A Simple Theft Gone Wrong

White. Something was white. Maybe that's why it was so cold. Great Plot of Celestia it was COLD. White objects, blurry and difficult to pay any real attention to, slowly strike down into thousands of other unknown particles, forming a carpet of white before your vision, what little of it remains.

"...snowflakes?" The sound of your own voice seemed dry, strained in too many manners to consider. Leaves being crushed by boulders, you think, and the rationality of the statement becomes apparent: you can barely speak, slurred and somewhat wavering.

Think, recall what may be wrong. Slurred words: concussion. The word hammers itself into your brain, implications reaching out from some deeply hidden area of your brain, synapses discharging and firing wildly in an attempt to bring forth information that may be useful. White doesn't always mean snow.

'I believe you're hallucinating, it's too warm for there to be even a hint of snow. Besides, it's mid-summer and there's not been a change in schedule for this year.'

This voice was not yours. It was wrong, too far away, and too high up, if there was such a thing as up, or even gravity. It lacked substance or erratic activity. As if the voice did not care, or register any action or event beyond itself falling or the not-snow falling. This feeble attempt at thinking briefly causes you to fix your sight on an event in front of you.

Red. Possible fire. The red wasn't spreading. Shouldn't fire spread though? Vision fades slightly, partially, then wholly, and a momentary surge of panic strikes, were you burning? Eyes open again, just in time to prevent a neural overload. Automatic blinking, a nudge of information pops up, occurs when the eyes begin drying out due to heat or lack of moisture in the air. No. The strange redness spreading into the white didn't make any sense. A tiny pocket of irritation welled up, stating that red in any form is bad.

'If that looks bad in any way, shape, or form, well, it is bad. Safe to say it's really bad. Although you're probably not in any shape to appreciate just what form this kind of bad has taken, heh.'

No, it was lacking, but not towards you. The distant voice had an edge to it, one that felt as if the edge was aimed away from you, but not far enough. There wasn't enough distance between that edge and you.

A sensation began dredging itself into your conscious mind, having spread through what you think may be your body. It seemed strange, there wasn't any call for it. Was this something that an old friend, or a new enemy?

'Now that, THAT right there seems to be a problem. Rather, you're the problem. And I do mean, it's a problem for you, not me. The bad part is, what's LEFT of you isn't much. And I have virtually no talent when it comes to.. well. You'll just have to see for yourself. Sorry bud, but this isn't going to be fun. Or feel good.'

Several words spoken tug at your mind, the sudden wrongness and an imprint of the future blend with an idea of madness. If this was a dream, then it was the most abstract one you've ever had.

Movement. You blink again, somewhat calmer this time. Will you see again, or just wake up? As your eyes open, two long blocks appear in what little you can see, although one of them seemed larger than the other. Somehow that doesn't seem right, wouldn't they have to be the same size or at least density to move at the same speed? You couldn't tell. Wait. Why were they moving, towards you, and quickly no less?

CRACK. A sudden jerk, the horizontal blocks whip towards you and back faster than you thought they could move. The clashing white and red were the least of your problems. The old/new friend/enemy sensation materializes. Pain, that was her name. Letting out a gurgling sound that you remember hearing from others many times, the blurring in your vision increases, and suddenly stops. The fall isn't what kills you, the stopping part is, another corner of the mind teases you with a detail lost in translation.

'Sorry, sorry! I didn't... hm, you're really messed up. Well, your neck wasn't broken, I think, just twisted something terrible. Eh, I don't think you're salvageable. Although, some parts MIGHT be, eheheh. Eheh. Now, that's not that funny, not here to make jokes based off your dick size or your suffering. Let's see what I can do about that eye of yours.'

Eye. That was a strange sentence.. did he mean just one? A cyclops, perhaps? That made no sense. Cyclops didn't exist anymore. Another series of movements. Now you believe you are lying on your side, possibly. The pain continues fading, the blurring being removed as if a rag was applied to a damp window. Those long blocks from before take on an appearance of their own. A matte black pair of hooves materialize in your vision. Briefly, a memory of to what somepony said rings out, though you don't quite recall what it means. Something about...

"..hooves are magic?"

A sound suspiciously like a facehoof comes from above your visual radius. That obviously wasn't it. Blinking again, the pain seems to have faded enough to think clearly. The white and red oceans take up nearly all your visual acuity. In some form of distance, large areas of black appear, but you continue trying to direct your attention up. The voice is heard to sigh before you can ask what was out there. Although it's difficult to tell why, the speaker seems to relax in tone.

'Just.. don't talk, whatever you do, all right? Now look, I only have a limited amount of time. You are a mess. You're half blind and, well, I don't think you're ever going to win a beauty award. You probably never did before, but you definately WON'T win one after this. I can restore the eye, but the rest I don't even think the Goddesses can help with. Should they care, really, I mean, it would be wrong to assume they do, or even don't. So when you meet them, stay kind of, oh I don't know, neutral maybe? I'd rather not have any more issues than I do currently.'

One hoof slides closer towards you, making a strange crushing sound, the red and white merging together underhoof, forming a strange conglomeration as it does so. Apprehension wrenches at your mind, does the voice intend to kill, or something else? Something even worse than dying? Except you realize that you're not feeling anything. If that wasn't strange enough, you didn't even THINK about feeling pain until now, did you? This voice was new. It sounded a bit like a foal, maybe it was yours long ago. Another sigh from beyond. As much as you can, you strain your attentions outwards.

'Hmm. Well, you might not be too happy about this, but I'm going to borrow from someone else. I don't think they're in a position to negotiate, but neither are you. Only reason I'm doing this is, well, jealousy, really. Remember, it ain't the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end. Although if you'd fallen much farther, I suppose you wouldn't even be alive, then I'd be sad. And you'd still be undead. Or undeader? I forget which one is which sometimes."

If the voice's owner really was reading your mind, it was reading you backwards. Or just testing the waters. It may not want to be infected with whatever else was wrong with you, the pessimist inside squeaked out.

'Here goes.' The pause deadens what you can, or rather, can't hear, as everything beyond the voice appears silent. 'You.. should try not to scream. Don't attract too much attention, really. I still have removal of myself as first priority from this little mistake.'

Mistake? Scream? The two words echoed against each other, sometimes entwining, other times disengaging from the others' presence entirely. The word removal felt cold, out of place, awkward. Like a nail in a coffin made for a spirit, a solemn, cloudy voice intoned.

'Oh, by the way! Someone said happy birthday, so today's your lucky day.' The approximation of a snort was added to the end, a bit of dry irony to an already worsening trend. 'Anyhow, stay still. Look at something, study it. Might make the process go smoother. For who, I don't know. Don't particularly care.'

Might as well do what the voice says. Carefully, you survey the hoof before you. It hasn't changed.. much. It's smaller, which means the concussion was wearing down. The hoff was connected to a subdued light green leg, the hair partially curved, possibly due to natural curling. Slim, slender, nothing like an earth pony leg, based on the dim memory of a large, muscular leg connected to an ochre hoof. Maybe it didn't exist, but here it was, an illusion in hoof.

The white and red tides, seeming to battle for superiority of which deserves your full attention come into focus: ash. Definately ash, all sorts of colors caused from black and white with little bits of something that look like charred paper scattered between you and the hoof. Looks a bit like the collision between night and day, another mental note comes out. The red, regardless of your concentration, remains unchanged, although it does have a strange sheen, like molten plastic. The voice jerks your attention back to the hoof, as if necessary to obey at all costs.

'Now, I can't promise you much of anything except, well, you're going to be a piece of patchwork. Hopefully this goes well, if not, eh, you'll survive.' An unspoken maybe hangs in the forefront of your mind, as if there were other possibilities. Anything would be better than the numb, distant suffering you know the rest of your body is experiencing.

A dark green glow surrounds the black hooves, reminiscent of leaves on certain large trees, or grass when viewed from a great distance, appears for a second, perhaps more, and fades swiftly.

"..not... so ba- uff? NnggGRRRRAAHAAAAAAA!"

It couldn't be helped. Within the instant the light disappeared, you realize the state of your body as tendons, muscle, and bone change, warping and twisting in ways you could never imagine. A torrential sheen of darkness clouds your sight, removing the hoof, leg, and ash completely.

'Oh for the sake of the Plot that must not be named, you just coul- I try to help and they always scream an- not good, someone's out there, too close. I did this much, so the rest is all on you. You owe me a favor now!'

Unable to heed the voice's words, collecting them to recall later, your sides heave inwards, lungs struggling to collect precious air in an attempt to scream again. The attempt fails as unrelenting pain wreaks havoc across who knows how many bodily and mental functions. This my friend is called a blackout, and normally it occurs when you drink way too many of those hard ciders, a creeping, irritating voice springs out of the rampant visions flashing through your mind; a blackout can also occur due to trauma, not excluding pain or severe injury such as burns, fractures, horrifying events... the thought dies, as does the concept of existence itself for a time.

***

You've survived, the final thought before pain overcomes your mind, and you've gained something valuable from your suffering.. but just what is it? You will either become much more resilient to physical harm, or be able to cast spells with greater speed and effect. Choose one, and choose carefully: Adept, Resilient.