“Celestia bless you all this day,” said Noble Shine, the resident priest of Ponyville. He stood at a podium, his hooves resting on the top. Spread out in front of him was a huge crowd of ponies, many of them not even from Ponyville. There were apple-related cutie marks scattered throughout the crowd, basking in the light of the sun. Rainbow Dash had offered to make the sky overcast for the ceremony, but Applejack had squashed that idea. Granny Smith always hated cloudy days, the moisture in the air irritated her joints.
Behind him was a small coffin, made from dark apple wood. The cover was open, as was tradition for the Apple family, Granny’s body open to the elements. The coffin was suspended over the grave, waiting to be lowered into the welcoming earth.
As the gathered ponies murmured the appropriate response, Noble continued. “Today we are gathered to celebrate the life of a staple of this town. Granny Smith was one of the original settlers of Ponyville, and was in fact one of the reasons the village survived to this day. But more than that, she was a mother, a grandmother, and one of the most loved ponies in Ponyville. Her death saddens us all, but none more than her many family members. I would like to thank the Apple family for coming, some from as far as Appleoosa. I am sure that the local Apples appreciate the support, and I grieve for you.
“With that said, I will turn the ceremony over to the Mayor, who has prepared a small eulogy for her dear friend,” he said, stepping away from the podium. An older mare took his place, with tan fur and a grayed mane. The Mayor of Ponyville cleared her throat quietly before speaking.
“I first knew Granny Smith as the mother of one of my oldest friends, Pippin Apple. Pippin and I grew up together, along with his future wife, Gala. When we were growing up, everyone wanted to go to Sweet Apple Acres after school. Not only was it the biggest yard to play hide and seek in ever, we all knew we’d always be welcome there. Pippin had the sweetest mother, and she always had snacks ready for us. True, they were always apple related, but they tasted so good we didn’t care.
“As the years went by, play dates were replaced with real dates, and games of hide and seek turned into sleepovers. Through it all, though, Sweet Apple Acres was always a safe place for us, a place we could always come to. This was in no small part because of how kind the ponies were. Gala and Pippin’s wedding was here, and I had never seen Granny Smith prouder. It would only be eclipsed by her terrible sadness as she went through the one thing a pony should never go through; the death of a child.”
The crowd, who had been smiling a bit at the sweet story, fell into a somber silence. Mayor Mare lowered her head a moment in respect. “That was as low as I had ever seen Granny. She had accepted the death of her husband with quiet dignity, but that day was almost too much, for all of us. Since I was so close to the two of them, Granny and I took comfort in each other. As long as I live, I’ll always remember the Sunday afternoon teas we would share. She helped me so much when I was first starting out as your Mayor. She was, as all Apples are, the most dependable of ponies, and Equestria is a sadder place with her gone. She will be sorely missed.”
Applejack sniffed in her chair, cradling a sobbing Apple Bloom as Mayor Mare finished her speech. She softly stroked her mane, trying to comfort her as best she could. Applejack looked up, her head turning to look anywhere but the coffin. She saw Braeburn, his normal brown vest replaced with a more appropriate suit as he dabbed his eyes. She saw Big Mac looking solidly down at his hooves, with Twilight next to him, rubbing his large back. She looked to her left and saw Rainbow Dash, who was sitting completely still, a very uncommon thing for her.
As the mayor descended from the podium, Noble Shine took the stage again. “Thank you, Mayor. And now, we commend Granny Smith Apple’s body to the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” he said. Many of the ponies stood, forming a line as they processed past the coffin. Several of them held flowers in their teeth, each one laying it gently against the deceased mare’s hooves. By the time Applejack came to her, it looked as if a bouquet had been laid with her.
The farm pony looked down upon her ancestor, her face so peaceful. The undertaker had done a very good job preparing her for burial; Applejack had to remember to thank him later. As she placed the flower on Granny’s hooves, her mind flashed back to the way she looked when she… passed, so different from how she looked now. This was the way she wanted to remember her grandmother, not the image of her neck sagging like it had… Applejack shuddered, not even wanting to think about it.
The orange mare finally placed her lily against Granny’s hooves. She then picked Apple Bloom up and helped her place her flower, before the two of them walked past the coffin. She and Applebloom were some of the last mourners, and the gathered ponies stood around the grave as the coffin was slowly lowered into the hole. As the coffin descended into the ground, Noble Shine and a small contingent of robed ponies began to chant. Applejack recognized it from other such ceremonies; it was a hymn in ancient Equestrian, praying for safe travels through the afterlife.
As the choir sang their time-honored dirge, Applejack performed the last part of the ceremony. She took her hat off and reached into the lining, producing a single seed from the faded fabric. At the head of the grave, she dug a small hole with her hoof, dropping the seed into it. Applejack placed the hat against her heart as Noble said something about the ceremony concluding. She barely paid any attention. Instead her attention was focused on the little seed she had planted.
After a few minutes, the grieving mare placed the hat back on her head and started towards the barn. As she placed one hoof in front of the other, her heart felt like a weight deep in her chest. She had her moment of weakness back in the forest; now she had to be strong. For Apple Bloom, for Big Macintosh, for everyone.
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Among the barren wasteland of the planet Ysmault, a number of objects broke the uniform bleakness. Five X-shaped structures, with shackles on each of the points, rose from the ground like twisted monuments. All but one held within it a creature, each of them singularly grotesque. All of them had sharp, jagged teeth, and most had more than one mouth. None of them moved, as they had not moved in centuries. Their lack of movement, however, wasn’t due to imprisonment this time.
All four aliens had been brutally and savagely slaughtered. Helpless against whatever had come upon them, the four of them hung from their restraints, body’s covered in claw marks, save one. This one’s entire skull had caved in, brought low by an onslaught of blunt force trauma. But despite the shrine to carnage that stood there, not a drop of blood was found.
It had been collected by the one other creature present. He stood tall and proud, as red as the blood he had spilled that day. His hairless head shone in the sickly light that shone on the planet, and his teeth and claws were stained red. Before him was a pool, filled to the brim with the blood of his former partners. A rocky outcrop stood in the center of it, just wide enough to support the lantern-shaped piece of rock at the center.
“My brothers,” he said, seating himself cross-legged in front of the pool, “your sacrifice will not be in vain. The accursed Guardians will never be safe, not while I still draw breath. The same is true of the greatest Green Lantern, though he may no longer bare their ring.”
As he said this, the blood in the pool began to rise, and the alien’s yellow eyes glowed. The blood began to swirl around the rock, just as the alien began to speak again. “I swear myself to vengeance. And I will spread the gospel of rage to those whose hearts call out for it, as mine does.”
The lantern at the center shone with bright red light, as did the small lantern at his side. From the center of the larger structure, a ring floated out. It was as red as blood, and had a symbol consisting of a circle with two jagged lines on either side. The alien held out his hand, and the red ring floated onto his middle finger. As soon as it did, he doubled over, clutching at his chest. He began to cough violently, until from his mouth poured his own blood. The crimson liquid poured from him, until finally it began to subside, the remaining trickle staining his lips. He stood then, looking down at himself.
Where before his body had been bare, clothing now covered him. The symbol on his ring adorned his chest, a black circle blazoned across red. Black cloth covered his arms and legs, and his shoulders were covered by red armor. He raised his right hand to the lantern, and spoke.
“With blood and rage of crimson red, ripped from a corpse so freshly dead, together with our hellish hate, we’ll burn you all, that is your fate!”
Beams of red light shot from the lantern, flying up into the air and out into space. The alien looked after them, a twisted smile playing along his lips. There would be a reckoning, for all those who deserved vengeance. The so-called Guardians would see their precious Corps destroyed, their planet Oa torn asunder, and only after that would he smear their blood over the steps of their city.
For Atrocitus, lord of the Five Inversions, had returned. And the universe would tremble at his coming.
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Big Macintosh pulled the yoke from around his neck, the normally comforting weight oppressive against his taught muscles. As he stripped the black suit from his body, his mind drifted unbidden to the day’s ceremony. It was the second such event he had witnessed, and he was already tired of them.
Granny Smith was dead. It was perhaps the fourth time today that he had to remind himself of that. Even after two months, it felt like he would wake up, head downstairs, and see the old pony asleep in her rocker. By all accounts, that should have been where she had drifted off for the final time, if the world had been fair.
But it wasn’t. He had learned that a long time ago, the first time somepony had been taken from him. Was it fair that his parents had been killed by that combine? Was it fair that he was the one who had to take up responsibility, even though he was still just a colt? “Nnnope,” he said aloud, his voice carrying a hard edge to it. And now the matriarch of the Apple clan was gone, not quietly in the night as she deserved, but ripped away by a psychotic griffon with a freaky ring.
His eyes narrowed as he climbed into his bed, picturing the monster in his mind’s eye. He never wanted to forget her, never. Her name buzzed in his mind like an angry hornet; Gilda, the griffon who killed splintered his family.
And as Big Macintosh drifted off to a fitful sleep, a red flicker of anger grew in his heart.