3 days ago... Approximately seven minutes after the re-sealing of Discord...
*SLAM*
Gilda burst through the wooden door of the cabin like a juggernaut and quickly but carefully carried Jack to the couch. She paused just for a moment to catch her breath before putting two talons to his neck and panicking when she couldn't feel a heartbeat. She pressed a bit harder and screwed up her brow in confusion as she felt a violent, stuttering, rumbling instead of a steady rhythm, but shrugged that aside as he coughed up even more blood onto the floor and weakly pointed a hoof towards his bedroom. Gilda pulled at her head feathers anxiously.
"I don't know how to unlock your door, Jack!"
With a growl and a violent shudder, Jack forced a glowing red pentagram to shine through the fur of his right hoof, and spat out something that Gilda couldn't quite hear. With a series of clicks, the door unbolted itself and swung open.
Gilda rushed in and looked about the room she had hardly seen glimpses of. A large bed to one side, a desk with a can of red chalk sitting on it, and a bookshelf to the other, and a black leather-bound tome with another pentagram engraved in the cover sitting on a pedestal in the corner. Gilda grabbed the tome and rushed back to the couch to hold it in front of him.
"Is this what you need!? Jack! Do you need the creepy-ass book!?"
He managed to lift a weary head and nod slightly before croaking out a few quiet words, his life fading quickly by the minute.
"Page 782... need the red chalk... on my desk..."
Gilda flipped through the book in a frenzy as fast as her talons would allow, before stopping on the correct page. She skimmed it, picking up what she could and wondering if this was the right entry, but rushing back into Jack's room for the can of chalk as she read. She jumped back into the living room and shoved aside the rug to clear a big space on the floor before dropping the book and the chalk. She read through the instructions as she went to make sure she didn't screw it up.
Named Demon Summoning - Magic Circle Method
Step 1: Preparations: Acquire Bloodstone Chalk (See reference guide 7a) And clear a large flat surface, preferably on stone or wood.
Gilda plucked a piece of chalk from the can and set the rest aside.
Step 2: Glyph-laying: Inscribe a six foot in diameter, five-point-star pentagram circle upon the flat surface with aforementioned chalk.
Gilda glanced around but didn't have anything to measure with. She groaned and set the chalk to the ground at the edge of the space.
"Buck it. Freestyling this shit. Hope it doesn't care about exact measurements..."
A minute later, Gilda stood over a hasty, but completed pentagram. She tossed aside the chalk and read the next step.
Step 3: Summon Fuel: A small amount of blood from the summoner placed in the center of the circle is needed as a catalyst. Any amount will do, but about a 3-inch wide pool is advised.
Gilda snagged a jagged knife from the weapon rack and clutched it in one palm over the circle. She hesitated just for a second before Jack's wheezing reached her ears. She slashed the edge through her palm and gasped in pain as she let the blood fall. Once a pool had formed, she clenched her talons shut over the cut to stem the flow and read the last step.
Step 4: Summoning: Hold an outstretched limb toward your magic circle, and clearly speak the real name of your chosen demon.(The names they give to others do not count.)
Gilda turned back to the circle and held out her uncut talons.
"Jack Marley."
The circle glowed an dull red, but sputtered and died to Gilda's frantic squawks of dismay. She flipped a few more pages before throwing the book aside and leaping to Jack's side again. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him increasingly violently in desperation.
"Jack! JACK! WHO THE BUCK DO I SUMMON!?"
Finally she reared back and slapped him across the face. He coughed and sputtered as she repeated the question and he let out a low, gurgling, choking whisper that Gilda could just barely made out.
"Hominum Anima... Mea..."
Gilda whipped her hand back to the circle and yelled at the damned thing.
"HOMINUM ANIMA MEA!!!"
The circle roared to life in burst of red light as the blood evaporated away and a crackling and distorted form slowly faded into existence. A biped of red energy, with two horns on its forehead curving back menacingly. A few moments later it finally started to move and walked toward her. Gilda shrieked and tried to shield Jack from it, but found herself gently, but firmly pushed aside with incredible strength. She hardly noticed, but at its touch, her bleeding cut healed itself near instantly. It outstretched a limb towards Jack's worryingly still form, with five thin, blunt digits spreading from the end as graspers, and paused before looking over at her.
Gilda could only drop her jaw in surprise as it smiled and winked at her in a very familiar fashion before grabbing Jack's still hoof. In a burst of movement, the silhouette of energy rushed into Jack's body as he jerked and spasmed crazily. Gilda hurried back over and held him down before he hurt himself broke something. She caught a glimpse of ethereal horns sinking and disappearing into Jack's head just as his eyes snapped wide open.
Gilda sighed in relief and fell onto his chest in a tight hug as Jack sat up and rubbed his aching head, his eyes focusing on her after a moment. She looked back up at his smug face a minute later and rolled her eyes at his cheeky expression.
"Ye' have fun summoning yer demon boyfriend back from th' dead?"
Gilda pushed herself up and gave him a deadpan glare.
"Hell No... And why does the demon thing not surprise me?"
Jack barked a laugh and pulled her off balance to fall on top of him again. He hugged her close and nuzzled her in one of his rare displays of gentle, non sexual affection as he continued to chuckle.
"Probably the same reason ye' didn't deny me bein' yer boyfriend."
Gilda begrudgingly returned the hug, but spitefully denied that she was enjoying the embrace way too much.
"Shut up, Jack. You're dead."
"Not anymore."
Gilda smirked and planted a talon on his wide smile.
"Shh, Corpses don't talk."
"Braaaaiiiinnnsss..."
Gilda found herself laughing and struggling as Jack held her down and licked and nipped at her head mercilessly.
"Pffffffttt, JACK! Stop it! Haha! That's disgusting!"
Jack descended into laughter as well when he had to stop to spit out a few loose feathers. When they both finally calmed down, still chuckling a bit, but at a manageable level, Gilda looked up again to see Jack giving her a rather odd look. She cocked an eyebrow and jumped in surprise when he lunged forward and snagged a kiss. Not a sloppy one either, just something a bit longer than what could be considered a peck, and once again very out of character for Jack.
"I'd like to claim you, properly, but it might be a bit early for that I suppose~"
He worded it strangely, but after a moment of turning the words over, Gilda turned a dark cherry red, the deepest shade she was able to turn. She made to flail away, but Jack held her fast against his chest, far too close for Gilda, and smiled happily at her panicked, overheating expression.
"J-Jack! What the buck! You d-don't just say that so casually! What the hell am I supposed to say!?"
"Heh."
"DON'T YOU "HEH." ME! THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"
"Yer right, it's hilarious!"
Gilda puffed her cheeks out angrily, immobilized so well that she couldn't even slap him. After a moment, Jack eased his grin and softened his smile to just a slight curl at the edges of his mouth.
"Eh, guess I did jump the gun a bit. I'll wait. You still need to know who I really am an' all that."
He released his hug and Gilda jumped up and flew across the room, well out of his reach. Jack swung his legs around and stood up to his full bipedal height. He strolled back to his room with a swing in his step and paused to look back at her.
"You want to 'ear my life story or what? I don't want t' wait long for that answer."
Gilda felt her cheeks quickly regain any heat they had lost as she glared angrily and huffed in frustration.
"G-give me a minute. Maybe five."
==========================================================================================
Gilda walked quietly into Jack's room again and found him retrieving a large box from under the bed and placing it on top of the mattress. He sat down on the bed himself and patted the space beside him. Gilda fought down another round of blushing and sat as calmly as she could beside him, determined not to show her embarrassment.
Jack took a deep breath and tapped the box absentmindedly as he spoke.
"Well, you know I'm a demon, crazy, and Irish. Any guesses what else I might be?"
Gilda pushed aside the more flustering questions in her head, and tried to think seriously.
Buck being serious, I'm tired. Spew nonsense to get it right.
"God?"
"Flattering, but no."
"Secret Alicorn of Hell?"
"That's on the bucket list now, but no."
"Not a pony or a demon?"
"Still am a Demon. Before though? Yes."
"Uh... I don't know- Alien? You don't seem like you match up to any other race I know of- except maybe griffins?"
Gilda paused, waiting for the "Nope." and was... understandably incredulous when it didn't come. She turned her head slowly to Jack's grinning face and nearly fell off the bed.
"Are- are you serious?"
"Alien. Good guess. But not from space."
Gilda flopped backwards, halfway on the bed, and groaned, rubbing her temples.
"Just bucking get it over with... No mystic bullshit, okay?"
Jack nodded and flopped back beside her as he cleared his throat.
"448 Years Ago-"
"Wait, what the buck? How old are you?"
"474 in Equestrian years, 23 as a pony, now shush."
Jack reached over, opened the box, and pulled out a picture with some writing that Gilda couldn't read scribbled at the bottom and a faded and smudged image printed on it. He hoofed it off to her and she examined the lanky, bipedal creature in the photo with it's scruffy clothes and wild black beard. She didn't understand, until she took note of its crooked smile. She looked closer at its small features and found that its hair, eyes, and even the way it stood to be almost parallel to Jack. It also happened to match the silhouette of the demon she had summoned perfectly, minus the horns.
It was Jack.
448 Years Ago, a human man lived upon the Emerald Isle. He was twenty-six, Irish by birth - and a prick.
Gilda snorted in amusement.
Like any self-respecting young Irishman, he would go drinking every payday and burn through all his hard-earned cash. And so, on a balmy night in June, -or, rather, early morning- the man left his favorite bar, the "Woodskull Tavern" he called it, though that wasn't its real name. With his last few dollars in hand, he walked off through the old streets of his hometown towards a warm bed and sleep.
He strode confidently, humming to himself, and quite cheery after a lovely night of drinking and occasional punching. And after a while he let out a great yawn, closing his eyes. He put out his right foot, set it down, and felt nothing but air.
Imagine his surprise when he fell six feet further than he intended, and face-planted into the ground. He pulled himself up a minute later, nursing his bruises as he staggered to his feet to see a sight unfamiliar to him.
A Land, a Kingdom, a great many fantastical creatures, some with horns, some wings, some had bizarre hair, and many of all different sizes and shapes. In the distance a great castle stood on a tall mountain. From this description you probably think of Equestria, land of peace, friendship, and you-name-any-saccharine-emotion-they-probably-have-it-on-a-banner-somewhere. In other words, a lovely, inviting place. But no, the man was terrified, because that was not where he ended up at all.
And maybe because everything was on fire.
"You ended up in Tartarus? That's shitty luck."
"Another misconception from ponies, Tartarus isn't actually its name, just the name of its original resident. But because the actual name is fockin' long and contains a few sounds I can't even produce without stabbing something fleshy, even demons call it Tartarus. Or Hell."
"Uh... cool?"
By his 1st year in the unfamiliar world, the man had grown small horns, something humans typically don't have, and learned to fend for himself. Already a brawler, he found himself, stronger, faster, and a force to be reckoned with. For a being with no magic, Demonic Energy was like second nature to him.
By his 10th year, he realized his memory had become nearly perfect, and his recall a thing of legend. At games of chance, which Demons all play with passion, he counted cards and measured odds with great skill and became an incredible gambler.
By his 20th, His horns finally hooked back at a modest height, marking the end of their growth. He was not wanting for gold, and his skill in combat was sufficient enough that he was never approached in a fair fight with even odds. He also realized he had stopped aging, effectively immortal in the energies of Tartarus.
By his 40th, he was stabbed in the back, and a weapon known as a Soul Siphon drained him of all of his Demonic Energy, nearly killing him. He escaped by the narrowest of margins, and hid away with his wealth to lick his wounds and plot his revenge.
By his 100th year, he realized the Soul Siphon's damage was permanent, and he was not getting his power or intellect back without outside help. Something the instinctual Demon side of him rebelled against was being in debt, and the human mind hates giving up its pride.
On his 112th, he bit back his treasured pride, and made a Devil's Deal, a soul-binding contract, with the right demon. 30 years of deadly slave labor, and the Master would reignite the Demon soul within him. The catch? No Demon had ever survived.
142nd year. The angry, bloody, and practically unkillable man stood outside of a collapsed gold mine, his would be killer crushed deep below the stone. As the hellfires flared blue to mark the end of another day, the last day of the man's thirty years, the man spat on the gruesome grave of his "Master" and claimed all of his power once the Demon's Soul opened to complete the deal.
It was then that the human, now fully demon, more powerful, and smarter than ever, gained a very useful power. The same power he had been bound to for the past 30 years.
The Devil's Deal.
Now, this human's natural life was just the same as any other. Average experiences, average jobs, average friends. But demons, on the other hand, have a few bad habits among them. Something they so easily forget to check for in their brethren despite doing it to mortals so often.
Two rules any human knows as instinct.
Always check the fine print.
And Words can be twisted.
200th year. The Irish Demon had gained a name. The only one of his kind, no other demon like him. "Demon-Eater."
He had gained a reputation of being a silver-tongued deal-breaker and a power-vampire. Demons have learned his tricks, but continue to try for his deals, as any desperate being would do. After all, the more powerful the demon, the more worthwhile the deal, and the human kept climbing the ladder.
By rare occasion, a particularly careful and quiet demon would slip through the web of wordplay mixed into each deal and escaped alive. But the harsh majority of the demons who shook his hand found the other crushing their heart.
By his 357th year, The Irishman was renowned to be in the upper one-hundred of the most powerful Demons of Tartarus, but he was bored as shit.
376th. He devoted himself, body, mind, and soul, to climbing the ranks. No more wordplay. He began challenging the next highest ranking demon to battle in any form of gambling, the typical "Gentleman's Duel" of Tartarus, and draining them of their power.
By the 417th, He had clawed and cheated his way through the most complex cardgames known to demonkind, until finally he reached the top. The Demon Royale Tables, held in the great hall of The Castle of Tartarus. Only the top 50 demonic rankers could play at these tables. And had just claimed the 50th spot for himself.
Every single one of the players played dirty, and with each of their chips worth a portion of their power, wealth, or domains, losing all of them could push them completely out of the Royale, if not cost them their lives. Most of these players were at least lords of their own domains, or even kings, but the human was pleased to learn that the top 10 was comprised only of solo Demons, with no royal titles, and of great combat skill.
Each table had a Great Beholder as the card dealer. Despite only having a single great eye, they really did see nearly everything in their surroundings, and it took incredible sleights of hand or powerful hidden spells and glyphs to slip anything by them. Despite this, every single one of the players cheated, sometimes openly.
In Tartarus, incorrectly calling out what exactly a player is doing to cheat means instant death from the Devil's deal given to each player. At the same time, correctly calling the cheat means the cheater will die. There was a significant high-risk, high-reward in the system, so it was a very bold move to make. The Royale effectively combined Liar's Dice and Poker into one game, with death as the penalty.
There was only two rules, no physical/mental/magical violence between players, and no magically changing the face of the cards.
In addition, each and every table played Red Queen Poker, and only Red Queen Poker, which is a minimum ten card draw. It is considered to be the riskiest of poker variants in all of Tartarus.
Even still. The human sat himself at the nearest game and was dealt his cards as he formed his chips. Without sparing the cards a glance, he called to the rest.
"I raise."
425th year. Last year in Tartarus.
(Jack's 3rd Person View)
"What's your play, Demon-Eater? We're waiting~!"
"Shut it, Melucient. That won't work again, bitch."
The Massive Horned Succupony that held the proud rank of 2 loomed to his right with a seductive grin, jiggling the assets she had grown just to distract him. It wasn't the only way she was cheating, sadly, so he couldn't call it and get her erased from the game and the world.
Jack looked down to his hand one last time and sighed in dismay.
"Fock this noise. All in."
Immediately, the rest of the table recoiled and considered their own hands, having counted cards, wagered odds, cast secret spells and carved tracking and spy-shielding glyphs on every card in their possession a hundred times over in the last few minutes. And then glaring at the human's seemingly unenchanted deck. They cast spell after spell, but could sense nothing special from the cards, Jack's mind, or the mind of the Beholder.
One by one, half of them folded, leaving Jack with two of the warriors who had yet to give nicknames sitting stoically, ranking 4 and 5 respectively, and Melucient frowning like a child. The warriors glanced at each other, smirked slightly and pushed their piles forward, both going all in.
Melucient tried to jiggle him into submission... for the 37th time... in the last thirty minutes, before slowly pushing just the needed amount in, having just a few chips more than Jack.
The dealer blinked his one giant eye then rumbled out his line.
"Reveal your hands."
Melucient pushed her hand forward with a flourish, revealing her 10 cards. 4 number pairs, and 2 skull cards.
5 paused, dealt his scaled hand downward, and flipped them after a moment, revealing a lesser hand. He calmly stood and stroked his beard. After a moment he deftly picked up his battle helm and fitted it over his antler-like horns. He drew his wickedly barbed sword, point to the ground, in salute to them as he awaited the end of the round.
4 cackled and shoved his hand forward, revealing 1 number pair, 2 face card pairs, and 3 skull cards. A barely stronger hand than Melucient. He turned his eyes to Jack and grinned evilly.
"Give it up, boy. I know your hand is garbage. You didn't even bother guarding it."
"Oh I know this hand is trash."
The smile left 4's face.
"Why go all in when every one of us knew you had nothing? You can't change the cards."
"I didn't."
"Then why do you continue to smile, Demon-Eater?"
"Because this isn't my hand."
The hope drained from 4's body as Jack tossed the cards behind him and Malucient clapped her hands eagerly. He flicked his hand, and just like that, with not a speck of a spell or a sleeve to hide them, his real ten cards. He slapped them down to the table and 4 nearly jumped out of his armor. 4 Aces, 1 King, and 5 Skull Cards- otherwise known as a Hydra Flush.
Jack grinned as 4 jumped over the table in a rage only to suddenly disperse into dust before his fist could meet Jack's face.
"No Violence Between Players."
5 resigned himself as the power left his frame and entered the jackpot well floating above the table. He staggered for a moment, but nodded to Jack in respect before sheathing his sword and exiting the great hall. His strength reduced to somewhere around the 150th ranking, but still alive as he did not put all of his soul into the chips.
A few more rounds passed, and while Malucient and 3 went bankrupt, they did not have to leave the room, having not turned much of their souls into chips and maintaining an upper 50 ranker status. They stood by and watched in a sort of awe as Jack "Demon-Eater" glared into the black eyes of the No. 1 ranker, The Warlord "Card-Craft."
Jack was a little puzzled by the diminutive demon known to be a bloodthirsty beast on the battlefield, not having expected him to be quite so small, but shrugging it off and continuing the game. After a few more rounds, Jack was surprised by the play-style shift Card-Craft had suddenly pulled. It seemed rather like he was giving up more and more frequently until he finally stopped and went all in with a pitiable amount left.
Jack stared at the tiny pile of chips Card-Craft had pushed forward and wondered what he could be thinking, but continued to guard his mental defenses against anything the small demon might try. Jack slowly pushed forward the allotted amount to match his, and was surprised when the demon suddenly stood.
"Analysis Finished."
Jack raised an eyebrow at his quiet statement, but the other soon followed with what he said next.
"Jack "Demon-Eater" Marley, I accuse you of cheating."
Malucient, the former 3, and the rest of the crowd the game had gathered gasped in surprise, but soon began nodding as they realized his play. Card-Craft had gone for the long haul, and decided to map each and every one of Jack's cheats until the last moment before eliminating Jack permanently, taking the jackpot by default.
Jack cracked his neck and dropped his cards on the table, face up.
"Oh? And how exactly have I cheated?"
Card-Craft smiled knowingly and began his listing.
"You hid everything well, and climbed the ranks of the Royale with incredible speed, but even if I respect your skill, there can only be one victor. I accuse you of saving cards, swapping cards, scrying, peering directly at a player's hand, mind invasion, Jowilbien's hollow-arm curse, Abriel's clean-cut flesh zipper curse, the spell-void field, the card-swap theft spell, and the marking of cards. Each skull card has a minute mark on the back after being in your hands. I conclude the list."
Jack burst out laughing as Card-Craft's end to his tirade.
"Wow, ye' had me worried there, I thought for sure you would've caught the last one!"
"You cannot deceive me. Adding a cheat will result in a failed accusation."
"Well ye' missed three, you gobshite."
Card-Craft paused for a moment before his eyes widened.
"You're serious... what did I miss?"
"One, I never used the void spell field-"
Jack's voice suddenly shifted, and Card-Craft froze in shock, as did the rest of the crowd, as another Jack walked out from behind him.
"Two, I used the Spell of the Shadow King, Absolute Cloak. You couldn't get into my head because you were aiming at the wrong spot. Which brings me to my final cheat."
Jack walked over to his double, still frozen at the table, and smoothly ripped its head off, revealing it to be nothing more than an illusion.
"Three, The Perfect Illusion Curse."
Card-Craft blinked twice, and gave a wry smile. He walked around the table, withdrew a small scroll, and handed it off to Jack. He bowed as he began turning to dust, his full soul in the chips.
"Well done, Jack Marley. May your days be long."
Jack nodded his horns in turn, respectful of the great gambler before him.
"Of course they will be! I'm livin' off yours after all."
Card-Craft chuckled and wiped away a shadow of a tear before fading away completely.
Jack glanced down to the scroll Card-Craft left in his hand, and broke the seal as the crowd began applauding their new number 1, the "Demon-Eater."
Jack felt the power from the jackpot well rushing into him and consumed it greedily as he began to read the small scroll.
To be given to the new Number 1 Ranker upon the defeat of the old.
Please pass this along to next highest ranker upon the event of your death or if you choose to invoke the privilege you have earned.
Upon the receiving of this scroll, you will have defeated the former holder of it, or have inherited it from the next highest. As such, you have now earned the power to invoke a challenge to the highest demon there ever was or will be.
Obviously it will be a challenge of the cards you know and love, but of a higher tier you have not played on before. I leave it to you if you want to steal more power from others before you make your challenge, but any amount of power will not make a difference.
Simply State: "I invoke the challenge of Tartarus Himself." And it will begin.
Happy Hunting, I hope to see you soon.
Signed - Tartarus, The Black King
A small note was tacked onto the end, left there by Card-Craft.
P.S.- No Demon has dared challenge him in millennia, so he's likely itching for a good game.
-- Signed, C.C.
Jack grinned and held up a hand, silencing the audience of Demons clamoring around him. He called out over the crowd.
"WHO HAS THE RANK OF NUMBER 2?"
A tall demon warrior who went by "Gore" stepped forward proudly and flinched in surprise when the small scroll bounced off his head.
"Congrats! You're the new number one, surprise, there's your inheritance, and don't fuck it up, dumbass."
The warrior, though his pride was definitely tarnished, wisely accepted the small scroll and backed away from the crushing power the Demon-Eater now put off like waves of radiation. Jack nodded and walked a ways away from the bewildered crowd before raising his voice to the heavens/slightly-higher-depths-of-hell-than-the-rest-of-it-because-heaven-is-most-definitely-out-of-hearing-range.
"I invoke the challenge of Tartarus Himself!"
A column of black shadows fell from the sky and burst through the ceiling directly in front of Jack, who merrily skipped into it, and a loud, rumbling roar of a voice echoed throughout the castle and across the entirety of Tartarus.
"Finally."
In a surge of black energy, Jack vanished into the sky, leaving the host of shocked demons in his wake.
==========================================================================================
"Then I got reborn as a weird little earth pony bastard-"
"Wh- Wait! What happened with "Challenging Tartarus Himself" and all that? You got me excited for a big, crazy demon poker showdown!"
Jack popped an eyebrow up in confusion, legitimately confused what Gilda was upset about.
"Well obviously I won, or I wouldn't be here."
"So it wasn't this big, epic showdown of awesome wits and wicked cheating and bucking around with his mind?"
"Surprisingly, not really. A simple little trick that would have screwed over any demon, but luckily I was also a human. Kind of a let down after all the buildup. Nice guy actually. Got me reincarnated as a baby horse, but hey, it was just a roll of the dice."
“... Buck you, Jack.”
“I’m more than willin’ here~!”
Gilda rolled her eyes at the insufferable stallion and cracked her back as she flipped back to her paws, stretching out her wings and fixing some crooked feathers.
“There’s the Jack I know and tolerate.”
“Heh. You know you love me.”
Gilda huffed in exasperation and hopped off the bed. She paused in the doorway and turned back to Jack.
"So wait, reincarnation? You have parents?"
"Well, had one, at least. Bastard, remember? I've still got a kick-ass Granny though!"
“Huh... Can I meet her?”