//------------------------------//
// A King 
// Story: Cutie Mark Conquerors 
// by SaintThunder 
//------------------------------//

The Crystal Empire, a haven in the Frozen North. A thousand years ago, its inhabitants were slaves to the Shadow King Sombra, and the land was filled with the darkest of magics, blackening the crystals that towered over the city. Today, it was the radiant, shining center of magical studies, as well as the current host of the Equestria Games. For one filly, it was the second most boring scooter ride she had ever ridden.

Scootaloo zoomed from house to house, street to street, looking for an incline. The scenery had gotten old about a few blocks back, and she was desperate for some action.

“Come ON, already,” she said. “No broken carts? No shady alleyway shortcuts? What kind of city doesn’t have a bad side?”

A sharp turn right down the next street led her to the outer rim of the Empire, where she could see the hills and fields of emerald grass stretch into the horizon… save one small, white dot in the distance. Scoots smirked.

“Looks like we’re going off-road.”

Wings a-buzzing, Scootaloo made for the curious white speck. In less than no time, she was close enough to see that it was a frozen patch of ground. Lying in the center was

“A horn? Eww.”

It was a nasty old thing, the lone, ownerless horn. All black and red, curved and sinister. Scootaloo’s skin tingled, as if she’d been shaved and thrown into a tub of ice water. Dismounting her scooter, she slowly approached the horn, stopping just a few inches short of it. With the edge of her hoof, she poked the severed appendage.

The horn ominously rolled over.

“Huh,” said the orange filly. “I thought for sure that it would like, explode or something.”

Her fears assuaged, Scootaloo picked the horn up in earnest and tossed into the air, catching it as it fell down. She held it up to the sun, and a bit of red light shone on her face.

“Whoa, it’s kinda see through. Guess it’s just a crystal that LOOKS like a horn.”

She put it to her forehead.

“Hehe, I’m an alicorn!” she giggled. Striking a regal pose, she yelled, “Fear me, for I am the GreaAAAAAAAAAAGGHH!!!”

A thousand needles of pain stabbed through the filly’s head, filling her mind with visions of a stallion, smoke gray fur clad in silver armor, green eyes blazing with purple smoke, a crown upon his head. He stood tall on the highest point of his castle; spires of black crystal radiating with his dark magic. Below him, thousands of ponies, features hidden beneath masks of iron and obsidian, knelt before their king.

With a word, they would march for him. Die for him. Kill for him. He need only say it, and the world would fear his name.

The vision ended, but the pain did not. Scootaloo writhed on the icy ground, frozen blades of grass stabbing into her back, as the horn released its magic into her.

Am I dying? she asked. I don’t wanna die. I’m too young to die! There’s so much I didn’t do yet… I still… I need… to…

A final surge of dark magic and Scootaloo lay still, the horn fully embedded in her skull. But she was not dead. That would’ve been too merciful.

Scootaloo’s eyes fluttered open, blazing green with fury.

“My… empire…”