The Super Awesome Story About Stuff

by BlackRoseRaven

The Redacted

Chapter Fourteen: The Redacted
~BlackRoseRaven

The world rumbled around the ponies, and the darkness came like a wave in a stream of black fog that vomited past them, filled with echoes and screaming voices. They flinched at it, but it was an empty power: it was miasma, and it was poison, but bracing themselves against it, they felt it was the same as it had been before: nothing but smoke and shadow.

The miasma washed past them, and Styx gritted his teeth as he heard Loki's voice trying to get back into his head, but he blocked out the words before he could make sense of the whispers. Marina shuddered, her body trembling, but she stood resolute all the same, even with her body feeling so frail, so unstable.

Twilight Sparkle gazed through the black fog, and Luna and Scrivener stood on either side of her, taking strength from her fearlessness even as they supported her. “Narrator! You can end this! Just come out, talk to us!”

But the Narrator was helpless, the Narrator was helpless because the Redacted was coming, the Redacted was taking over-

“Narrator!” Twilight's voice was desperate, exasperated, almost angry all at once, as she glared up into the air. “You're the one in control, not it! You're the one with all the power over this world... this world has no power over you! Just get rid of it!”

As Twilight spoke, something began to drag itself into the room: something more than just slime, and malice: something horrific and hideous and oh-so-very real, oh-so-able to hurt them, crush them, maim them, rip them kill them-

“Narrator!” Twilight snapped, and reality itself seemed to flinch even as the purple mare gritted her teeth as that hideous thing slithered towards them, grinning from its many mouths, drooling slime and acid, all its countless eyes staring, staring... “No matter what this is, if it's... all the anger, all the sadness, all the loneliness, you can make it go away, you don't have to give in, you don't have to let it-”

But what Twilight Sparkle didn't seem to understand was how hard the Narrator had tried to get rid of it! He took away its form, and it took on many forms! He tried to lock it away, but the guard he left fed it, fed it, fed it until it became strong and evil and awful. He had even taken away its name to try and erase it entirely from existence, and now look at it! It was Redacted, it was Removed, and yet it was still here!

The monster lashed out with a claw that shouldn't exist, and Twilight was slammed off her hooves by it, her eyes bulging as she was knocked skidding across the room with a gasp. The floor shifted callously beneath her, slime grasping at her and thorns of dark energy jutting out of the earth, and Scrivener and Luna both flinched as they felt the mare's pain resonate through their own bodies.

All the same, the two readied themselves as the hideous mass of jaws and claws and eyes turned its attention towards them, lashing a claw towards the earth pony. Scrivener Blooms immediately attempted to block the attack, but he flinched in surprise and pain as he was knocked over by a tremendous force, and yet at the same time the attack seemed to pass through him, making his very spirit ache.

Luna snarled as she leapt forwards, dodging a vicious lash from the thing's many tentacles as it roared and laughed and screamed at her before the sapphire mare slammed herself into the beast... and she passed right through it, her eyes bulging in shock as agony shocked through her body, psychic and very physical pain ripping through her body before she gasped as she burst out the other side of the Redacted thing in a burst of smog and ash, hitting the ground and rolling violently as her body smoldered.

She coughed a few times, then gritted her teeth as she shakily began to push herself up to her hooves before her eyes bulged in shock as claws ripped out of the ground, seizing into her body and her mane, dragging her greedily down as a voice rasped

MARKED MARKED MARKED OURS OURS OURS

through her head...

Luna clenched her eyes shut, channeling her magic before she slashed her horn savagely down, a sapphire shockwave of fire ripping through the air around her and dislodging the greedy claws from her as she lunged into the air, leaving a trail of smoke and slime behind her as she shouted: “I cannot harm it! It is ethereal!”

“I don't think it's ethereal... I think it's Astra. There's no way we can fight something composed of Astra!” Twilight called back as she shivered and gritted her teeth, looking up as she shouted: “Narrator, just-”

Luna swore under her breath as she looked at the hideous thing, which was eagerly making its way towards Marina, even as Styx stepped up in front of the chocolate mare, trying to focus blades of wind on the beast, but not managing to even distort its smoky hide- “Marina! It is attracted to thee because thy form stems from chaos! Chaos can harm Astra!”

“I don't even know what that is!” Marina replied, bewildered and almost desperate, before she flinched when a claw tore up out of the ground, grabbing at her: this, at least, Styx was able to quickly intercept with his horn, slicing the limb in half as the chocolate mare staggered backwards before she shivered violently: as the Redacted drew closer, it started to hurt, it started to hurt so terribly... “It... it feels like I'm on fire!”

“Marina, focus the magic in your body! Call the Director and the other Draconequus here!” Twilight called suddenly, even as she dove in towards the Redacted. The hideous and deformed and impossible-to-understand thing lashed savagely back at her, but Twilight dodged around it as she snapped her horn out, a whispery blast of light hammering against the beast and making it squeal with fury, the echoing whispers all rising in a discordant chorus.

The thing that should not be howled in fury, the world shaking around it before it twisted towards Twilight with a furious snarl, lunging after her with sudden rage and hate. But even as it lurched after Twilight, all claws and tentacles and biting jaws, a toxic miasma, a living shadow of hatred twisted visibly along the floor towards them.

Styx swept his horn to the side, ripping a trench through the rotting floor with the force of the concentrated blade of wind magic he unleashed, and the toxic slime recoiled with a hiss before it shrieked when a blue fireball slammed into it from behind, evaporating the living poison. But the victory was short-lived: that disease, that poison was rising up all around them as the world itself came to hideous, unintelligent life, as-

“You aren't helping!” Scrivener snapped at the air, as several claws lurched out of the ground to seize into him, shredding his dress before he managed to lunge backwards and finally free of the clothing, the stallion wheezing in relief in spite of the gouges that had been torn throughout his body. “Well, at least there's one good thing.”

“Oh shut up, Scrivy.” Luna grumbled as she dropped to the ground near Styx and Marina, adding quickly over her shoulder: “We shall do our best to hold back the Redacted and its pets. Thou do as Twilight says, and summon the Draconequus.”

“What am I supposed to do, even Discord never-” But Marina cut herself off, biting her tongue before she gave a short nod, breathing hard as she closed her eyes tightly. “Alright. I'll try.”

“I'll watch your back.” Styx grimaced as he looked off to the side, his horn thrumming with magic... but he was starting to tire. Even if he felt lucid now, far less poisoned and confused than he had under Loki's influence, he felt all the same like the life was being sucked out of his body, the stallion breathing slowly through his mouth...

But it had been such a long fight, for all of them. How long had it been since they had rested? How long had they fought for, wrestled against this inevitable fate, against giving in to this cruel world, this vicious cycle, this biting trap that-

“Scrivy, thou art a writer, out-narrate the Narrator before he gets us all killed!” Luna shouted, even as her body wobbled, and Styx gritted his teeth, looking up as he realized that Luna was right: whether he meant to or not, the Narrator's misery was impacting them, was sucking the life from their frail bodies, was making them-

“But not all was lost!” Scrivener shouted, raising his head high as he glared at the ceiling. “For in spite of their pain, they fought onward! Even as the darkness closed in around them, they pushed back against it, fearless, with the strength of-”

SHUT HIM UP.

Pony-shaped nightmares of slime and smoke ripped up out of the ground, charging towards Scrivener Blooms with screams, black ooze spilling off their bodies as they hurled themselves at the stallion. But in an instant, Luna was in front of him, slamming her hooves into the ground as her horn gave a powerful pulse of energy, blades of ice ripping up out of the earth and forming a barricade as she growled: “We are not puppets to thy will!”

The deformed ponies slammed into the barrier of ice, crashing against it and leaving black stains where their poisonous presence touched, as Scrivener Blooms backpedaled and continued in a clear, resounding voice: “Even as monsters rose up to strike out against them, and-” Scrivener winced as the floor behind him suddenly rose up to form biting jaws, but Luna leapt over him and slammed fiercely down into this as her hooves burst into blue flames. “The whole world seemed to strike out against them, and yet still these brave five fought fearlessly onward, halting every advance and attack!”

Shapes of shadow and nightmares of slime were closing in all around Styx and Marina, but the unicorn gritted his teeth as he rose his head and spun his horn in a sharp circle, struggling to stay on his hooves as he concentrated all his strength into one last, desperate spell. The air vibrated around them before a powerful wind began to blow, at first doing little to stop the creatures... but as the first shapeless beast began to lunge towards them, it was swept off its feet by the power of the maelstrom, lifted into the miniature hurricane spinning around Styx and Marina.

The stallion almost collapsed, clenching his eyes shut as he barely managed to steady himself. The hurricane roared around them, but it wouldn't last very long, and the stallion gritted his teeth as he looked back at Marina.

The chocolate mare was trembling hard, her body roiling, her eyes wide and staring as her horn thrummed as she was almost lifted off her hooves, gasping as her body was almost lifted into the air, her horn nearly cracking under the pressure of magic growing around it as she called out to the chaos, but the chaos also called back to her-

She cried out, then fell... and blinked in surprise as she landed in a set of arms, looking disbelievingly up to see the Critic scowling down at her, the Draconequus saying moodily: “Well, do you want your review now or later? It's not going to be pleasant, ponies.”

THEY ARE HERE.

River Styx looked blearily back over his shoulder to see the Director chewing fearfully on one of his front hooves beside the Critic and his assistant, whose pen was a blur as he wrote notes rapidly over his clipboard. The Critic moodily looked around at the rotten world, before he grimaced in distaste as a roar echoed through the air

CONSUME THEM DESTROY THEM THEY ARE HERE THEY MUST BE GONE

The Redacted lurched its hideous, impossible shape away from Twilight, ignoring her completely as it began to roil and slither towards the Draconequus. The Director squeaked and immediately scrambled around in a circle to try and run away, but the Critic reached down and caught him by the tail as he shifted Marina absently to his other arm, dragging him forwards as he said distastefully: “No. As much as I dislike these insults to the stage, they are all the same correct.”

He glanced down at Marina, then calmly put the chocolate mare down and tapped her once, making her flinch before she blinked in surprise as she looked down at one of her own forelegs: some of her chocolate had been restored.

She looked up, but the Draconequus ignored her completely as he dragged the Director onward, the dragon-tailed stallion whimpering as he grabbed uselessly at the ground, babbling: “Now, really, Critic, you've always been just fine on your own, it's not like you really need my help with anything! I'm just a visionary, a figurehead, really, a-”

KILL THEM.

Black, hideous masses ripped out of the ground all around them, but with a disdainful gesture, the Critic simply banished the shadowy entities, saying coldly: “That is enough. Narrator, it is time for this play to end. You have gone on too long, ruined too many deadlines, made a fiasco of what was originally supposed to be billed as a cheap comedy skit. Now what is it? Tragedy, mayhem... and full of holes! Too hard to make sense of and with a B-movie monster as the villain!”

The Redacted roared as it closed in, and the Director yelped as he scrambled out of the Critic's grip, leaping away and almost hiding behind River Styx. Yet the Critic stood his ground fearlessly all the same, glaring up at the monstrosity even as it slithered and twisted towards him, even as it opened its many jaws, reached out with its many claws-

The Critic snapped his fingers, and the Redacted shivered as it was frozen in place, left immobile. The hideous thing squirmed and fidgeted in front of him, but it was helpless to move, helpless to consume the

MEAT THAT IT SO DESIRED

Draconequus as reality quaked and rippled, as

YOU CANNOT RESIST US BREAK HIM KILL HIM BRING HIM BACK REUNITE

the world shook...

Luna flinched painfully, and Scrivener grabbed at his head, groaning loudly. Twilight Sparkle stumbled towards the back of the shapeless thing, before her eyes widened and she shouted, desperate, afraid, and yet knowing it was too late: “Look out!”

Black tendrils lashed up out of the rotting floor to seize around the Critic's arms, and his eyes widened briefly in dull surprise before the Redacted suddenly lunged forwards, breaking through the chaos restraining it to tackle the Critic, driving him down even as he shouted, for the first time a hint of emotion, of fear, of desperation creeping into his voice: “This isn't supposed to happen!”

The Redacted bit down, and the Director screamed and turned to try and bolt away before a tendril lashed out, seizing around his hind leg and dragging him backwards. He clawed wildly at the ground, shaking his head desperately as he was dragged slowly back towards the hideous thing, screaming: “Anything but this! P-Please, anything but this!”

Luna shot in, but the shapeless arm of the thing lashed out and smashed her away: Twilight hammered it with magic as she leapt towards its back, but tentacles twisted towards her and dark ichors sprayed upwards, driving her backwards. Scrivener Blooms ran forwards, but he was seized by claws that ripped out of the floor-

Styx galloped forwards, swinging his horn down and slashing through the tentacle dragging the Director towards the maw of the beast, and the Draconequus immediately flung himself to his hooves and bolted away, howling: “Narrator, do something! You have to do something, you have to end this!”

The Redacted roared in fury, but it would not be deprived of its prize, and the Narrator was helpless, helpless to do anything, as the monstrosity stampeded past the Director, drawn away by his yelling, single-minded in its desire to destroy and consume all that was good, all that had once bound it, all that the stupid Narrator had depended upon to keep the Redacted at bay...

Luna swore as she and Scrivener traded looks before they both lunged after the creature, and Styx gritted his teeth as he rose his head, before he frowned as he saw Marina, staring at the Critic's assistant. And the Critic's assistant was simply writing, writing away, jotting down his notes and trembling as he did everything he could not to look back up at the chocolate mare...

A moment later, Twilight Sparkle silently landed on the assistant's other side, looking down at him as well. The chubby, useless little Draconequus who didn't even have a name, who was just trying to do his job, who was-

“The Narrator.” Twilight said softly, and the assistant flinched before he looked up fearfully, but Twilight Sparkle only smiled faintly at him. “Because all along, you wanted to be part of this world. So you had to give yourself a part to play, that no one would suspect...”

The assistant smiled nervously, and Marina leaned forwards, asking desperately: “Can't you just stop it? Can't you send the Redacted away?”

The assistant began to look away, before he winced when Twilight grasped his shoulder, saying quietly: “You can, you know. This world-”

“This world is composed of more than just me, though! You're all here, too, and...” The useless, worthless, stupid Draconequus shivered and hugged himself, looking down as he whispered: “I've lost control. Even with this body I'm still apart, and what I feel, what I write, becomes real. I got so wrapped up in the play, and then the play beneath the play, letting myself... be bossed around, finally, for once, not having to be responsible, letting other people take control, finding an audience to try and please... but I screwed it all up! I ruined it! I'm worthless!”

The Redacted roared in victory, and the Director screamed as the powerful and unstoppable and hideous thing grabbed him and began to reel him in with its slimy and countless appendages, invulnerable to the damage that Luna and Scrivener were trying to inflict, raging and-

“You never tried to get rid of the Redacted, or fix it. What you did, Narrator, was try and shove it away somewhere where you didn't have to deal with it.” Twilight said in a soft but scolding tone, and the little fat and dumb- “Stop calling yourself names, it's not helpful. And stop making the Redacted bigger and stronger and meaner than it already is. You can fix this.”

“No I can't.” the Narrator whispered, and the Draconequus looked down at his hands as he trembled, then he stared up at the black and awful and empty and terrible thing that was the Redacted... “This thing is too powerful. Too mighty. It has a life of its own and I trapped it here for so long but Pluto wanted more, and there are rules to this world and I'm stuck by those rules-”

“You made those rules and you're making up excuses!” Twilight said in a frustrated voice, and the Redacted roared, and the mare clenched her eyes shut and took a breath, trying to ignore everything: the rage of Scrivener and Luna, the energy in the air, the ponies staring at her, the warping corruption around them and...

She slowly dropped to a kneel, looking into the eyes of the Draconequus as she reached up a hoof to grasp his shoulder, before she whispered: “It's all in your head. And you're not alone. I don't know what you really are, and I feel so sorry for you, that you've been stuck in some... space between spaces, between realities, where all you have for company are those souls that wander in, and you tried so hard to give them Heaven, but... they died in here. Their spirits were drained to feed you and your world, and you couldn't let go, and you started to hate yourself, I see that. I can see that. But the Redacted is your feelings. And you can make choices.”

The Narrator stared at her mutely, not understanding, because she couldn't understand what it was like, or the rules of the world, or what was going on... before he flinched when River Styx asked in a quiet, serious voice: “And if we kill you, what happens then?”

“I don't know.” the Narrator replied honestly, although that sounded so-

“No.” Marina cut in, and then she shook her head, looking over at Styx before she looked back at the Narrator. “That is absolutely the last resort. You have to try. You just have to try for us. You have to-”

The Director howled as he was dragged back into the poison, his body spasming, his limbs clawing uselessly at the ooze as he was pulled into the monster... the monster that grew so much stronger, now that it had consumed the creatures that had once bound it. And reality quaked, and trembled, and now it was nothing but rot and darkness, where they fought in a hapless and hopeless and infinite void, where-

“When you're standing atop a burning building, and the choice is to jump or to stay and be burned alive... it doesn't seem like much of a choice.” Scrivener Blooms said, raising his head high, looking fearlessly at the Redacted as the infinite and endless abyss gazed into both him and Luna Brynhild. “That's what it's like, when you're truly in the darkness. And when people say they're going to help you, it's like they're screaming it from so far away, from the other side of the fire, or from the ground below... how can they help you? But that's not the real question. How can anyone help someone who doesn't ask for, who refuses to be helped? We can't.”

The Redacted roared in fury, reaching forwards, and Luna said coldly: “The Redacted and the Narrator are both but pieces of a single entity, as are all the other fragments we have encountered. They are this world, and the Narrator has been but its voice. They are Astra, and we stand here, inside a living soul. The Narrator is perhaps conscience, and this Redacted is the shadow that lurks within us all... and neither can ever fully destroy the other. Only purge it, for but a time.”

“I... that's only... that's just...” the Narrator spluttered, looking back and forth desperately, and yet it was so true and it hurt that it was so true, and yet the Redacted gave a gibbering laugh, turning mockingly on itself, seeming to grin with its countless mouths, and oh, it was true, it was true, it was true...

Twilight smiled, then she suddenly leapt up into the air, her wings flapping powerfully as she looked between Marina and Styx, saying quietly: “We'll hold off the Redacted as long as we can. Please, Narrator. Just try. Try, before...”

Twilight shook her head, and then she spun around and shot towards the Redacted. The Redacted reached up, eagerly, to meet her, but there was a pulse, there was a thrum, and how the Redacted screamed, but the Narrator felt it, too.

Because pain had been his only companion for so long. Heartache and lost, manifested in a beast of terror and destruction and hatred, but... how could he not love it? How could he not want to feed it? How could he not want to have it close? In a way, we all want to live in sadness and desperation, or else why would we concentrate so much on our problems. Why? How can anyone know? Because we desire sympathy, or praise, for living in spite of such challenges? Or because pain and sadness can be addictive, because they give us so many rational reasons and simpering excuses...

The Redacted roared, and the world shook, but Twilight crashed into it again, fearless and unstoppable, and the Narrator didn't know what to feel as he fell to his knees as he whispered: “I'm so sorry. For everything. I can't stop it, though, it's too powerful. It's poisoned this whole world. It's devoured all the rules I made. And if I get rid of it, you'll all leave me. I am selfish, and I am weak, and I don't want to hurt anyone... but I don't want you to leave me, either.”

Styx glared at the Draconequus, but Marina reached out and touched his shoulder gently, looking down at him with a faint smile as she said quietly: “Everyone has to leave sometime.”

The world roiled at this, roars echoing all around them as hideous shapes began to rise up from the floor, before Marina asked: “Do you really want to hurt us? You created this world to try and make people happy, make people stay with you...”

“But they never did, they never could. And my pain formed the Redacted. And the Redacted had to be controlled, so I crafted a world within a world, with characters to control the Redacted, and with a 'play' to be completed... I said it was for someone else, but it was all for me.” The Narrator looked up, trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks as he whispered: “I'm so sorry. I just didn't want to be alone anymore. I've hurt so many people and I can't stop. I know you'll die if I keep you here, but how am I supposed to willingly let you go? How am I supposed to willingly return to having no one but myself for company? I... I hate myself.”

The Redacted lashed out, and Scrivener and Luna were battered backwards, but Twilight tore into the everything-and-nothing of the beast, making it squeal in a thousand voices. The Narrator flinched as he looked towards it, but Marina quickly caught him and gently pulled him back to look at her, saying quietly: “Just try. Please.”

KILL THEM

The Narrator looked up.

THEY WANT TO HURT US. DESTROY THEM.

The Narrator closed his eyes, trembling.

BE ONE WITH US. GIVE IN TO US.

The Narrator hugged himself, before he felt a pair of forelegs wrap around him as Marina embraced him tightly, not speaking, and not needing to.

What a mess he had made of things. What an awful mess. And it seemed too big, too daunting, too awful for him to do anything about, but...

The Redacted suddenly froze, then snarled in fury, screaming in a thousand voices: “Traitor! We are all you have left! We are you! You are me! This is my world and I will keep these friends here forever!”

The Narrator trembled, but Marina hugged him tighter, and Styx gritted his teeth before he forced himself to step forwards, muttering: “Either stop this thing or I'll kill you myself.”

The Redacted roared in fury, before it shrieked when something smashed into it from behind: blades of ice ripped out of the earth all around it, snagging it for a few crucial moments as it writhed helplessly, and the dark and empty and hollow reality all around them trembled as the Redacted fought, savage and ferocious and-

The Narrator looked up, and the Redacted looked back at him, screaming threats and death, but under it all he heard it whisper: “Don't let them leave.”

The Narrator was truly powerless, though: not over this world, no, he could do what he pleased here, and that had perhaps been half the problem. He had ultimate power here, but for all his power, all the gifts he had to give, he couldn't make this world habitable for others over any long period of time. And he couldn't stop them from wanting to return home, because ultimately, everyone saw through his illusions.

And he was greedy, and always wanted more.

Here, in the world where he ruled and thoughts and emotions could become reality, his sadness, his envy, his loathing...

He looked up at his shadow, and his shadow gazed back at him, before the Narrator smiled faintly as he whispered: “No. I can't stop you. You're too strong. Too much life, too much strength, too much energy, and I'm so weak...”

Marina slowly drew back, looking silently down at the Narrator, and River Styx narrowed his eyes... but the Draconequus shook his head slowly, before he reached up and touched his own chest, staring up at the Redacted. “Scrivener Blooms is right, you know. Oh, I know, he's paraphrasing. That's what writers do, they steal from each other... so I'm going to steal from him, now. I know that if this continues... even if I make the Redacted leave, it will return. My world... is corrupt.”

NO

The Redacted wailed, roared furiously, tore at the ice around it... but even as the entire world shook around them, the magnificent and terrible beast was unable to press forwards, was being restrained by some invisible, intangible force that stretched both within and without it...

STOP IT

The Narrator trembled as he reached up and grabbed the sides of his face, before he whispered: “Go.”

And in the distance, there was a door. A simple, solitary door, standing in the middle of the darkness, at the other end of the abyss.

River Styx gritted his teeth, and the Narrator smiled without looking up, answered without being asked: “It would be a kindness. But if I die, the Redacted will never let you leave. And for all the mistakes I have made, let me not make this one: please, I'm not strong enough to say no, forever. Please, just go.”

Marina began to shake her head, but before she could argue, Styx slipped forwards and hauled the mare over his shoulders. He halted for a moment, looking down at the Narrator, and then he gave the briefest of nods when the Narrator looked up at him before he turned and broke into a gallop for the doors.

Scrivener and Luna followed after a moment, and the Narrator breathed slowly before he smiled faintly as Twilight seemed to appear in front of him. He looked at her, and she looked back as the howls and screams of the Redacted echoed all around them, before the Narrator whispered: “Deus ex machina.”

“But the god isn't supposed to die. Everything's just supposed to be okay.” Twilight replied quietly, and the Narrator laughed faintly.

“Some things... you can't go back from. Some things... don't wash away.” the Narrator said quietly, before he reached up and touched Twilight's breast, and there was a thrum, a whisper of sapphire energy, as he whispered: “But you understand that, don't you?”

Twilight Sparkle smiled faintly, looking down at him, opening her mouth... but the Narrator only smiled back and looked up at her even as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks, replying quietly: “You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. But I don't want to hurt anyone, I really don't, I never did. You can't save me. But please, let me save you. Let me do one good deed. Let me let go... just this one time, just this one last time.”

For a few moments, Twilight was silent, and then she closed her eyes as her body simply blew away like smoke in the wind. The Narrator breathed softly as he looked up through the emptiness, the hollowness, the violence, and he understood why those ponies had been chosen, and how terribly and wonderfully those different parts of him had miscalculated their motives.

The Redacted roared, and the Narrator looked upward, as he smiled and asked: “Was I ever in control? Or was I, you, all along, as you were me?”

The Redacted tore free of the bonds, but it was too late: Styx was at the door, smashing through it, with Luna and Scrivener following close behind, and not even all the reaching and infinite tentacles of the Redacted could hope to catch them now. “Am I the master, or am I just the conscience of some great and child-like soul, who doesn't want to be alone, stuck in the spaces between worlds?”

The Redacted turned its fury towards the Narrator, and the Narrator looked up at it fearlessly, as he spread his arms slowly. Fat and short and harmless, a slave to the clipboard, assistant not even worthy of a name or title, and yet he smiled without fear all the same even as tears continued to run down his cheeks, saying: “They were half-right and half-wrong. I can do anything, but emotions are still emotions, we still can't help what we feel, and a feeling doesn't just go away overnight.”

YOU ARE US. YOU ARE ME.

“And I am you.” the Narrator said quietly, as the head of the callous beast leaned down towards him, as the monstrosity's limbs and tentacles and claws all wrapped around him, and yet he felt no fear even as the darkness grew, as he whispered: “The world is on fire, and you're the fire, and I'm trapped.”

The Narrator felt himself lifted as the Redacted snarled at him furiously, before the creature shifted when the Narrator only reached out to touch the beast, asking quietly: “How many people get to touch their despair, their sadness, their self-loathing? And yet physical or not, if I slay you, destroy you... you'll still be inside me. You'll still be there. And I pity myself, and I pity you...”

CONSUME AND DESTROY GET THEM BACK BRING THEM BACK

“No. No, no. How many actors played our games, went through this dance of lies, all for nothing, all for naught? How many of them did we tell could go home, allowed to complete the play, then wove a world of false memories for them... and they slept, and they decayed, because one soul cannot exist inside another's. What am I? Not Draconequus. Any more than you are Redacted.” the Narrator answered, and the monstrosity snarled at him, but beneath the growling and the hissing, he the Narrator heard whimpers, and pleas, because it knew that the story was coming to an end.

“There is a monster at the end of the book. And it's not you. It's me, for letting this go on for so long, for causing all this pain and suffering. I just didn't want to be alone. Anyone can understand that. But I understand something else now, too...” The Narrator smiled faintly. “Even if I hurt so terribly, it doesn't excuse what I did. I should have let them go. It would have been a pinprick, to let them go, and I lied for so long, fell into such delusions, believing that... 'well, they are here, they should stay, I can make them happy...'”

He quieted, and there was silence for a few moments as the Redacted simply held him, and the Narrator simply allowed himself to be held in the grips of this... lost, sad soul. But finally, he looked slowly up and he whispered: “I am so sorry. And now, look at us, look at this world, look at what we have accomplished.”

He gestured around at the abyss, the shadow, the suffering that had infested everything. Everything was only pain and whimpering and malice, and that door had shut after the ponies had fled, leaving them alone in this black bag, this hollow emptiness, this...

please don't go

The Narrator smiled faintly at this, asking: “Where would we... I... go? We are stuck here. Infinite in power in this little bubble in reality, helpless outside of it... the stuff of souls. But maybe this is a sign. It is time to let go. The building is burning.”

i don't want to. i don't want to end.

“I know. But everything ends. We struggled and we made mistakes.”

why can't they stay? They are PART OF US. WE ARE THEM. I AM-

“Shh. Shh now. Shush, it's okay. It's okay. The play is over, and it's time for everyone to go home. It hurt, terribly, to let those ponies go, I won't pretend otherwise. I wanted them to stay. I wanted to pretend they could 'fix' me, and you would have let me make you vanish, wouldn't you? Because we've lived behind false faces for so long, and it's very easy to pretend you're okay.

“But the building is burning down and they don't deserve to be caught in that. And you don't want to hurt them. You want to love them. I want to love them. And we want to be loved. But we can't force that. Twilight was half-right: not I, but we can fix this. We can fix this. We don't have to keep them here, to burn alongside us. We can let them go.”

i don't want to. please... please, let us call more to us. they will join us. their souls will be stronger, they will not break, we will not consume so greedily... do not lock us away again, do not send us to the darkness, do not-

“Let them go home. They aren't ours. The play is over. And even from you, from the deepest depths of my despair, I look at you and I look into you, as I gaze into the fire, and I ask you, why do you hate me, why do you hate yourself? Do you truly wish to harm others to fill this void?”

YES LET THEM SUFFER LET THEM HURT WE DESERVE IT WE DESERVE... we deserve...

we just wanted not to feel alone.

...but...

There was no more Redacted. There was no more Narrator. There was only the Consciousness that had always been. The living world, the beating heart of a story come to life, in the space between spaces. Infinite in itself, bringing emotion to life, but unable to touch, to feel, to interact: able to stretch out and draw the lucky and unfortunate into its grasp, to try and love them, and yet doomed always to feed off them, to poison them, to try and give them Heaven, but instead... it had simply dragged them all down with it, into darkness, into what had rotted away its very soul to a hellscape. It was so much smaller now than it had once been: it felt so much weaker. And it hurt.

But at least it was over, for now. The Consciousness was going to sleep for a while in this timeless void, where he had been everything and nothing all at once, and, the world was going to...

Movement?

There was movement.

The story had a chance to begin again. Fields sprung to life, because that is what the ponies knew. A sky of blue formed, because that was what these ponies thought of. Unlike the ponies who had so rudely fallen from the sky before, these new ponies awoke in the grass.

Their memories and their spiritual energy immediately revitalized this living consciousness. Yes, he would be kind to them, good to them, he could be friends with them! Now, the play, the play was the easiest way to get the ponies to play along, because...

A little voice whispered: stop it.

A little voice whispered: let them go.

A little voice whispered: we can't do this.

The little voice was easy to ignore, easy to push past, because it was infinite, because it was-

In the shadows, something dark and slimy stirred almost warningly, and a tremble ran through the world before there was a sigh, like a brisk wind.

The world melted away, before the ponies could awaken. Gentle hands grasped their unconscious bodies, their strange physical forms, and lifted them loose... and it was easy to push them back out of the world. They weren't really here, after all. Just in spirit, just in spirit...

And again, this living Consciousness was left all alone, by itself. Except...

It had been so easy to set the ponies free. It had never considered how if things wandered in, they could so easily be sent back out. No, it had always been here, always had power here, and it knew without a doubt that if it left this place, it would no longer have the same power. It might starve. It might die, doing more than stretching its influence out to lure in the minds of others... and surely, it would not have any of the powers it did here, where it was an entire universe unto itself, where it was everything and nothing all at once... but...

Sometimes, when the building was burning, you jumped not to die, but to live.

It jumped.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading. This story was written through suggestions, and powered by donations made to charity. There's still time left to donate, if you want. All proceeds go directly to Oxfam International.

Yes, it all became a gigantic, crudely executed metaphor in the end for depression, inspired by Bradbury-era short stories and philosophical comic books, and of course the burning building metaphor is from Infinite Jest.

The hardest part about writing a story is knowing how much to explain. I wanted to leave a lot of things to the reader to decide, because I would like people to think about this story, at the end of the day. Whether it's good or bad, you enjoy or hate it, I aspire to make people think, because I think that's what the best stories do.

And of course, it was also difficult to know precisely what I should write in terms of the trio: I can't give away the most important plot point of my other stories, after all.

But I hope that ultimately, it was a story worth reading, and I thank you all for your donations and attention. I do hope to raise a little more money before the Tournament of Canterlot finishes, and likely in January - due to some complications - I'll be doling out a few surprises.

Thank you all for reading and for your contributions and comments. It has been hugely appreciated over this endeavor.

Comments

[Koekelbag]

...

Darn.

because I would like people to think about this story, at the end of the day.

That you did. ^_^