//------------------------------// // Prologue: Means to an End // Story: Mark // by xCRAZYxFACEx //------------------------------// Mark Prologue: Means to an End “It would be for the best if she didn’t know...” ---------- A dark sewer, undoubtedly, would be the last place anyone would look for a fugitive. The long walls, covered in lichen and slimy to the touch. The damp, musty air, foreboding and capable of drowning someone in a sea of uncertainty. The ground, covered in the refuse left by generations of ponies and possessing a thin sheen of moisture that chilled to the bone. A place all but forgotten by the ponies casually strolling in the streets above. No, there was no doubt. No one would look for a fugitive here; the unpleasant atmosphere would keep out all but the most determined or foolhardy. It was a testament to the sheer will of the pony that was fleeing the guards, then, that he refused to stall for even a second as his body was beset upon by the myriad of unpleasantries that accompanied the sewers. His body was soaked by the dirty water that had been untouched for decades, scratched by the unforgiving cobblestone walls that the underground labyrinth was composed of, and ached due to the incessant lack of oxygen that was due to both the damp air and the pony’s exertions. For all his pains, though, the pony knew what was waiting for him should he stop; he continued to run. The sewers were located directly below the glittering white streets that crisscrossed the city. Every few hundred feet, there would be a light that was not based on the dull glow of the sewers. A small opening, designed to let water flow from the streets into the guts of the city, provided a modicum of light for the fugitive. For anyone else, it would have inspired hope, a means to escape the inhospitable cesspool. For the pony fleeing for his life, it instead inspired dread and a fear that was ground into his very being since he had taken his first breath. He pushed on, thanking the light only for its ability to clear his sight and see what may lie ahead. As he ran, the light briefly shone on him. It revealed his lithe frame, honed by years of running from those who were frightened, and in turn angered, by him. His coat was a simple red-brown, resembling a kind of burgundy. His mane was a midnight blue, short and slightly matted from years of neglect. His eyes, gleaming as they were from fear and exhaustion, were a simple hazel. The most intriguing part of the pony, though, was his cutie mark. It was deceptively innocuous; the outline of a green pegasus. If one looked closer, though, he would see that outline had a cutie mark as well, that of a blue unicorn. If one looked closer still, he would see the unicorn had a cutie mark of a red earth pony. If one was so inclined, he could take a microscope and examine this phenomena repeat down to unfathomable depths. It was this deceptively innocent cutie mark that had damned this fugitive all of his life. It was also the reason he was currently on the run from the guards and the one they served, the most powerful pony in existence. The wanted pony continued to run, his breath growing rapidly shorter as the last of his stamina petered out. The burgundy pony saw a large flash of light ahead of him, and he quickened his pace. At last, he had found salvation, a means to escape his impending doom. As he neared the opening, though, he saw steep cliff sides on either side and a large valley open up in front of him - and below him. The fugitive attempted to rapidly slow his momentum to little avail. The glistening ground he fought against held little regard for friction nor the now panicking pony as he slowly approached the ledge. As the pony approached the edge inch by inch, he did everything in his power to delay his demise. He pushed his hooves into the ground, pulled his center of gravity back to prevent sliding any further, and laid his body on the ground the maximize the surface area that could prevent him from slipping off into the abyss awaiting below him. It was by a combination of luck and will that he managed to stop before reaching the ledge. The earth pony let out a sigh of relief, releasing air that he had been holding as his body had been sliding on the ground. Shakily, he got up and peered over the edge and into the expanse that was now presented before him. A five hundred foot drop had awaited him, a drop that would surely have killed him. As the burgundy pony unsteadily drew breath, a presence that had been on the edge of his consciousness for several days and only briefly forgotten in his haste to escape, suddenly slammed its full force back on to his mind. The fugitive pony stumbled, his brain pounding as the force grew stronger and stronger in his mind. “No,” he moaned, “no, no, no, no... not now... not when I’m so close.” The fugitive fell to the ground as he battled with the intense migraine that now debilitated him. In the midst of his conflict, he noticed a white pony appear in the corner of his eye, far down the tunnel he had just traversed. A pony that stood a full head above most others, with both wings and horn that declared who she was more than any other trait. She was accompanied by four royal guards, each of them sworn to defend her life from all threats. They regarded the fugitive in front of them with distrust. Celestia walked deliberately towards the writhing earth pony merely yards in front of her. When she was within ten feet of the fugitive, he cried “Please, don’t come any closer!” Her mournful eyes were the only outward sign of emotion as she stopped and stared at the crippled earth pony. The fugitive looked up at her, the agony etched in his face as clear as day, his pupils contracted to mere pinpoints from both fear and pain. “Please,” he cried out again, “don’t come any closer! I don’t...I don’t want to... don’t make me do it!” One of the guards spoke. “Ma’am, shall we take him into custody?” Celestia looked back, and calmly shook her head. She turned back at the red-brown earth pony in front of her. The two ponies stared at each other, neither one willing to budge. One filled with a lifetime of pain, the other filled with infinite remorse. Off to the side, the graceful white towers of Canterlot could be seen. The city was alive and strong, the noise and babble from thousands of ponies heard from thousands of feet away. The noise and babble of ponies whose lives were happy and carefree, strangers to a concept of permanent sorrow and misery, blissfully unaware of the standoff occurring in one of the most remote and untraveled areas of the glorious city. “Mark,” Celestia whispered, “I only want to help. Don’t throw your life away... it doesn’t have to end this way.” As she spoke, the alicorn started to approach the burgundy pony again. The fugitive grunted as the migraine increased in strength, the pain threatening to throw him into unconsciousness. “... No … it’s for the best …” The fugitive yelped as he gathered the last of his strength and threw himself off the side of the cliff. His world faded to black as the pain took control and the wind rushed past his face.