It all started with the little one's mark.

No, wait.

It all started with the lightning incident. You know, the time I fell into the midst of an impressionable crowd as a magical bolt of lightning in the midst of a magic-eating country covered permanently in a sea of endlessly boiling storm clouds. That turned out to be a terrible idea.

It was the day after the filly showed me the first cutie mark to be earned in Tartarus. Well, I say day, but you know what I mean.

I woke to the sound of screaming. Painful, joyous screaming. I think I should have taken that as the first sign that this day was going to be the kind of day I don't want to talk about. My tent was as high and spacious. The wind softly wafted through the gaps in the sailcloth, bringing the ever-present smell of freshly fallen rain and blood. That was sign two.

Look, long story short, the survivors all thought it was a great thing to wear the mark of the red crown as a cutie mark and so...they began to change theirs. Or rather, they asked the little one who already wore it to change them. There are few sights as disturbing in the world than seeing a tiny, formerly innocent filly half covered in blood with a sharp rock in her mouth carving bloody rips in the shape of a sideways E into the individual special talents of the fanatical ponies as they all sung the praises of the Red King.

When did they write songs? HOW did they write songs? I still don't know that. These were the original songs. You must have heard them by now. All "The Lightning King will Ride from the Heavens" and "Dust is the soul of Australis". They're weird. Don't get me wrong, I like my fanatics. They're cute. But they're crazy. The only reason I haven't come down on them harder is my rule of "You believe whatever you want, just don't try to make anyone else listen to it".

There, you see that? I changed the topic to something slightly funny. Songs are always funny.

What?

Stop giving me that look. And get some blood back in your faces. Look, you see this? I have my own red crown. Same rock, same filly. You know why? Because we're all in this together. The dust runs in all of our veins, not just mine. Well, not yours. You're all candy and sunshine. It's why you're still all too shocked to faint from horror.

Now. Stop asking for stories you really don't want to hear so I can stop skipping over them in a vain hope to keep what's left of your shattered sanity in one vague piece. Okay? Good.

I'll tell you about the Celestia visit, that's a better story. Now go home. I'm sure your loved ones will comfort you after your self-inflicted horror story. Yes, yes, storytime is the same time tomorrow. Go on, shoo. That's right. Thousand yard stares fixed on the door and walking out of it. Good, well done. Oh, yes you can have a hug. There. Now get home.

. . .

Is anything there?

. . .

Hello?

. . .

Sigh. They're gone. Who's there? Sturdy, it's you. Yeah, I'm done for the day. Of course they asked. Cute little fillies make the best stories, of course. Everything loves small children. Even creepy ones. No, I didn't tell them about your part in it. They don't want to hear how you got MORE blood on your hooves. That said, we both have enough of that as it is. Blood on our...forelimbs.

Didn't tell them about Crater's part in it either. Who knew she could still transform? So it was just a little filly who was innocent and sweet, rather than a changeling's cruel joke and the trigger happy earth pony who took a sharp hoof to her two dozen victims.

I still love you bro, don't worry. You and her. We have to stick together, like we always do. That was how long ago now? Damn. That old tent would be dust now. All we have are scars from those days. Remember that time we took on that guard squad? You lost an eye in that fight. Thank the fates for magical healing, eh? It's not your proper colour, but it sees, doesn't it? Tell you what, when I lose a peeper I'll replace it with a magic rock too.

Yeah, I'm heading back soon. I'll just throw out the...Oh hey. Thanks Crater. You know I'm not going to stop calling you that, I don't care what your swarm calls you. You're still the cute little ball of chitin Sturdy and I pulled out of a mud-filled hole in the middle of an anti-magic desert. Queen or not, you still purr when scratched behind the ears.

See? You just be glad I don't strike down behind you during those speeches you're so fond of and do this.

I'll do it.

I will.

. . .

Scritchy scritchy.

Yeah, works every time.

Author's Note

Very short chapter this time. Very. Didn't think there was much more to be said here. After all, we can't tell the audience everything.