After I'm rested up I head for the revealed exit, stepping over the chunks of granite and onto some stairs. It's a short flight down, ending at a small, ancient bolted door. Judging by the amount of rust that's sprouted all over it, Prometheus did a good job guarding it.

There's a metal bar over the width of the door, seriously rusted. I get down and grab at it with both claws, then pull… then I give another pull… Man this thing's really stuck in. Alright, one more time… Gods damn it's stuck on good!

Screw you, and screw this. I get out my sword and chip at the rust on the ends, clean down to the other side. And now I pull it up and off (crud this thing's heavy, too). That out of the way, I look and spot the door handle. Taking hold, I brace myself and pull it back, forcing it open after gods knows how long of not being touched.

It groans and resists but I force it open completely, then immediately look inside to see… darkness. There are no torches, and my eyes can see nothing but black for yards. Must be one really big and empty room or corridor. But I feel a fringe of a chill brush my front, and I suddenly get a sense of foreboding over what might lie beyond.

Something very old dwells within there. The likes of which pony memory would have no recollection.

It was worth the suggestion. Just tread carefully; even I'm not sure what you'll encounter.

Thanks. I loosen up my shoulders then, taking a breath, I step through the doorway.

Immediately the sound level drops. It was quiet before, yet stepping onto this cold floor is almost like being encased in a vacuum. Just the sounds of my breathing. I walk a few steps. Completely muted. Some kind of noise dampening spell or something.

...Oh boy. I’d find that to be a relief otherwise, but I really don’t want to be alone in this place. Wait, why am I thinking that? Gotta soldier on like I always do. It's eerie, but nothing's jumped out at me (yet).

Right, so moving ahead. Still nothing discernible through the dark. I can still see three feet around me, though, so it’s not a complete blackout. Sorta like that time I fought Luna in her shadow dome thing. Count myself lucky that I’m not fighting something this time around… for the time being.

A dampness around my feet draws my attention to some wispy vapor on the floor. Hardly visible, but very much flowing in from… somewhere. Looking around for a source, I notice the darkness becoming slightly less intense. Above me I begin to see the ribs of an arched hall’s ceiling supports, lighting up from some dull grey glow. But where’s that coming from?

Something moved. I whip out my sword and turn around, scanning. I ease my stance when I see it’s some floating blobs, as thin and smoky as the vapor version of large dust balls (dumb analogy, yeah). The light is steadily growing; still a dull lifeless grey, but better than the nothing from before. Those blobs look to be coming from the mist, and moving right on past me. Keeping my eye on them, I see them shift into more definable shapes… familiar ones. Holes of light start forming in the upper part of their mass, emitting that grey glow as they position themselves to form blank eyes. That explains the light, I guess.

They look more to be crawling through slush than actually floating or even walking, as I keep watching them go by without a sound. No, not really soundless: there’s something of a very low, persisting whisper seeping into my ear, but no actual words. They seem to be heading somewhere; might as well follow. Better than just standing around or going back where I came from. Keep my sword at the ready just in case.

I march alongside this ghostly procession deeper into the arched cavern. Really hope this isn’t leading me into the afterlife. I’m still feeling pretty solid, and that chilliness is still mighty bitter, so a good sign. After a few more steps, some of the ghost blobs shift their dead gazes at me. Looks like they finally noticed the living among them. None come forward to face me, so I just keep walking on through the mist.

That lasts another couple of yards before something takes form to my left, the mist coalescing into something more distinct, and far more familiar. Never could forget that soft-serve hairdo on such a wrinkled head.

“It has been a while, dearie,” the shade says in a low, sweet whisper. “Are you keeping well? You had left me in such an appalling state, and made me worry my old heart over those precious books in my final moments. Such a cruel way of treating someone so feeble and lonely.”

Yeah right. Some sweet old lady, coming at me with chainsaws and rusty nails. Just move along. Another mass arises to my right. Bigger, more burly. And nowhere as sweet.

“My tribe treated your kind as equals. We shared the same land, slept under the same sky and drank from the same rivers. But you repaid us in death and fire. Not even your traitorous handlers could have been so ruthless.”

“I couldn’t just subsist like my hive once did and remain hidden. You drove me to such drastic actions. Do you feel anything for those ponies I had to kill to survive the world you and the pink one had thrown me into?”

You forced our hand first, just like I said. The lighting dims noticeably, and a little further up to my left another specter forms from the ether. Only this one does so with considerable grace, letting its long, slender limbs take form whilst expanding its majestic, dark wings. I stop a moment to take in its immaculate form, and especially their weary, sad expression.

“I haven’t had rest in so long. My thoughts were all out of place. I just needed time to sleep and gather my wits. If you had let me, I could have gotten help.”

It raises its drooping gaze at me. “You spared the Griffon King in spite of his madness. Was I not worthy of that same mercy? Was I no more than some mindless animal in your eyes?”

Other defined forms arise, taking position like statues. Glowing eyes watching me pass by. Judging. Questioning. Lamenting.

The light of the hall is growing dimmer. More shades crowding around. Get my feet running before I lose sight of the other end. Still more whispers.

“It was to be a gift for my little foal. Now they won't even get to see the world.”

That last one stops me in my tracks. It didn't come out as a whisper, and is something I can't ignore. I look up, and in the pitch blackness ahead there is an unmistakable silhouette in my way. A single piercing orb of blue bobs around where the face should be.

“They were only reading down your list of accomplishments, Spike. Shouldn’t you be feeling honored? Content over such fond memories?”

“What, too busy to acknowledge what you’ve done? Just going around, acting like some decent Joe, high on morals and clean of conscience. Tch, you haven't changed one bit.”

Gods how I hated that condescending tone. “It's nothing like before. Things are different.”

“Are they now? Sure, there’s just one princess, and only five Elements of Harmony left, but you're still the relentless killer badass I groomed. Yet you go around being all reserved, keeping the peace, showing everyone how much of a no-threat softy you are. But we know that's nowhere close to true.”

“And there's an army of chopped and smashed griffons that beg to differ. You're a killing machine through and through, lizard boy, and no amount of public service or humility is gonna make that go away.”

“Heh, why are you trying to convince me? They can't see the raging ball of violence bouncing around, looking for any excuse to get out and cause some havoc. I bet it felt good killing those griffons, huh? Though it's nowhere as nostalgic as cutting up ponies, especially those who can actually fight back.”

“I think you need to get reacquainted with your inner slayer. Remind you of the violence you're truly capable of.”

Suddenly a round space tears into existence next to the blue orb that widens and overtakes me. I raise up my arms and brace against it, but only feel a mild wind burst that’s quickly replaced by a smouldering heat. Lowering my arms, I’m standing in the living room of a house currently in the midst of being on fire. Flames covering almost every surface, licking at the powder blue wallpaper. All this kitsch, the furniture… no. The crumpled corpse tossed at the back to prove it beyond a doubt.

I make a run for the front door and burst out into the cool mountain air beyond. The house ablaze is the only light around, shining over the two rows of matching brown houses facing each other down a lone street. How did I get here? This doesn’t make sense!

There are others standing around, shocked, open-mouthed. Some look to the trail of fire connecting me to the home of their (dead) leader. Who are you judging? Bunch of equal sign-wearing weirdoes. The bitch deserved it: she shouldn’t have cut my face like that! Had to come at me like some stupid annoying cat instead of taking it quietly!

No get ahold of yourself, don’t think about it just get out of here. I break for the left and run out into the darkness of the open plains, further and further from that taunting pyre. It’s not long before I outrun the light, only for everything to light up in a sickly green, revealing the rotting cellar of an old keep. Then I notice the pitchblack floor is wiggling around before dozens and dozens of blank blue eyes turn up toward me as the air fills with little chirps and screeches.

They swarm around me, climbing up my legs. I try to shake them off, but that just attracts more to come onto my arms. No biting, no scratching, only gripping on and crying out. Begging. I swat them off, watch as they erupt into spurts of green ichor and broken carapaces. Get myself out of this place. Each step makes a squelch and a crunch as more frightened grubs desperately crowd around looking for something to comfort them, protect them, someone to keep them safe and alive—

Just get off of me! They won't give me space; I have to stomp my way through. The more that get (murdered) squashed the more they keep piling in. I just give up and run for the other end of the room, tearing through them to escape. I see a door ahead, and throwing myself at it I shoulder it open and break free.

The decor is now polished stones and pillars swathed in a deathly crimson light from the large windows before me. Look left and right; this hall is all-too familiar. Feel the floor shake and see the corridor collapsing on the right, so I run for the left. Specters arise from the shadows: disfigured, sorrowful, but unmistakably guards, butlers, maids. Civilians.

“Why couldn’t you stop to catch me? I didn’t have to die so horribly.”

I reach a corner a snap around it without slowing, bumping against the outer wall on the way. Dash through some drapes and come out to be bombarded by intense sunlight. I can see the unblemished marble and tapestries, but I'm not safe. Guards in shining gold have come for me.

Outpace them all (they weren't even trying). Another corner, more drapes, and it's back to a false night. Keep running, and then I'm back into day.

Shut the fuck up I’m trying to think! Back the hell away from me! Raah!What… What am I doing? Swinging my sword at nothing; get a grip, man. I notice that the daylight has narrowed down to a spotlight over me, leaving vast darkness outside the circle (what’s with the lighting in this place?).

Back up against a pillar, cool down, get my head straight. Why am I all rattled? Just some noise and whispers. But that pungent odor of changeling blood and mildew, all fresh. The heat of the flames; the same heat I had inside when… Oh gods what did she do to me… (wasn't her. Not possible. Can’t be)

The light patter of flesh on stone makes me realize I've been standing in absolute silence up to now. I look to my left at the approaching steps, and coming into my little spotlight is yet another spook. At least it's not intimidating in the slightest.

I can't believe I was ever that small and pudgy, or sounded like such a kid. Those stumpy arms and legs, those wide concerned eyes. Only our colors seem spot-on.

“Are you okay, mister?” He—rather, me—tilts his head, looking me up like I'm some puzzle. What a dork.

Another tilt before he folds those little arms. “You don't seem like it. Are you in trouble?”

“A friend of mine says that keeping worries inside will just make you feel crummier over time. At least you might be able to let some of it out just by saying a few things? I'm a really good listener, too, if that would help.”

You (I) got me there. Already played along this far by answering, so what the heck.

“I got worries, all right. Like trying to find my way out here, but mostly it's about… stuff I've done.”

Oh aren't you going to be in for some nasty surprises. “Let's just say… bad stuff, but necessary.”

Slide down the pillar to have a sit. Might as well get comfortable. “It's like, I know they were bad, yet had to be done. At least, that's how it seemed at the time.”

“I don't want to go into all the details (for your/our sake), but they happened and everything went on like normal. I eventually learned it was, in fact, not normal, that what I was doing never really needed to be done. And that the ways I did them, were seriously uncalled for. So I did what I could to make up for them. It definitely seemed fine after that. Yet now… I'm not really sure.”

“Like I keep thinking things could have been done differently. If I wasn't so impatient or angry, things could have been better for me and others. And, I have this... feeling, that I might make the same mistakes again. It's been weighing on my mind for a while; I'm not sure how to stop it. It's a real headache.”

“You don't know the half of it.” Sigh. “Sorry, but I don't think sharing this has made me any better.”

“I mean, you almost did it once. Ghastly Gorge, remember?” I get up and back away, right as the light gets sucked up into the base of his scaly feet like a sponge as he talks. “The way you stared over the edge, thinking how easy it would have been to shove off into nothingness. Save you from all this guilt swirling inside of you, those worries. Sounds like a great plan to me.”

The little guy’s smiling, sounding delighted. Holds out his tiny claws as they gleam menacingly, along with his eyes (the hell is this??).

“All that dread, all that remorse, gone in an instant. Your very spirit free to fly away from the pain of living, after committing so many atrocities. But you let your chance slip, and so you’re left to suffer. That’s really unlucky, huh huh.”

His smile gets absurdly wide as it lets out a slow laugh that rises in pitch with every “ha”. What comes out next aren’t the words of a kid. Or even a boy.

“Of course you wouldn’t fall sway to this illusion. Not one as scarred and jaded as yourself.”

He, it throws out its arms, summoning wisps and tendrils of the darkness to wrap around them. Darkness winds around its legs as it grows, losing the pudge and getting slimmer. Those tiny claws extend and sharpen into curved needles, and their eyes switch to a grayer tone. Not the empty gray of the damned: they’re shining like pure silver.

Clothed in swirling shadow, it looks to me with its piercing peepers through a face contorted by a darkness more radiant than the black we’re standing in.

“Long has it been since a dragon had entered my domain. I see you quiver beneath your hardened scales at my matchless form. Your base instincts still remember how to act in the presence of the most terrible of the Undying Gods. But it is no wonder, for all things living and mortal fear the treachery of the night, the beguiling touch of Nyx!”

The way she’s waving her hands and raising her voice all dramatically. Definitely the godly sort. Bet Trixie could get some good notes from her.

“How readily your thoughts rise to mock my speech and gesticulations,” she accuses, pointing one of those steely fingers at me. “Your world was mine to command when Dawn withdrew her rose-tinted fingers. Daemons roamed free at my call, and I delivered visions both sweet and dire when sleep made heavy the eyelids of the civilized. Countless piles of succulent hecatombs were sacrificed in my name whenever mortals sought safe passage through my darkest nights, and so shall you remember to respect me in equal measure.”

I run and slash at the yammering witch, instantly chopping off the head of a shocked Royal Guard hold on what? Head and body have disappeared, and a whoosh of air turns my head to the goddess floating casually on her side.

“What impulse. The mark of a dangerous warrior. But no mortal blade can touch my majesty; you may as well try to slay air itself.”

“Yet when the tribes united and expanded, they no longer wanted their fates controlled by beings as untouchable and unforgiving as the elements.” A closer whoosh. “They wanted gods that could be touched, that understood their pain intimately.”

I spin around, and rising up from the dark appears Celestia as I last saw her: dressed for war and with a pronounced hole in her chest. The blood has besmirched her white coat, but she's making the most twisted smile.

“But a god born of flesh can easily be slain by a brash soul if unprepared.”

I rush up and jam my blade back in the hole it had made. Only there's a scared, bespectacled Earth stallion trembling at the other end of my blade, coughing through the blood going out the corner of his gaping mouth.

I blink, then pull out the sword with a determined tug. The retreating back slash cuts through a row of ponies, their cries and blood filling the air before vanishing abruptly. What the actual f—

To my right it's the midnight blue of Luna that's arisen, looking more tangible than earlier. Which makes the dripping slash on her chest and manic smile more prominent.

“Where your blade shines, death is sure to follow. The ground runs red, and the lamentations of the innocent rend the air wherever you step.”

“Even if you were to bury that foul weapon, the arms that wielded it would remain. As would the fierce, undying brutality that empowers them.”

To my left a pony comes running covered in flames, letting out screams too horrific for something so (mild) (frail) (wronged) to produce. I make to defend myself, but he vanishes into embers upon touching me.

Next I see the green-splattered chitin of Chrysalis, black insects crawling and feeding on the exposed innards of her neck. Even with her head split in half, the mouth halves talk and grin unhindered, flopping about on the scant remains of neck muscle.

“Who in their right mind would ally or associate with something so vicious and unpredictable, when a violent death can come to them as suddenly as to so many others?”

“And it's even more worrying when the monster himself feels no confidence in their restraint.”

“Done so much. Seen so much. It can all do so much to one's mentality. Hardens the body against adversity, but inevitably seeps inward and alters the soul.”

A pinprick touches the top of my head, and a deep chill shoots through my insides. I see them running, fighting, crying, begging. Each and every single one, going by like a merry-go-round.

“I deliver the dreams of the living. I see their ambitions, potential, hopes. And more importantly, their fears.”

The needle is withdrawn and I stumble back, taking a loud breath. That demoness drops before me in her original, shadow-cloaked form.

“Though buried, or burned, or destroyed, you carry your victims through the passages of day as well as the night. The horrific ways they perished. The unnecessary ways.”

...though a bit disappointed that I couldn’t bring in the last living Changeling... well, alive.

“I wouldn’t say awesome, only necessary.” Well, maybe not entirely necessary.

She brings up a needled hand to her face. “They are all faces you still see whenever you close your eyes. Their pleas, curses and cries fill your dreams.”

All that I ask is that you let this old mare enjoy her last few years quietly. Not very many of them left, I should say.

I sincerely pray that when sorrow strikes, you are bereft of all feeling. Otherwise, you will suffer a thousandfold more than those you have slain.

“What's more, you're afraid you will succumb and destroy once again. Long after the battle is over, you find yourself waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Even when laying next to the one you claim to love your spirit remains haunted. It’s most pitiable.”

Yeah, Sweetie. (Stay away) Just can’t sleep. (You’re not safe) Thought I’d come out here and look at the city. (A monster. A monster waiting)

“Am I? It happened less than a moon ago. How you shivered, how your breath grew short. The tears that formed as you fought for control of your rampant heart. Those visions of blood and fire yet to be spilled at a moment's notice. You never admitted it, never told anyone the true source of your troubles. And whenever someone does happen to catch you, you try to pass it off as excitement or simple anxiety. Leaving them blissfully unaware of the torment inside. Of the beast waiting to spring and claim more for its grim harvest.”

It, it really was just nerves that night! Going to Griffonstone, of course I’d be nervous, who wouldn’t be?! Just a, just a bad dream, needed to cool down, yeah yeah. Get the shakes out and not wake up Sweetie. She… she doesn’t need to know… Can’t know.

I feel the cool edge of those fingers brush my cheek. “So many years of sorrowful deeds, and only recently you’ve been able to experience the full depth of your regrets. You have done well in hiding it, but the only one not fooled by your calm charade... is you.”

I swipe out with my sword, but only darkness and echoes. Why are my arms trembling? How come my mouth’s dry? She comes floating down before me.

“Do you believe yourself to be above consequences? Your actions and anxieties leave marks that can never be completely hidden, and even if others have accepted what you have done, that only leaves your very being to mar. And it is your sins that assemble the cage I have designed for you.”

Her spindly arms spread out, and her silver eyes flash as ghostly images of frightened ponies and mass destruction rise up around me. They swirl around us, interlocking and forming a gusty enclosure, warping, expanding, shrinking wildly.

“All things that are slaves to a conscience steadily craft chains with every thought, every action they come to regret. From these misgivings I form chains that make mortals prisoners of their very minds. Fear, cowardice, remorse, all enhanced to contain without the need of stone or iron or seals. The most intimate and spiritual form of entrapment, weaved beautifully and without compare!”

The images of my past float and dance about, before sinking back into the blackness.

“You lack the resolve to end your own life, and you cannot bear the falsehoods you constructed to protect yourself from empathy any longer. So you have come to Tartarus for the most effective, fitting punishment, delivered by its most apt and merciless torturer. For your efforts, you will be cast into the abyss of your anguish and misgivings until your soul withers to nothing, or life has abandoned your body. All while my sweet darkness keeps you tucked away from the interruptions of your previous life.”

Suddenly five massive clawed hands burst up in circle around me, fingers spread and itching to grab at something (me). Something of a silvery smile cuts through the dark under her eyes.

The hands slam down, and darkness encases me completely. A cold hard wind blows while a massive pressure bears down on my head, shoulders and back. There’s a howling in my ears, a cacophonic mess of words, shouts, screams from every sentient race I’ve (killed) met. Their curses, their death cries and rattles, their groanings, pinings, pleadings. Clap my ears shut, but they keep murmuring. The pressure forces me onto my knees. Legs are going cold and numb. Now I see their faces, so many of them. Countless, endless. Won’t shut up won’t leave me alone why I couldn’t do anything it’s all over just just…

Should’ve done it different. I know I know, why did I let it happen like that? Someone needed to stop me, stop her, stop us. No no no no please I never wanted to stop. It’s cold, cold; keep away from them. I’m sorry I’m so sorry…

You didn’t cave in this quickly to my head games, yet turn out the light and lower the thermostat and you’re throwing in the towel? Unbelieveable! And that drivel about fear and despair. You realize there are other emotions in your repertoire, right?

That’s it. Your one standby when courage, duty or common decency couldn’t see you through. The very fire that makes your kind a force to be reckoned with by EVERYONE.

The drive, the force, the RAGE that devastates the land and obliterates kingdoms. The night holds nothing to one who can blaze his own daylight at any given moment. Darkness burns away just as easily as everything else.

Get up off my knees. Pressure is weakening. Breath growing hot. A thumping in my head. Control.

There’s the Spike determination I know. No cage, physical or not, can contain you once that anger has been tapped. Now, let it guide you to that floaty bitch and show her exactly what you’re made of, and what she’s WHOLLY unprepared for!

On my feet, I look out into the vortex. No faces, no cries, only swirling darkness. Through the tempest I sense the source. Flex my claws, focus, snarl. Eyes ablaze and with one step forward, I stab directly at her heart.

...You are attuned to the ancient Chaos.

Such madness renders my influence incomplete, and denies the walls of this prison.

So be it.

Yet, as I have said before, I only enhance what is already there.

You have severed the veil, so see what lies within.

The very core of your heart.

I remain still, the wind having ceased, my arm stuck in something solid. I retract it, noticing a sudden wetness. I bring it up and see it coated in a fresh layer of blood, so I look to my victim. My stomach drops.

A delicate mass of purple fur, lying still in a pool of red, smelling faintly of lavender. My feet carry me back, lips quivering and breath erratic. There's a body of a youthful offwhite, a beige pegasus, a griffon youth. Blood is running down my other arm. A giggling fills my ears as my mouth fills with the taste of copper, bone and feathers. Heart races, teeth gnash, I'm becoming drenched. It's dribbling down my chin. The bodies keep lining up, missing more and more parts. Legs shudder from a full stomach, the giggling gets louder. Louder, louder, redder. Dead, dead, more, more, MORE.

The next thing I hear is my own startled gasp. I'm on my knees again, breathing rapidly for oxygen. The darkness, the goddess is gone. Just cold stone beneath me, and a faint orange glow from surrounding rocks. There is no blood, there is no giggling. I look to the spoils of my latest rampage and see… Nothing…

I stare blankly, for seconds… maybe minutes. Just cave walls. No shadows. No pressure. Pull it together.

I shore up the energy to move. I reach out to the side, pawing at the dirt until I feel my sword’s hilt and grasp it. Comfort and stability. I stand up, take a breath. Start walking.

It's just a plain cavern, smaller than the last one. Only tricks. Just tricks…

There are forms lying about the floor. Most are withered husks. Some show movement and let out weak groans. Forlorn. Hopeless. Disgusting.

I could, make it better. Just a plunge of my sword. Or step on them. Snuff out, see them gurgle and—

See a recess in the other wall, head there. Stumble to my left. Darn loose dirt. Tread slowly, steadily. Take another breath.

The recess holds an ancient lift, in working order, maybe. Step into the metal cage, turn and slide the gate closed. There's a shuddering, screeching of gears, begin lowering deeper into Tartarus.

Soon it’s only dark shaft walls around me. Vibration of the rickety cage. Suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, fall back against the lattice. Just fine, all fine.

Slide myself down further, have a seat, pull in my knees. A little rest, nothing wrong with that. Only a little tired, nothing serious. Nothing wrong. It's fine. I'm okay.

Dragon's Descent

by Compendium of Steve

Act 2 Verse 5