Gone

[Flashback; 3 years ago; Rod]

I was a runaway from Las Pegasus, offered a job at the new power plant near Canterlot. I brought his son, Weave, with him, for his mother was dead, and, though I did not want him, no next of kin would take him, neither any orphanage. I went from town to town, station to station, and I was on the penultimate leg of my journey; from Manehattan to Ponyville. I had gone from Las Pegasus to Trottingham to Stalliongrad to places unknown, and had come from Appaloosa. There were only two things on my mind; the next train to Ponyville, and a place to stay. The train to my next destination only came once a day and I had missed it by roughly 5 minutes. Looking upon a dark alley, I noted a ruckus coming from it, and also that my son was missing. Deadbeat bully who can’t stop beating up other ponies. I kept walking along, and Weave eventually caught up.

“Sorry Dad, had to use the colt’s room,” he blatantly lied.

“Thanks for letting me know where you were.” I responded, not wanting to give away that I know where he was, beating up somepony.

Around 5 minutes later, a gray colt came up to me, and inquired, “Have you perchance seen my mother? She was going out to use the mare’s room, and I haven’t seen her since. I just came out around a half hour ago, and now I’m finally worried.”

Responding, with a hint of sadness, I lied to him. “I fear she may be gone. I heard a commotion in a dark alleyway, close to the mare’s room. I tried to get to the attacker, but he got away. What did she look like? Oh, and by the ways, my name is Rod.”

He uneasily responded, for he was talking to a stranger. “Gray, all around, just like me, but she’s a mare. And nice name, Rod.”

“Yeah, that’s her. She only had a few scratches though. Where are you heading?”

“Ponyville. Are you heading there too?” The colt looked hopeful.

“Yes, I’m on my way over there. Maybe I’ll let you see my old friend while you wait for your mother.”

“Who’s your old friend?” he inquired.

“My old friend is Rarity, you might know her. Anyways, tell her Rod sent you. She lives in a boutique; she has a marshmallow coat and a purple, styled mane. Her Cutie Mark is a triplet of diamonds; she is the living essence of the spirit of Generosity.”

By this time Rod had walked back to where Weave was and noted a red wing marking on his flank. “Hey, what happened for you to get that?”

“I’ll... I’ll tell you later, Dad, okay?” Now unsure of himself, he collapsed into a fit of stuttering and mumbling. Then, regaining control over himself, he asked, “Who are you, and why are you concerned, young one? Do you fear my knives? Where I’m from, they are simply for times of need, self-defense.”

“He’s right; Las Pegasus is a dangerous place, kid. Hey Weave, are you fine with taking this kid away to Ponyville? I don’t know his name, but he’s just a colt. I think Rarity would like him. What’s your decision, Weave? Keep him or leave him?” He paused. “Would you like to come with us, kid?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yeeeeeeees! Did I mention yes? I mean, if you’re the only way I’ll get to Ponyville, then sure, I’ll go with you! But can you promise I’ll be safe?”

“Sure, we can try and guarantee your safety!”

“Weave has no objection!” His face lit up. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks!”

And with that, they headed off to a hotel.

________________________________________

“Hey, kid, where are you from?” The gruff stallion was not so keen on having him along, but he felt a need and an obligation to help out those in need.

“I’m from Stalliongrad, and I moved from Trottingham last year.” With the young colt nervously replying, I now furrowed my seemingly bushy brows, squinted my eyes, and burrowed into my mind for a coherent thought.

Coming back to the realm of the living, I finally gave a response. “Did you see who mugged you and your mother?”

“It was a Pegasus, and by the looks of it, I’d say he was a blankflank colt.”

I sighed, shook my head, and muttered, “There are tons of pegasi out there, and it really doesn’t help to say just a male Pegasus. Anything else?”

Finally, he relented and poured out the information. “His flank was a dark brown, kind of the same manecut, definitely the same, piercingly blue eyes. However, the mane color and the length and color of the tail were distinctly different; the mane is blonde, and so is the tail, while the mugger had such a deep, brown mane and tail that it could be mistaken for a black one. I don’t think it was Weave, except the eyes never lie…” He shook his head, and lay down, as we had already boarded the train.

“Weave! Get over here and explain to this foal why he thinks you’re the mugger! I have a feeling that he’s right…”

“Rod! He’s gone!” I looked back at the colt, a look of sheer terror in his eyes, and a mirrored look of genuine fear in mine. Our eyes somehow grew more scared when a shadow was noticed lurking around. Rooooooooood… Roooooooooot… It’s beeeeen a while, Root… So nice to see you again… So nice to exact my revenge for what you’ve done… what you’ve done to me Faaaaather… what I’ve done to myself… What this blankflank, insolent foal has done to me and you and our family! The last part was laid out in a spitting hiss, clearly angered.

Oh no… I thought to myself. He’s having another psychotic paroxysm!

The chilly voice spoke up again. Oh yeeeees I am, my dearest Faaaaather… Yeeeeeeeeees I ammm… Slowly, Weave stepped out of the shadows, and onto the red cabin floor. “Ahhh… red. The perrrfect color to hide the dishonest father’s and the time traveler’s blood in.” Letting out an evil cackle, he jumped on the two ponies, which were now fighting for their lives.

“Kid, get back now! I think you’ve now become well acquainted with my other son, the one that goes crazy on a killing spree whenever a trigger is set off. What have you done to make his mind blow up?" Pausing, he spoke up. "You know what, never mind, not enough time. Just find a safe place; he finds you, consider yourself dead.” And I leapt to face my greatest fear; my own son.

________________________________________

[Root; Same Flashback]

When Rod leapt at Weave, I got scared. So, naturally, I found a hiding spot, into which I buried myself into a pile of hay. Watching then through a small peephole I carved, I watched in agonizing horror as they each pulled out a large knife. Are they really going to fight to the death? Once Weave had leapt out of his father’s path to throw his jagged switchblade, Rod had taken the precautionary steps, brandishing his sleek machete and coming out to deflect his son’s blade, but instead, while poised to throw, he instead decided to stand down for now, and charge towards his dear relative.

“I will kill you dad!”

At this point, I thought there was no turning back. His mentally crazed eyes were well beyond even those in the mental infirmary inside the Stalliongrad Hospital, the ones bound with straightjackets and kept in rooms with cushions. Rod had now turned to self-defense, and was now attempting to cajole Weave into standing down. By the time he could pull out the straightjacket, he already had small scratches, scrapes, and other various cuts inside him, all over his body sans his abdomen, thankfully.

I have to help him, or else we both die, and trust me, that wound not be pleasant.

Leaping out of my hiding spot, Weave must have noted me as easy prey, for as soon as he heard something else, something out of the ordinary, he whirled his head around, and a sinister smile plus laugh brought my hopes plummeting, and, I’ll just say, that was the one game of tag where the fat pony would actually care about being tagged. Somewhere in the seconds of me running versus a flying, crazed Pegasus, Rod caught his thoughts and jumped on Weave, and I thanked my natural boon for luck and caught my breath. But then, something terrible happened, and for that, I shall never be the same, nor shall Rod or Weave, if he ever gets out of his mental craze and lives to see the light again. While he was being tackled, I shall note that pegasi have an incredible amount of strength while threatened. He was still flying for, I’d say, a good minute, and in that time, he managed to slash my hind legs.

He was blubbering about after being wrapped in a straightjacket faster than I’ve ever seen a pony been wrapped, still shouting various profanities, empty threats now that he was tied up. But, my legs. Oh, my poor, poor legs. It was a pain like no other; it hurt on a degree that, whence feeling the pain, it was such an egregious wound that there was no pain to be felt; you were already enveloped. I heard myself repeat some words many times, I saw the caring face of Rod, and then I passed out into the deepest sleep I ever thought possible.

________________________________________

[Rod; Same Flashback]

By now, I was beginning to realize what he had done. Taking the rest of the way to view the spectacle of the past, I had to think of a plan to take Root to Ponyville without further harm or another absolutely glaring mistake. I brought an innocent child into the lair of his mother’s murderer. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I had knocked out my son so that he could get better; he needed to think. Attempting to repair the legs of my unconscious colt, I just couldn’t make it all work. I’d get a doctor here, but he probably couldn’t fix it either. Thank goodness the train to Canterlot doesn’t leave for another day. I still have time to redeem myself. He could hear something stirring, and his defenses went up.

“Ugh… Dad, where am I? Are we still in Manehattan?”

“Weave, you’re on a train to a small town called Ponyville, and we are getting close to our destination. We’re taking a day’s rest there, and then moving on to our final destination, Canterlot.” Maybe it’s a good thing he never remembers his psychotic episodes. If he did, then it would be a crazy time trying to get him from killing himself out of anger, or worse, succumbing down a mental slope, admitting himself into the asylum, where they treat them without them dying, but the pain being worse. I wouldn’t be here now, and neither would he or Root. “A stowaway crept on board to get some sleep before we came in. It seems as if he’s a colt around your age, Weave. I talked to him, and he’s getting off at the next stop. Please, for our sakes, don’t bother him. He really needs to rest.”

When the time was right, and while nobody was looking, Weave dashed off board in need of a colt’s room. Taking the opportunity, I rushed over to Rarity’s Boutique in need of a lab coat for his new work place. Walking in with a delirious foal at my side, however, did not help his case as I made a gamely attempt at giving the foal to Rarity in exchange for a coat and matching pants. “He can help around the place! Shouldn’t a foal of his age be able to not cause trouble anyways, especially in his condition?”

“Tell that to my sister; she’d remember being his age! And she was nothing but trouble!”

“Excuse me, but now it gets personal!”

“Why, I never!”

“Please, for both of our sakes, I’ll pay double over time if you take him!”

“Deal!”

“Just remember to make the order to the Canterlot Post Office, for I shall be working at the power plant.” I instantly regretted it, however, when her eyes grew huge, sparkled, and asked where he was from, and, after confirmation, the alabaster mare was raving all about his final destination. ‘The glamour, the sophistication!’ However, she was cut short when an orange-ish pony with a yellowish mane and, admittedly, a quite stylish Stetson, walked in. Her presence silently warranted a change in the subject from both the stallion and the mare, who blushed quite severely.

“Rare, I could hear you outside, and it worried me. And then I chuckled, ‘cause you must’ve come across somepony from Canterlot. Good luck to yer, partner.” Looking at me, I could feel my cheeks beginning to warm, and Miss Marshmallow turning even more red, progressing from rose to beet.

“Well, goodbye. Remember the coat and pants!”

“Of course.”

[End Flashback]

________________________________________

[Rod; Present Day; 99 Hours 0 Minutes; The Moon]

“Well, I guess weathering a storm can take a life and then some out of you.” Luna was speaking now, saddened and slightly frightened of what she had seen. “I learned years ago that he came, but was lost again. He had faithfully followed you over all the distances, from Las Pegasus to Trottingham to Stalliongrad, journeying through places unknown, arriving at Dodge Junction, to the warm hospitality of an aged Cherry Jubilee, who let you stay through all the seasons of snow until the rails could be fixed for the way to Appleloosa and Manehattan and beyond. “

“But,” she now said, with slight pause, “what made him snap was not the snow, not the unknown, but what was known; the fact that Root was out there and in such close proximity to him ruffled his feathers, so to speak, and simply drove him mad. The main reason this didn’t happen sooner was because he was in a place where there is not enough magical power, so to speak, or electricity, or nuclear power. But when you brought him into the plant, he had an outburst. The main reason everybody has to be so calm to work in a nuclear power plant is because, any stray emotions are amplified. He remembered something nobody else did. He remembered who killed his mother, for he had much intellect. However, his knowledge weakened him mentally, making him another Screw Loose, the generic name for everypony in the mental ward in Canterlot. In other places, he would be called a nutcase, or a screwball, or, simply insane. I have watched his never-ending nightmare, what has happened since, and what he is doing until an hour ago. Since then, contact has been lost. What happens down there is a complete mystery to everypony, even Celestia.”

She let me take this all in, and continued with her large speech.

“The reason for his anger and frustration is simple once figured out, but complex, even for a pony such as myself. The only times alicorns are made is when they are born at a specific time, extremely specific. Such as, nanoseconds difference will decide your fate. For you to comprehend it, I would have to tone it down, say, to a large scale game of a lottery, whereas opposed to a drawing every day and maybe around tens of thousands of ponies playing for a specific set of numbers, and the odds are stacked against you in, say, a one centillion quadrillion billion million in one shot, or, for some of you people out there, a rough estimation, around four hundred zeros after the initial one, given that a centillion is 303 zeros after the one. Go rack your numbers later. There are fluctuations in the time-space-magic continuum in which there’s enough of a gap that, immense amounts of magic can hit a pony. They are normally able to talk within a few days, if not several hours, and have enough raw magic to cast almost any spell. Tradition has it that you must be touching the emerald stone upon the throne in the Royal Canterlot Castle the exact same nanosecond you were born upon fifteen years ago. At sunset in 4 days, the time is right, and a foal born at just that time will possess immense power. However, as foretold, the fourth alicorn shall use it for evil, and Weave knows that from experience, so he will go forthwith to Canterlot Castle and set up guard.”

Pausing once again, she stared up into the sky, as if trying to recall something. Finally snapping back into reality, she said, “Oh, and the last time this happened, was around 5,000 years ago, give or take a few hundred.” This made me gasp.

“So what you’re telling me is, Root is actually an evil alicorn prince from the future who went back in time to kill my family because of a dusty old prophecy?”

“Basically, yes. That and we all would actually be on Equestria with an evil alicorn prince, Celestia and I would be imprisoned in an old set of dungeons underneath the castle, and the majority of the creatures that have came to Equestria within the past few years – Discord; my evil persona, Night Mare Moon; Chrysalis; and King Sombra would most likely be roaming free.”

“And my insanely crazy, mental son Screw-Loose-type, nut job is our only hope?

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Oh boy.”

________________________________________

[Stroke; 90 Hours 0 Minutes; Traveling the Unknown]

“Stopping!” The group of fillies and colts seemed to be waiting for a match as they stopped their march from the early afternoon of that day to their point underneath the midnight moon to a seemingly abandoned station town. Disgruntled ponies lay about as somepony shouted ‘Finally!’ and promptly collapsed, the journey proving to be on the borderline of disaster for him. Some of the stronger ponies had been recruited to take carts from the nearby farm to haul wagonloads of foals in. However, their efforts to reap the rewards of their cunning goods proved fruitless as many a pony saw the journey as being too much for them, lying down in the steaming sand only to have their skin stripped off, and another pristine set of bones in the harsh deserts that not even the most skilled woodsponies would dare to cross. By the time they reached the small ghost town, their pack had been decimated from a sturdy 500 to a meager 25, all left of Stalliongrad a ragtag group of a few fillies and colts, plus Paint Stroke and Cloud Chaser. The group had already passed through a small mountain range, a desert, and across a river (which several younger ponies drowned in).  Finally, Stroke looked at Chaser and whispered “Cloud, this place is called Riverside. We just passed Las Pegasus without knowing it.”

“You want to hear a story, maybe make an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit?”

“Sure. Living under a box doesn’t help your case much, and everybody knows me as a painter with intuition; it would be nice to learn some history.”

And so, without further ado, Cloud Chaser began a story about a corrupt Stalliongrad leader and his subjects. “Once upon the Tac Dynasty, there were the rulers of Stalliongrad, and they were cats. Yes, cats. And these cats were very fond of milk. Well, a pony who wanted to overthrow the empire, so he put a poison in the king’s milk. However, the suspect’s glee turned into fright as the emperor did not instantly die; instead, he decided to write a book on his now mentally skewered imagination. I shall not mention the title, but there were enough grammatical and spelling errors, not to mention the worst plot anypony’s ever seen, and published it. It was about three ponies, an earth pony, a unicorn, and a pegasus, who hated each other, so much so that the earth pony attempted to poison the unicorn. However, the pegasus was hungry and ate it, and she fell asleep, which was fine by both of the other two. When the pegasus woke up, she was really fat; the flab was feet deep, and she couldn’t move. The story ends there, and it was ‘required reading’ inside the home of everypony’s home. Once he himself read it, he let out a public apology, basically saying ‘So long, and thanks for all the fish’. He then killed himself.”

“What happened to everypony who read the book?”

“That’s where the Third Tac Death March came in. around 100 ponies came and attempted to ‘spread the word’ of ‘the Great and Powerful Tac XLVII’, but it was accepted later on that it was just getting the crazy ponies away from the sane ones. Once every copy was burned, everything returned to normal. Rumor has it that this place was the last standoff of the 100 or so that left, now having dwindled down to only 10. Their spirits rest here, and they shall not rest until the book is returned.”

As he finished the story, he noted that Paint was wan with terror. “Lighten up, Paint; it’s just a ghost story.”

Once a sigh of relief escaped her lips, she looked around to find the remaining ponies. However, silent as a mouse scurrying along into its hole, her terror began to grow again. “Cloud, why is it so silent?” Her words dropped off as she realized that he was not there anymore. The warn body next to her just seconds ago had disappeared, and her face scrunched up in horror. “What is that awful smell?!” The scent of raw sewage hit her nose, and she gagged and keeled over in disgust. “Mommy, Momma Stroke, please don’t let me die here.”

Green glinting eyes greeted her from the tree line as another pair popped up, one after another. She noticed a hard-bound book hitting her hoof, seemingly with a mind of its own. The old-type font jumped at her.

“Oh, wherever you ponies are that preached the teachings of the Great and Powerful Tac XLVII, come help me! I have your book, and I don’t want to die!” The green eyes moved in closer, slowly shambling up to their prey, their meal.

Dessert.

But a force came upon Paint, a feeling of survival, endurance, resistance. I will not die here!

And then the timber wolves pounced. Refusing to die, she fought off one after another with her bare hooves, but there were too many for a normal pony to even begin to consider hope, and Paint was beneath even the lowliest of ponies. Once her hope started to wane, the timber wolves took the opportunity and pounced upon their prey. However, she felt a force behind her. But, there’s a wall there… and a barrage of ghostly greens, whites, yellows, some blues, a few grays, and many other ghostly ponies came upon the pack of timber wolves, and, against all odds, she had defeated an innumerable amount of timber wolves.

And then she noticed the ghosts, glaring at her, with steely, translucent eyes that made her nauseous from the horror.

“Where is the book…?”

________________________________________

[Weave; 50 Hours, 30 Minutes; Approaching Canterlot]

Only two days. Two days until his destiny arrives. Two days until he will rule Equestria again. I must not let this happen. If it does, Equestria shall once again be plunged into a darkness of evil. Weave wanted to be there with his father when he defeated the evil Twisted Roots. His soul and body switching, time management amulet or, as he loved to call it: Something and Bigger Somethings: The Moral Amulet, was something he took from the evil colt in the distant past. With it, any scene from his life was magically replicated, and he took the body of anybody within a mile of the memory.

It had a small fragment of Root inside it. Most of his evil spirit was contained inside. The time amulet had a mind of its own now. He tested it once; he was sent back to his first day of grade school, and he had been sent into the same body he had once possessed. His strongest feelings were there. Since then, he had used it several more times, mostly for his own benefit. He had made sure his dad got the job he needed, he got into the school he wanted, anything of that sort. It was also the main reason his death was delayed even further; he had snatched it from the unsuspecting entity of evil and changed the events of the land of Equestria. The time ticking in his brain, counting off the hours, the minutes, seconds, and even more accurate for his day to shine, his few seconds, the few seconds until the bittersweet end. Equestria may be saved, but I won’t be here.

Not anymore.

With no time to spare, he rushed into the Princess’ quarters. Finding the secret entrance, he made his way into the potion room. Flipping through the sheer quantity of books, he found the one he was looking for.

“Sleeping Draughts: a Guide to Putting Insomnia Off”

Just the book made him shiver with anticipation.

I wish I had a unicorn in here to help. Make everything so much simpler. Ah well, improve was always a specialty of mine. Gathering the materials for 48 batches of 1 hour sleeping potions, he crawled beside the throne, admiring its elegance and grace, the rubies and sapphires glimmering in the setting sun.

I hope you bring your best, Root, for I have no mercy. And with that, he swallowed the first of many potions, the bitter muck soothing his throat, and he collapsed, next to the throne.