Spike stared at a book for a few moments before tossing it in a pile close to where it would need to be shelved. He had been volunteered to reshelve the library while Twilight, Starlight and a few of the ancient bearers were shown around Equestria for two weeks.
At this point he had shelved and reshelved the library for what must have been hundreds of times. The sorting process was relatively mindless, which meant his mind often wandered as the repetitive task continued.
He couldn’t stop thinking about something Starswirl had said in passing as they were preparing to banish the Pony of Shadows back to limbo.
“The Pony of Shadows killed hundreds of ponies before we were able to contain him.”
The statement hadn’t been focused on by anypony else, just more information about an enemy. But now that enemy was back in Equestria, walking around with everypony else. Starswirl and Stygian were making their amends, wandering across the land who knows where.
Spike sighed and tossed another book to another pile. Poor Stygian, he killed so many—and now he had to continue to live knowing that.
It was in the midst of this line of thinking that a thought came into Spike’s mind. A nagging, wriggling, painful, uncomfortable thought: That’s how I’ll end up.
Stygian wasn’t much different than he was, really. A group of six friends that were the champions of their age. And then… this other thing that just tagged along. Spike didn’t really belong. Even the map room in the castle had six chairs with cutie marks, and a tiny chair for him. He was a part of the group, but not really. He was an add-on. A friend of a friend. He never really belonged with them. He didn’t fight. He didn’t really do much besides “helping.”
Was he really all that helpful? He organized the library after study sessions, cleaned where he could, and cooked sometimes. He was a butler. A very good butler. But not much else.
He used to be Twilight’s only friend. But now that she had so many friends, she didn’t spend nearly as much time with him as she had used to. So Spike stayed behind cleaning, assisting, helping.
That was mostly fine with him. He was a good helper. He was! At least, he thought he was. His friends had been thankful for his actions, he was sure of that. He just wasn’t sure when the last time they had mentioned they were grateful was.
What would it matter how helpful he was now, if he was destined to kill so many?
Spike froze, peering around the empty library and into the vacant corridor beyond. Where had that thought come from? Spike wasn’t going to kill anypony. He liked everypony! Everypony was so nice, and treated him kindly… and… isn’t that what Stygian did?
He had gotten thoughts similar to this before and he always had to work hard to drive it out of his mind. He was never very successful. But at least he had the decency to not bother anypony else with his random thoughts. That was all they were—random thoughts. That was it. They weren’t anything else. They weren’t indicative of anything else. He was fine. Really fine. No really. He was fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about. At least until he was destined to kill the ones he loved.
Spike violently shook his head and then picked up another book. His process was to take each one and put it in a pile next to the section it corresponded to. It was the initial sort that made it simpler for the more active sort later when he would put the books on their bookshelves.
It felt like the library needed a complete reshelving practically once a moon. Why was it so hard to research something without tearing apart the library every time? When everypony died he would never have to reshelve the books again.
Spike paused and then checked around the library again, making certain he really was alone.
Where had that thought come from? Had he really thought it up himself? No—it couldn’t be him. He would never, ever, ever, ever, think like that. Would he? Wait—he had just thought about it. It had been right there in his mind for a second. Perhaps it was the Pony of Shadows influencing him? No—the pony of shadows was Stygian. And Stygian was fine.
As fine as anypony that had murdered hundreds of ponies can be. Except that given that he killed them thousands of years ago, those hundreds of ponies could have had hundreds of thousands of descendants by now. So the Pony of Shadows had really committed an even more egregious atrocity. Those possible descendant’s effects on the present were completely incalculable. Who knows what lives they could have led, what books they could have written.
He stared at the library around him. If Stygian hadn’t murdered those ponies, how many more books would be in this library?
He shuddered. He couldn’t live with himself if he had killed anypony. Just one pony could have a family that after thousands of years could influence millions of ponies. It’s an exponential problem. The more time added, the more the influence grows. One murder affects millions eventually.
Spike became aware of how fast he was breathing. How long had he been breathing like this? How long had his claws been shaking like this?
Had Spike ever killed anypony?
His thoughts quickly reverted to an old worry he always tried to avoid thinking about. When he had been born, he had grown humongous very quickly thanks to Twilight’s entrance exam spell going haywire. Had anypony been crushed to death because of him? If it had happened, Celestia probably would not have told him. He was still a baby after all, and they wouldn’t burden a child with knowing the truth: that he already had blood on his claws from the very moment of his birth.
NO! That can’t be true!
But what if it was?
What if by the very act of being born, he had crushed one of the castle servants?
Maybe that’s why Spike was just a butler at this point. It was an equivalent exchange for the servant he had killed in Celestia’s palace when he was hatched. So that’s why they inculcated Spike into behaving this way. A servant’s life for a servant’s life.
No! No! He hadn’t killed anypony! He hadn’t. He was fine. Celestia would have told him… right? No… he was too young. Ponies were always trying to protect him from scary information. They always avoided using words like “death” or “killed” around him. Only Star Swirl, who didn’t know to filter things in front of him, had told the real truth: the Pony of Shadows had killed ponies. Sombra, Nightmare Moon, Tirek, and other threats they had faced before had probably also killed ponies.
And yet… Nightmare Moon was forgiven? Stygian was forgiven. He couldn’t reconcile this in his mind. So many ponies and would be ponies were dead.
Why didn’t he just ask Celestia? This pattern of thought had bothered him enough before to warrant this right? He could send a letter at any time to her and ask her directly if he had killed anypony when he had been born. But this was the Princess, he shouldn’t bother her with his pesky anxieties. And even if she asked? Would she tell the truth? Was he old enough to know the truth? Even if he got a response saying that he hadn’t killed anypony, could it be trusted? He… He really had killed somepony, hadn’t he? That was the only logical conclusion.
He breathed in and out.
Maybe that’s when Twilight had learned to be so forgiving? When Spike accidentally killed somepony when he was hatched she had to learn to forgive the monster that now lived with her. The first villain Twilight forgave wasn’t Nightmare Moon, it was him.
Spike shakily made his way out of the library. He needed a snack, something—anything—different. Just a quick change of pace. The castle echoed with each step of his feet, causing a crescendo of taps that emanated around and never fully dissipated. When there were others in the castle, the echoes didn’t bother him as they just became a white noise in the background of castle life. But now each and every sound was directly his fault. His fault. His fault. HIS FAULT. HIS FAULT! Spike started sprinting to the kitchen, trying to drown out his own thoughts with the noise of his footsteps on crystal and his own thumping heart.
The kitchen was bare of anything besides ordinary kitchen equipment, food, and supplies. Of course the castle was desolate except for a single dragon—who would want to be alone with a murderer?
Spike yelped quietly as if he had accidentally pinched himself. Where were these thoughts coming from? Spike wasn’t going to kill anypony. As far as he knew, he hadn’t killed anypony. As far as he knew.
He grabbed a ruby from one of the bottom drawers meant for him. He took a bite and the red warm fire ruby crunched in his mouth. It was warm, tasty and absolutely wonderful. Each and every bite a relaxing dose of calm permeating his entire being. He wondered if a pony would taste similar.
Spike coughed and a little bile came out of his throat, sending shards of crimson gems out of his mouth. The shards mixed with his saliva on the floor and looked sickeningly like blood.
Blood on the floor. Is that how they were going to find out he had killed somepony? Spike spit up more of the ruby shards, the thoughts making him convulse in horror.
It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t! IT WASN’T! IT WASN’T! IT WASN’T!
He grabbed a towel and began to clean up the vomit on the kitchen floor. The towel quickly became red with the ruby shards. He poured a cleaning potion and disinfected the kitchen floor, scouring it of the mess he had made.
Will it be this easy to clean up pony blood?
No No No NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!
No! Those thoughts didn’t come from him. He wasn’t like that. Sure, nopony loved him and he was basically a slave.
NO!
No, he was loved and treated kindly and always left behind because no one trusts him. He was a dragon. And who knows how many ponies he would kill accidentally or intentionally over the next thousands of years. Spike was only a few years old and had already “possibly” crushed ponies in Celestia’s palace or that time he created a hoard and had greatly injured the Wonderbolts and caused massive property damage to Ponyville.
Had anypony died!? Would they even tell him if they had? Would they? He didn’t remember any funerals in Ponyville afterwards. But if they had already hidden the ponies that had died when he had hatched, they would’ve continued the charade after his rampage too.
Spike breathed in and out, his thoughts really had gone overboard. He was behaving—no—thinking illogically. Things were fine.
He rinsed the rags and put them in a laundry basket for later, then took one last look around the kitchen to make sure it was spotless.
If the thoughts weren’t internal, perhaps they were external? The Sirens… Sombra… those were creatures that could affect emotions.
But Spike felt very alone—not even an evil presence or anything. He was the only thing breathing in the entire castle. Even Owlowiscious seemed to abandon the castle while Twilight was away for the next two weeks.
Spike slowly meandered his way back to the castle library, each step echoing in the hallway around him.
Perhaps part of the Pony of Shadows had rubbed off on him? It made sense. Stygian was the out of place 7th member… and so was Spike.
Out of place. A friend of a friend. A future frightening, scary dragon.
Was he being influenced by the Pony of Shadows? Not the pony… but the shadow? It had been banished, right? Right?
Spike ran up to a mirror, examining every inch of his body. Legs, arms, inside his mouth, his claws, his spikes, his tail, absolutely everything. There was no darkness to be found.
Perhaps his thoughts really were just coming from himself?
Why was he thinking about this? Why was he STILL thinking about this? Make the thoughts go away. Make the thoughts go away by whatever means necessary.
He ran back up into his room and dashed towards his comic book collection. His mind found relief in losing itself in a different world entirely. His comics weren’t him, and they safely stopped him from thinking about himself, the character’s actions familiar and warm and safe.
He had read these issues dozens of times at this point. He knew every line of dialogue and what was going to happen. And nopony was going to die.
When Spike looked up hours later, the autumn sunset was shining throughout the castle. He had wasted the entire afternoon.
I didn’t do the ONE thing I’m good for. I organize the books! That’s what I’m good for. That’s what Twilight asked me to do and I didn’t do it.
Spike quickly shook his head and then headed back to the library. He still had piles of books that weren’t in the right places yet, so he began sorting them again.
It was oddly relaxing to have such a simple, yet complex task to work on. He had gotten much faster at the work over the years.
Everything had been going alright until he came across one book. It was a history of ponies and dragons. Spike had always been skittish around books like these, always afraid of what he’d find. But Twilight wouldn’t leave a book sitting around the library that would be truly frightening for him, would she? Of course she would. Twilight was all about knowledge and truth, whatever that truth may be.
Spike gulped, and then started flipping through the book. It didn’t take long to find. There had been plenty of murders throughout the years: stories of dragons eating ponies, dragons invading, dragons hurting, torturing, pillaging. The book even mentioned several times in recent history where some stray dragons had eaten ponies. It was pretty rare as Celestia had strict agreements with the Dragon Lands and she was quite the formidable defender against any dragon attack.
But still, no wonder ponies were afraid of him. He glanced at a mirror and then looked at his teeth. Despite being just a baby dragon, the fangs he had could slice through pony skin quite easily. He could be a monster. He already had been a monster—almost crushing Ponyville on his birthday. Ironic that he had most likely killed ponies on both his birthdays, one being his actual birth, and getting greedy on his previous birthday. What was going to happen on his next birthday? He was going to grow to a colossal size and accidentally crush somepony without realizing it and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Nothing? Nothing!?
There was always a way to stop things from happening. If he was destined to kill someone—if it was an absolute given that by him being alive someone else had to die—then that someone should be himself. That's fair. Nopony deserved to be hurt, even accidentally, by him.
He realized how fast he had been breathing and how quickly his pulse slowed down when he thought about dying. Besides absorbing himself in his comic books, thinking about suicide was the only thing that had truly calmed him down all day.
It was perfect. He would never hurt anypony. Nopony would die. Everypony would be fine, and happy, and…
And…
Spike started to cry as he thought about how perfect it was. None of his “friends” would need to worry about his inevitable betrayal. None of them would need to worry about Spike anymore at all. Pinkie wouldn’t need to throw him birthday parties. Rarity wouldn’t have to be annoyed at the crush he had on her anymore.
Twilight—
Twilight…
She didn’t need him anymore. He knew she had plenty of magic at her disposal. If she wanted to, she could devise a spell that would autosort the entire library, teleporting each book exactly where it had been. The only reason she hadn’t made a spell like that was to make Spike feel useful. She was an Alicorn Princess who had real friends now. She didn’t need him anymore. Cooking, cleaning, writing… everything could be done in a blink of an eye with Twilight’s magic. She just kept him around because she didn’t want him to feel bad for being worthless.
He was worse than worseless. He was a liability. He was destined to be a villain. A dragon raised by ponies that spends his entire life trying to deny what he is, until eventually he succumbs to evil and becomes the dragon of shadows, murdering everypony and drowning the land in darkness.
“NO!” Spike screamed, throwing the book across the room and into the pile it belonged to. Several books scattering around as a result.
“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” Spike started crying, lying on the floor hugging his legs to his chest.
He wasn’t going to be a villain. Nopony would die. Nopony would get hurt. Nopony would suffer. He just had to kill himself and everypony else would be fine. Just fine.
Except for himself. But he didn’t really matter. He had never mattered. If anything, he shouldn’t have been born at all.
He shook his head and focused on the task at hand. He just needed to finish sorting the library. That was the task Twilight had given him to do. He could do one last request from Twilight. One last library reshelving project.
It was kind of horrifying to realize in just how many ways he could kill himself. Sure—he was a dragon so he was made of tougher stuff than the average pony. But with the right angle he could probably jump off the tallest tower and land on one of the lower towers in just the right way to—NO—that would be way, way too gruesome. Nopony should have to see that.
Also, falling from large heights had never really hurt him before. And some of his pony friends had done it almost as practical jokes.
Spike sighed. Why hadn’t he decided to die sooner? He had never been needed or wanted before. The thought had crossed his mind a few times before when he noticed just how useless he was most of the time. But he had never taken it to its logical conclusion. He shouldn’t have dismissed the thoughts of suicide; they were his best shot at saving the most lives in Equestria.
What Spike really needed to do was just disappear. He would finish reshelving the library, and then vanish without a trace.
He thought long and hard about some way of causing himself to never be born at all. But if he hadn’t have been born, Twilight never would have made it into Princess Celestia’s school. And she wouldn’t be an Alicorn today.
Perhaps he had done some good in his life.
Yes, there was quite a lot of good he had done. But it would all be eclipsed when he inevitably—accidentally or intentionally—hurt somepony. He had done all the good things he would ever do. And anything after this? It would only make it all the more painful when he eventually failed.
He needed to figure out something fast.
No—he had time. Twilight and her friends were showing how Equestria had changed over a thousand years to the former champions. Twilight said it would take two weeks, but in reality it could take quite some time.
His initial book sort was complete, and now he just needed to put the books in their right spots. The sun was now far gone, but Spike continued to stay up, letting the dark thoughts flow freely as he worked.
The cleaning potions would probably kill him. But then he would be left behind to be “found.” Gross. Nopony needed that.
Then he realized something wonderful. The Everfree forest was full of creatures that could kill him: a timberwolf, a manticore, a cragadile, and so many more. There were so many ways to die in that forest. So many ways to disappear.
After several more hours of thinking and shelving, Celestia’s sun crept over the horizon and filtered into the crystal castle, forming oranges and stray rainbows. The reshelving project had taken Spike much less time than usual. He had never had something so important to do afterwards.
Spike took one last long walk around the castle.
It would be emptier without him there.
But he thought of all the many thousands of ponies that would exist millennia from now because of Spike’s sacrifice. One pony lost is thousands of future ponies never born at all. So many books unwritten. So much gone.
Spike smiled as the warm thought made him feel safe and comfortable. That’s what he was good at: helping. It would probably be his cutie mark if dragons could obtain one. And now the last thing he would ever do was help.
You can’t be a villain if you’re not there at all.
He tidied his room one last time. He thought about lighting everything on fire, but the smoke might cause somepony in town to notice. Twilight could just make everything in here vanish after he was gone.
He felt so tired, and the bed did feel very inviting. But every second he spent still alive was just one more second closer to his inevitable betrayal.
He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.
He grabbed a vial of the cleaning potion from the kitchen and then locked the door to the castle behind him. The early afternoon sun blazed down from overhead as he made his way to the forest. He did his best to skirt around anypony else in town, peering around and making sure his path from the castle to the forest was devoid of any creature. Once he arrived at the tree line, he looked over his shoulder one last time at the castle, confident no one had seen him.
He didn’t take any marked trail, instead deciding to meander through the trees further and further.
The trees towered overhead, casting the whole forest in a murky darkness. Spike kept walking into trees accidentally. It would have been easier to move around if his left claw wasn’t held tight around the vial of potion. He forged on, making sure to cover any tracks he may have accidentally made.
The sun must’ve gone down, because it started to feel incredibly cold in the forest.
His throat was parched, and his stomach kept twisting around in knots. He hadn’t eaten anything since the fire ruby yesterday, and he had thrown that up.
Surely some creature would come along and kill him soon. But he was just so tired. He could barely keep his eyes open.
When he felt he couldn’t continue any longer and all trace of strength had left him, Spike looked down at the vial. He reached out to unstop the potion, but his fingers kept missing and fumbling.
He firmly grasped the vial in his left claw and then pinched the top with his right claw, slowly unstopping the cork off. He went to bring the vial up to his mouth, but he missed, spilling some of the potion on his scales.
He winced. There should still be plenty of potion left needed to finish the job.
He finally just threw the entire thing in his mouth, glass and all, and crunched down, the nasty potion seeping down inside him.
He didn’t feel sad, or happy, or relieved, or anything. He just felt “done.”
And that’s when Spike noticed the cockatrice.
The creature stared at him as he stood transfixed back. It had such fascinating eyes. Spike leaned against a tree as he felt his entire body grow heavier. He slunk to the ground, the weight of the sleep deprivation, the potion, and the cockatrice’s stare forcing him to lie down completely.