"Equestria will Fall"

A dark wasteland of icy snow covered the land of tundra and with the gloom condensing down from the moonless pitch-black night. A raging snowstorm did not yield any sign of warmth to sustain anything living, If anything were alive. There were neither trees nor grass; any that tried to break the veil of the snow would have frozen and died in their pitiful attempt. Black pebbles were scattered around the field of white slush, each having a coating of crystalline solid ice covering their exteriors, as if the isolated darkness and coldness of this wasteland went down to their very centres.

The storm raged on; its howling winds seemed to beckon death itself.

The further north a pony would travel into the snow, the more unforgiving and sinister the environment would become. Almost trapping in the land’s cold embrace and banishing them from the rest of the world as if they weren’t even there to begin with.

Banished.

That word became the hidden meaning of this wretched place.

There is a large abyss that had made a rip into the very ground, its blackness descended down for miles into a bottomless pit, much like the blackness that covered anywhere on the surface where one would try to look. The snow itself didn’t appear white and inviting that others would have experienced, this snow had turned a duller shade making it appear grey and lifeless. This snow isn’t normal; this land isn’t normal.

There is only pain, suffering, agonizing loneliness, and being frozen to the core. Constantly battered by snow storms as being hopelessly trapped in this forsaken place for an eternity.

Traveling further into the north, the storms get more violent, snow piles on higher, and the world of the frozen tundra gets darker that not even if Celestia’s sun were to rise into the sky at its peak that this ravaged land would receive any gift of light from it. More black rocks liter the path until a point where a mound forms with many of them littered onto one another.

Each one is encased within a sphere of ice, and that could only have happened being frozen over time. Being… forgotten.

Suddenly, in all the darkness that covered the tundra, a small red light shone underneath a larger pile of black rubble. It was a gleaming red horn. It protested against the night, its time was not done yet.

Its light gradually got brighter and brighter. Soon it became a shining beacon, a sinister one that pierced through the darkness of the land.

The storm was unsettled, it raged even more with this act of defiance from the horn. The crimson horn protested to the land once more, but it also accepted it? Yes, it feasts on this unbearable landscape. The horn glows and all the shadows cast around it soak into the sleek object. It draws power in from the darkness of the clinging shadows; anything that did cast a shadow soon was swallowed whole into the energy of the horn. The horn hungrily fed itself this feast, this land, its home, was rich in shadows and hate.

The horn was not satisfied, it wanted more, it wanted to devour every last piece of hate this place has to offer, it wanted to become WHOLE.

It levitated towards the sky in a sudden rush of power. It grew brighter; its light shined over the black discarded rocks and piles of rubble surrounding it. A wave of scarlet energy shoots out and the ice around the rocks starts to melt. Instead of melting completely, the rocks shatter and cascade a dazzling light. The rocks were only shells as the blast had exposed what was waiting underneath to be awoken once more. Crystals, and they were as black as night.

The crystals gather around the floating sinister horn and smash into each other. Crystal dust soon covered the air and everything was concealed within a thick layer of grey smoke and shadow. The sound of them clanging against one another echoed through the wasteland. The snowstorm grew more raged.

Faster the clanging went, ignoring the attempt of the wind trying to buffet and cancel out its noise. It can’t be stopped, not anymore. This thing died once before; it was not going to die now.

A pair of ominous red dots pierces through the smoke-covered air. They were eyes.

A dark figure was forming inside the cloud of smoke, and soon its full body was reformed from literally a pile of rocks, a horn, and nothing else other than the cold desperation of this place. The shadows parted and the figure stepped out from its smoke as it dissipated into the storm. The horn that formed the standing pony was placed right on top of its head, a cape draped down past it’s body, it’s gleaming grey armor strapped to its hooves and neck, and a crown covered the top of its head and black flowing mane.

Its look was one of pure malice.

The figure did not feel any rejoice about being alive again; all it could feel was rage; all he had left was hate. It gritted its glistening white teeth as it remembered the events prior to how it ended up back in this place, how it had died. His heart was still black as before, but all his feelings were gone. A curse it gladly accepted. Nothing remained other than the burning rage which he felt throughout his entire being.

He looked up into the sky; the storm was still raging and trying to bring this thing down to its knees. The pony clutched the ground in a firm hold and arched its back upwards. Its mouth opened and it roared ferociously into the night with a booming vibration of anger, ceasing the storm in its tracks and shaking the savage wasteland around it.

It was signaling that it was not dead, that it was now alive.

The dark tyrant has returned.