Veritatis et Veniae

by rattythepuppet

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Adventure, Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Human, Main 6, Original Character
Length: 4552

He thought it was enough that he forgave himself...but someone had other plans.

The small boy picked up the dusty old tome; with one large capacity of air, he blew the filth and grime off. "Of Equestria, Post Harmony..." His fingers felt along the side of the book, eventually reaching a latch. As he unbuckled it, an unsettling feeling washed over him. Opening to a random page, he saw a note etched on the top margin. "Veritatis et Veniae, as written by Michael Drake Holmes..."

Published 2012-02-02 14:57:10 UTC
Last updated 2012-02-11 00:49:06 UTC

Second Chances

Chapter 1: A Second Chance.

It was a pitch black Friday night, the kind that most people would rather not walk in. Well, except for the one guy that was actually out there. It honestly didn’t bother him; he had great night-vision. Just a little skill he picked up earlier in life. “I really don’t want to go ‘clubbing’ tonight. I’m all for music, but there’s just too many drunk assholes ready for a fight...” He contemplated out loud. He hadn’t liked fighting all that much; it hadn’t always been that way, he used to love a good fight. But as time passed, he soon realized the futility of it all. He just somberly trudged down the dark city street. He just wanted to get home and relax. In fact, maybe he’d even-

“Hey there...that’s a nice bag, mind if I take a look inside?” said a raspy voice, probably that of a very VERY avid smoker. The midnight stroller turned around to see a scrappy looking man, probably around his mid-20’s. Beside him stood two more men, almost identical to him in terms of general features. He did notice that the one on the left had a large scar on his chin.

“Hey BUDDY...I’m talkin’ to ya,” responded the “leader” to the silence. It then hit him. He was being mugged. A confident grin crept onto his face, causing the leader to contort his in a slightly worried expression that disappeared as soon as it came. He may not have liked fighting, but he sure as hell loved putting douche bags like these guys in their place.

“Well, sure you can...” He snidely replied. The leader lunged forward, expecting to grab the satchel, but instead had his head brought down hard onto a bony knee. He fell back, blood gushing from his nose.

“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, is it?” He ordered his men to restrain his assaulter, each grabbing an arm.

“Shit.” was the only word he could muster before the leader brandished what looked like an old Vietnam survival knife. “Oh, come on! Who the hell carries around a big ass knife like that? Are you TRYING to get arrested? I mean seriously, ‘Yeah officer, the guy who mugged me had a big freakin’ knife in his coat! Oh yeah, he’s hangin’ around with tweedle-scarface and tweedle-dumbass here,” that earned him a knee in the stomach. “My turn,” He whispered under his breath, tripping the guy to his left, stomping him in the stomach while simultaneously giving scarface a nice left hook to the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, the kid can fight! You’re a scrappy little spit-fuck, aren’t ya’? Takin’ out both my guys, leavin’ me all to yourself. In fact, I’d say you even wanna-” He was cut off by a palm pushing up his nose cartilage.

“Sucks to be interrupted, don’t it?” commented the “helpless victim.”

“You seem to like going for the nose...hehe...” He stood up, wiping his bloody nose for the second time.

“I’ve learned a lot in my 20 years, and one of those things is that it hurts like a bitch when you get hit in the nose.” He was then startled by a loud screech, followed by shock from the ensuing knife in his stomach. As he dropped to the ground he saw the face of the leader gradually drain itself of blood. He looked pale as a ghost, his actions finally sinking in; he knew what he had done was wrong. It all went to hell! He didn’t think he’d actually stab someone...

“C’mon guys! We gotta get the fuck outta here!” He screamed in a panic forcing the two men up, hurrying away, not even bothering to retrieve his knife. Through the bleeding man’s blurry vision, he watched the 3 entities run off. He was on the verge of blacking out when a car pulled up beside him, it’s headlights glaring; he then saw a very dark figure step out of the vehicle. He felt strong arms pick him up and place him in the car.

“God damn...I...hate...being...stabbed...” It never got any better. He blacked out for a short while until he felt the car screech to a stop. He yet again felt the arms take him in their embrace, taking caution against his wound. “Where...where are you...taking me?...”

It wasn’t until they clambered into a decrepit old laboratory that the mysterious stranger spoke. “Your time here is over. You must move on to a new plane. You, my friend, are needed.” Before he could respond, he was awe-struck by the magnificent machine powering up before him.

“What is...that?...” He painfully questioned, surprised he even had the strength to say it. “Why...the hell...are you...just leaving me...like this......do something...” But the stranger did nothing. He only continued to fiddle with the strange contraption before him; and then he felt it...the onset of death. His vision was darkening, unlike that of an oncoming blackout. He could hear his heart beat slowing. This was it. All he felt was the violent mixture of pain, fear, and agony.

“It’s time.” The stranger preceded to take his hand, and hurtle him towards the machine. He immediately noticed that when the stranger took his hand, he felt a sudden burst of adrenaline. Then he noticed that he was flying towards the machine. The dangerously electrified machine. But instead of feeling shocked, he felt at peace.

“No...no...no...I can’t be dead!” It broke his heart. He started thinking of all the things he’d never be able to do. “Ouch...nope, still alive.” He concluded, as observed by the pain he was feeling from his clotting orifice. “Okay...I’m not in Heaven...”

“Where am I then?”

What Is This Place?

Chapter Two: What is This Place?

“I don’t belong here, we gotta move on, dear; Escape from this afterlife, Cause this time I’m right; to move on and on, far away from here...”

As he fell through this strange abyss, he realized that his music player had switched on, and of all the irony... ”Afterlife” was on. The chorus really stuck out to him at this point; it seemed so fitting. The music, it had a numbing effect on him. The music, the sound, the tone...it all made him forget about his current condition. He then noticed that as he was tumbling through the void, his blood was splattering all over the abstract tunnel-like emptiness. He urgently put pressure around his wound, a grimace on his face.

“That’s my blood...That is a lot of my blood...God-damn! How much longer am I going to be in this hellhole?” As if on cue, a blinding light both stunned him, and sent him into more mind-delving blackness.

…......

He awoke (what seemed like) several hours later. His head hurt. Almost more than is stomach. One thing was for sure, he needed help. He shakily got up, amazed that he had the strength, amazed that he felt stronger than before...more powerful. He instinctively took in his surroundings, noticing that something was very off. Everything looked...so...different. The closest description would probably be...cartoony. He could feel the stone under his feet, through his shoes. He felt a midnight breeze maneuver through the trees, meeting his skin. He smelled a very earthy smell...he also picked up a hint of a very pungent odor...it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t think of it. He noticed then that he was in the middle of some sort of ruins...presumably, it used to be a castle of sorts...he preceded to pick up a very unsettling sight. A large expanse of forest lay before him, looking ominous; but he knew that the only way to get out of here was to move and keep moving.

He then pulled off his satchel and checked it’s contents: one pack of cigarettes, a zippo, his cell phone (probably useless); he pulled it out for a second to check...and sure enough, it didn’t work. He went back to his inventory: an empty flask, a bullet (of course, of all nights to forget his weapons...) a small “bag of happiness,” and...

”What the hell...?” He reached his hand into the bag only to pull out...a tampon? What the fuck was that doing in there? He shrugged it off and decided to use it to sop up some of the blood; the wound seemed to be clotting, but there was plenty of the red liquid still wetting his epidermis. “Now...which way...” He scanned in each direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of a light, a person, anything really. He closed his eyes for a moment, just listening.

He had a good set of ears on him, that being the understatement of the year. People often compared his hearing to that of a dog. He heard a faint rustling in the bushes, far off from here. He also noticed the hint of that odor again. He decided to follow it. He gathered up his things and went on his way, trudging ever so painfully through the forest, admittedly jumping at the several voices of nature.

As time passed, he slowly compared the scent to that of his empty flask. He had came to the conclusion that it was indeed a strong alcohol. It had been getting stronger and stronger the further he went. He eventually came upon the source of the noise, and upon closer inspection, the source of the smell too. He parted the shrub to find a magenta...animal of some sort...he would guess (judging by the apparent hooves) that it was equine in origin. The curiosity of why this creature smelled so strongly of alcohol had crept it’s way into his mind. Also, it seemed to have a strange marking on it’s...

He struggled to remember what the rear-end of a horse was called. He thought for a moment, eventually pulling up the imaginary file in his head. Flank. The mark almost had a tattoo-esque appearance. It was a simple picture, like that from a clip-art program. A strawberry, and a bunch of grapes. Side by side.

As he elaborated on the subject, his concentration was broken by the creature’s stirring.

“Huh? Oh, it’s waking up...”

The magenta mare slowly dropped the weights of slumber from it’s eyes, letting in the gentle moon’s glow. She scanned around for the source of the rustling that jarred her from sleep. As she lay her eyes on the creature, she realized two things: She had passed out in the woods (again)...and a strange creature had woken her up. Another thing occurred to her. What if this thing was dangerous? She sprang up, still rather drunk, but sober enough.

“Hey...w-what are you...?” She slurred in between a hiccup.

He was surprised at it’s trouble getting up. It really was drunk. He had come to the conclusion that some cruel bastard had made her bathe in alcohol, but it turns out it had been drinking it. He heard a voice. He gazed at the small horse-like creature in amazement. “Was that...you? Did you say that?” Before she could answer, he was already looking around for any other possible explanation.

She hiccuped once more before answering. “Y-yeah...holy crap. You can talk?”

“Well...yes...I can...” He said to the creature. My God, this is remarkable! “How, may I ask, are you talking?”

The colorful creature stared at him for a moment. “Dude...everypony can talk...I’m-” She hiccups once more. “...how you can...you’re an animal.”

“I’m not an animal. I don’t know where I am but-” He was interrupted by a cry of pain from the...pony. That’s what it is. Some sort of pony. “What’s wrong?”

“My BUCKING HEAD! The damn migraines are back! I guess I’ll go wake Fluttershy’s flank up...”

He quickly piped up, “Who’s that?”

She gave him a look as if he asked her who Celestia herself was. She started to walk. “Y-you...should probably follow me...she can probably help with that, you know.” He looked down to the large knife wedged in the clotting laceration she was referring to.

“I hope you’re right...I really do...” He trailed off as she pulled out a bottle of liquor, drinking it down thirstily. Without thought, he lunged for the bottle. As he both drank the (surprisingly harsh) liquid, and poured it over his wound, the pony just stood there, looking obviously disgruntled.

“What the buck do you think you’re doing with my baby?” She screamed, in a distressed tone.

“Helping myself.” He retorted with a chuckle. She snatched it back, throwing the bottle in the bush. He assumed that she was aiming for him, which just made him flow into a full-fledged laugh.

“Hey tailhole! Stop laughing at me!” Slurring her words more, she continued, “I’m trying to help you.”

After apologizing, they made their way off into the moonlight, with nothing but silence and each other as their company.

So, the adventure begins. He sighed to himself as he followed his reluctant companion.

Answers

“W-w-wha-what is that thing!?”

The fragile butter-colored Pegasus cowered in fear under a small table, questioning what this strange creature was doing in her house, and why Berry Punch had brought it here. It looked so strange...it walked on two legs, had a strange facial structure...nothing like that of anything she had seen...

“Um...Hello there...I didn’t mean to startle you...” He started to get a twinge of embarrassment, although he wasn’t sure why...probably because he was frightening this obviously sentient being.

“Fluttershy! He’s cool, pony. He’s cool.” Berry Punch defended, a bit less slurred than before. “His name is...uh....um...I know this one...”

“Michael.”

The ponies stared at him with shock, Berry for forgetting to ask his name, and Fluttershy for the utter disbelief that he could talk. Fluttershy, surprisingly enough, was the first to break the silence.

“T-T-That’s a strange name for a...um...” She paused. Again, she had no idea what to call it, she didn’t know what the hay it was! “Um...W-what are you?”

He was surprised at this question. If they didn’t know what he was...

“I’m a human. A Caucasian male, to be exact. My full name is Michael Drake Holmes, or Michael D. Holmes, whatever tickles your fancy. Anyway, I have a few questions I hope you’ll let me ask while you take care of this...” He promptly pointed to the jutting knife.

“Oh my...here, come sit over here. I’ll take care of you.” She smiled weakly, her fear of the creature..erm...human...was replaced by the urgency of the wound. “It’s a miracle of Celestia that you’re even alive!” She said examining the injury.

“Um...who? Is that your Deity or something? Are you all...tribals or something?” He sat patiently, watching the pony aid him.

“What? No, she is our Princess, along with her sister Luna.” She said before gripping the handle of the knife with her teeth. “Ihs migh hur a bih” Michael could feel the pain of the blade being slightly moved, but he barely winced. She continued, “Awrigh...aw free...wuh...FREE!” She ripped the blade out, re-opening the laceration. Blood started to pour out of the wound once more.

“GAH! Uhng...Well, I wasn’t expecting that...” He watched her apply pressure with a towel as she asked Berry Punch to fetch the first-aid kit. “So, this is some sort of Principality, huh? Just two princesses?” He asked, slipping his shirt off.

“Yes, they are our rulers. They do a good job, in my opinion.” She smiled a little more comfortably as she started to stitch the piercing of his flesh. He sighed at the pain of the needle, realizing the cute factor of the pony before him. He smiled at her; Fluttershy could feel the presence of the happiness, making her look up. Their eyes met, which made her blush heavily, and Michael only chuckle. “Are you okay? This doesn’t hurt too much, does it?”

“No, it’s perfectly fine. As you can see, I’ve dealt with this before,” He said, giving a reassuring smirk. For the first time, Fluttershy and Berry noticed his numerous scars. There were three small, slightly indented scars; one on his arm, one to the left of his chest (her left) and one on his abdomen. There was a strange clump of little tiny marks on his shoulder. The mares wondered what it was...one of them would have to ask about it. They looked at each other.

“Uh...what’s that?” Berry asked, pointing to the cluster.

“It’s a shrapnel scar. I was hit in the shoulder by some pieces of metal from an explosive.”

They both gasped...they’ve heard of the destructive force of such weapons...

Fluttershy whimpered, then spoke, “Who would...Why would...How did this happen?! What happened to you?”

He lowered his head, as if reliving something he’d rather forget ever happened. “Nothing...It was in the past,” He went eye-level with the ponies. “...Let’s not fret over it.”

The vibrantly hued equines nodded reluctantly. They definitely wouldn’t forget about it; but they would leave it alone for now. The two then started to clean up the medical equipment, when Berry let out another earsplitting shout. “MY CELESTIA-BUCKING HEAD!” She calmed down a bit, “I forgot why I came down here. Fluttershy, the migraines are back...”

She uncovered her ears, “Yeah...I could tell....” She trotted into the bathroom for a second, then came back with the appropriate bottle for the situation. “He-ah -erry, ah houn yo-...” Only the clatter of pills on the ground and the Pegasus’ gasping could be heard. “What is that?!”

Michael snapped out of his ceiling gaze, looking down at Fluttershy and Berry’s shocked faces. “Hm?...Oh God, what did I do now?” He then realized that they were referring to the long, gruesome, jagged line that plagued his neck. “Oh...that. Well...yeah. I...did some things I’m not proud of. I fought. Fought for the wrong reasons. But, like I said, that’s all in the past.”

Berry shook her head, as if trying to get bugs off of it or something. “Well...Fluttershy, I’m going to head home. Ruby’s probably pretty worried. See ya’ later.” With that, she scooped a few pills in her mouth, taking the rest and putting them back into the bottle, heading out the door.

As Fluttershy and Michael waved her off, he sighed, “I better go find somewhere to stay...”

Her ears perked at those words, “Oh...well...why not here? You can have my be-”

“No. I’ll take that couch.”

“Oh, but it’s oka-”

“No. You don’t have to do that. I won’t let you.”

“But...I...eep...” With no further words, he sprawled on the couch with slight caution as to not hurt himself. She just sighed, then smiled and made her way upstairs.

As Michael lay there, he felt very fatigued, the events of the day finally wearing him down. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and waited for the bliss of slumber to whisk him away.

...silence

...silence...

…....silence......

…......

….knock.

He sprang up, startled by the sudden noise. Examining the room, he saw no signs of disturbance...until another knock was heard. He picked himself up off of the couch, creeping towards the door. A sudden stop, Michael listened intently.

….heavy breathing...

...a scratching at the door...

...it sounded like...

...a blade of some sort...

He snatched the knife that had been enlodged in him not an hour ago, bringing it to arms. Reaching his free hand for the door handle, he flung the door open to find...

...nobody.

...nothing but a small piece of paper...

He picked it up and read it aloud.

Welcome. Welcome to your second chance. Welcome to a new life.

You are under our watch. A test of your valor...your honor...be prepared.

Only through the trial, shall you find true redemption.

-The Order of Krainein

XVI: Donec Fermentum

Ambition breaks the ties of blood, and forgets the obligations of gratitude.

~ Sir Walter Scott

Ambition. Where was it?

As Michael strolled down the suburban sidewalk, countless thoughts raced through his head; most pertaining to ambition, or the lack thereof. It had been a few months since he tested out of High School, and at sixteen years old, he had nothing. No plans, that is. As of now, he was really only being supported by his family. They definitely wanted him to get a job, that’s for sure.

“Getting late...better head home,” He said looking up at the setting sun, the soft orange hue washing over his face, producing a dim gleam in his pale blue eyes. He did an about-face, turning to the direction his home was in.

His internal dialogue was interrupted by a loud scream. "Get off of me!" At those words, Michael sprinted towards the graveyard; it was coming from there most definitely.

Down the sidewalk.

Along the street.

The gates, they’re coming into view.

It’s dark, there’s a flashlight beam.

Through the gates.

Down the path.

Between the tombstones.

Michael finally got to the spot where he heard the scream. It came from a girl of about 20. An older man was on top of her; she was struggling.

She was being raped.

“Get off of her, you bastard!” Michael was alarmed at his unconscious burst of confidence. The man looked behind him, to see the 16 year old that challenged him. The man got up, and laughed.

“Go home, kid.” He said. “You’ll only get hurt.”

“I think not. What the hell do you think you’re doing,” Michael adopted a more intimidating stance, though the man showed no signs of fear. “...you really think you’ll just get away with raping her? You’ve got another thing coming.” He stepped forward. As he did this, the man pulled out a small object...a .38 Special snub-nosed revolver. This secretly instilled fear in Michael. He didn’t want to die...not like this...

“I suggest you walk away...before you get hurt.”

Michael looked at the girl, who was on the ground unconscious. He then looked at the revolver. It’s what he must have used to knock her out. He noticed something...the cylinder was ajar. There were no bullets; that he could see, at least. He saw his chance. Before the rapist could react, Michael lunged for him. Grabbing his shoulder, he delivered a fist to his face. The man stumbled a bit, then stood straight yet again.

“Hard fist ya’ got there. Now check this out.” He tried to fire the gun, soon realizing his error. Michael took his opportunity to strike him once more. “DAMMIT!” The rapist screamed, “You little shit!” He popped a few bullets into the cylinder, setting it back in place. “I was hoping I didn’t have to use this...”

With that, he fired a shot. Luckily, it missed. Michael rushed forward; as if in a slow-motion sequence, as the man was pulling the trigger back, Michael’s hands gripped onto the cylinder of the revolver. “No bullet holes today,” Michael thought as he ripped the gun out of his hands, throwing it into the bushes.

The rapist tackled him to the ground, punching him repeatedly in his face. He was starting to drift, the pain so intense.

Blurring...

Blurring...

Blurring...

Blur...

Blur...

…

Blackout.

A smell of blood and dirt, mixed with the smells of the dead and decaying below him...

Michael awoke to an angelic voice, calm and soothing, yet distressed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Please...wake up...” A hot tear fell onto his face. Who was crying? He opened his eyes. It was very blurry, and it didn’t help that it was nearly pitch black outside. “Are you okay?”

“W-...What happened?”

“...You saved me.” He felt himself being pulled into a warm embrace. “I can never repay you.”

“Please, no thanks are necessary,” He said with a smirk, “...only doing my job.” He laid his head back with a weak chuckle. He was glad that she was okay. She seemed too nice to deserve that...no one deserves such evil. Only those evil enough to do evil should receive evil. His thoughts...incoherent, yet they make sense. Hm.

“Hey! Wake up, we need to get you home.” The woman helped Michael up, supporting him. “Guess it’s my turn to help you,” She said smiling. They began to walk towards the location of the woman’s car.

“So, what’s your name?” He turned to look at the girl, taking in

her many gorgeous features. A soft auburn-brown layered hairstyle...slightly tanned skin...a perfect smile...soft, supple lips...and perhaps the best feature of her face, two piercing rain green eyes of the most beautiful magnitude.

“My name is Seline.” Michael perked up to that...what a beautiful and fitting name for such a wonderful girl...”Yours?”

Michael paused for a moment. “My name is Holmes. Michael Drake Holmes.”

“Oh, going for formal, are we?” She gave him a flirty smile. “Seline Anabelle Lee van Radke.”

“Oh really. Someone has a longer name than me.” He smiled back at her. Despite what she just went through, she bounced back pretty quick. He admired that.

There was more laughing than talking. They made their way back to the car, which was just a simple Sedan. Nothing special...yet, it was a car that he loved, mostly out of some weird sentimental value.

After confused directions and a lot of pointing (it may have been intentional) Michael finally reached his house. Stepping in the door, he saw that everyone but his Dad was asleep. His father just looked at him with a worried look.

“What happened?!” His father jerked up from the table, rushing to the aid of his son.

As they embraced, Michael said, “I think I found my ambition.”

…........................................................................................................................................................

“I finally set up that tracking GPS thing on my phone...I hope it works”

LOADING...

LOADING...

LOADING...

INITIALIZING...

Michael D. Holmes
Friday, February 10, 2012
Holmes Residence

“Great, it works. Now, aside from a few bruises and cuts, I’m okay. Well, my nose did get a bit broken, but it should be fine.”

“Son, can you come down here?” Michael followed the voice down the stairs, seeing his father ready for work. “Son, I just wanted to talk to you before I left.”

“What about?” Michael eyed him inquisitively.

“Well, I just want you to know that I might be gone out late a lot. So you’ll have to be the man of the house, take care of your mother and such...”

“Say, Dad, are you still working on that case with Senator MacLane?” Michael sat at the table, awaiting an answer.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” He smiled at his son’s interest in his job. Not many kids find “lawyer stuff” interesting. His look quickly turned to one of deep thought. “Although...there’s something fishy about it...I know I’m supposed to be defending him, but I feel like he really IS doing all of those things...”

“I try and tell you, he’s corrupt, just like everyone says he is. He is responsible for the deaths of all of those civilians in Nigeria. Profiting from destruction...” Michael sighed at those words.

“I know how you feel about it, son. I have to go now, hopefully I’ll be home later.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll see ya’ later, then.”

His father turned to him. “...and son?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. You know that I would do anything for you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Michael awoke to the morning rays coming through the window of the small cottage. “Damn...still here, huh?”