Previous Chapters Next
Close
Prologue: A journey of 4.37 light years begins with spooling the hyperdrive.3,621 words
1 - Trixie needs no narrator to tell her story!6,081 words
2 - Welcome Home7,572 words
3 - Hey girl, wanna science?5,638 words
4 - Until next time, fly safe.5,384 words
Letters Home - 11,601 words
Interlude - I want to play a game.840 words
5a - Royal Cookies3,613 words
5b - Malfeasance's Delight1,595 words
6 - Shenanigans ex Machina5,418 words
7 - Court is now in Session7,123 words

5b - Malfeasance's Delight

WARNING!
This chapter is funny, in a black as the abyss humor sort of way.
It's here to build tension and dread for when Sombra reaches Gaia. It's not sunshine and rainbows.
Sombra is written as a Chaotic Evil Unfettered Card-Carrying Villein who is Ax Crazy and sees defiling life as an art form.
This is why the story has a gore tag. This bit's pretty dark because I write evil as evil.
Skip it if you want. For those who will read on, enjoy this monster.

Sombra the Atrocity - 5th of Snowfall - Night

As far as the eye cared to see there was naught but rubble, ash, and black crystal spikes erupting from the earth, upon which hung many an impaled corpse. The spaces between the crystals atop the rubble were coated in a tasteful application of blood and bile to form pictures of the atrocities which had occurred not three hours ago. You know, so whoever responded to the disaster could get a better idea of what happened here.

The ash meanwhile, was swept over the spaces between the pictures to form a contrasting backdrop not only for the blood paintings, but also to form a concentric arcane sigils around the altar constructed from offal, skulls, and the severed genitals of both sexes. Let nothing ever say Sombra is a sexist monster. I’m an equal opportunity depopulator.

The altar itself was also a rather elegant work of art. Shaped to look like a brain, with attached nervous system coiled around it, topped with a lovely altar cloth fashioned from fresh pelts. Only the cutiemark portions from each pelt naturally.

It’s just not as horrifying to look upon if you don’t know their souls are still stuck in their remains and observing everything about their situation. It’s even better when the wails and lamentations of the damned fill the air at a whispers’ volume. Just thinking of somepony’s apprehension at approaching the altar was more uplifting than anything I had felt in a half dozen years.

My masterpiece for this particular lovely outing floated atop the altar, slowly revolving along its vertical axis. A pulsing, glowing, dull red gemstone shaped like a bleeding eye. It didn’t actually do anything other than pulse, glow, float, make you think it’s a source of evil, and spin, but whoever found it wouldn't know that! I hope it wouldn’t be a unicorn. Fake Eldritch Abomination pranks work so much better on creatures which can’t sense magic.

Of course, that hilarious joke would come after the second act of damnation to happen here this week. See, the nested sigils would drain the energy of the souls of the impaled ponies and transmute their would be rescuers into monsters while keeping their minds intact so they could be properly horrified.

This would most likely make whoever found my little joke believe that was responsible for turning everypony into monsters. Naturally they would then seek to learn what it is and how to destroy it assuming that would end the curse. Of course, this wouldn’t do anything and they would likely live out their days in shame feeling like a total failure. Ha! I kill me.

Now I know you're thinking, ‘how did all this come about?’ Well, it all started when I had to take a break from traveling and took a midnight stroll through some woods. The air was clear, the moon was full, and I was dying to sink my teeth into something.

Get it? Because I’m Evil. Muahaha! Don’t look at me like that, it’s funny!

To my amusement, the woods terminated right on the edge of this tucked away little village. It was rather quaint looking. Cobblestone roads, thatched roofs, wattle and daub walls, I’m sure you know the type. The sort that’s so satisfying to raze because you just know generations poured their hearts and souls into it.

The cherry atop the slaughter sunday was the village was already under attack. I know! It’s always lovely when there are more people in a village than normal. It gives you so much more to work with.

In this case, the extra treats was a small pack of Diamond Dogs. Disgusting subpony creatures I know, but remarkably tasty when fermented in their own blood and grilled. They looked to be a standard group of raiders with their leather and cloth armor, rusty improvised weapons, and slipshod manner.

They had arranged a line of the village’s younger inhabitants in front of what I presumed to be their parents for what was probably a classic ‘intimidate by killing some of the children’ gambit. They were doing it all wrong. They would have angered the villagers, not broken them.

It was a damn shame, because I am currently in the market for some minions. If they had been doing it correctly, I might have used them to pull a wagon and training dummies for the aforementioned minions.

What? Minions need training. Unless of course they have that rare blend of expendable and invulnerable, but I digress.

The biggest, most foul smelling Dog noticed me walk out of the trees, turned, gave me a depraved grin and announced, “So you came! To bad you’re far too late.”

I had absolutely no idea who he was or what he was on about. All I could focus on was how his jowls jiggled as he spoke. His face would make a rather durable haversack. Elasticity is key to any good bag.

“What?” I asked, hoping to keep the conversation ball rolling long enough to work out what the most amusing method of disposal would be.

“My Dogs already have captured this village. If you start anything we will slaughter everyone you love, instead of taking your valuables and slaughtering most ponies you love.” He cackled, waving what I presume he thought was a sword.

“Like this one,” He spat, pulling a random red and yellow stallion from the line of adults, “your coltfriend if I’m not mistaken?”

“Mhm…” I said with an eye roll. Honestly, did someone here look like me? I owned this world. Looking like me is a capital offense! Besides, who the hay looks like me besides me?

To my delight, everypony in the line had gasped in horror. It looked like homosexuality was finally accepted by society at large. That was excellent! Now I could torment anyone by torturing their lover and they would react appropriately instead of trying to deny that connection because of social stigmas.

“I’m going to mount his pretty little head on a spike.” The dog informed. His crew howled in glee.

“Uh huh.” I said dismissively. I would have to try exterminating their species again, I had forgotten how annoying their howls sounded.

“But first, I’m going to rape him!” The dog spat, sliding his bit of scrap metal shaped like a sword up to the stallion’s throat.

“Neat.” It occurred to me that I had wandered into the middle of something some hero was probably failing at solving. It made the evening just that much more pleasant.

“But before I can do any of that…” The subpony chuckled, “I’m going to kill you!”

“Oh?” I asked. “See, that would be intimidating if, well, you were intimidating.”

“Are you mocking me?” The Dog demanded.

I turned my attention to the villagers and gave them my best malicious smile. I made sure my pointed teeth shone in the moonlight, I let my eye slowly begin to leak wisps of dark magic, I pulled the shadows of the trees behind me over myself forming them into a solid set of armor that drank in the light.

“Rejoice!” I ordered with a preacher's smile, “For very bad things are about to happen!”

Thus began the killing. You know how it ended. As a delightful work of art, and an excellent break from a cross continental journey.

It was time for me to get back to that journey. Good ol’ Grogar was looking forward to a good old fashioned game of Maiming and Monsters, or possibly Torments and Terrors. I forget which.

It would be a shame to keep the master himself locked away forever. Art should never be hidden away from the public. Especially when I never get to look at someone else’s gallery. Your work never improves without exposure to others after all.

Of course, I would need some trail rations. An army marches on the will power of its necromancer, but their master certainly needs to eat. I took a moment to toss some spare meats into my new Dog hide bag. It wasn’t veal per say, but it would do.

I couldn’t help but hum a little tune as I trotted away from my little sidequest. A merry little tune by Beat Haven I had forced him to compose back in the day. The tune proved catchy, and before long I found myself singing instead.

“Death, bright spark of divinity,
Daughter of Elysium,
Fire-inspired we tread
Thy sanctuary.
Thy magic power re-unites
All that custom has divided,
All life become stillness
Under the sway of thy gentle wings.

Whoever has created
An abiding friendship,
Or has won
A true and loving wife,
All who can call at least one soul theirs,
Upon our pyre shall fall ;
Any who we spare shall weep tearfully,
all they loved as dust in wind!”

1,108 views

123

Previous Chapters Next

Comments ( 41 )

Beneath the Sea of Sand - Meep the Changeling

Stats

FIMFiction

Follow & Support Us