourself in court? And no, ‘because I thought it was right,’ isn’t an acceptable defense.”
“Because everypony I’ve run into so far is reprehensible,” Peter said.
“Oh, come now, you only speak from your own experiences. You simply haven’t met the right mare yet. Or stallion. Or animal, or child, or-”
“That’s the same thing Applejack said,” Peter bitterly remembered.
Rose Water perked her purple eyebrows up. “Do explain.”
Peter twisted his lips in annoyance. But he began.
“I’m from a different dimension,” Peter started. His voice was muffled through the glass, even with the microphones installed. On the other side of the mirrored room, in the control and spectator booth, Twilight and her friends watched expectantly beside Princess Celestia and Luna. Twilight nodded at Peter’s words as they came through.
“Well, one day I fell asleep. Next thing I know, I’m in the center of Ponyville. Thought it was a dream at first, but some things just don’t wake you up. I was scared. Then Pinkie emerged from her sweet shop. Things went south from there, and I got uncomfortable, so I escaped and headed for a place to stay. Sweet Apple Acres.”
So that was how Applejack figured into the equation. Now they were getting to the part where Applejack and Peter’s testimonies came together.
“Go on,” Rose Water murmured, jotting something down with a pen.
“Tried to make a spot for myself in the barn. Applejack tried making a move on me, and I said no. She continued. I threatened her. She was confused. Why would I refuse something that good? I must not know what it felt like. So she would let me know. Then she lassoed me, tied me to a post. And she… ripped off my clothes. Hit me after I tried fighting back. I was screaming, but no one would come, and I didn’t want anyone else to join. She started jerking me. Mocking me. Threatening me. I was… scared. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Furious.”
Twilight gaped, her eyes wide. The rest of the girls and Spike, though, were either impassive or confused. Spike and Pinkie were even on the verge of laughter. Applejack betrayed no sign of guilt.
“So that’s it,” Spike vindictively noted. “The great Prophet, crying in a mud puddle because he got a handjob. What a virgin!”
“Shh,” Twilight hissed. For some odd reason, Spike’s vindictiveness made something cry in outrage inside her. But she swallowed it down.
Once Rose Water finished writing, Peter continued. “I prayed. The ropes came off. And I choked her out. Could have killed her. Chose not to. Her sister spotted me, and I ran. Into the Everfree. And I discovered…” Peter paused as if he were about to reveal something important. He eventually said, “Well, Faust came to me. Gave me instructions, showed me how to survive. I killed a bear and made clothes from him. Only found out later that it was Fluttershy’s bear. I also stumbled across Zecora, and she drugged me. Tried to assault me. I fought back, though, and killed her too. I learned about the statue in Ponyville, and I… pooped the party.” There was a dark, reluctant humor in the way he said it.
“I still won’t forgive you,” Pinkie darkly muttered, making Twilight turn her head. There were faint lines in her chin and nose from the wounds Peter had given her. Rainbow and Rarity both made sounds of affirmation. And Twilight couldn’t help but wonder why her heart seemed to constrict in pain.
In the white room, Rose Water strained her ears for more. But upon figuring out that they were both on the same page now, she nodded. “All right. This isn’t looking good for you.”
Peter bulged his eyes; it was the first look of shock Twilight had seen from the human. “What? What’re you-”
“You assaulted Applejack,” Rose Water stated. “Slew Fluttershy’s bear, which was her property and her sex partner. Killed Zecora. Assault, battery, theft, manslaughter– and that’s before the aforementioned terrorism. You resisted affection from every mare you came across, and probably every stallion, too, because there’s some unresolved issue inside of you that makes you so intolerant and hateful. Peter, you’re a very troubled individual, and you had a bad first day. In your impressionable and vulnerable state, Faust radicalized you and made you her accomplice.” Rose Water waved something aside. “That is, of course, if you aren’t under a spell or curse. I’m not sure which is worse.”
Peter had been trying to interject several times throughout, but when Rose was done, he decided to refuse to say anything. There was outrage and confusion in his countenance.
“My recommendation is to plead insanity. Or that you were under a curse, or that you were possessed by a demon that you thought was Faust. That’s the only way to salvage your position here. It doesn’t even matter if you aren’t possessed; it would be a reasonable way to lessen your sentence.”
“Say I am possessed,” Peter sourly admitted. “How do you intend to get this demon out?”
“That’s what Twilight is for,” Rose Water said. “She’ll be along in a few weeks to assist you.”
“Weeks?” Peter asked.
“She’s a very busy mare,” Rose said. Twilight couldn’t help but squirm.
And Peter glanced right at her! It was quick, but unmistakable. “I’m sure she is,” he dryly said.
Twilight’s heart began playing the snare drum. Did he know? Was this his power coming back? Or was it just intuition?
The rest of the meeting went calmly. Just some clarification questions. It didn’t take long before the chief of police himself entered the room and indicated for Peter to follow him. Peter was unshackled and led out of the room with the two guards beside him. Rose Water followed, a clak on every step of her stilettos.
Once the room was empty, Twilight’s dry mouth found words.
“Applejack,” Twilight warned, turning to her girlfriend. “That detail wasn't in your story.”
“What detail?” Applejack asked.
“That Peter didn't want a handjob.”
“He didn't know he didn't want it,” Applejack pushed aside. “If he hadn't fought back, Ah woulda finally gotten through ta him. Mindbreak’s a pretty hot kink.”
Twilight sputtered for a few seconds. “B-but isn't the whole point of Equestria supposed to be acceptance and tolerance? If he didn't want it, you should have-”
“He wan't part of us,” Applejack patiently said. “And Ah woulda made ‘im ma boy toy if it weren't for his own actions. Way Ah see it, he wan't tolerant and accepting of us. He broke the law. It's his fault.”
Twilight examined the rest of her friends. They were nodding along or making affirmative noises.
“Again, Twilight,” Celestia cooed with a hand on Twilight’s back, “the fate of Equestria doesn’t rely on a handjob. Sooner or later it would have reached this stage. Applejack has nothing to be sorry about.”
“Well, yeah, but…” Twilight started, glancing between her serene mentor and her smug friend. After some failure to find words, Twilight sighed. “Fine. Then what are we planning on doing for Peter?”
“We’ll give him some time to reflect on his actions,” Luna judged. She rotated her bare shoulders and rested on the back wall. “Right now he’ll be taken from the police station to the local jail, and he’ll be kept in solitary confinement for the foreseeable future until his more permanent stay in prison.”
“And in the meantime, I have a special treat,” Rarity announced with glee, practically vibrating in place. “A lingerie shopping trip in Manehattan with the princesses! Doesn’t that sound so exciting, Twilight?”
Twilight took a few seconds to answer. “Yeah. Sounds fun.”
“Is something on your mind, Twilight?” Celestia asked. There was a hint of something sterner, tougher, in her tone.
“Well, it just doesn’t make sense,” Twilight admitted, a hand to her chin. “You’re speaking in terms of certainty, like he’ll go to prison no matter what. So if you’ve already made up your minds, why does he have to go through this whole rigmarole of a lawyer and trial?”
“Because it’s the kind thing to do,” Fluttershy meeped, and it was a little more defiant than usual.
“There, see? Element of Kindness right there with your answer,” Rainbow Dash dismissed, slapping Fluttershy on the butt. “What else do you want? Come on, Twilight, we’re losing daylight here!”
As Rarity hurriedly led the way out of the observation room, Twilight fell obediently into line. She took one last look at the empty interrogation room. Then hustled out at the behest of Pinkie after getting spanked.
The instant that Peter was taken out of sight of the interrogation room, he was seized upon by the escort of guards and the chief of police, hurled to the side of the hallway, squishing his face into the wall. Rose Water watched all this happen, disinterested.
“You’re not a normal prisoner,” the chief of police hissed in Peter’s ear like a hurricane. “This isn’t how we usually do things. But no, you’re special, you’re Faust’s chosen one!”
A blow to the ear, a cry of pain. The snap of a taser on his chest. A glove whistling at his forehead.
Nothing.
Cuffs. Cold, hard things squeezing his wrists. And a cold hard slab on his back, too; that was new.
Peter blinked hard several times and shook his head to get eye crud out of his tear ducts. He was sitting on the chilly concrete ground, barely protected by a layer of straw, with his legs extended. Peter shivered and adjusted his seat. But he couldn’t get very far, because he had been chained to the wall.
It was one of those old-style cuffs and chains too. There was room enough to move his arms and hands about a foot in any direction. They were hanging limp at the moment, though.
To his left was a collection of rusty brown pipes leading into the ground and ceiling, which was only six feet high at the most. Peter could see the highest point: right under the underside of dark metal stairs in his right corner. One metal door, old and peeling blue paint, led in and out. The only source of light was a bare, slightly flickering incandescent bare yellow light bulb stuck in the ceiling.
There were no guards. Peter obviously didn’t need any in this basement. There was nothing to do.
Peter bowed his head, gritting his teeth. All of this for one mistake in the heat of the moment? What was Faust’s deal?! Was this Her plan, then– to get Her servant locked in prison for teaching the truth? What happened with the loss of power? Peter’s mind strained for answers.
None of them were satisfying.
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.
The ball of light that had broken off from the Tree of Harmony was hovering and bobbing in the air like it was floating in water. Peter doggedly followed along.
Now that he was out of the cave and plodding back up the stone staircase to the Everfree tree line, Peter once again felt cold, and he felt fresh pebbles in his heels.
But there was a burning in his veins now, something that electrified his entire being, hardened his muscles, and made his body feel like a new car. It was the effect of his baptism by fire, but Peter wasn't exactly sure what that had accomplished beyond giving his body a reset. Perhaps Faust would explain later.
Peter finally reached the top of the stairs and followed the ball of light to the left, hugging the edge of the cliff. It wasn't long before Peter saw what Faust was leading him to.
On the ledge of the cliff was a slumbering bear. His nose flared with every quiet snore, taking in the scent of the other nearby feature: the bloody, torn corpse of an alligator. A dozen flies circled and buzzed around it, and even more were stuck to its exposed ribcage.
The sphere of light made a small circle around the slumbering bear's head. "This animal shall provide you food and raiment. Kill it."
Peter, startled, eyed the slumbering bear with trepidation.
Evidently sensing his discomfort, Faust elaborated. "I maneuvered events so the bear would be sleeping, and the scent of his meal would disguise your own. You also have the weapon you need to put him down. If you're scared or hesitant, know this: I permitted this, and I will be there with you."
Peter slowly nodded, then took several light steps approaching the bear. Peter had never gone hunting before, but he knew what killed people, so he knew what killed bears. More or less.
"The best way is to go for the throat," he whispered in thought. "What's sharp enough to pierce his hide?" He brought his head up. "What do you mean, I already have the weapon?"
The ball of light drifted down to rest right in the middle of the alligator's open ribcage. The bones curled up like fingers, and the ends were broken off at an angle and jagged.
Understanding, but still reluctant, Peter knelt down and grasped the sturdiest-looking rib. He held his breath and wiggled the bone so it detached the red meat stuck on it. He used his foot to push on the rest of the half-eaten skeleton as he yanked on the bone, and the rib tore off with a soft crunch of cartilage.
After examining his makeshift tool, Peter looked towards the bear. It was still slumbering away contentedly on its side. The throat was wide open.
Peter took several deep breaths before striding over. And, without pausing, he struck the bear right in the windpipe.
Blood immediately rushed out, soaking its fur. Peter struck again, piercing a deep hole through the bear's throat. Peter wiggled the bone around and tried to yank it out, but the bone had gone in too deep. All that could be left of the rib couldn't even be pinched with his fingertips.
And the bear himself had woken up by now.
Peter realized this with a start as the bear rose up, snarling and hacking for breath. Peter immediately ran for the edge of the cliff, and the bear shakily followed, his movements jerky and late.
Peter reached the edge. A fifty-foot drop awaited him. Peter turned to see the bear swipe at him. He was well out of range, however, and the bear knew it. So the wheezing bear came forth and reared up for a heavy downward swipe.
Peter jumped to the side just as the bear came down, and the bear went just a little too far. His front paws came down on nothing but air, and the heavy animal slammed on the edge of the cliff, slid off, and tumbled down fifty feet.
Peter heard its impact with a heavy slam. His heart slamming equally hard, Peter slowly rolled onto his stomach and peeked over the edge.
The distant brown bear's broken body was lying in a bloody mess. Peter thankfully couldn't see many details, but he needed to go down there and retrieve it anyway. He was not looking forward to it.
Peter felt a hand on his shoulder.
Startled, he scrambled to the side and put his arms up for protection. Upon seeing who it was, Peter lowered his hands.
A tall woman in flowing conservative white robes, like a wedding dress, stood with her hands clasped. Only her hands, head, and collarbone were exposed. Her perfect ivory skin contrasted with her long, vivid red hair. She, too, had the tail and ears of an anthropomorphic pony, and her radiant glory defied imagination.
The woman extended her own hand and smiled. Her violet eyes were warm and inviting.
"I promised I would be here with you," Faust said with his mother's voice.
Peter, after some time gazing upon Faust's beauty, reached out and grabbed her hand.
It was approaching nightfall; rich purple reigned in the skies to the east over the castle, while swaths of vivid orange flame accompanied the setting sun in the west, over Ponyville.
A single column of smoke rose from the canyon floor, merging into the darkening skies. Just outside the cave containing the Tree of Harmony, a merry ball of flames sat in a cradle of dry wood scavenged from the nearby Everfree, and Peter sat right beside it.
Peter's arms and upper chest were covered with old maroon blood and dirt and bear hair, to the point that only a few spots exposed his skin. His light blonde hair was also dirtied and mussed. But luckily, his nether regions were protected by another leafy apron virtually identical to his first. A pile of makeshift tools made of sharpened stones was in front of him.
At the moment, he was busy dutifully managing the bear's remains. Faust had helped him carry it over to the cave and was now beside him, instructing him on how to skin it and manage the meat. A sizeable portion of the bear's leg was now roasting on a rock in the coals.
"So we aren't going to be doing anything with the organs?" Peter was asking.
"No," Faust said, indicating the pile of removed and raw insides further away. "They are toxic if eaten by humans. They would do better as biodegradable vitamins for the Everfree."
And Faust indicated the top of the cliff face with a flick of her hand. The pile of remains vanished with a small pop.
Peter watched this happen before chuckling and shaking his head. "You could be doing this whole thing yourself, you know."
"It would accomplish nothing," Faust answered. "I have given you the tools and equipment, though."
"Yeah," Peter acknowledged. He returned to using his sharpened stone knife to cut into a section of the bear's skin. He only got several inches before pausing. "...Thanks for the help. I've never done anything like this before."
Faust sat up a little straighter. "Was your family the outdoors type?"
"Not really," Peter recalled. He made another rip. "What with the fact that we lived in the suburbs. Maybe if I was in Oklahoma or something. I did the Boy Scouts, went on a few campouts, but I wasn't too invested."
"Did you have any siblings in the Scouts?" Faust probed.
Peter gave Faust a sideways glance. "You're a God. You should know this. At least when you took me, you should have seen my file."
"I already did," Faust revealed. "I don't ask these questions for my sake."
Peter quizzically examined the white Goddess before sighing and tossing his stone knife on the soaked bear carcass. He turned to face the fire and held his hands to its warmth.
"...Mom had complications for the first two pregnancies," Peter finally said. "She was so happy when I finally came along, and then she gradually had three more. Two sisters and a boy. So no, they weren't in the Boy Scouts. But then again…" Peter dryly chuckled and drew a circle in the air around him. "My sisters introduced me to this show. Thought it was dreck at first like everything else, then, you know… I saw more in it. I enjoyed the world and the characters. As I grew older and I saw other creations, I also saw… you know… that stuff."
Faust nodded. "I understand."
Peter shuddered. "That introduced me to something I wish I never got into. It took years before I was able to cast it aside, and now I'm stuck in a world where that's the norm! And then… you come along and you tell me I need to… what, convert your kids?"
Faust shook her head. "No, Peter. Not convert."
"But what else did you mean when you said I would do your mighty wonders?" Peter asked.
She stood up. Faust was only partially illuminated from below by the snapping firelight. "This world does nothing but evil in my sight. I have some cleaning to do before something better emerges from the ashes."
Peter felt his stomach turn to lead, and a lightning bolt surged from the base of his spine to the soles of his feet.
"Faust?" Peter cautiously spoke up. "I know these characters almost personally. And you're asking me to kill them."
"You do not know these ponies," Faust reminded him. "They are perversions and caricatures, twisted by the dark powers of men's imaginations and mutilated to become monsters in pony form. It would be more respectful to the memory of who the ponies are supposed to be to destroy them, rather than let these abominations live and stain their good names."
"But I'm still killing them!" Peter objected, looking up to Faust's vivid but firm violet gaze. "I would kill ponies, I would have so much blood on me. And I would do it in your name! I would feel like such a hypocrite! What about the commandment to not kill?"
Faust folded her arms and flattened her ears. "Don't try to counsel me on heavenly law. Is it not also written that murderers and adulterers must be punished? Is it not written that the will of God must be obeyed? You truly become a hypocrite when you say you will follow me, but then shirk at a task that must be done. I will ask nothing of you that Elohim would not. Would there be any objections if Elohim demanded this?"
"I haven't killed anyone before!" Peter erupted.
"First time for everything." Faust had said it in a perfect recreation, like an audio recording, of the same voice and tone Peter had used when he had threatened Applejack.
Peter's heart turned to cast iron right in his chest. "Please, Faust, I-I can't do this! Even if they're sinners, even if they're monsters, I can't just spill their blood! This bear is the first thing I've killed that's larger than a spider, and even then, it was more gravity than me! What would my mother say if she saw me killing mares? Killing fillies?"
"She would be proud of you for following the will of God," Faust firmly rebuked. "What would your mother say if she saw this world's depravity?"
Peter opened his mouth to argue. But he soon shut it as he truly considered the question. If Peter even had the option, would he take his mother into this world? Would he trust this world to treat her right? Could Peter take his teenage sisters safely into this world? His future wife and daughters?
The thought nearly made Peter retch. He knew precisely what would happen to them. They would be violated, turned into whores and slaves, exhausted of their potential, and then cast aside. Peter didn't want to admit it, but the conclusion was firmly there: this world simply couldn't be trusted.
Faust circled around the campfire to the opposite side, still facing Peter. "Allow me to use some more scriptural examples. Abraham was told to kill his son despite the commandment to not kill. Was Abraham wrong for following the Lord? Moses slew those who worshiped the golden calf despite the commandment on the stone tables he had just smashed. Was he wrong? The Israelites destroyed the heathen nations in Canaan despite the commandment to not kill. Were they wrong? And were they right for allowing the heathen's influence to continue?"
"Look-" Peter began. But the thought perished on the tip of his tongue: It was justified.
Faust relentlessly continued. "Elijah slew 450 priests of Baal despite the commandment to not kill. Was he wrong? King Saul was commanded to slay every living thing among the Amalekites, even their animals, but he spared the animals. Was he right? Was God, a perfect being, wrong for commanding them to do these things?"
"Okay, I get it!" Peter irritably finished. He knew about all these stories before, but never before had they impressed upon him like this. As pressure to kill…
"These things in what you call the Bible were done to test faith and resolve. The children of God are given life to see if they will follow God's commands, and learn for themselves that my ways are above theirs. Are you above following my commandments, Peter? If so, then you are no better than the beast who raped you."
Peter froze in place. He hadn't thought of it like that before. Not just the rebellion against God, but the fact that he had been raped! And Applejack had been planning on doing more to him! She was fully intent on turning his life into a living nightmare.
Peter finally found words. "It's just… not easy to take a life. It shouldn't be! It would weigh down on you."
Faust's demeanor turned far more gentle, and she came around the campfire to Peter's other end. Sitting down, she clasped her hands. "I understand how much this turns your stomach; these are my own children. I have wept over them for many days. Though I have shown them the path through the Elements of Harmony, they will not listen to what brings joy, opting instead to what brings stimulation. My children willingly suffer every day until they die and return to me in shame. I can't stand it any more. Their smug mockings and self-inflicted sufferings cannot continue. The patience of a God has worn out."
"Patience?" Peter blinked. "What do you mean? I thought a perfect being didn't run out of patience."
Faust used several slim fingers to reach the fire. With a slight curl, the flames and embers rose up higher and flattened out into a sheet, allowing Peter to see the scene that was now playing. The pictures wavered, but retained their shape.
"There comes a time when the defilement of society becomes so great that the rising generation does not have a fair choice between light and darkness."
A vague outline of a small child stood in between two taller figures. One on the right had initially been bright yellow, but it slowly turned to black as Faust spoke, matching the accompanying figure on the left. The child between them soon turned black as well. Then the child grew older, and became the left side of another dark pair of parents to three more children between them. All the yellow in the sheet was gradually burning out.
"When such a point is reached, their agency is rendered forfeit, the cup of iniquity is full, and the society that neither can nor will change its ways must be removed physically and forcibly from the earth."
A floating spherical bubble materialized in the picture, and the flames all around it soon consumed the bubble. The world was burning.
Faust dismissed the image with a wave of her hand, and the fire returned to its normal state. Peter, spellbound by the short display, blinked several times before returning his attention to a grim Faust.
"I reserve the right to slay the wicked," Faust quietly finished. "The billions of spirits yet to be born are clamoring for me to give them a chance for survival in a dark world. And so I make a judgment call, because I love them. Godly love was in the Creation, but also in the Flood. The love that raised the city of Enoch was the same love that destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah."
"So it isn't just out of hatred of sin," Peter said, treading carefully. "It's out of... love for your children."
"With a love of light comes a hatred of darkness," Faust elaborated. "A love for cleanliness accompanies a hatred of filth."
Peter rubbed his face. "Sorry, it's just… clearly, you tried before, and it didn't work, but… It's just a hard thing to digest."
"It is because this commandment to destroy runs contrary to ordinary laws that it is so difficult for you to follow." Faust reached out and took Peter by the hand. "But I trust you, Peter."
"It doesn't sound like I have much of a choice," Peter grumbled. Faust's clean and dainty hand was small in his own bloodsoaked and sore one, and it made Peter squirm.
"You do have a choice. You can bring about my eternal purposes. Or you can shirk your calling like so many others have done, and rebel against the commandments of God."
"That's not a choice at all!" Peter protested.
"Then your answer should be obvious. Will you be on my side, Peter? And if you are not on my side, on whose side are you?"
Peter didn't answer. After struggling to find words, he sighed heavily, withdrew his hand, and rested his head in his palms, gazing into the flickering campfire. "Is there no other way?"
Faust shook her head. "I have numbered the days of this world and brought it to an end. My children in this age have been judged of their sins and found guilty. And their inheritance is now taken from them and will be given to others. The scales of justice must be balanced, whether by their own repentance or their own suffering."
Peter swallowed something with effort and avoided looking at Faust. Suffering. Surely Faust's suffering wasn't arbitrary or meaningless.
Peter reflected on his own mother. When she gave punishments, they usually reflected the crime he had committed. And they did seem very unfair in the moment. But Peter always knew, subconsciously, that his mother did this because she loved him. She wanted him to realize that he needed a course correction.
Perhaps if this was the only way to get through to them, this truly was the best way to open their eyes. Perhaps to correct this world's injustices, Faust needed to do some deep cleaning.
"Peter," Faust quietly said. "Do you have faith that I am perfect in my fairness, mercy, and justice?"
Who was he to deny it? "Yes," Peter said.
"Do you wish to serve me after all you have seen and heard?"
Where else would he go? "Yes. But… I just…" Peter stared into the snapping, crackling flames of his campfire. The examples from the Bible She had thrown at him were running through his head. "This is a test," he said. "If I will obey no matter the cost. Killing those I grew up watching."
Faust began to rub little circles on his craned back. "Why else do you think I brought you here to deal with a problem I could solve by myself? Is it not obvious that I can destroy the planet as easily as I made it? What truly matters is testing growth and discipleship. Not just my children. But also you. You are someone who neither loves nor hates this world, which would make my commandment impossible or too easy. I needed someone strong."
Peter, flabbergasted, gestured at himself. "Me? Strong? Even with all the things I've done before I was taken here?"
"You are caring, but not ignorant. Willing to do what it takes, but with an empathetic heart. And someone who knows how this world otherwise should be, and knows firsthand the horrors of this grave sin my children revel in."
Peter swallowed something lumpy. His nether regions tingled. Firsthand indeed.
It was too perfect, wasn't it, how he was taken to the one alternate dimension he would be most uncomfortable in? This world that took something good and pure, and then mixed it with filth.
What would the normal girls think about this version of Equestria? Once the thought came into his head, Peter could clearly imagine their reactions to this version of Ponyville and their counterparts. As if in a vision, Peter could see their uncomfortable postures, horrified stares, as they huddled together in the midst of an encircling crowd of hungry mares.
A scared and overwhelmed Fluttershy hiding behind a sick-looking Rainbow. Rarity's exaggerated expression of disgust and fury. Pinkie Pie, deflated and disappointed in the town she had served so much. Applejack, grim and determined to eradicate this influence from her friends and family. And Twilight, horrified at the butchering of her hometown and the bastardization of their personalities. She would have assumed it was the work of an evil villain, or a scheme by Discord. She would have assembled the Elements and shot rainbow lasers at, well… everything.
The very world, the soil and earth, was burdened by the inhabitants. There was no way to reverse it at the same speed it was advancing. Where was the world speeding to? Certainly nothing good. Collapse was inevitable, which would simply exacerbate the degeneracy problem and lead to even more Godlessness.
Is this world virtuous? Peter asked himself with all seriousness. Is this world doing good, or praiseworthy, or does it have worthwhile things about it?
There was only one way he could honestly answer that.
This world can't be allowed to stand, Peter concluded. He was afraid to say it out loud, but his thoughts relentlessly continued: This Equestria is an affront to beauty and progress. Left unchecked, Equestria would destroy itself anyway, but it would happen in ignorance, attrition, and misery. If done the way Faust orders, they would know of the judgments of God and have one final chance to realize their awful situation.
"I would be seen as evil," Peter whispered. "A party pooper."
"Prophets have always been party poopers," Faust confirmed. She took her comforting hand off his back. "You would take upon yourself the mantle of their villain. But would you rather be their ally?"
Peter didn't answer. A villain. The term sounded ugly.
But the world was far uglier.
"...I will follow you," Peter finally decided. And the instant he said it, he knew there was no turning back. So he solidified his tone and continued. "No matter the cost. You… know better than I. But I know this much: I don't want what happened to me to happen to anyone else again."
Faust, smiling gently, took his hands again and stood. Peter awkwardly followed her up. He still had to look up into her eyes, but they were full of warmth and love.
Faust embraced him in a soft hug, and Peter felt overflowing, intense, and comfortable warmth envelop him from head to toe. Gritting his teeth as tears began to form, Peter hugged back as hard as he could and buried his face in her robes.
God and mortal remained embraced for as long as Peter needed. Peter wished he could stay there forever, but he didn't want to get on her nerves. So he eventually broke away. Despite the blood and gunk all over him, Faust's robes remained pure and spotless.
Peter turned his gaze down and sat back down on his rock. The fire's heat was crude by comparison.
"There is still much you must learn before you are ready," Faust explained, coming to the other end of the fire. "Like how to manage your bestowal of power, your responses to my children's questions, and the rest of the bear. This will take longer than tonight, so for now, just eat up. I will take care of preserving your work and protecting your sleep."
Peter only then remembered that there was bear meat cooking in the coals. He reached for the rock and took it out of the fire, and was shocked to discover that his hasty action did not burn his hand. The dried blood on it had burned off, but Peter remained unharmed.
It must have been the bestowal of power Faust had been talking about. She was right; it would take some time to figure it out.
Peter grabbed the brown meat, which also did not burn him, and tore it apart. He frowned. "It's well done."
"Good," Faust taught. "Game meat is not the same as cow meat. It's only safe to eat if it's well done."
Peter pointed at the Goddess. "What would happen if you ate raw meat?"
"I never tried," Faust admitted. "But it wouldn't hurt."
Peter looked down at the two pieces before proffering one of them to her. "If you want…"
Faust grinned broadly. "Thank you." She took it out of his hand and sat back down beside him. She took off a large piece with her teeth and began to chew.
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Does God need to eat?"
"No," Faust replied after she had swallowed. "But He still can."
Peter huffed with laughter. "Must be nice." And he took a bite himself. He immediately realized something was wrong. "No salt," he lamented with the food in his cheek.
Faust smiled and flicked her hand.
Peter resumed chewing, and was shocked to discover that the bear meat had been professionally seasoned. He swallowed as well, let out a small burst of laughter, and lightly smacked Faust on the arm. "Coulda done that beforehand."
"I'll do it from now on," Faust promised, putting her hands up.
Peter chuckled once more and returned his attention to his bear steak. "Or just teach me that trick. I have your bestowal, right?"
"There is much you can do with Godly power," Faust said before taking another bite and chewing around it. "I usually try to not use it on frivolous things, but I also know that whatever's important to you, I will help with."
Peter gave a small smile. With every passing hour, he felt more and more love for Her. "Thank you."
They ate more. Even when Peter felt full, he continued chewing on bear meat. The notion that the leftovers would be wasted sickened him; he had killed the whole bear, so he was going to use the whole bear, dang it!
He did notice, once he laid down beside the campfire, that the bloody body was covered in a translucent sheet of sorts. Evidently it was Faust's way of preserving the bear. She really did think of everything.
On his back, Peter then turned his attention to the sky. The sun had completely set by now. Even with the light pollution of his fire, Peter could see endlessly into the dark depths of the full cosmos. It was awe-inspiring, how many stars and galaxies were reduced to clusters of pinpricks. But none of the constellations were familiar to him. There was no Polaris, no Big Dipper, no Andromeda or Orion or Casseopea. Peter felt adrift, paralyzed, in the black ocean.
"Faust?" Peter asked.
"Yes?" was her gentle response; she was across the fire.
Peter pointed lazily into the sky. "Where's Earth?"
Faust took a moment. "You won't find it up there."
Peter felt something obstruct his throat at those words. No Earth. So he couldn't even look into the distance for a future destination. Peter squinted into the night sky, his ears filled with the crackling of flame. Despite Faust's close presence, those earlier feelings of loneliness surged back. He was a caveman staring with wonder into an unfamiliar sky in a hostile world. It was as if he were the last of his kind.
Or the first.
Peter frowned. Now that he thought about it, there were a lot of similarities to Adam. The first of his kind in a new world, dressing in leaves to hide nakedness, eating fruit from a tree, being clothed with the skins of a beast... Faust was either being poetic or had a sense of humor.
"I will teach you about the stars here, if you wish," Faust was saying. "I understand you wanted a degree in astronomy."
Peter nodded, his interest piqued. "Yeah, right. Thanks. I'll take you up on that. But not tonight. I'm..." He yawned and hummed once he was done.
"Long day," Faust murmured in understanding.
A long moment passed.
Peter eventually sensed her stand up from her squatting position and come over to his side. She squatted again and slipped her hands under his knees and upper back. Peter was taken off the chilly ground and enveloped in the warmth radiating off the Goddess as she stood straight once more.
Peter let it happen. He was so tired, and so touched by her act of love, that he closed his eyes and made no resistance as Faust carried him back to the cave and deep inside until they reached the Tree of Harmony. It was no longer on fire, but the cave was still as comfortably warm.
Faust's foot pushed down on an elevated smooth boulder until it was at a slight angle. Then she laid Peter down in it. The rock fit his body perfectly, and Peter felt himself go limp.
Faust didn't go far. She sat by another boulder somewhat behind him. And the thought that She was nearby made him feel even more secure, made it seem more appropriate to simply drift away...
It was even worse than Twilight had expected. Even from a distance and up in the air, Ponyville was a town of broken hovels and burnt shells. Twilight's escort had to descend earlier than they were supposed to because of the residual smoke in the air, so that alone spoke to the devastation the Prophet had brought.
They couldn't just land in the center of town, either; and the survivors were on the grassy fields near Sweet Apple Acres, so Twilight directed her escort to settle down on the outskirts. The guards were silent and efficient, bringing supply crates out of their chariots with no complaints.
When Twilight's own chariot landed and rolled to a stop, she hopped out and swept her way to the front. Twilight was moderately armored with deep purple plate armor, leaving a space in her midriff and calves.
“I'll need ten volunteers,” Twilight announced, turning to her troops. “They'll come with me and accost the Prophet.”
Many hands went up, and Twilight selected the first ten to do so. “The rest of you, see to the survivors!”
While the other guards busied off to the nearby camp, Twilight turned again, and let her eyes linger on the stumps of buildings left in Ponyville. Her armored skirt clinked together with every whistle of wind coming from the smoldering ruins.
It hurt to look for too long. Twilight felt her eyes get hot with grief and fury. Who would just waltz into a town and start destroying things willy nilly? A psycho, that's who. He'd better not have killed any of her closest friends.
Speaking of which, they were only a mile or two away, so Twilight turned away with heartache and ushered her small contingent forward.
It wasn't long before they came to the first few ponies lying in the grass. They weren't any familiar faces, and Twilight figured her friends would be in the barn, so she pressed on.
The ponies cluttering up the fields became denser and denser, and Twilight found her pace slowed as she and her troops had to maneuver through the growing crowd. Twilight gazed into the destitute eyes of many ponies that she only barely recognized, and couldn't give more than a passing smile of reassurance.
Sweet Apple Acres loomed in the distance, but it grew larger as she kept walking. Her ears rang with hushed, respectful conversation as she came closer, but also contained the sounds of sobbing and sniffles. The ponies she recognized grew in number: she passed Derpy, Bon Bon and Lyra, Octavia and Vinyl, Button Mash, Doctor Hooves, and Mrs. Cheerilee, amidst a whimpering huddle of foals and fillies that gazed with wonder at the regal princess in their midst. Twilight could only spare a few glances, however.
Finally, she came to the edge of the acres themselves. She passed the fence, walked through a row of apple trees, and finally came to the enormous Apple barn.
Busying around a table in front of the barn doors was Applejack. Her small clothes were torn and dirtied. Her signature wide-brimmed hat was nowhere to be seen, and her golden hair was bedraggled and out of shape. With every step, she winced, and when she bent her back to examine the spare barrels of cider on the table, she hissed and straightened.
“Applejack,” Twilight greeted soberly.
The farm girl turned to her and let out a sigh of relief. “Yer here. C'mon, help.”
“You're hurt,” Twilight noted, coming to her side. The troops remained stiffly in place.
“Yep,” Applejack growled with pain. “Not as bad as th’ others, though.”
“Where are they?”
“In the barn. Did th’ best Ah could, but some things're beyond ma skills.”
Twilight's eyes drifted to the barn, her face pulled with concern. “I'll get a medic.” Then she lit her horn and vanished.
It only took a minute or so to find one on the plains, a white unicorn with short maroon hair and a red cross on his armored flank. When she reappeared with him in tow, the medic hurried to the barn doors and ponderously opened them.
“You gonna take a look?” Applejack asked, then coughed heavily.
“I need to destroy the Prophet first,” Twilight replied. “Did he leave? He might still be around.”
Applejack spread her arms. “Ah haven't paid much attention ta where he mighta gone. I've been focused on helpin’ the survivors. Givin’ em a place ta stay.”
“Does anypony know?” Twilight urged, coming to the opposite side of the cider table. “Come on, there's got to be somepony that saw where he went. If he's disappeared, we're toast.”
“Why in Equestria would he stick around?” Applejack theoretically asked. She tried to lift a barrel of cider, then winced and set it down, clutching her groin. “Don’ worry!” she quickly cut off. “Jus’ got hit hard there, that's all.”
“You what?” Twilight whispered, coming beside Applejack and putting an arm around her waist. “Somepony landed a hit on you?”
“Ah gave as good as Ah got, but Twi, he's jus’...” The look in Applejack's eyes said everything.
And it made a sliver of fear rise within Twilight too.
A flare of light in the corner of Twilight's vision made her swivel in place. Out there in the distance, by the Everfree tree line, there was a shimmering hundred-foot beacon of silvery-turquoise light.
“...That's the same color as the Prophet's flames!” Applejack realized, pointing at the beacon.
“He wants us to find him,” Twilight deduced, narrowing her eyes.
“Is it a trap?” Applejack proposed.
“...No,” Twilight decided. She broke from Applejack’s side and took a few steps towards it. “If the Prophet wanted to trap us, he'd lure us into the Everfree and pick us off. But he's making no attempt to hide. He's confident that he can take us.”
“Us?” Applejack mildly asked.
“Me and the guards,” Twilight laid down. She turned back to her friend. “Applejack, I know you don't want to leave my side, but there's little you can do, even if you aren't in this condition. Help the citizens. Look after the rest of your friends.”
“Friends stick together,” Applejack maintained. “An’ Ah don’ want ya facing that demon alone.”
“Applejack,” Twilight softly said, extending a light violet finger. “Stay here. You know I'm being honest. And I can order it as a princess if you insist.”
Applejack's gaze remained firm. But her eyes drifted to the mass of faraway ponies stranded outside Sweet Apple Acres, and she relented with a sigh. “Don' throw yer life away.”
Twilight nodded with resolution, then turned to her guard of ten, who had also noticed the beacon.
“Fall in,” Twilight ordered. “To the beacon.”
Peter was sitting cross-legged on a flat white stone about a foot off the ground. He sat in the center of a pillar of flickering divine light that stretched far above him.
His wooden mask was on, his mind prepared. Peter had seen Twilight land in the distance across town, and had given her some time to do business before sending up the beacon. From then on, there wouldn't be much time.
Sure enough, the flapping of wings made Peter incline his head. Two lines of five anthropomorphic pegasi descended from a low altitude and landed fifty feet away from him. They spread out and began to encircle him. Even as they leveled their spears so Peter was now sitting in a circle of blades, Peter made no movement.
Then there was a teleportation pop, and Peter was grateful he had his mask on; he had been surprised.
Princess Twilight Sparkle swooped down, hovered briefly, and landed in front of Peter on the rock, her expression hardened. Finally, the two of them were face to face.
Peter inclined his head. "Hi."
Twilight's fists clenched. "Prophet. Human. Your actions have led to the deaths of hundreds and the destruction of Ponyville."
"I'm aware," Peter said.
“Why?” Twilight almost snarled.
Peter clasped his hands. “Because I was chosen to. The Goddess Faust has held off on this option for long enough. But Equestria has no respect for the divine gift of creation, so it will be visited with destruction.”
“What are you talking about?” Twilight incredulously prodded, gesturing at the ruins. “My friends didn't deserve to lose everything! If you have a problem with this world, you take it up with me!”
“Twilight,” Peter quietly said. “You don't rule this world. Faust does.”
“Faust is irrelevant,” Twilight shut down. “This is between you and me. You took away everything! My home, my memories, our safety!”
“You'll find that there's a lot more that can be taken away from you,” Peter said. “Twilight, I've… heard that you held special rooms in your castle where awful things would happen. That you're an adulterer with multiple different ponies.”
“Adultery?” Twilight asked, confused. “Why does that make us deserve this?”
Peter breathed through his nose with repressed anger and clenched his fists. “No explanation I give will satisfy you. But I'll try. Twilight, these sexual sins everypony revels in are harming Equestria's future. It's made you weak and doughy, and it's led to disgusting and evil things.”
Twilight, after a moment of shock, found words. “Excuse me? So you're saying we're too horny to live?”
Peter gestured. “Your perversion of nature takes the magic away from a divine gift and has led to decay and ruin. I have come to give one last warning.”
“We're not taking the magic away! We're making the most of it!” Twilight objected, moving slightly closer. “Human, I don't know what the world you came from looks like, but surely there are people there that think like we do. Haven't you seen what their lives look like? How fulfilled the people are?”
“I have,” Peter conceded. “But the people back home aren't fulfilled either, and the same fate awaits them too if they don't repent.”
“It's none of your business what ponies do with their sexuality.”
“The well-being of society is none of my business,” Peter dryly said. He declined his head so it was obvious he was glaring through the mask. “And here I thought Pinkie was the funny one.”
“So you would kill many more ponies if your God directed you to?”
“She is your God too,” Peter clarified. “And yes, I would. I would be saving countless lives yet to be born. I would preserve their innocence and agency.”
"And you show no remorse for your actions?"
Peter rose from his seat on the stone, and he stared Twilight dead in the eye. "Do you?"
"Not for what I'll do for my friends," Twilight defied.
"Nor me for what I do for Faust," Peter finished.
Twilight's eyes seemed to blaze right as her horn also came afire. "Your work for Faust ends here and now!"
The guards surrounding Peter closed in.
Instantly, Peter's eyes also flashed blue-white.
The shafts of every suddenly-dropped spear and halberd immediately caught on fire. The Royal Guard quickly drew the swords at their sides, and just as quickly dropped them too. The lengths of their swords had drooped down and melted like warm marshmallows. Pieces of white-hot steel dripped onto the grass.
"No," Peter denied. He hadn't even moved. "I still have work to do."
The very earth trembled underfoot at his words. Every guard noticed it. As it grew, every face turned frightful.
Twilight recovered from her fear first. She flapped into the air and enveloped Peter completely in pink magic.
And suddenly Peter's entire body ignited into silvery-turquoise flames. So too did Twilight's horn, since the flames were still touching Twilight's magic.
Twilight screamed and cut her magic off, quickly massaging her burnt horn. She swiveled her head, quickly assessing the scene. Several ruptures in the earth had been made under the guard's feet already. They had been trapped in the earth, but not killed.
Peter, meanwhile, stayed precisely where he was, staring at Twilight with firm intensity.
It allowed him to see the incoming magic blast, which he blocked with a wave of his hand. He did the same to the next three bolts, and for the fifth one, he actually caught it and sent it into the earth, throwing up dirt in an eruption.
Twilight reared her head. A violet crystal three times bigger than a person sprouted from the rock beneath Peter's feet and enveloped him completely like ice. Peter was trapped, motionless, in the crystal, preserved like a bug in amber.
And then cracks in the crystal spidered from Peter's position, reaching the outside surface. The cracks glowed bright blue, then shattered the crystal like glass, scattering all over the plain.
As soon as Peter was revealed again, Twilight fired a steady laser blast that impacted Peter's palms and ricocheted into the ground, carving a jagged scar into the earth. The laser’s impact point soon turned blue, and the blue traveled up the pink laser to Twilight's horn, blasting at the tip and scorching it again.
As Twilight recovered, Peter switched off the beacon’s light and hopped off the stone. He sprinted for the tree line, keeping his defenses up.
But when he passed the first tree, he heard Twilight’s imploring voice.
“You said you were chosen to do this?” Twilight called. “So you wouldn't have done this if it weren't for Faust? She's the reason you slew all those ponies! Her decisions aren't yours!”
Peter slowly halted and turned his head back to regard Twilight. She was atop the stone now, reaching out a hand to him, who had almost disappeared into the forest.
“You don't have to go down this path,” Twilight continued, softer this time. “You can choose your own actions. You shouldn't be anypony's pawn… You should be their friend.”
Peter didn't say anything. He just looked back at Twilight through the foliage.
Then he turned back around and sprinted into the dark forest. Her words echoed in his mind the entire way back.
