Horns, Hooves, and Fur

by Deyeaz

XXII - Here... Was Where My Troubles Began (Praxis Arc: Part II - Final Part)

Shadow's note: Calm down. Nothing I will say has come to be. I promise.

XXII - ...And Here, My Troubles Began

Praxis Arc: Part II (Final Part)

“Um... what in the name of Faust just happened?” Luna raised an eyebrow at the crumpled human, who was slowly getting up after charging the huge bonsai tree.

“Beats me. But according to my calculations... Jace might have knocked his brains loose from that impact.” Luna giggled at my joke, yet Jace... was clearly unamused.

“Well, according to MY calculations... Praxis the OP is a faggot.” Jace clapped his hands to his mouth at the derogatory word he used.

Luna gasped. I glared at him, the “all of my rage” meme face plastered to my own as I jumped out of the tree and smacked him. The sound of flesh colliding rung through the garden. “That word is bad and you should feel bad.” I pointed a taloned finger at him accusingly.

“Oh, screw my dirty library of words! We got bigger things to worry about than me swearing.” He pointed back at me, rubbing his cheek tenderly as the look in his eyes told me to shut up and listen.

“Ohhh, just THINK of the irony of that statement.”

But what can I say? Of course I didn’t.

A hand was placed on his chin, and a fake look of thinking was placed on his face at the end of my sentance. “Hmmmm, how about ‘no,’ since what I’m about to tell you involves an encounter with the crazy asshole trying to destroy the world!”

Me and Luna simultaneously raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening....” Luna nodded her assent.

“Indeed,” she said. “Shall you inform us of what’s happened, Jace?”

“Right...So, I got home after about an hour walk and see Vinyl. Everything goes fine up until the point where I tell her what’s happening with Insanity and such, and she passes out. Then, I hear that goddamn voice from behind me.” The anger was evident as his fists balled up. I didn't need to read his emotions to see that he was extremely pissed. “That BASTARD decided to show his ugly face in MY house, near MY wife! I got pissed, and that activated the remaining souls in my Scythe and make me go into Chaos Reaper form. He got one look at me, and was scared. I kid you not, the look on his face was pure terror.”

“Daaaaamn, son. That’s impressive. But I think that might just be his hologram. A fraction of him. So if a part of him got scared, then the actual thing, collected into one big ball of crazy, might not be. So let’s not keep our hopes TOO high just yet.” I really was impressed. Not only does Jace metaphorically have balls of steel, but it appears that he has ACTUAL balls of steel.

Damn it... now I’m envious.

“Now, Praxis. Your logic is strong, but here’s the thing. He ‘poofed’ away. Not the traditional, ‘LOL BYE’ kind of thing where he fades out like he normally does. He POOFED out of there. Now, I don’t know if this is his form of getting the hell out of dodge, or just his hologram not caring about the way it exited, but it was SCARED, because of one thing. I don’t care WHAT part of Insanity it was, because they’re all linked to HIS intelligence.” That smirk. Oh, fuck, that smirk. “He doesn’t know what a Reaper IS, Praxis. Which means he doesn’t know what they can DO.”

“They simply choose who lives, who dies, and who’s cursed to live in Purgatory. Oh, and resurrect when it is necessary. Can’t be that hard to go on, can it?”

Man, was I close-minded.

“No, that’s not what they do. They are the keepers of Death. You remember the old story when you go to Heaven, there are Gates blocking the way?” I nodded slowly, remembering that well. “We’re the Gatekeepers, Praxis. That’s the ONLY thing he knows. It means he only knows that we tell them whether they go to Heaven or Hell, not that he needs to have US on HIS side to kill everything.”

This was really good news. But it could be really bad news. What if Insanity manages to brainwash my best friend and turn him against us?

“Whoa, Praxis... nice beard.”

I rubbed my new facial hair self-consciously at Jace’s compliment. It was styled like the Prince of Persia’s, a mustache-less goatee like I requested of Celestia. She liked the idea of me having facial hair, but not like the beard I had before. She said I looked like a barbarian before.

“Heh... thanks, Jace.” I pulled my hood off, my long, now unruly white hair blowing in the wind. The hood of the Shadow Fiber seemed to have given my a case of hat hair. I flattened my hair out, making it as straight as possible.

“So what do you think of the news?” Jace managed to shake off the shock of my new look.

“Well... butter my buns and call me a biscuit.” What else COULD I say? I was in no mood to get in another argument with Jace, no matter how mild it was. And plus, I always wanted a chance to say it.

“Was that an invitation?” Luna nudged me in the ribs, throwing on a scene of feigned sensuality.

“Oh, God, the humanity!” I was appalled, while she and Jace were laughing loud enough to wake up all of Equestria. I was planning on somepony else saying that, and I deliver the final blow with that question. Either she knew of trolling (and who could blame her, her sister Celestia did it almost every other day) or she and I think along perfect wavelengths.

Somehow, the latter is a creepy option. It’s already bad enough that Jace could infiltrate my mind at will. Now I have a princess doing it? Oy gevalt. Could my problems could get any worse?

“So Praxis... you never told me about those scars....”

...That was a rhetorical question, Luna. Seriously?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what scars?”

“Oh no, not you too!”

Jace used his magic - he might’ve gotten it back while he was gone - and turned me around to examine the afflictions. He almost retched at the hideous sight.

“What the fuck?! These things make MY scar look like a goddamn paper cut!” I could tell by his tone that he was disgusted, and concerned. “Praxis... what happened, man?”

“That is what I’ve been trying to ask him,” Luna said. “You must tell us, Praxis!”

I let out a heavy sigh of frustration. I hated storytelling... oh-so very much. This was going to be long and excruciating to tell them all. “Alright, fine!” I bursted unintentionally. “Get in the damn tree....” As soon as Jace and I had returned to the bonsai’s calming and soft tree leaves, he and Luna sat cross-legged on the tree, gazing intently at me. This aggravated me a bit further, but with determination and boss-like capabilities, I shrugged it off.

“Are you prepared for what you’re about to hear? This isn’t for the emotionally sensitive, like I told Luna prior to your REALLY bad entrance, Jace.” They both nodded. I sighed and cleared my throat. “Very well. If that’s the case... I guess I should tell you. But like all tales... this one must start at the beginning... eight years ago. Here... was where my troubles began....”

---

I was walking home from school. The sun was beating down upon my face as I glared down the road towards my destination, a place I loved and hated: my house. Cars, four-wheeled devices that run on small engines and can hold people inside, rushed up and down the streets, causing the warm wind it ripped through to blow in my face. As I got closer to my destination, I was teeming with dread and apprehension.

I gulped painfully at the prospect of what would happen when I got home. I tried to find things that could easily distract me from my trek. Nothing came to mind: the street and anything outside of it was barren of any distraction. I gulped again and made my way home again. I adjusted my bag properly on my shoulders as I opened the doors of my not-so-humble abode.

I walked upstairs, where the smell of incense and hookah smoke greeted me. It was intoxicating, that smell, hypnotizing me in a dreamy trance. I traipsed down the hall and knocked on the door where the scent was coming from. I saw my father, sitting in his chair, enjoying the hookah with his close friends, Gheith, Siraaj, and Idris. They were always talking about things that were usually uninteresting to me: politics, news, the stock market. Yet... when I interrupted them by opening the door to the Study Room, it seemed like I had just put a halt on something spectacular. Yet they didn’t show it. They looked at me and smiled.

“Peace be with you,” they all told me in Arabic. I could only reply with an, “And unto you be peace” in the native tongue.

“Dad,” I began. “Is alright if you can play football with me? I mean... if you want to, that is.”

“I would love to, son,” he said, scratching his close-trimmed beard. “But unfortunately, I’m afraid that will have to wait. Your Uncle Siraaj is leaving for Libya in about a week, and me and the others want to make sure that he is able to enjoy his time here in America before he goes.” Nods of agreement came from the other men.

“Oh. OK.” I was a little downtrodden by the gentle rejection. But what was to be expected? Whenever my dad wasn’t busy at the automotive store, he would be busy discussing what was going on, or working the night shift at a donut store. This absence of a fatherly figure made me turn to only one person: my oldest brother, Ahmed.

“Good boy.” He patted my head, his sign of affection. “Now go out and play, alright?”

“Yes, Baba. Bye, everyone. I hope you enjoy Libya, Uncle Siraaj.”

“I will, my boy,” he said. I stepped out of the Study Room before walking to my room. I would hope to get there before something horrible would happen.

“What’s up, little faggot?”

I turned tail and looked at my worst nightmare. Six-foot-two, thin but muscular, my second-older brother towered above me, like a colossal monster.

“Can you please move?” I tell my brother Osama.

“I have an idea. How about ‘no’?”

“Osama, this is getting ridiculous. Move out of the way.”

Those words were the worst words I could have ever said. He proved this by picking me up by the scruff of my shirt and tossing me down the hall. I crashed into a pedestal and disturbed the vase that it sat upon. The vase toppled and landed directly on my head. The porcelain shards cut my scalp and my arms as they cascaded down my body. I refused the urge to cry. I tried to call out for help, But fear clenched me like an iron lung, leaving me unable to breathe.

“Don’t... EVER... talk to me like that,” he seethed, cocking his foot back to kick me in the stomach. He struck me in my gut, several times, each blow threatening to dislodge my innards and shatter my ribs.

Until I heard someone shout, “HEY!!!”

I looked past Osama and saw the speaker. Ample frame, six-foot-three, goatee, glasses. It was Ahmed. I knew, in that moment, that God had spared me. “Leave him alone....” He may not be as tall as he would like, yet there was something about my oldest brother that scared Osama. The attacker backed away from him. He shot me a look that said ‘You’re lucky.’

I had never been so happy to see Osama go, to see him defeated. He left to his room. Ahmed helped me to my feet. I used my shirt to wipe the blood and tears that trickled down my face. “Are you alright?” he asked. I nodded weakly before coughing viciously. Blood sprinkled my white shirt. “Here, let’s get you some bandages....”

After a few minutes of Ahmed swearing that he’ll make my other brother pay -- albeit I tried telling him to let it go -- and a few rolls of ace bandages, I was patched up and ready to go. Ahmed, who had overheard about my father rejecting my offer to play football, decided to play in his place. Laughter at how much I fumbled with the ball, cheers of joy from me, him, and my sister Suraya. It was... fun. It was like this weird feeling I had never experienced in so long.

Yet that experience, like all the good luck I received, had to die. A year later, my oldest brother, the one who protected me from anyone who would try to harm me... was taken away. He was deported back to North Africa. I never cried harder when the police took him away. I lost my one source of light in this cold and dark world.

My sister Suraya tried to replace Ahmed, tried to take care of me and raise me right alongside our mom... but she couldn’t replace him. Osama, and my other two sisters, kept pestering me, yet it was lowered to a minimum.

Five years had passed this time. I was blazing through my studies, and I was almost in my senior year, but I had to quit so I could look after my father. He had grown so old, so sick, and so tired. My mother wanted me to help her in this, because my two sisters and Osama were always gone for work, and Suraya had moved out.

After so many months of trying to get my father to feel better... he passed away in his sleep. Every time I visit his grave, always with fresh carnations, I can’t help but smile sorrowfully, wishing him a beautiful afterlife. Yet something constantly nagged me... I would look back at the house, then at his grave, and I couldn't help but jealously think, 'You lucky old man....'

But Luck seemed to smile upon me. Osama, surprisingly, got married to a Mongolian woman, and she finally managed to get his malevolent side to calm down. The family and I nicknamed her Bay, mainly because we didn’t want to embarrass her by calling her by her whole first name. They even had a kid, named Jaleel. That smiling face will always be what pulled me out of despair. What made me so joyous of this blessing was his first words... they were my name. “Adam”. I couldn’t help but smile so widely.

I was like a guardian angel to him. I held him every single night, sang him to sleep, comforted him when he was crying, fed him, changed him, played with him... I was considered a second father, as it were.

But, like always, my happiness, like many other good things... had to die. A year later, Jaleel got very sick. We tried nursing him back to health. We all did. But... fate... had other plans. He died... right in my arms as I held him for the last time. Fresh tears plagued me again. I knew I would never see that smile nor hear that laugh... ever again.

Osama and Bay were affected much worse than anyone else. Bay managed to overcome the despair, but Osama? He was so struck by it all that... he did something I never thought he would do. He turned to alcohol.

Days turned to weeks to him as he drank himself stupid. One day, I was using a... magical console used for entertainment via a screen and digital pixelations projected through plastic-encased copper wires... and Osama walked in, reeking of booze. In his drunken stupor, he destroyed my console, ripped my shirt off, and used the wires of the consoles to whip me.

I refused to cry out for help... I was the cowardly little boy from seven years ago. I lost count of how many times he had swung his wire to lash me. Only minutes passed until Bay came upstairs and tackled her husband to the ground to stop him. I looked at the carpet of my bedroom. It was painted red with blood.

Thoughts of suicide then filled my head. Like I said before to you, Luna, a flick of the knife, or a little drop of arsenic... and I could float off into the afterlife. I tried my self-slaughtering methods once. Razors. Razors everywhere. Blood was strewn across the floor when I was done. I slashed my wrists and sat in the bathtub, letting the water soak up the blood. My mother found me a minute later, screaming and crying as loud as her lungs would allow her for help. I had faded out of consciousness not long after.

When I awoke, I was in the hospital. I mentally swore as loud as I could, angry that my plan was foiled. I hated it. If only I could’ve been found out later. The doctors say that I was lucky that my heart was strong enough to sustain the blood loss, otherwise I would’ve been dead long ago. I looked into my mom’s eyes... I saw tears leaking from her eyes, blood staining her clothes and head scarf. I saw disappointment, sadness, and failure in those eyes of hers. She only saw loathing in mine.

After I was discharged from the hospital, I did what I could do: leave. I scraped together enough money to go to Libya, and visit my other brother Ahmed and his wife Karima. I heard they had a son, so I was extremely excited to go. Only thing was... I was stupid enough to go right before a revolution, and Ahmed and his family left early when the caution was thrown into the wind. While I was staying with my cousin and only other friend `Emad, we tried our best to avoid getting killed in our sleeping, saying prayers, reciting verses of the Qur’an, whatever we could do to ensure that we would be alright.

Once again, I had no idea how wrong I could be.

In the middle of the night, `Emad awoke me before a mortar had blown up the wall of the apartment we stayed in. We evacuated as fast and as stealthily as possible, but... it wasn’t enough to stop `Emad from losing his life. A Gaddafi loyalist had spotted us heading for the airport where the other Libyan freedom fighters were making their last stand. He opened fire on `Emad. Poor bastard was turned to Swiss cheese right before my eyes.

I tried to carry him to the airport, where a few doctors were hiding, in the hopes that he would survive, but before I could get through the doors, a sniper shot me in the hip. I went down, my consciousness fading another time from the quickly-recurrent blood loss.

I awoke on a plane back to America a few days later, patched up and good as new... or as new as I could be. I was unfit to fight again, and my mother was at the airport waiting for me. She was responsible for pulling me out of the revolution. To be honest, I was grateful. I had seen too much bloodshed, too many deaths.

A year later, my brother Osama and I went fishing, right when spring came around. He had gave up on the alcohol, and was a new man, especially after his rehab sessions. While he was gone to grill fish, I “watched” over the fishing lines. I was visited with this... ethereal vision in the river we were fishing from. I leaned over and saw Lyra... and Bon-Bon, and Derpy, and Carrot Top. I thought I was dreaming... I thought it was all a lie. I tried to touch the image in the lake, and in turn, I fell over the side and landed into the water. I was pulled to the bottom. I thought I was going to die. I was scared, and at the same time... that tingling feeling of suicide had occurred again. I was scared to die, yet... at the same time, I was happy.

But when I thought my life had finally come to an end, I noticed a light at the seemingly-bottomless river. I tried reaching for it, and I was pushed out of the surface. Like a portal of some sorts. I saw Lyra, Bon-Bon, Derpy, and Carrot Top, like I did back on Earth. I knew that it was a dream come true...

Until I came into town. All the ponies, immediately, evaded me, like I was some... abominable contamination. Rainbow Dash had thrown a vase at me, and called me a monster. I deserved that title. After what horrors I witnessed, who wouldn’t be called that?

But... good came out of being here. I met Zecora, I became friends with some of the Element Bearers... I met you, Jace, and Vinyl. I slayed my first-ever manticore, I defeated a hydra, I got most of the town to trust me -- at long last -- and I saved not just one pony, Fluttershy, but three others: the Cutie Mark Crusaders Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo.

Unfortunately, my horrifying past caught up with me briefly. Insanity was born from the hatred and sorrow corrupting my heart, and he made me into what I am as I speak. I watched as Big Macintosh was crushed to death by a fallen support beam. We buried him next to my place, Jace and I, before we got the Cutie Mark Crusaders out of there. Me, Jace, Vinyl, and our friend Zeke continued on our chronicles, doing our best to defeat Insanity before he can destroy us all... before the chance to redeem myself for unleashing hell upon us all is lost....

And here I stand before you all... a harbinger of bad luck, a patriarch of sadness... a father of pain....

---

I looked back at the two others, and regretted it instantly. Luna was crying uncontrollably, using her mane as a makeshift tissue. Jace had tears in his eyes as well, but he managed to hide them by wiping his face in his shirt. I saw my reflection in their glazed eyes. There was no luster in my eyes. The shine was dead. Not a single tear was released the entire time I spoke. I was as internally dead as I was when I was small.

Before I knew it, I was tackled, the lunar princess’s hooves wrapped tightly around my torso as she wept into my chest, her sobs muffled by the Shadow Fiber of the cloak. Jace couldn’t bear it and gave me a colossal hug as well. I put my arms around the two of them, patting their backs comfortably in the futile attempts to calm them down.

“My God, Praxis... I-I’m s-so sorry for what happened,” Jace choked.

“Don’t be,” I told him. “You need not worry for what happened. What’s done...” I released a sigh. “...is done.”

“S-so th-th-that’s w-why you d-d-didn’t want to g-go back to Earth,” Luna sobbed. I held the two of them tightly as I gave her a concerned peck on the forehead. “B-because y-you d-didn’t w-want to go b-back to... t-to that!” She burrowed her face deeper into my chest. Jace removed himself from me, sniffling viciously as he did so. “P-please forgive f-for what we tr-tried to do, a-and for w-what we d-did, P-Praxis.”

“There, there,” I said calmly, rocking her back and forth as she wept harder. "Shhh... please do not weep for me...." I watched as Luna receded her head from my grip and nodded, a weak smile on her face.

It's only a minute later that I witnessed the now-desecrated moon finally make its descent, ushering in the sun and the glorious morning it brings with it. I felt the sun's light beginning to shine. The same strange light I unleashed when morning arrived had shrouded me once more. I levitated into the air and let myself become a normal satyr again. I looked at Luna and raised a brow. "Did you do that?"

"No: m-my horn would've been glowing..." Luna explained. I looked back at the tower where Celestia would be sleeping, but got even more curious at the sun princess standing at the edge of the balcony. I couldn't help but notice something in her eyes. Were they... glazed over as well? Had she been eavesdropping, and had cried from my story?

Nah... It just doesn't sound like Celestia.

But... could it?

Comments

[RaptorCalloftheShadows]

o.o Y 4 U THROW SO MUCH SAD AT ME? ;_;

...

Also, First. ^^

[MarmiteLover]

Am I emotionally dead/ not empathetic in the slightest, or were others not affected by that?

You entertain me, I'll kill you painlessly.

[skyscraper123]

sad

[the other sans]

Oh, God, the humanity!
There, there,
Shhhh....

1, 2 & 3. These were supposed to be bolded since Praxis was talking right?

[Deyeaz]

708732
thanks for spotting that.

[grayling]

My feelings were that of the last day of school. I understood that people would be sad. Wasn't sad myself, but understood. And with that I maintained my poker face.

[dragenfire68]

708848 omg i have a heart.........

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.

[dragenfire68]

705124 nvm i lied i dont have a heart.

[dragenfire68]

705124 you sir are emotionally dead, grats. unfortunately so am i