Why can't I just die?

The knife had remained in my chest ever since that coward of a griffon had put it here. I knew better than to take it out, especially since I could still feel the cold object within my somehow-still-beating heart.

That, and my mind was too preoccupied with immediate concerns.

As I collapsed to the floor of the forge, I felt myself being compressed enough to fit through the eye of a needle, than severe discomfort and nauseousness as I decompressed in some pitch-black dark, damp, humid place devoid of life. I didn’t have time, however, to ponder where I was, because something blacker than night crawled into my chest through the knife wound. All my skin felt like it was on fire. It felt as if some entity was digging through my chest into my skull, shoving aside whatever was in the way to get at it. My very vision turned dark, and dark whispers filled my consciousness. I grit my teeth and gripped my skull.

I screamed and pleaded, “Out! Get out! Argh, you dumb squatters!”

The wordless whispers continued, and the presence grew stronger, threatening to devour my mind, without any warning, any remorse, or any semblance of regret.

So I resolved to devour him first. I wasn’t sure how, but I didn’t want to end up its victim. I started grunting from the exertion of staying coherent, then I started growling, trying to scare the entity away. Then I started yelling and hollering in anger and agony. My vision started returning, and I felt the presence withdrawing. I grew colder still and less coherent. I couldn’t see the cold walls around me, the blackness of this dark place nearly blinding me to the approach of more moving figures of darkness, all who pounced on me. My panic nearly overpowered me as I felt claws and teeth and pain. I fought back against the demonic horde, losing more and more of my coherent thought as I ripped and tore, bit and ate.
"Screw you, man!"

Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear. Rip and tear.

Thus began a new rhythm of life.

...How long has it been? Time is... I don't know. This place is weird. I have to get out. I don't like this place.

I was alone now, having recovered from that episode. My body felt broken and bent, and my clothes were now but ribbons still holding onto me. I reviewed what had happened.

A knife sent me here, to this... place. I fought something... no, a lot of somethings, like demonic shadows, and if the aches in my stomach are anything to go by, I might’ve eaten something that disagreed with me.

As I dwelled on it, the ache grew. First to my lungs, then to my heart, where the ache blossomed throughout my veins. I looked at my bloody hands (My blood!), where my veins more resembled black tendrils and my skin more resembled the flesh of the dead than anything else. As my panic rose, more pain somehow radiated from my bones. It all felt so... wrong, and the wracking pain cascading through me forced me first to my knees, then into a fetal position as I heard and felt cracks and stretching skin and sinew. My cries and lamentations were heard by no one.

"That griffon! Did he know?!"

Finally, the only thing that I felt that hurt anymore was the beating of my heart. With every pulse of blood, a new spike of pain shot through me, but it was at manageable levels now. My night vision, while not enough to see perfectly in this black place, was better than it was before. On unsteady legs, I got up and started wandering the dark caves. The only sounds other than my breathing and my footfalls and the echoes of my breathing and footfalls were the dripping of water on the stone and the echoes of screams past.

"At least... hah. I got lucky, I... think."

As I limped, one hand on my back to keep it from aching too much, I finally noticed the smell of iron in the air, and I realized that the moisture on the surface of the cave wasn't water. I made a note to try and not steady myself on the walls of the cave. I rubbed my face, then noticed that my hands weren't what they used to be. The last digit of each hand was elongated and ended in a claw. As I stared in shock, my back gave out, forcing me to the ground. I rolled onto my back and tried to rest. I ultimately fell into a dreamless sleep, coated in stuff I didn't even want to know about.

Bullheart. Bigpaw. Bronzehoof. Did they know?

...Does Celestia know about this place?

I've found a way up.

It wasn't very inviting, but there was more light coming from above then there was below. I didn't want another run-in with those shadow things. That, and I wanted out. I wanted to feast.

By all the stars, I was hungry.

I had no idea how much time I had spent down there, but it was apparently long enough that I shivered and ached for want of food and drink. As I reached a sort of plateau, I heard someone cry out, "What?! Is that a Blade of Surt?"

There was a scrawny red and black centaur-looking-thing with red eyes in a large cage in the center of of the plateau. He was fixing his gaze on me, or rather, the dagger sticking out of me, as he gripped the bars of his prison. I placed a hand on the hilt, having completely forgotten about that little murder instrument.

I stuttered, "I... think... so."

The thing informed me, "I recognize that curse anywhere! It's one designed to send its victim to the deepest pits of Tartarus, where few go and none return."

I relayed, "I... see."

As he gave the impromptu lesson, I half-mindedly listened and filed that first tidbit away for future reference. I ambled closer and closer to that bag of succulent viscera and marrow, a certain something overpowering all other thoughts, feelings, and even the ramblings of this creature as he described his personal dealings with dark magic.

I hesitantly asked, "Hey... you got... any meat? I see some... on your bones."

I cared not, and when I was within arm's reach of the blissfully unaware tummy yummy, I struck, grabbing his limbs and pulling him towards me, pinning him to the bars of what could've been his shelter from me.

"H-Hey," I meekly spoke. "Hold still. You're spoiling the only thing to eat around... here."

I mindlessly feasted on the unfortunate creature, not recognizing it as anything other than a meal that screamed and struggled for a while. After this was done, I finished the lunch in near-silence, only the sweet sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh meeting my ears. I finally, finally regained some semblance of sanity after I realized I was licking what bloodstained enchanted metal I could get at, and I immediately regretted becoming coherent. I was in Tartarus. I had just eaten on raw flesh again. The only clue I had, other than the dull hunger being less severe, was the fact that I was freshly stained with blood, as well as the bloodstains on the cage. I felt sick, and I didn’t resist the need to vomit. Making a mental note to find some water after this, I looked for a way out.

I laughed. "N-No one has to know about this... right?"

Twilight Sparkle was reading the latest Daring Do book, finally having the time to do so after her princess duties had been done for the day. She thought back to the meeting conference that she had just attended in Freytara. After Ty had been assassinated, the East rose up and, in a quick war, took over the West, and now a rudimentary government stood watch over all of Freytara, albeit one whose officials had muscled their way into power with money and prestige rather than with merit. Even with that, Twilight sensed that Celestia was happy with how things turned out, even if it had cost that life.

Twilight sighed. There was a sadness behind the motherly smile of Celestia as of late. Was it because of Ty? Or something else?

A chill ran through her spine as the sound of someone knocking on the crystal doors met her ears. She sighed and got up from the cushion she was using.

It had to be on the night I sent all the staff ponies home.

She navigated the crystal halls to answer the summons when she heard a commotion. The pitter-patter of little drake feet, the opening of a door, a yelp, and something falling hard. It was when she heard her name being called that she hastened and took to the air. She slid to the open door, took a look at Spike, then looked to the mess of blood and torn clothing.

There was a pause.

"Uh...Spike?" Twilight asked.

"Y-yeah?" Spike responded.

"Who's this?" Twilight fervently asked, inching closer with every hoofstep.

"I-It's..." stammered Spike, as he poked at it. "The Ghost of Ty!”

Twilight Sparkle looked at the mess of a body and then back to Spike.

“Spike, I don’t think ghosts faint,” Twilight thought aloud.

Spike turned to Twilight and asked, “How about wraiths?”

Turning herself to Spike, Twilight hissed, “What?”

Whispering, Spike asked, “Apparitions?”

Grunting, Twilight whispered, “No, Spike!”

Listing off the possibilities, Spike then quizzed, “Spirits, phantoms, or specters?”

Turning back to the body, Twilight poked the prone form with her hoof. She then said quietly, “Spike, it’s corporeal.”

Spike turned back to the injured thing and offered, “So it is a ghost!?”

Twilight rolled narrowed eyes. “Spike, that’s incorporeal,” she corrected with a slight frown.

Corrected, Spike said, “Oh.”

With that, Twilight lit up her horn with telekinesis magic and instructed, “We better help him. C’mon, Spike.”

“It may not be a ghost, but it is Ty,” concluded Twilight.

Ty lay unconscious in a large cushion in the study of the Ponyville castle, breathing and alive, but unresponsive to the world around him. Twilight had a doctor’s kit opened, and she looked over him with a stethoscope and a flashlight. A pile of notes sat beside her.

Spike fidgeted, and asked while playing with his restless claws, “Did you remember him having such sharp teeth and talons?”

“Kinda," Twilight noted, "but not this much.”

Twilight lifted Ty’s upper lip with a tongue depressor to get another look inside Ty’s mouth, and her disgust almost overpowered her curiosity. Almost. Inside, there were serrated black teeth surrounded by infected-looking gums and tongue. All in all, Twilight was sure that Ty’s mouth was not supposed to look like that.

Probably.

She took some notes of the condition of Ty’s mouth before looking at his eyes again, which had the look of black marbles with pinprick white dots, which didn’t respond to a flashlight being shone in it. She recorded her observations and felt his heartbeat again. It was an eerily slow heartbeat, but it was a heartbeat, to be sure. His breathing level was also very slow. She also noted the pulsating of his veins, with a black substance coursing through them with a speed that defied explanation, especially with his low heart rate. Spike nervously paced and asked, “Do you think we should get the Princess?”

Twilight took the stethoscope out of her ears and sighed. “Yeah, Spike. Something’s very wrong with Ty, but I can’t figure out what it is. I’ve never seen this kind of condition before anywhere.”

Running off, Spike reported, “I’ll get the parchment.”

Ty the Martyred is alive.

Those five words burned again into the consciousness of Princess Celestia. She was awoken to find a late-night letter from Twilight Sparkle. She arose from her bed to rest on a cushion near a lit fireplace to open and read the scroll that had arrived in the dead of night. Celestia at first thought it a product of Twilight’s curiosity and insomnia, asking something about the nature of the observable universe, but the short message contained within putting cold to her heart like the knife to Ty's own.

Dear Pri Celestia,

Ty is here at my castle, alive. Please come.

~Spike

It had been five years. Ty was the brainchild of Celestia and Discord, but she had never considered him a son. After all, a son was born naturally, not made from pure energy. That didn’t stop her from considering him one of her little subjects, though. She had introduced him to Ponyville to begin his adjustment and eventually make his way to her, where she would offer him up to his quest. He had accepted, then died to a Blade of Surt from the late Griffon King.

But according to this letter, Ty had somehow... survived. Celestia could not remember any who survived the torment a Blade of Surt put through its victims, even in rumor. To hear of such a thing was ludicrous. She had finally gotten over the loss of his life and the undoing of a carefully constructed gambit when he showed up again.

She needed to get to Ponyville.

Author's Note

You didn't think he was so lucky as to die, do you?