Sombra and Fluttershy Share a Romantic Dinner On Vacation in the Seventh Circle of Hell
It was an absolutely lovely day. The air was pleasant, the sky was clear, and the screaming of the damned profligates, murderers, and Medieval Italian sodomites in the Circle of the Violent was at a comfortably low level. King Sombra supposed it had to be the Minotaur’s doing and he made a mental note not to kill the guardian on his way out as way of thanks. The generosity of others never ceased to amaze him. He had, after all, always lived on the kindness of strangers. No... no that was a play. Whoops. Regardless. It was positively romantic.
Sombra commented on this eloquently. “Crystals.”
Fluttershy, beside him, nodded. “Oh yes, I quite agree Sombrabunny! It really is a lovely day. I’m so glad that we listened to Virgil!”
“Crystals! Crystals?”
“And yes, sweetums, of course we can find you some lovely crystals!” Fluttershy cooed with delight. “I’m sure they have something like that in the gift shops in Dis. There were so many nice ponies there, after all!”
Sombra, pleased, accepted this. Below, Phlegethon, the river of fire and blood, roiled on filled with those violent against property and people. Er, ponies. It was all quite pleasing to Sombra, who was filled with images of violent conquest and brutal rule over his once malevolent Empire of Darkness. It also reminded him of crystals, but that was to be expected. Par for the course, even. Sombra, most dark and excellent of Kings, was a rather simple Stallion. Brilliant, but with simple needs. Something of that sort.
The two lovers sat alone on a rocky outcropping overlooking the river. Beneath them was a wonderfully comfortable blanket from Fluttershy’s bucolic country estate. Or her little cottage full of animals, it depended. Sombra liked to imagine that it was a wonderfully well-kept villa. Made of Emeralds, naturally.
It was perhaps not the most comfortable of vistas, but they made do.
Fluttershy was a dear, really, and the evil King with inexplicably red tip horn felt very fortunate to have her. His mind wandered as they sat in contented silence, back to the beginning of their long, tempestuous, storied, brilliant love affair...
When his recollections were interrupted by his sweetest, most butter colored love ever. And only one to match that description. He was pretty sure.
“Oh, Sombra sweetie, would you pass me the Cream of Heretic? Oh dear, I hope that Epicurean in the last circle was telling the truth...” As Sombra floated over to her with her magic, she hummed happily. “Thank you, Sombrabunny.”
“Crystals.”
“Oh, you!” She giggled.
The completely normal lovers were beginning to dig into the contents of their adorable wicker basket when suddenly, Sombra heard a sound. He looked up, and then to his right.
Galloping along the unfriendly shore was a centaur with a bow in his hand. His mane—hair, Sombra struggled to get that straight sometimes, but it was hair for them—was swept by a sudden wind. It reminded him of... well actually, not crystals. Some book cover. He forgot.
Sombra considered destroying the wandering sentinel instantly, but he doubted his sweet, buttery Flutterbutter would approve. Instead, he regarded the archer with flat eyes. Boy, he would love to toast a centaur right now. With lightning. No, no fire. Fire was cool. Fire reminded him of shiny things. Like Crystals. Gods Sombra loved Crystals.
“Crystals?”
“Oh, no, I’m not a crystal you big silly!”
Sombra was filled with existential sorrow.
While King Sombra pondered this and other incongruities, the centaur regarded them curiously. This irritated the Dark Lord, but in more of like a little crystal way than a big one. He had decided that in order to avoid needlessly dominating the thing he would regard it as a pet. From afar. One did not destroy pets with crystalline meteor spells. Well, one did not do so usually.
“Sojourners!” called out the centaur, drawing their attention. “Hail, I would advise caution!”
“Crystals?”
“Of course,” the centaur allowed. “I am Charon, chieftain of the centaurs who watch the waters here. You are quite reasonable to question my credentials, my loquacious friend.”
“Crystals.”
“Indeed. Yes, we keep the souls... oh, excuse me.” The centaur pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and aimed down into the gorge where the river flowed. His eyes narrowed. With a steady hand he released the arrow into the river. There was a long wailing. Charon turned back towards them with a disarming smile. “Sorry about that. My centaurs and I keep the violent souls of this part of the circle down to their proper levels of submersion. Now, as I was saying—”
It was at this most importune moment that, as the Centaur was distracted, a soul emerged from the roiling river of blood and fire.
Fluttershy saw it, and squealed, fleeing into the safety of Sombra’s embrace. King Sombra, lord of the dark and possessor of the Butter of Life, growled a savage warning at it.
It was a wild eyed... human? Yes, a human, Sombra was sure of it from his years of research into the darkest of lore. He wore a strange furred cap, a helmet of some sort, and stared at them with wide eyes and a manic grin full of terrible teeth. Hell had not been kind to him, hygenically speaking.
His eyes lighted on the centaur, and the human spirit seemed to panic. He clambered up onto the ridge, nabbed the picnic basket, and with a yell of manic glee he had fled across the hot volcanic rock of hell, onto the sand beyond.
Outraged, the centaur chased him, screaming.
Fluttershy stared at the place where her basket had been. Sombra snorted, staring at the interloper.
“Crystals,” he said with disdain, judging both the spirit’s moral fiber and ability to successfully evade capture.
He turned back to Fluttershy, prepared to deliver a speech on the proper method of enslavement of the morally questionable when he saw it. The most unspeakable thing. The Nameless Thing. Well, the Mostly Nameless Thing.
Fluttershy’s lips quivered. Tiny tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
“My... my basket.”
Something deep down inside of Sombra broke. It was akin to the snapping of a bone, or the strange unraveling of a young Freshman’s mind as he sits pondering his life decisions in a Waffle House booth after one of the clock. Sombra’s eye twitched. He felt hot, and was only half sure that it wasn’t from the lava of horrible and painful fire below. He would not let this stand! Not his Yellow Pony! Not today! Not in the Circle of Hell for the violent, as opposed to the one for thieves. It just wasn’t right!
He gave a wordless growl and magicked Fluttershy onto his back. She let out a small “eep!” of surprise, settling into an awkward side saddle.
He was off.
The Hun in... well, nothing, ran across the Hell desert, and the Dark Lord Flutterslinger followed.
The Butterflybutt pony, crying and bewildered, try to shout down at her new mount. “Sombrabunny, where are we going?”
“CRYSTALS!”
“But... but shouldn’t we let the nice centaur take care of it? It is his job, sweetums...”
“C-crystals,” Sombra managed, avoiding an outcropping of rock, the quick page making speech difficult. His opinion of the half equine jailor was rather low.
Up ahead, the completely naked and entirely too happy Hun was laughing, holding the picnic basket up above his head with both hands. The pink cloth with little smiling bunnies on it hung out the side. It was distressingly adorable, and absurdly the Dark King was reminded of how uneasy it made him. It was far too soft. Far too girly. His masculinity was threatened by sitting near it and by chasing after it with a pony riding him. He also wondered about the absurdity of one pony riding another.
As they neared the border, a massive stone staircase began to fall from on high out of the clouded skies, in sections. They connected, making a winding, decrepit path up to the next level. Atilla skipped up it like a child at the playground, and the centaur halted, foiled. He could go no further, and Sombra knew his arrows were worthless past the threshold.
Sombra, Yellow Pony jostled about on his back with her wings out to balance herself, raced past the cursing Centaur and up the cold steps. His iron hoofboots clattered on the surface, making a racket as he picked up the pace, running headlong.
“Crystals?”
“Oh, but I’m not sure I could keep up with you in the air! I’m not a good flier," she explained, hiding behind her hair.
“Crystals,” he explained. “Crystals.”
“Oh... oh dear...” Fluttershy lifted off as best she could, flailing around a bit before she caught the air just right and followed behind Sombra.
With the danger of losing her and injury to his precious and valuable Butterpony, Sombra got the human in his sights. Crystals... Crystals. He thought, echoing the sentiments of the infamous and eccentric Lawrence of Arabia, only instead of Arabs that bore his ire it was humans. They bore his the immense weight of his ire. They were ugly.
He charged up his magic and threw arcing dark energies up to the human. He missed, and sent stone fragments in all directions. He cursed, a bitter “Crystals,” before charging up more power. He fire again, and missed again. The Hun cried back something in his strange language.
“Crystals!” Sombra cried with all the bitter hatred he held for things that walked on two legs and were naked, and tried a third time.
At last, some brief success. The magic grazed his side, and the fleeing prisoner cried out in shock. The magic continued on as he stumbled, destroying a pillar and sending shrapnel everywhere.
“Crystals!” he cried in triumph, and leapt at his foe.
Unfortunately, the man had landed on his back. Sombra forgot a prime fact of his existence. A very dismaying fact: ponies were rather small. Comparatively.
The human kicked him, knocking the breath from Sombra’s lungs completely and sending him flying down the steps.
Sombra rolled, screaming and cursing as he bounced from step to step. He tried to construct a sort of wall below him with magic, but he simply couldn’t focus as the sharp impacts knocked the thoughts away.
Suddenly, he felt soft hooves pushing him up, and his descent ceased. Dazed, the world spinning all around him, Sombra closed his eyes and groaned.
“Are you alright? Sombrakins, please! Answer me!”
“C-chrys....?” he muttered, opening his eyes. The world refused to stay still, so he closed them again.
“I know, sweetie, you had a nasty fall! But it’ll be alright. Ohhh that mean old... meanie!”
Sombra waved a hoof, and she backed away. Slowly, he sat up. He shook his head.
The Dark King looked up in indignation as the human reached the door in the sky and left the Circle of the Violent. His sense of Lawful Evil morality welled up inside him. Crystals! Yes, he was evil and somewhat possessed by an intense desire to both enslave ponies and rob them of their precious solidified carbon, but there were rules about this whole evil thing. Conventions. Treaties. Honorable and time honored ways of wrecking unpleasant, insurmountable suffering upon the innocent, and none of them involved picnic baskets. Especially not the picnic baskets of the adorably yellow consorts of deposed emperors. He was mostly sure that was completely in the realm of impropriety and he was going to have a few choice words with this interloper. Namely, “Slaves” and “Crystals.” He thought he might start off with “slaves” this time. It was more intimidating.
***
Two ponies traversed the winding paths of the Circle of Heretics. Around them, the burning graves of heretics and Epicures filled the air with smoke. There was a chorus of groaning.
The first was proud, erect, a strong unicorn stallion. His neatly trimmed mane, his short and well-kept tail, and his perfect coat proclaimed to all those who might witness him that he was a pony of prime worth. The sliver of purple in his toga helped as well. What could he say? No one was here who knew enough or cared enough to call him on it, and he was going to be fancy and royal if we wanted to, damn it all!
The second was a bumbling earth pony with an awkward hat and mussed hair. He shook like a leaf in a category four tornado, wide eyes darting to and fro. Every few minutes, he stumbled awkwardly. To a passerby, it would look as if he’d seen a ghost. Or nineteen.
“Come then, don’t tarry,” the leader said, his cultured voice cutting through the background noise of the groaning and burning. “This is a rather dull part.”
“D-dull?” asked the second, white as a sheet.
“Yes. The next one is far more interesting. Unless of course, you’d like an indepth discussion of the placement of sinners in the nine levels of Hell in the terms of Nichomean Ethics.”
“Oh, that sounds safe!”
Rowan Oak, once known as Virgilius, rolled his eyes. In any other circumstance, he would have comes to love his new form. To be perfectly able to live off the land? This form was perfect, the ideal for the beloved image he had written about before. It was unfortunate that he only had it here. In Hell. With this one.
He supposed he should be thankful. At the very least, this Laurel Leaves character was more loveable than Dante. Despite their shared identity, being a pony had made this one far cuter... No, no stop that, you’ll scare him off. It was rough being a dead Romarean poet in Limbo. Getting a date? Impossible. If Beatrice stole this one from him, he was going to write a poem. A long one.
Gods, sometimes he missed Carpe Diem... er, Horace. Being a pony now was confusing, though a part of him hoped he could stay this way.
“Anyhow, I suppose it’s time to show you what is in this circle. I hope you are taking notes, my friend.” Right, no “dearest Dante” or any of that stuff. I can’t believe they convinced me to act so familiar with Dante, scared him right off into that shiney harpies arms! He stopped beside one of the graves. “See? Come closer.”
“I... oh... oh Celestia,” Laurel Leaves managed, and Rowan sighed. He caught the wilting earth pony in his magic.
“No, no fainting, you stop that. Yes, look. Here. Good.” After his charge had shaken his head and regained his breath, Rowan continued. “Now, friend, you’ll note that there’s someone down there. Say hello! Come now, don’t be shy.”
“Um... hello there...”
The condemned groaned.
“Oh, you! Ah, but that’s Lucretius for you. Fine chap, yes, enjoyed him. Wonderful gift for image.” He leaned to whisper quickly in Laurel Leaves ear. Ah, even smells nice, Hell and all. Definitely a keeper. I hope he likes lyres. He had better like lyres. “He’s rather boring, honestly, you’d hate his work. Now,” he stood back up, leaving the pilgrim pony to his own confusion, “we’re off! Boring, boring, yadda yadda. No need to explain the normal things, you don’t have the right books in... er, where are you from?”
“E-equestria...”
“Right! Right, yes, Equestria. Of course. In retrospect, that almost seems obvious... is that seriously what it’s called?”
“As far as I know...”
“Huh. Sounds like a rather frivolous place. You’ll have to tell me about it sometime. I...”
It was at this point that Rowan Oak’s eyes lit upon the most bizarre sight of a six foot tall warrior of the plans, stark naked, with a lunchbox in his hands, fleeing. Behind him, an impressively intimidating dark gray pony with teeth like knives and an evil aura pouring from his eyes gave chase.
Above this rather surprising scene, there soared a pegasus. Rowan was captured by the sight of her. He could write a poem about it, how her beautiful plumage caught the light of fires, how her eyes shone with the beauteous, numinous light of a thousand angels.
The three passed by Rowan and Laurel.
Before Rowan could open his mouth, Laurel had already begun to speak.
“Oh, oh most honored poet! My heart, it threatens to undo me! Who is that... that... pega... oh dear,” he said, his voice faltering. Rowan heard a loud thump as he fainted, and winced.
“Wonderful,” he muttered, looking down at him. “So this time it’s going to be Buttertrice.”
He was never going to find a date in Hell, was he?
Well, he was supposed to be Dante’s...er, Laurel’s guide. If DanteLaurel wanted to go after the yellow angel... then Rowan was going to take him.
It was time to carry him again. Sighing, he picked up the unconscious poet in his magic and brought him along. At a brisk pace, he kept the runners insight. Luckily, the portal was close. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for them to go but up.
***
Fluttershy was worried.
This was not exactly surprising. She was often worried. She fretted over her critters, fussed over Sombra’s mane, preened a bit too hard while worrying about the bills. She was getting better, though, with Sombrakins help. He always knew what to do, and his material wealth had made at least some of her worries vanish.
But still she worried.
At the moment, her primary concern was for her Sombra. He was running ragged, and hadn’t stopped to rest almost at all. On one hoof, she was very proud of him. On the other, she wished he would just quit. What if he got hurt?
“Sombrabunny!”
He didn’t respond, surging ahead. But she didn’t mind, he was very distracted.
“I hate to interrupt, but...”
He still didn’t respond or acknowledge her presence.
Up ahead, the Styx grew closer and closer. On the shore, a ferryman waited next to his ancient ship. The strange, hooded figure regarded them, his head tilted to one side. All the while, the swift Hun babbled in his dead tongue at the stone-still figure.
The ferryman lifted his hood to reveal that he was, in fact, a ferrypony. He was also a she. An aquamarine-colored unicorn arched an eyebrow at the procession. Fluttershy suddenly felt very self-conscious. Oh, was she doing something wrong? Perhaps she was flying too quickly, or she was showing off, or—
“Oh, fairest maiden! Darling angel of heaven!”
Fluttershy, confused, looked back over her shoulder to find two ponies trailing them. The earth pony, the one who had shouted, called out again.
“Yes! Yes, angelic one! Please, you must know the way out from Hell to fairest Heaven! I am looking for—”
She turned back to her Sombrakins, deciding that the pony was crazy.
“I hate to break it to you, friend Laurel, but—” the shouty one’s companion began, but his companion simply continued.
“—oh beautiful, radiant one! I lo—”
She had no time to listen to them. Ahead of her, Sombra and the Hun had met the aquamarine mare. Fluttershy found that she was flying too fast, and she soared right past it all. In dismay, she circled back.
Sombra had summoned a sword of dark magic, and was about to attack the thief. Fluttershy shouted down at him.
“Sombrakins, don’t!”
The lovestruck poet and his chaperone also arrived, stopping short. Or at least, they tried to. The earth pony did well, but the unicorn tripped, and fell forward. He crashed into the former evil emperor, startling him. They both cried out as the momentum carried them into the river, which accepted them greedily into itself, bubbling like mad.
The ferrypony looked on in poetic stoicism.
Fluttershy landed on the shore, panicking. The naked bandit took his chance, jumped into the boat, and held out his hand for the paddle. The ferrypony looked him over calmly and then handed it over. She shrugged as he pushed off.
“Such is life. So it goes. The wheel of time turns, and—”
Her sermon was interrupted by a wide-eyed Fluttershy in her face.
“MY SOMBRABUNNY CAN’T SWIM.”
The aquamarine pony blinked. “I’m terribly sorry, miss.”
“I CAN’T SWIM WELL.”
The poor ferrypony finally connected the dots. “Ah! Ah, yes, that would be problematic. Let me attempt to rectify that, if you’ll let me...”
She turned, and her horn shone with a golden aura. The water began to glow, and out of it were lifted two sputtering unicorns. The ferrymare deposited them on the sand, and Fluttershy hurried to King Sombra’s side.
“Sombrabunny!”
“Crys...?”
“Why didn’t you listen? I don’t care about the basket! I care about you! What if you’d been hurt, mister?”
“Crys...”
“My lady!” the pilgrim earth pony said, finally reaching her. “My lady, the love of my eyes, shining... um... your name?”
“F-fluttershy...” She said, looking down, a bit overwhelmed.
“Oh, blessed F’fluttershy! How I have searched for you! Will you take me up to heaven?”
“I...”
“Oh say true, I can feel your radiating love already, the beauty that shines from within your majestic form!”
“Well, actually... I...” She turned back to the coughing Sombra.
“But I love you!” the clingy pilgrim cried desperately, like he was about to faint.
The revelation stunned her. Like that, her whole world was unmade. This was so embarassing! Oh... why wouldn’t Sombra speak?
“Sombrabunny, are you alright?”
“Slaves. Crystals,” he managed, apologizing.
“I love you too, sweet Sombra. Oh, it’s alright... I know you meant well. But you scared me. It’ll be alright.”
The aquamarine ferrypony had pulled a lyre from her copious robes and began to play a soft song. No one questioned it. She began to sing a sweet ballad of love.
Virgil, who was now Rowan Oak stared at her, lost. He had quite forgotten about his charge. Yes, completely.
Sombra, for his part, had recovered. He hung his head in shame. But Fluttershy stopped him, lifting his chin with a hoof. She gazed into his evil, weirdly purple-aura’d eyes and said.
“Oh, Sombrakins.”
Romance was in the air. Rowan Oak stood transfixed by the lyre playing pony. Sombra and Fluttershy leaned in for a kiss so amazing it would shatter the earth and also apparently Hell. Laurel Leaves sobbed brokenly and then promptly fainted. If Atilla the Hun had been there, no doubt he would have felt amorous. It was in the air tonight, oh lord—
—Rainbow Dash’s snoring woke her up, and she sputtered.
Around her, the hellacious strains of “It’s a Small World After All” echoed in her ears. She groaned, slapping her forehead with a hoof.
“Oh, Celestia, Fluttershy! Why do we have to do this ride?”
Fluttershy turned and gave her a stare that would break a grown stallion’s mind. Rainbow Dash wilted.
“Because, Rainbow! I went on your super scary roller coaster because you promised! It is a wonderful ride, and it is very happy and cute.”
Rainbow scratched her head and looked around at the creepily happy foals singing that it was, indeed, always and forever, world without end, amen, a small world after all.
“I guess.”
“Oh, but I’m not the only one who thinks so! Isn’t that right, Sombrabunny?” She turned to the pony next to her in the strange cart boat thing.
King Sombra, former Chaotic Evil ruler of the Crystal Empire, nodded sagely. He offered a profuse, dense, and informatively passionate speech on the subject.
“Crystals.”
Author's Note
I'm so sorry.
I started writing this as a stressball of sorts, as I pumped out a longer fic. A major rewrite, 15K in total on one chapter and then three more, six strict editorial eyes later... I needed something to relieve the stress. So I wrote this based off of my good friend Nothing is Constant's Skype avatar. He will roll his eyes on me and with much disdain crush my spirit.
I hope you chuckled at least once. And... I do write serious stories too. Trust me. 20+ of them, serious and sad and dark.
