//------------------------------//
// Chapter 31: The End 
// Story: My Little Minecraft: At the End 
// by Journeyman 
//------------------------------//

Chapter 31: The End

The tent was saturated with the scent of sandalwood. It was one of Princess Luna’s favorite smells, and was thus the maid’s choice of incense oil. She removed the old, wickless candle and placed it in the bin with the rest of the waste. Lighting the new candle, she placed it under the stone basin and wisps of incense drifted off the liquid surface.

She quickly scurried out and heaved in a pair of piping hot water buckets. The princess was not scheduled to return for quite some time and they would likely be cool by then. She hauled them both to a sectioned off room in the back, the princess’ own private sanctuary. A copper tub stood ready, but the maid did not fill it just yet. Pegasus wings – and alicorn wings – were sensitive and needed a simple wash with clean water, not soap and shampoo. She retrieved a pair of lids for the bucket to better contain the steaming heat, but it would do little good. Luna would either need to warm the water herself or ask for fresh buckets when she returned.

Her work done, the maid trotted towards the door... only to stop. Something felt... odd. Her head of bronze curls twirled as she moved to look at the vanity mirror. She needed to go to the mirror. Cleaning it was one of the first things she had done, but the compulsion was still there, egging her to approach. 

Her hooves clattered atop the vanity table. Her own blue eyes and red pleated face stared back at her. Words sprung to mind, words that she needed to write. The compulsion demanded it. It was a pressure in the back of her skull that needed to be satisfied, and a few words were the cure. Her hoof gently arched across the mirror, writing on the mirror without any type of ink. It didn’t matter; that the feeling in her mind eased the moment her hoof touched the cold surface. Her usual loopy script had shifted into some other penmanship unfamiliar to her, but it didn’t matter. Why would it matter? The feeling in her skull decreased after each letter. That was what was important.

When she was done, she smiled in satisfaction. The feeling was gone. A smile on her face, she cantered out of the room out of the tent. The momentary loss of her own body and desires didn’t matter. The feeling was gone, and no harm was done. None at all. Everything was perfectly fine.





Some servant girl or scullery maid bumped into Second Lieutenant Skylar on his way to his evening rounds. She apologized, politely curtsied, and continued on her way. Skylar couldn’t help but shiver as his heart inexplicably iced over. The servant girl seemed affected by the same impulse; her body twitched so violently she fell flat on her face. Covering her exposed rump with her skirt at the accidentally shameful display, she quickly cantered off to the servant’s quarters in the wake of a few cat calls and wolf whistles.

It was strange. She was cute and he was particularly fond of gingers. He couldn’t explain the sudden chill arcing through his veins, even if it was slowly dying. Skylar’s back straightened and he continued forward. Servants and soldiers alike saluted as he passed. As he was second in command of the base, third if one counted Princess Luna, his mere presence guaranteed a lot of pull.

He continued on his original path to the MIC. While the camp was mostly filled with busywork, sounds and smells of merriment could be heard over the shuffling and reports produced by everyday military life. His eyes were drawn to the medical tents as he passed. Hemos and the camp psychologist had been seriously busy lately. While Hemos still tended to the wounded, he and his comrade had an odd rush of ponies seeking mental aid. Apparently there had been a rash of recent nightmares. Princess Luna had done her best to help after she had become aware of the situation, but the sufferers always dreamed during her inactive schedule. He felt a sudden shudder.

Skylar wrapped a hoof around a clerk as he passed. He wasn’t sure why, but a reason quickly formed. He’d read the report yesterday concerning the monster attack on Canterlot, the second one in a week. What was attacked and where were not yet disclosed, but Hawk and Barricade were seething with every step.

“Tell...” He looked for the words. “Find who’s currently in charge of sentry duty and tell them I want the guard doubled for the next few days. Write a memo up and spread it around. Make sure Captains Hawk and Barricade get a notice as well. The order is in effect until I or Captain Barricade rescind it.”

The cleric was startled at the sudden manhandling, but accepted the order once he realized who was giving the order. “Y-yes, sir. Oh!” The cleric shook himself out of the little stupor. “And Mister Skylar, there’s some fuss going on with the Council mages. They’ve shut themselves up in their quarters after some of them got back from the underground. They’re pretty freaked.”

“Thank you. I’ll take a look myself.” Skylar took a step and shivered as a wave of cold coursed up his spine.





Czarina Bangle, Archmage and adviser to the crown, lay on her comforter. She was ancient, even by the most generous standard. Despite being offered retirement more than once and a more than generous pension to live out the rest of her certainly short life, she continued leading the work she loved. Magic, medicine, and science had done wonders to cheat the death out of his two bits.

Her old and weary muscles ached and protested as she stretched her decrepit form. Pain laced up her legs. “проклятие,” she swore in her native tongue. She was not one to use profanity in even informal conversation, but she made the exception in her relatively spartan quarters. She did not like or need too much in terms of personal items, even if she had the political power to demand it.

Her green eyes stared at the ceiling of her tent. Her lengthy snow-white mane, normally carefully groomed, framed her wrinkled face. Light streamed through her tent. She had yet to close the door or magic it shut. The falling sun bled crimson across the northern mountains and created a picturesque portrait of the evening. It was going to be a beautiful sunset, despite the humidity in the air. Canterlot was wedged into a peak somewhere. She could not even begin to discover where it lay on sight alone; her vision was not what it used to be.

“До свидания, Celestia’s light,” she said before closing the door flaps with a flash of light periwinkle magic. Gathering her pillows and blanket, she found a comfortable spot and relaxed her mind. A proper bed was one of the few things she demanded no matter where she went.

Tap tap tap.

“Celestia’s sun, burn you all.” The covers flew to the end of the bed and her staff flew to her side in a flash of light. She moved her body towards the edge of the bed excruciatingly slow. The dull burn of arthritis marred her limbs with every twitch. Over the course of the next minute, she moved off the bed and a few steps into her room. With a flick of her magic, the door flung open, revealing a courier with a rolled up scroll, tied and sealed in a wax stamp bearing the crest of the Council of Magic. All Czarina was thinking about was the courier was lucky she had the mind to only knock once while she took the time to get to her hooves and not test her patience with more. She shuddered for a moment and entered a coughing fit, almost losing her grip on her staff in the process. As quick as it came, the fit passed, even if its passing made her feel sick and flooded her mouth with the taste of bile.

“Enter, child,” Czarina wheezed. Even though the courier was well into her thirties, Czarina more than tripled her age and had the right of age over beauty.

The courier, a mare with a solid coat the color of a bright clementine, slowly walked to meet her. Even ancient to the point of burial rites, she still demanded respect and could stare down a rock. “For you, Archmage.”

“Thank you. You are excused.” Rather than acknowledge the order, the timid thing nodded, offered her a pair of scrolls, curtsied, and left without looking her in the eyes. Czarina smiled; she still had that effect on ponies.

Opening and unrolling the scroll, she discovered what was so important it had to be delivered so late in the day. It was a report on the recently received eye-shaped gemstone the Farlander placed in the portal.

“Impossible...” she muttered before even halfway through the text. Once done, she dropped the scroll on her nightstand and sighed. She put a hoof to her face and sighed, which devolved into another coughing fit. All of this time, she never guessed what the device truly was. She should have known, ever since she read the report involving the Miner’s teleportation stone.

“проклятие. What have you brought to us, Miner?”

The next one snapped open as quickly as the first. As Czarina’s eyes moved further down the paper, her quarters started to quiver and shake.

“Traitorous wretch!”





Jetstream sat in his quarters, sulking.

“I’m not sulking,” he growled at his bunkmate.

“Bullshit. It’s getting late, and I heard the local watering hole makes some pretty good margaritas. ‘S run by some dude name Frosty Mug.”

If he wasn’t before, Jetstream was indeed sulking now. He looked at the letter on his nightstand. A notice summoning him to an “official review concerning professional misconduct” or something along those lines.

“I’ll pass.”

“Hey, suit yourself.” He quickly left for his soon-to-be-devoured ambrosia, leaving Jetstream alone with his thoughts.

Those moments down in the caves had been at the forefront of his mind for some time. He hated the duality of his emotions and memories. Praised one moment for securing the Farlander portal with Zecora’s assistance one moment, and under the threat of a disciplinary hearing the next.

“Stupid brain,” he cursed. He had earned no points for trying to describe his trip into the caverns, or his reasoning behind leaving his squad to fetch reinforcements. It was strange, as if a cloud had tainted his own memories. All he could recall was a faint inkling to go deeper, to explore the darkness for whatever secrets the Farlander may have held. Snippets. That’s all he could remember. Jetstream expected that he would be able to recall the events until he surfaced with near perfect recall at the end of the day, but everything was misty and obfuscated, as if the memory was months or even years old rather than mere hours. That still did not explain the gaps of time where he could remember absolutely nothing. Of course, he explained that to his superiors. Not that it helped in the slightest.

Jetstream sighed and shivered. A slight breeze drifted through the fluttering tent flap, chilling him more than it really should. He coughed and hacked up some unseen obstruction in his throat.

“Jeeeeeetstream.”

Jetstream jumped and almost screamed. He was used to his fellow officers pulling pranks on him and each other, but that whisper was right in his ear. His knee slammed into the side of his cot in surprise. Cussing back the pain, he twirled around to give his provoker a much needed scolding, only to discover he was alone in the tent. He hurried out the door to find the magus in the act of ventriloquism. He was met with naught but the scurrying couriers and scullery maids. Not a single unicorn was in sight.

He ducked back in, chewing his lower lip in thought. He knew he heard something. He was certain of it. Circling back, he walked back inside. As a sergeant, he did have a little more weight to throw than the regular soldiers, so his quarters was a little larger and furnished better. He did have to share with a fellow sergeant, but that was a small price to pay to have a little more room to stretch his legs and wings. He fluttered the latter; after the solid week of rains, the air was getting muggy and humid, and the weather teams had yet to clear the omnipresent haze of water hovering over the slowly scorching grounds.

There was a basic wash station to share among the pair, although the temporary shortage of water on his first day made the experience a little... awkward. He was allowed his own desk and cot, along with a separate nightstand. Currently, his cot was otherwise occupied.

“Hello, Jetstream.”

He couldn’t make out the pony at first. The larger, better defined muzzle and rounded barrel identified the pony as a stallion. Jetstream was bare of clothes and gear, but his visitor was dressed in full military armor, complete with the helmet and the brush marking him as an officer. The pips on his helmet marked him as a sergeant.

Unlike most civilians and the Miner, guards could tell each other apart 99% of the time on sight alone. They lived and trained with each other for all their lives and every scar, muscle twitch, and facial tick was recognizable to each other. He scanned through his mental list of fellow soldiers and officers, but only one carried the scar arcing across his chin.

That pony happened to be himself.

“Seal the door,” the pony ordered. Not asked, ordered. The copy’s eyes bored into his own, forcing a domination of will. He slowly doffed his helmet. Jetstream’s own white fur, black mane, and blue eyes stared back at him. Rather than warm pools, they felt like frozen lakes. “This is the part where I would make some kind of threat, but I believe you are well aware of your situation.”

Jetstream’s hooves mechanically moved towards the door against his will. He was in the room with a copy of himself. A sentient, sapient copy. His training had never prepared him for that. His hooves were soon at the door, a simple fabric built for toughness and durability against the elements. Just outside was at least a dozen ponies within his direct line of sight. All he needed to do was throw open the flap and shout for reinforcements. The tent would be surrounded in no more than ten seconds.

...But how did he get inside in the first place? He couldn’t possibly have snuck in, he wasn’t a unicorn capable of teleportation, and the tent was firmly staked to the ground. Something else was going on. Jetstream twitched and the tent flap rippled in a slight breeze. He could see the ponies milling about through the opening. The fluttering ceased and they were alone once more.

“If you need any added incentive, I assure you that calling for assistance would put me in quite the bind, providing it would help.” His copy chuckled. “You are the only one that can see me. Now finish up and sit down. We have much to discuss.” 

Another order. Jetstream bit back a kneejerk retort. The entity or whatever it was had gone through a fair amount of trouble to talk to him, it seemed. He wasn’t in any danger. Not yet. He could not even fathom a conclusion why, especially after considering his copy’s unique language. Jetstream’s copy certainly didn’t speak like him. He was calm and confident, and eloquent enough for the royal court. 

The copy smiled.

“What’s your name?” Jetstream asked. It was difficult to carry on a conversation when all he had to refer to him was ‘other me.’

“Brimstone.”

Odd. That wasn’t a pony name. Jetstream’s hooves went to the first tab on the tent flap. It was a simple oblong wood hook that looped through a loop of string and tied one tent flap securely to another.

“You’re not a pony.”

“Certainly not.”

Another loop. He was taking his time to think. The best he could do right now was think and learn. Brimstone wanted him for a reason. All he had to do was find out what that reason was.

He opened his mouth to ask just that, but stopped. Despite only being in the company of each other for a few minutes at most, it was clear who dominated the conversation. As an act of petty spite due to feeling the conversation was being led in a direction of Brimstone’s choosing, he changed questions, “If you are not a pony, what are you?

“Your savior. Your reckoning. You do not remember me, but we have met in the past, Jetstream. The context of our last encounter and the events preceding our current meeting set certain events in motion. I am here on a mission of discovery.”

Jetstream carefully gave Brimstone a wide berth, eyes sharp for any kind of movement or treachery. Brimstone was quiet and still, and was quite comfortable in a body not his – its? – own. Jetstream circled the far side of the tent, climbed atop his bunkmate’s cot as the thing squeaked in protest, and sat down. 

“We have never met. I am certain of that.”

“You do not remember; quite the difference.”

Jetstream bit back another retort and forced himself to calm. “...Why?”

Brimstone tilted his head to the side and stared over his shoulder. The sergeant looked as well, but saw nothing but a blank wall. Shadows flickered at the base of the tent, casted impressions by those walking to and fro outside. “I will show you why.”

Brimstone rose to his hooves. Jetstream did the same and mentally prepared himself to fight at the first sign of trouble. Brimstone got off the bed in a slow, silky motion. It was an unnatural movement to his eye, despite no unusual contortions of any kind. Jetstream just copied him on base instinct alone.

He didn’t move as the intruder approached him. His muscles were tense, but he didn’t dare back down or show a sign of weakness. There was only a space of two feet between the two beds, but the excruciatingly slow pace of Brimstone made the seconds feel like hours. 

Their noses touched. Jetstream felt incredibly uncomfortable with the close contact. He could not feel Brimstone’s hot breath across his jaw or throat despite the proximity. His eyes never left his either. That only seemed to make it worse. 

“After I plucked you from the confines of your patrol, I took what memories I needed. I am a creature of the mind now.” Now? “In order to speak on equal intellectual footing, and to avoid more pesky questions, I must restore what I have taken.”

Without warning, Brimstone leaned forward and their lips met. The shock of the kiss was suddenly overridden by white hot energy coursing from the contact.

“Remember, Jetstream.”

He collapsed. Every synapse in his brain fired simultaneously as a massive amount of impulses overrode his conscious mind. 

“Remember,” he huskily whispered.

Light, sound, and sensation overrode the present and something rose from the darkness of his mind. Images, memories new and old, came to the forefront of his mind. Stone, darkness, and the flash of violet.

“Remember.”

“I... I remember.” Jetstream clutched his head, panting and sweating on the grassy floor. “Oh Celestia, I remember...”





Whatever the Voice expected, it did not receive it. Jetstream’s smile disappeared from his face. “Or would you rather I summon the entire Royal Guard on this location?”

Jetstream strained his ears as hard as he could, listening. The Voice expected there to be something here, but what? For a moment, there was nothing...

BAMF!

The air behind Jetstream imploded. His body did not turn around to investigate the disturbance, only stand stoically next to the construct. Even though Jetstrem could not see what was behind him, the presence was not completely undetectable; small purple particles drifted into his field of view, each one vanishing after a few seconds. The particles all moved in random directions on their own currents. In was quite the beautiful sight for the Sergeant.

The presence gurgled softly, which the Voice seemed to understand perfectly. “Indeed I can.”

The presence was silent for a few moments before it made a whistling sound. “A deal,” the Voice said.

Another gurgle.

“Simple really. I know you’re constructing a gateway to your own world, but you’re running into some trouble. The problem is, so will I at a future point in time. The bargain is I will help you complete your portal, if, in return, you complete it at a very specific point in time.” His body kicked at the belt securing his saddlebags and it fell to the ground. But instead of turning around to pick it up or move it, he dragged it in front of his field of vision, not bothering to gaze upon the presence. His body opened one of the bags, revealing it to be chock full of iridescent green gemstones, each one in the shape of a single dragon eye.

“Guuruhh...”

“Because you and I want the same thing.”

‘What’s that?’

The presence whistled in surprise, but before it could say anything else, the Voice continued. “I’ll just come out and say I’m doing this for selfish reasons and nothing else. We have mutual ideals and goals, so I want us to work together to achieve them. Even if we both left this world, we both know what the Crafter coming here means: this land is going to burn. Me helping you will neither spread nor snuff the flames. If we succeed, we part ways; no more, no less. You go home, while I stay.”

“So Enderman, I ask you: what is your decision?”

The Enderman, as the Voice called it, was silent once more. Jetstream soon felt the smile return to his face.

The Enderman sung a chord of whistles and the Voice laughed giddily. “Good. Good! Now, here’s what I want you to do. Era’doth will be coming to this plane very soon.”

It made a series of popping noises. It was all incomprehensible to Jetstream, but the Voice not only knew full well what it said, but it made him angry. “Do not play the simpleton. I know your kind. I know of the End and the irrefutable fact your kin roused him from his slumber. A thousand lifetimes in the cold darkness, bereft of any light, sound, time, or matter.”

It made a single pop.

“Oh? A new name and body? I know he created the construct in his image. A new name does not clear his sins.”

The Enderman was silent for several seconds. The violet energy discharge fell across his vision like snow. It really was quite beautiful, and he wished the entity in control of his body would turn around to see the creature. He could not have his wish and continued to receive a face full of blank rock wall and a greenish stone construct. The Voice took that as a sign to continue.

“Our interests coincide. I will give you what you need to be sent back. I need you postpone completion of your portal until a very... specific moment...”

‘What moment?’ It was a futility to speak. Ever since Jetstream lost control of his body, the entity inhabiting him had refused to talk to him. Perhaps the entity was unable, but he suspected unwilling was the answer.

“Wait until the last possible moment. I do not anticipate the crafter construct to meet with the life forms like the body I wear in the near future; its cowardice and fear run too deep. Wait until its capture is confirmed before you begin to draw their attention. Complete your portal just short of three months from now, when there is a mass migration to the mountain capital. Era’doth detests these creatures as much as I do and will enjoy a slaughter.”

‘WHAT!’

His body smiled against his will from the sadist joke, but it was all too real. The tone had shifted from unnerving to downright horrific. “The few moments between your portal opening and the attack will be enough to draw one of them into your realm, these... alicorns. I believe there is a big reason they will want to meet your kind.”

‘Why are you encouraging this?’

“Whichever comes, I do not care. It is in their best interest to meet the Enderdragon.”

‘Shadow monsters and now a dragon? What kind of place is this ‘End’? You're talking about genocide! This dragon or Era’doth monster will kill us!’’

“I assume the Enderdragon is a primary concern of yours as well?”

The Enderman was silent for a single second before it bubbled out a noise. Jetstream jumped in his mind, even if his body remained frozen in place. The revelation of mass murder had him wound up like a spring and ready to burst. “I thought so. Once the alicorn is there, feel free to tell her what you wish, especially the connection between the construct and Era’doth. I will deal with the god myself. Do you accept these terms?”

The Endermen gurgled a few noises. It was a deep, throaty noise that would have made his skin crawl. “He will stage his rampage to release an eternity of pent up destruction. Despite his powers, he’s still blinded by his own superiority. The construct thinks you an enemy due to Era’doth disguising himself as one of your kind, but I know the truth. I know why your kind fled to the Overworld. I know why you are here now. None of that matters. Some will die, but I have this chance, this one chance to put him back to sleep once more. I know without a doubt he will stage an attack on the city; he is not yet strong enough to break through their defenses, and certainly not alone. His hubris will be his downfall.

“Now enough prattle. The city will burn, lives will be lost, and families will be destroyed on both sides of the End. Don’t pretend that no one will die. I want an answer: do you agree to my proposal?”

‘Canterlot... attacked...?”

Jetstream’s thoughts were overridden as the Endermen whistled in affirmation. He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. The blasai attitude of the entity was mind boggling. Here they were, casually talking about the calculated attack on a city of thousands. Jetstream’s mind had locked up; his brain could not believe or process any of what he just heard.

For a moment, Jetstream thought that their business was concluded, but the entity had one more question for the Endermen. “Out of curiosity, what new name did he select?”

It gurgled a low series of notes. At last, something seemed to genuinely amuse the entity and he smiled as a throaty chuckle softly echoed off the walls. “What kind of name is Herobrine?” He shook his head. “No matter. I’m glad you agree to my terms. Afterwards, you are free to say what you wish to her, suspicions or otherwise.”

‘No.... That thing will kill them all...’

“I’m afraid I must still inform others above as to this gateway’s location, but I think you are capable of doing what we agreed on without detection. Endermen are quite skilled in that art.”

‘You’re just going to sit by and watch!?’

“I bid you farewell.”

BAMF!

The particles vanished.

‘HUNDREDS OF PONIES ARE GOING TO DIE!’

Picking up the now empty saddlebag, his body ran, not cantered, back to the ravine. “Oh dear, time has gotten away from me.”

‘What else is there for you to do?’ Scenarios flew across Jetstream’s mind, all of them with streets full of dead ponies. It disgusted him. Who or what could willingly do such a thing?

His body removed the saddlebag and rain poncho and tossed them into the abyss. Jetstream counted the seconds. ‘1... 2... 3... 4...’ Thump!

Four seconds at terminal velocity. That would be an unpleasant drop. For a moment, his heart jumped into his throat at the thought. Was his puppeteer going to force him over the edge? It would take days to find his body.





Jetstream was silent. He had expected he would do something; cry, scream, shout, anything, but all he could muster was the strength to tremble at the sudden onslaught. He lay huddled between the cots, head clutched in his hooves. Blood rushed through his head with every beat and making him bob up and down. The sound was deafening and the prelude piece for the horror yet to come.

“I forgot... how could I forget?”

“Because I wanted you to.” Jetstream looked up. Brimstone had returned to the cot and patiently waited for him to compose himself. He expected the entity to be smiling, grinning, or anything in between, but all Brimstone did was wait, quietly observing. “When two souls inhabit the same vessel, the stronger one wins. I was in control because I dominated your mind. You would normally remember everything you saw despite this, but my skill in the mental arts was enough to remove and alter some of your memories. You remembered your path to the End Portal because I let you.”

Jetstream clutched his head. He remembered what happened after Brimstone’s deal, the haunting he had to endure. Snippets of the past flooded his thoughts...

Something hit the ground with a dull thud, causing Jetstream to jump. Something started slithering along the ground like a serpent... 

“Stop now... stop... or you will die...” 

“Run... to the light... or you will not survive...”

Jetstream felt something wet and cold as death slither along his hooves. There was no longer just one of them, but dozens. Possibly even hundreds. Each one was coated in a thin layer of slime, squirming uncontrollable up his legs as they scrambled over each other to their destination... 

Jetstream was silent for a moment before saying, “The caves...”

“I needed to test your mettle, and a live performance is infinitely more effective than making you dance in the world of dreams. You saw our conversation; I needed to know which one of you insects can survive an encounter with a new class of monster. It was not about a victory or a loss, a battle of gods and demons requires an unyielding mind and outstanding fortitude...” Brimstone narrowed his eyes, the first sign of emotion since the vision ceased. “traits you lack.”

“What did you expect? I – anypony – would be underprepared dealing with you. One of our greatest failures, the Changeling attack on Canterlot, was due to misinformation and a woeful lack of preparation. What did you expect?” It was the first spark of life in Jetstream. Some emotion rippled in his antagonist’s eyes. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, making his pulse thud violently in his ear. He felt the overwhelming urge to bolt, but stayed rooted to the spot. He was moving on his own, unlike his paralysis in the caves. He could run, all it would take is a single shout.

“A spine.”

“I – ”

Jetstream’s retort died on his lips. What candles he had for meager illumination flickered and he felt the room temperature drop several degrees. The light felt compressed. He knew it was there; his eyes could see it, but his brain refused to acknowledge the stimulation. His skin crawled. No, something was crawling. A thousand vermin skittered and ran across his fur. He got up and ran backwards, away from Brimstone. Some effluvial, disgusting filth poured from under the tent, enveloping his legs. He could feel bony appendages rise form the muck and grasp his legs and flanks. His lungs burned. Jetstream tried to breath, something large and scaly had curled around his chest, constricting his frantic grasps. What little light there was present was going out as he gasped for air. He could feel a deep fumble from the best and the distinct sense of something in front of his face. Something with teeth. 

The vision shifted. 

He stood upon a high mountain peak, but instead of stone was composed of some soft, fleshy material. He stood above the clouds, great billowing gusts of red, yellow, and a sickly green. The air alone was foul and fetid, and tasted like graves. That did not concern Jetstream, for a larger, more pressing matter stood before him. The skyline was completely bare save for a lone mountain so high he needed to crane his neck to see anything even closely resembling the summit. The mountaintop touched the heavens, but instead of sky was a vast void of everything and nothing. The realm was alive with color, music, and chaos. Stars and planets swirled around the mountaintop, an eternal explosion of confusion and madness, a dance birthed from the primordial anarchy of beginning and would know no end after its collapse. Atop the peak crowned by heaven itself was a lone figure, a being equally grand and terrible as the madness surrounding it. Throughout the experience, Jetstream was utterly frozen, incapable of conscious thought or processing the hell.

And then the figure saw him. Jetstream didn’t know how it could recognize his pitiful life from across the stars, but it did, and he knew it. Pain. Jetstream felt only pain. Something pierced his soul like a knife. It was… something akin to a shriek, an endless scream wallowing in ecstatic laughter. A blast of consciousness and understanding beyond anything he had ever felt. It was not directed at him, but it crushed his soul and will as if all of his mental barriers were worthless, dust in the wind. He could feel the scream, feel it as it filtered through the universe and consumed everything in its rapture and chaos. Such joy that scream gave. Such rapture. Such madness. It passed through Jetstream, through the very universe itself. Through everything.

Jetstream knew that ponies died. He knew that fearing death was something natural, a means of self-preservation and survival. But why did that instinct need protecting? Why was life so precious that lives would lash out like a cornered rat to protect it? This... thing he just felt was something beyond what he had ever known. Such puny matters like life, power, and beauty were nothing to it. 

Life... hope... existence... how little those things mattered in the end. How pathetic they were in the grand scheme of things. Something as simple as a pony seemed so fragile, its life so brittle and delicate that it would vanish under the slightest breeze or caress.

Jetstream couldn’t breathe, even if he retained control. Something was upon him, around him, behind him, inside him. There was nothing to see or feel. Only...

Only the sensation that he was being watched.

And then he felt it.

There was something akin to a presence with him. He was being watched and he could feel the eyes on him, even though he could not see the creature on the throne of stars. There was intelligence to the presence, a complexity more horrible than anything he could have possibly imagined. Jetstream recognized it and it recognized him back, but it was not the way one pony greeted another in the street or a husband returning home to his wife. It was the way a stallion examined a small creature like a ladybug or locus, only Jetstream was the insect, insignificant under something infinitely more vast and unfathomably more perceptive. 

It was suffocation, a shower in power and force of will beyond the scale of his existence. He could feel it. He could see it. Jetstream panicked; he had to run away. If only he could run. His mind seemed separated from his body, yet he scrambled for light, for the warmth of day...

A shadow stood over him as Jetstream started gasping. The feeling of omnipresent suffocation withered, leaving him a panting, sweating mess on the grassy floor of his familiar tent. “Unpleasant, is it not?” said Brimstone’s silhouette. “It was only a shadow, a projection of my will. That is what you face if it were real. Do you believe you are on par with me or him?”

Jetstream rose shakily to his hooves. It felt so real. Every sound and touch, even the fetid stench of decay, was defined in unparalleled reality. Brimstone continued, “I have been testing you ponies, discovering the depths of your courage in order to see how long you can stand before you fall. Cruel as it may seem, it is a necessity. I need to control who is capable of controlling themselves. I bring nightmares and horrors to what you call the Night Guard; they sleep during the day and are exempt from Princess Luna’s dream warden schedule. I bring waking dreams to the Royal Guard to circumvent her in the day. All I need is a nap to bring forth the realm of dreams and you are mine. When the fight inevitably comes, I wish to maneuver the strongest of will to the vanguard. It is as simple as that.”

He finally stood tall and proud. Brimstone had yet to move. It made sense at face value. Psychological torture to discover who would break under pressure was effective, but left ponies broken. That didn’t apply if they didn’t even remember what happened to them. Still, that left a few questions unanswered. “Miss Fluttershy... The captain’s daughter... that was you who protected her.”

“Indeed.”

“So...” He thought as he regained his breath and composure. It had felt so real. “So...” He had to think. There was something about protecting Miss Fluttershy that was starting him right in the face. 

It clicked. Jetstream gave a triumphant smile, which Brimstone returned. “The Elements of Harmony. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Brimstone kept his smile, lifted his forehooves, and slowly clapped.

Jetstream continued, “I can conclude, considering you seem to be working alone, you have no help. You’re fighting Herobrine alone. You protected the mare for her link to the Elements, because you have no means to defeat him.”

“Victory through superior firepower. I have no time to reassign the Elements to myself, so protecting its current users is a top priority.”

His eyes widened at the unspoken implication. “You can do that?”

Brimstone’s lips curled. Jetstream did not like the way his own face looked so sinister. He waited for a few more moments, but Brimstone refused to speak further on the matter. He tried another question. “I had heard rumors of an attack on Canterlot. Another one.”

“Ah, yes.” He seemed as if he were recalling a fond memory. “Both incursions were not my own. Era’doth – “Herobrine” – was intent on gathering them himself. After he created a portal of his own to enter this realm, he set his sights on this town. When he tried and failed to kill the Bearer, he resorted to more drastic actions. Severing the link is the easiest way to rendering them inert. The Bearers are the weakest link, but that does not mean they are the only link. Given enough time, he could override their bond and assign himself as a new and singular Bearer. He’d finally have all the power he’s longed for and destroy his prison.”

“Oh?” Jetstream raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t have enough power already? Sending the Miner through the portal isn’t power enough? Just possess him like you are me right now and force him to cut off his head.”

“Ha ha ha ha ha!” The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The last thing he expected was for Brimstone to laugh. “Ha ha ha! Oh, dear Jetstream, it wouldn’t work even if I had power over him. His beastial form, the one that he used to break into the castle...” Brimstone’s mirth extended into a wide smile. After seeing his previous calm and demeanor, seeing him smile was unsettling. “He was dismembered before he was imprisoned in the darkness. What came through is his head.”

Jetstream blanched. “Wait... what? That’s not possible. Nothin’ could survive that.”

“I am naught but a wayward spirit in your mind. Am I not real? Do you not believe there are creatures among the stars more spirit than flesh, that were born from the flames of creation and can survive long after the end has come? Your simple concepts of absolute truths are a mockery of real truth.” Brimstone shook his head. “This is more than who wins and who loses, more than tho is right and who is wrong, it is about what will become of those who face extinction and survive. How will you survive and fight when you are at your end.

“But...” Brimstone let his words hang in the air like the ominous silhouette of a noose. “those events will be faced when the time has come. Right now, you should be asking a single question, one you have been avoiding ever since I had come. Now for the most important question of the evening, Jetstream.”

“...Why are you here?”

Brimstone smiled, pleased. He held no true happiness on his face, just contentment that Jetstream was catching up. “Correct.” Brimstone got up, only to turn in a circle to find a more comfortable spot to lie down on the cot. Jetstream thought that was odd. Brimstone had already stated he was just a construct of his own mind. “Events have progressed at an accelerated rate. I did not anticipate the construct to congregate with your kind so soon. While I expected that I would need to directly conduct events like I am now, that was intended to be much more distant step in my plans. It is too soon; too many of your kind know my influence is present.

“Such circumstances are not to be of much concern among your kind. Swearing your kind to secrecy is normally enough, but I must stick to the shadows in order to not be seen. If Herobrine as he now calls himself knows I am near, he will greatly accelerate his plans beyond my ability to predict.”

“Canterlot.” Jetstream dug into his recently resurfaced memories. The concept of a slaughter among the sanctuary of all ponykind was unfathomable, but now that he better understood the threat of Herobrine, he wasn’t so sure. That still left one more fear in the back of his skull. He knew Brimstone was in his head and could likely read his mind. One more issue, the biggest barrier in his trust of the entity stood firm. “Herobrine will attack Canterlot, but you willingly went with the plan.”

“A necessity. I am the only one who knows what he needs to break his bonds, the curse that prevents him from fully utilizing his powers. If he sees others taking steps to protect his only goal and weakness if he has not shown justifiable actions that reveal such information himself, he will retaliate with a fury unseen by ponykind. I can only be in one place at once, and I chose here. The Elements are better protected than the Bearers, and sit upon your largest mobile defense. A pitiful defense to be sure if he were at full strength, but even Herobrine will not take steps against an alicorn too soon. They might, just might, possess the power to challenge him on equal footing, especially together. He is powerful and arrogant, but not foolish.

“I have been working to bolster the defenses here and supply information as subtly as possible. Above all costs, the Bearers must not die, and that is why I chose to stay. Princess Luna is much more willing to listen to my clandestine advice than Celestia. I am doing everything in my power to prepare your fellow soldiers for a fight, including manipulating your sorcerers to better understand his powers via the construct.” Construct? Again, Brimstone used that word to speak of the Miner. “Once he discovers the price to kill the Bearers would be too high, he will turn on the only other target: the Elements once again. As to when the attack will occur, he knows the importance you place on each other’s lives. I believe you have an event coming ahead.”

Recognition and horror dawned on him. He remembered invitations being sent out last week. His unit was considered for security during the event. “The Grand Galloping Gala. The streets will be flooded with ponies.”

Brimstone nodded. “He will utilize his abilities and attack the city. While your soldiers and leaders struggle with the collateral damage, he will simply do the same as he just did, that is, force open the door and take them for himself. Killing the Bearers only ensures the Elements can’t be used against him. Regardless if he accomplishes that, he needs them to sever his own bonds. Dismembered and depowered as he is, if he ever regains his former strength...”

Brimstone let the threat hang in the air once more. “If you believe the construct to be all powerful and dangerous, you would go insane from seeing Herobrine in his madness and glory. That is why I am willing to work with his slaughter. I know the stakes. I know the price of his freedom. If he knows I am here, if he ever discovers I have been helping your kind, I can no longer stay in step with his plans. One way or another, he will attack the city and attempt a slaughter. Your kind cannot locate him, and I cannot stop him. The best plan is to make him believe his plan is functioning as it should until the last... possible... moment,” he hissed. “Then comes the stroke to put him back to sleep once again.”

“Asleep? Why not kill him? Your level of hatred suggests you would much rather have him dead,” Jetstream concluded. The sheer fortitude Brimstone carried fit a pony completely obsessed with his goal. If there was any desire stronger than greed or companionship, it was revenge. A ghost of a thought floated to the top of his mind, yet another experience in the dark depths of the caves.

“Because there is something I hate more than you.”

“What did he do to you?” Jetstream asked with curiosity.

“Our,” Brimstone hissed, “history is none of your concern. The Elements of Harmony are not capable of killing, and even if they were, it would not work. You cannot kill something like him; you have to put him back to sleep. What you should be worried about is yourself. Back to my main point before this little tangent, I am here for you.” That tiny, almost imperceptible smirk returned to Brimstone’s lips. “Your role in this has been exposed. You will be detained for questioning within six hours due to an unwarranted attack on the construct.”

“Your attack,” Jetstream corrected.

“They will not perceive my motives as such, if they even understand what I am doing for them.”

“Just tell them,” Jetstream countered. “They would understand.”

“I would be tempted to do so if it would not garner attention. You seem to overestimate my ability to remain hidden from Herobrine’s sight. He does not need his eyes to see me, and the knowledge that his foes are gaining help would surely draw his eyes and ire. It cannot be done, especially because I am certain he is close.

“All that matters at the moment is you. You alone have full knowledge of my existence, and that makes you a threat. I do not believe Princess Luna could discover my tampering with your mind, but I do not wish to take that risk. I am here for one reason, and one reason only.”

Jetstream felt his blood freeze. He tried to budge his wings, but they remained locked at his side. He shivered from cold, yet he did not feel the same distorted sense of danger from before. “You are here to kill me. You said you wouldn’t. Down in the caves.”

“I wasn’t going to kill you then. Now, however, is a different matter. Plans have changed, gears realigned, and my and Herobrine’s plans must accelerate. You are a danger to me, but I am not without mercy.” Brimstone casually lifted a hoof as if the act alone could sentence or clear him. “Whether you receive it relies solely on you.”

There it was again. The Eclipse, the final situation where all escapes are cut off and the only way out is a prayer to Celestia. All he had to do was talk. All he had to do was talk himself out of dying. “...How?”

Brimstone opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as Jetstream leaped for the door. With enough momentum, he might be able to snap the loops holding the door flaps together. That is, if he made it more than two feet. Just as his wings flared open, they immediately clung to his sides and he landed in a heap. Although unarmored, the air rushed from his lungs.

Brimstone was not amused. His voice was cool,  “I suppose I deserved at least one escape attempt; I am terrible company after all. However, I will allow only one display of insolence. Recall I am in your head. Your mind and body are open books to me.” Against his will, Jetstream’s body rose and marched back to his bunkmate’s cot. He curled up and rested his haunches on the chaffing fibers. Jetstream glowered at him, knowing full well it would either not help in the slightest or earn him Brimstone’s wrath.

Neither occurred. In fact, Jetstream’s renewed defiance was rewarded by a look of... satisfaction? Pride? “Despite my reluctance to reveal myself, it will be almost guaranteed when they capture you. I can kill you to protect my secret, or allow you to reveal my existence to a select few. It comes down to this.”

Brimstone rose and rearranged himself again to better see Jetstream. The two of them, although clones in body, were antitheses of mind. If Jetstream was going to die, he was going to make sure Brimstone stared him down until the light left his eyes. “This is why I am here. This is your choice. For your fate, I am undecided, so I leave it up to you. Convince me, Jetstream. I am giving you the chance to convince me to let you live.”

Eclipse. Sun and the moon. Light and the dark. Good and evil. Life and death. Live or die.

The beginning and the end.

“Okay...” Jetstream believed the spirit would fulfill his promise and kill him if he was not convinced. “Okay...” He could feel his breath coming in faster and faster bursts.

‘Calm down, sergeant,’ he told himself. ‘Keep your cool. Stay frosty. He will do it.’ Jetstream took a few deep breaths to steady his hyperventilation and thready heartbeat. Closing his eyes, he lied down on all fours in order to better position himself for thinking. Thinking suddenly seemed much harder if he remained on his haunches. ‘Breathe, analyze, and think. You have a chance to cheat death and punch him in the sack. It’s a game of chess.’

“You have not told anyone else of your existence, or at least no one can confirm anything beyond your presence?” he asked after a minute.

“Correct. Those that have seen me in their dreams have yet to garner attention and have had their memories erased like yours.”

“You do this so nopony can discover you.”

“Correct.”

“Because if one of us does, then Herobrine has a greater chance of finding you.”

“Correct.”

“If he discovers you, he would accelerate his plans, which would cost lives and the chance to stop him.”

“Correct.”

Jetstream mulled it over in his head. It was quite the predicament indeed. However, there were a few possibilities he could pursue. “What if you told one and only one? Somepony with actual political and military weight to throw around? Princess Luna? Princess Celestia? The Archmage?”

“Your Archmage is a frail and broken sack of flesh. She is a specimen far too weak to hold my essence. It would not help in the slightest if I told her in another body; what little I gleaned from her mind before her body was rendered too ill to function assured me she would oppose my machinations by any means. Captain Barricade also spurned me, Celestia would view me as a malignance, and while Princess Luna is curious about me, would view me the same.”

“I can assure them myself that you mean no harm.”

Brimstone chuckled wryly. “Do you honestly believe me yourself?”

Jetstream hesitated, much to his chagrin and Brimstone’s amusement. “I’d have a better time believing you if you weren’t such an asshole.”

“Profanity aside, this is your situation to correct. I can always pick my first option.”

“I guess I should praise your generous options.”

“It cannot hurt your chances.” Jetstream snorted at the gallows humor. Brimstone’s smile stretched a little further. He could not help but chuckle; just a moment ago, he was panicking at the threat of death. Now he was in bed with an entity fully capable and willing to murder him where he sat, and yet was laughing at the prospects possible to save or kill him.

“What if one or more can be convinced?” Jetstream continued.

“I would certainly be more open minded towards letting you live.”

Another thought struck his mind, one he hadn’t considered just yet. “Hold that thought. Say you end up killing me. That would draw the eyes of the entire camp, including Princess Luna and Celestia. Even if you somehow manage to dispose of me entirely,” Brimstone smiled, although it was more amusement than sinister contemplation, “the fact I am under investigation as you say would draw attention. Imagine it: the star suspect suddenly drops dead or off the face of Equestria. It’s not somethin’ you can just hoof wave away.”

He had finally produced something to make Brimstone think. His copy’s smile dimmed in conjunction with some internal contemplation. “An undeniable possibility. However, it is not enough for me to acquiesce, if that was indeed your singular, solemn hope. I require more than an arbitrary assumption.”

Jetstream did not let the crashing wave of despair overwhelm him. He forced it back into a corner of his mind. Hopelessness would get him nowhere. Working through the problem would get him somewhere. “Alright. Alright... let’s talk about the cons before the pros.” Coming up with reasons killing him was a bad choice was a little easier than explaining why keeping him alive was a good one. The added time would allow him better chances to work out the kinks in his reasoning to let him live.

“Consider this. Herobrine has been the primary shithead. He’s attacked Miss Fluttershy once and Canterlot twice. It’s already personal for half the guard for being bitten on the flank so many times. Right now, Princess Luna considers you the safer bet. Herobrine doesn’t do this behind the scenes B.S., so she’s not going to consider him as the first suspect if you kill me. You will be. You can’t afford to lose whatever good graces you might have now that Herobrine has put himself in such a bad public position.”

“I assure you I am quite good at relieving suspicion,” Brimstone countered.

“How much time do you really have to do so, fighting the court on one end and Herobrine on the other? Can you afford fighting on two fronts? That’s basic tactics on the field right there; never get caught fighting on two fronts. Never get flanked.” Again, Brimstone did not immediately respond, another sign of a sound line of thought. Rather than give him a chance to bring down whatever momentum he had just gained, Jetstream continued before he had a chance to speak.

“What’s he like, Herobrine? How does he act?”

Brimstone spoke slowly, carefully weighing his words. It was the first sign of hesitation he gave. Jetstream didn’t know if that was beneficial to his case or not, or whether he was just carefully choosing what information to reveal. “He... is quite arrogant in his beliefs. He is a god with a true god complex, the inability... to believe lesser life forms are capable of strength of mind or will. It produces a recklessness in his heart; he does not believe he can be defeated, only impeded.”

“Pride. Hubris.” He had heard of better protected faults. And worse. “That’s why you are letting him attack according to his own plans; you’re feeding his pride until you pull the rug out from underneath his hooves.”

“Now you understand.” Brimstone nodded in satisfaction.

“Yes. And if he continues to act like he does, which seems likely given your description, that paints you as the good guy, and him the bad guy. I thought so. I can take your case to Luna or Celestia. I can show them everything I’ve learned from you and prove you are the best chance to fight him.”

“Possibly.” Jetstream’s heart sunk the moment Brimstone said that word. What did he miss? His logic was sound, “except Celestia and Princess Luna would still not believe you. Celestia does not possess the mental fortitude to sacrifice the few for the sake of the many. The lingering emotions and corruption of the spirit of darkness that plague Princess Luna naught five years ago still haunt her. It is against their impressive and yet obstructive moral fiber. Despite your plea on my behalf, it would not change their minds on that singular point, and everything would fall because of that fact.”

“Why not enter their mind like mine and find out yourself? You can remove any doubt that way. If they really don’t believe you, erase their memories.” Jetstream’s tongue glued to the roof of his mouth the moment he was finished. He had just suggested a mental attack on his liege lords. He had just committed conspiracy to commit treason. Oh Celestia, what was he doing to try to save his own skin?

“It would not matter. There is no reasonable doubt to prove me wrong. Even if they deny me, there is a chance of failure I am not willing to risk; Princess Luna’s capabilities in the mental arts may be enough to uncover my subterfuge. I will not take that chance.” His ears perked. Something about Brimstone’s tone drew his mind away from his perfidious thoughts. The words came a little too strong, a little too forced, even for someone as confident as him.

“You...” He could not stop the words as soon as the first crossed his tongue. “you can’t, can you?”

“I assure you I am perfectly capable,” Brimstone warned. 

He didn’t listen, the clues finally snapping in place. Brimstone had proven time and time again he was capable of great power, but every strength had a weakness. Brimstone had let it slip that he could only possess one host at a time. He had also shown his disgust for pony bodies, but never actually praised his own; did he even have one? Given that he was a mentalist, it was not likely.

Unspoken limits, but limits nonetheless. Did that also mean there were ponies he couldn’t possess? Were Princesses Luna and Celestia simply too strong of mind and will to bend to Brimstone’s will?

Contemplating that would soon be a moot point. He knew what he needed to do, and it would force Brimstone’s hoof on the matter. Oh, Jetstream had an answer that would convince him without a doubt now, but first, he had one more thing, one fact he wanted to know. Brimstone noticed the finality in his eyes. Slowly, Jetstream removed himself from his bunkmate’s cot and looked him in the eye. Back straight, posture perfect, wings aligned on either side. All he was missing was armor to complete the image.

“Brimstone?”

“Yes?”

It was a risky question. Jetstream fully expected Brimstone to comply with his coming request, as it would do no harm, but the sergeant was unsure of the impending result.

“Before I say anything else, I gotta question. To reiterate, you are not a pony.”

“Correct.”

It was now or never. “Can I see what you really look like?”

For the first time, a flash of surprise crossed Brimstone’s face. Be it the request itself or the conviction behind his voice, Jetstream did not know the source of his momentary incredulity. “No.”

“I don’t trust you in the slightest. Make no mistake – ”

“But you cannot deny that my nature makes you curious.” He nodded. Brimstone sighed, another emotive sign he had yet to see. “I do not have a body. Not anymore.”

Of course. The body hopping, expertise in mind magic, and the disgust with physical forms all hinted that same conclusion. “Era’doth. Herobrine. He happened. I was once at the height of greatness, able to touch the heavens themselves. Now I have nothing but a spirit full of hate and a fallen kingdom. But...” Brimstone smiled coyly. “That is a story for another time. I can show you what I looked like before my body died, but... that would be most unwise.”

Jetstream nodded. It was time for the coup de grâs. He opened his mouth to say his final comment, only Brimstone was one step ahead of him.

“You have given up.”

What could he do otherwise? 

“It’s not worth it.”

If he managed to convince Brimstone to let him live, it would result in more than an attack on Canterlot. He admitted the logic was sound, maybe even it was the only possible option, but at what cost? His loyalty to the alicorn diarchs? His sense of ethics? What kind of creature casually talks about murder as if it is nothing more than an unfortunate statistic? What fear compelled him to worry about his life more than the implications of Brimstone’s sociopathy?

“You could earn your life back.” Brimstone didn’t sound convinced he would take the offer. He was calm, resigned. Very much like how Jetstream felt.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two for you to have such a hateboner for him. I don’t think you’d even tell me. Whatever it was, it’s reduced you to... this,” he gestured to his phantasmal body. Jetstream looked for words to describe his feelings and unknowingly ended on the same note as his superior, Barricade. “There’s nothin’ left of you but your hate. Even if you get your revenge, it’ll solve nothin’. You’re like a wound filled with pus. If you win, if you drain it all, and there will be nothin’ left of you. You may not be the bad guy, but you’re not the hero either.”

Brimstone did not move, or even speak. He was quite adapt at guarding his emotions and thoughts, but he was completely motionless now, very akin to a statue. Jetstream, too, waited. For what, he did not know. Instead of the panic and determination that had recently driven him to comply to Brimstone’s will, all he felt was a tranquility, an ocean with mirror-smooth waves. The fear was finally gone.

After a long two minutes, Brimstone finally said, “I can compel you to obey me. I have done so in the past to others. You are no different.”

“Can you hold up forever?” Jetstream shook his head. No, he knew Brimstone couldn’t keep it up forever. “‘I can only be in one place at one time.’ I’ll fight you the moment you leave.”

“You do not even attempt to make me believe you, only to inform your superiors later?”

Jetstream chuckled. “Would it have worked.”

A smile crossed Brimstone’s lips once more. Although partially crafted from the subtle jab at humor, it was his own sign of acceptance, an acknowledgement that he could not change the soldier’s mind. “No, it would not.”

Jetstream sighed. That calm air had not left him. He expected he might panic, or even fight. He felt along his body, gauging his own involuntary responses. Knees did not shake, voice did not waver, tears did not flow, and his head was tall and straight. He was ready.

“I’m going to kill you, sergeant.”

There wasn’t really any other way to respond to that. It wasn’t a threat, just a statement of fact mixed with the smallest question if it was what he truly wanted.

“I know. It’s just... I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to give up what’s important just to save the day. I’m not putting a price on my honor. I’m a soldier. If I’m not willing to die for something, what use do I have living for nothin’?”

At that, Brimstone chuckled. “Captain Barricade said something similar. You both want me to change. But really, where would I be without my anger? It is all I have left, my last vestige of strength. I am not about to give that up so freely.” Brimstone gaze hardened in determination. He truly dreaded the moment Herobrine wronged this creature. If there was anything stronger in Brimstone than the drive for vengeance, it would be the anguish if he ever succeeded in his mad gambit. “You have no right to take my only sanctuary.”

The pair chuckled in unison. Soon the two were heartily laughing in some unspoken mirth.

“I can’t convince you not to, can I?”

“No,” Brimstone replied. “It is here where our ideologies divide. Any last requests?”

Jetstream’s ears perked. He walked to his own cot and reached underneath. Taped next to the aluminum skeleton was a single wrapped cigar. Tearing off the plastic, he lit it in the flames of a nearby candle. After a few puffs, he soon had a dull orange glow from the opposite end. Light smoke filtered through the room. Although in close proximity to Jetstream, Brimstone did not seem to mind. In fact, the acrid smoke drifted right through his body. Brimstone did say he didn’t have a body. Seeing positive proof was another matter.

“Imported brand. No one makes cigars like the griffons.” He gave another puff. Only then did he realize that Brimstone wasn’t even breathing. Another oddity. “Always loved these and saved a few for when I’m off duty. Don’t tell my NCO.”

Jetstream held the cigar in his teeth, casually blowing smoke. Brimstone shook his head. “I do not believe that will be a problem.”

“No, suppose it won’t.”

Brimstone stepped slowly got up and stepped off the cot. The cot neither creaked nor groaned as it shifted under the shifting application of stress. Given he was nothing but an apparition, Jetstream felt he shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, put out his almost untouched cigar, and tossed it in the waste basket. It was a shame; that one was expensive.

Jetstream chuckled. The sardonic humor was lost on Brimstone. “Did I miss something?”

He chuckled again. “You called me sergeant. You haven’t done that.”

For once, Brimstone’s smile was completely genuine. “You’ve grown, Sergeant Jetstream.”

“Yeah... I know...” Silence. “Will it hurt?”

He didn’t believe the childlike whisper came from his own throat. Brimstone shook his head. 

“No. It will be like going to sleep.”

Light shined through the crack in the door. It really was a beautiful sunset.





Minecraft/MLP:FIM crossover.
For chapter updates and my ramblings, visit my page on Fimfiction HERE.
Chapter Commentary: LINK
Edited by: Cor Thunder, Material Defender, Hyperbole, arachnidsGrip