//------------------------------//
// Checkmate 
// Story: Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot 
// by Equimorto 
//------------------------------//

"Do you ever have dreams?"
A pony steps onto the stage. An earth pony. A stallion. He's missing a leg. One of his front legs. His left front leg. He stumbles a little as he walks. He's of average build, maybe slightly taller than the average. His mane and coat are not in bright colours. He does not appear to be bothered by his own limping, he seems to be used to it. He refuses to use a cane or crutch or any other aid or support of the sort. He takes a bit to get to the centre of the stage. From their elevated positions the audience members look on. His steps clack crystalline against the glass.
He speaks. His words ring loudly within the space, almost echoing within its confines. His voice is clear, undisturbed, solid and sustained. What he says is certain, properly enunciated, unmistakable. No one else speaks as he does, to avoid disturbing him or those willing to listen. He says, "I have heard your words. I have seen your plans. I will not partake in them. I will obey no would be prophecy of yours."
There is murmuring among the crowd. Light at first, it slowly grows more agitated. No words can be made out, but the meaning behind them is clear. The audience has not taken kindly to what the pony has said. There may be consequences for it. Insubordination like this will not stand.
"Silence." It is the stallion who spoke once again. He has not raised his voice, aware that he does not need to, as the theatre will carry regardless its sound around. He does not sound angry or annoyed. His expression is stern. Silence falls again. Though they do not like the pony following his most recent declaration, the audience still sufficiently respects him.
Blue fire ignites at the edge of the stage. Five flames at odd intervals, quite tall although their bases are contained. They only slightly dance and wave, there is little wind inside the room to begin with. "You will not speak against me," continues the pony. "You will not change my mind. You will not have me in chains. I will maintain my freedom, with violence if it shall prove necessary. You will not stand in the way of my will."
This time the crowd erupts. There is sound and commotion and whistling and booing and yelling abound. The audience did not like that, it did not one bit. The voices continue to rise, yet the pony on the stage does not flinch. The voices are all addressed at him. Where before there was chitchat, now there's only directed outrage. Still he calmly stares the mass down, uncaring of the severity and size of their reaction. He does not fear them, not even as they talk of how he will be punished.
The stallion rears up on his hind legs. His front hoof smacks down into the ground. The mirror shatters, blue fire spreads through it. The theatre burns down.