//------------------------------// // Forgive Me // Story: Never Broken // by Torgaddon //------------------------------// My breath rasps out in ragged gasps as I run with all my might. Around me the churning vortex bellows out like the death scream of a thousand slaughtered beasts. My flesh burns even as my muscles are frozen solid by the icy flame of the Mouth of Madness. A child's whimper comes from my left even as a shadow springs out from the edge of my sight. I make no attempt to turn, only keep running. It has been like this for days, and I know that the moment I stop running, the Mouth of Madness will claim my soul, only for the portal to rip it asunder and add my entire being to the collection of it's myriad of bodiless voices that call out to me, begging me to stop, to help them, to end them. An infinite number of faces dart in and out of the periphery of my sight, some in rictus grimaces of pain, some in begging crying howls, most in unimaginable malice. I see the faces of Dragons, Draka and ponies. Of daemons, deposed kings ancient heroes and forgotten gods. Of things worse still, monstrosities with bones of ice and blood of fire, abominations who had beheld the very first night of existence. It is of no matter. The Mouth of Madness, the portal between creation and the Abyss, between reality and Ginun will claim any who cannot make the journey. Mortal, god or more, the portal is as insatiable in it's appetite as the Abyss itself. But I will NOT fail, I will NOT stop. I have taken the oath of the Legion of the Damned. I will reach Ginun. I will find the Legion of the Damned. I will have my redemption. I am Spike and for my sin against my family, I WILL SUFFER AND ENDURE. The memory of his first journey through the Mouth of Madness over two thousand years ago, when he was but a weak, pathetic runt had sprung unbidden within the surging maelstrom that was Spike's mind and replayed itself with dreadful clarity. A massive gauntleted fist shot out and caught the purple scaled giant in the temple. Spike turned snarling like a hungry wolf only to realize that it had been his own. He had tried to knock the memory out of his mind by instinct. Yes, yes the hit had been a good thing. He couldn't afford to waste time reminiscing of things long past. He had to not be distracted, had to concentrate. He had to protect... had to protect... Who? Who was he protecting? His Legion?... Yes that must have been it. He had to protect his Legion. Spike turned to the reassuring faces of his comrades. He wanted to see Shagga's warm but fierce features. Goromandy's perpetual grin and jovial face. Sekeolath's stern and loyal look. Mika'il's eagle eyes and ever-present half-smile. He wanted to see the face of each and every one of his beloved Legion. His brothers and sisters in battle. Spike turned to his Legion and saw nothing more than six ragged looking ponies, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and concern. The purple one's mouth moved but he could hear nothing. It looked almost like she was pleading with him. This was wrong, who were these six ponies? Who were they and what had they done to his Legion. Where was his Legion? Where was Shagga? "SPIKE, SPIKE!!! SPIKE SNAP OUT OF IT!!! SPIKE IT'S US" Twilight screamed for all her worth, her comparatively tiny hands held in front of her in a feeble and instinctive attempt to try and shield herself from the massive Draka's advance. Spike's single eye was unfocused, his pupil contracted to pinprick of growing anger. Threat and the scent of danger coated the air like a scarlet curtain as his hand formed a boulder sized fist and slowly began to rise. Spike lifted his fist. He would MAKE them tell him where his Legion was. He would FORCE them to tell him. Even if he had to break every bone in their bodies he would make them tell him. He stopped as the scarlet blood coating his hand and forearm like a butcher's glove caught his eye and brought him back to unforgiving reality. He had killed them. He had killed his Legion with his own two hands. Twilight stared at him, her chest heaving, her arms and legs trembling. The other girls looked petrified with utter fear. He had almost attacked the girls. These six who had been always as precious to him as his Legion, these six for whom the Legion had given their lives in order to protect, and he had almost attacked his last remaining family without hesitation. Shame piled on shame piled on shame. Sin upon sin upon sin. Spike's arm fell limp to his side and his shoulders slumped. His eye gained focus once again as he awoke from his momentary lapse in reason. He turned without a word and began walking through the dense forest again, not even registering the trees that snapped and toppled before his unyielding stride, the boulders that shattered beneath his iron shod boots and the innocent forest animals that he killed with unconscious swipes of his claws as soon as any got within close proximity to him. Nothing else registered to his mind apart from a few simple words. "Keep the girls safe. Keep your oath. Make the Legion's sacrifice matter. Do at least this one thing right". With Spike once again resuming his silent advance, the girls let out breaths they had not realized they had been holding. Shaking like leaves from both fear and complete exhaustion they started again following Spike. Spike. It had become hard to even recognize him. He was still as unyielding and as imposing as ever but... "wrong". Muscles on his massive body twitched as if he had a hard time controlling himself and incoherent whispers came from him, the mumblings of one on the precipice of madness. Throughout the five hour long trip, only once had Spike's words been as clear as crystal. And they had torn through the girls' hearts like daggers. "Shagga... Sekeolath... my Legion... please... the nightmare won't end.. I can't wake up... someone... unshackle me... please...do not leave me...". For all that, it was still Spike. His eye still held the unbendable steel and unbreakable loyalty towards them she had grown so used to, but it had become edged with a sadness that tore at her heart. The girls had given up trying to talk to him, to comfort him, even to attempt to gain his attention. Since they had left the plateau and the massive funeral pyre Spike had erected in order to properly send his warriors off, the grim Draka had become even grimmer, unstable and determined to suffer in silence. He had not said a word to them. "I don't like this..." came the small squeaking voice of Pinkie, her hair lank and voice edged with frustration "TALK TO US YOU OVERGROWN LIZARD, YELL AT US, DO SOMETHING". Spike did not turn, did not speak, did not even seem to hear her. He just kept walking. Whatever else she would have said was left unheard as Rainbow Dash's hand clasped firmly on her mouth. "What're you crazy? You saw the way he's acting now. Don't push him. Give'em space, girl". In a completely uncharacteristic display Pinkie struggled out of her grip and started yelling again. "You're the one who's crazy. We can't leave him like this.He NEEDS to talk about what happened. He HAS to vent. I've seen things like this before. If he bottles it up, the grief will eat him from the inside out. Is that what you want?" Rainbow Dash opened her mouth to retort but clamped it up as soon as she realized that no words would come. "How many times has he saved us? How much has he sacrificed for us?" Pinkie continued, hysteria and frustration cracking her voice, her eyes filled with tears. "If we don't help him now, than what does that make us?" "We understand that Pinkie but..." began Fluttershy only to stop dead in her tracks as the enormous shadow of Spike fell over them. His face nothing more than an unmoving masque of stoic endurance he walked towards Pinkie's suddenly shrinking frame. An opened hand the size of a Royal Guard's shield reached out to her as Pinkie closed her eyes. "Do what you have to do Spike.Take it out on me if you have to. Just please... feel better" squeaked the pink pony, the eyes of her five friends, paralyzed with fear and unbelief, bearing witness to what they feared would be a retelling of the tragedy that had happened one year ago . Fingers almost as large as the girl's forearms with talons as long and sharps as daggers closed in on her head. Pinkie's eyes slowly opened, the gentle yet stern pat on her head, frizzing up her lank mane. She looked up and locked eyes with Spike remaining orb. Inside it she saw the love, gratitude and the look of one who would charge into Hell itself for her. But sorrow and loneliness beyond anything she had ever witnessed before muddied that honesty and affection. "Please... we need to keep moving... forward... always forward". Spike's voice was rugged. His deep baritone cracked reminding more of a growl than his usual steady tone. No matter how hard he tried, Spike could not deny it. The killing of his own Legion had hurt him more than the girls could ever comprehend and nothing they would say would help him. He ceased patting Pinkie's head and turned, the girls' forlorn gazes and their pity nipping at the last vestiges of his pride. The Madness gnawed at the back of his mind harder than ever before, like a blood starved wolf than had suddenly found itself without a leash. It tore at his reason and will, howling, demanding and begging to be let loose. It promised that it would help him forget. It swore that battle would help him unsee the faces of his Legionnaires. Help him forget their last words of gratitude. Spike crushed it squealing to the very depths of his subconscious. Not yet. Not yet. He had to keep going. Had to get the girls to safety. Had to ensure that Celestia would erase their memories of his very existence. Only then, when he was truly alone, would he seek out the remaining daemons and allow his sanity to shatter. Only then would he give in to the Madness, and glut himself on blood and slaughter and pray it will lead him to his death. Mother Renrin had been right in her prophecy. He will die, alone and forgotten, nothing more than a madness plagued beast, no more worthy than the daemons he despised so much. It would suffice. He had lost the right to a honorable death the moment he had become kinslayer. It was of no matter that he had freed the Legion and given them worthy deaths. They had died by his hand nonetheless, and now, the Draka blood on his hands had branded him as unworthy of honor. To be a Kinslayer. There is no shame greater for a Draka to bear. The curved szabla blade jumps out of my grasp as the grim and lanky form of Sekeolath spins, and throws out his foot. It catches me in the kneecap and I go down in a heap. Already I can feel the Madness thumping to my skull. "Hmph, get up boy. You are a Legionnaire now. Get up. If you're expecting a worthy death with such a weak technique, you are as stupid as you are small. Now, GET UP, SPIKE". His taunts seal it. My sight goes awash in a coat of red as the Madness takes hold. I hear myself scream and launch in a desperate charge, the tulwar in my left hand licking out in an attempt to run the taller Draka through the throat. I may be still a child in Draka years, but I will not be humiliated. With a grimace of contempt, Sekeolath throws the tip of my blade away with a precise backhand of his dagger and moves within my guard. The Madness snuffs out like a candle in a rainstorm as his knee slams into my gut and lifts me off my feet, knocking the air from my lungs. I fall onto my knees, the ground caressing my forehead, as if begging me to stay down. "Weakling" he snarls. "Look at you. Can't even control your emotions, you charge head on, no tactics, no technique, no strategy, like an idiotic minotaur. Go ahead. Stay down. Training is over for today". Still on my hands and knees, struggling to draw breath, I look around. Many of the Legion look back with open contempt. They are disgusted with me. I know that. I am small. I am weak. I cannot even control the Madness within me. But I will NOT stay down. I refuse. I will make them respect me, even if it kills me. I will EARN my warrior's death. I will EARN my honor. The Madness comes howling back, but this time I beat it into submission even as my trembling limbs push me off the ground. Sekeolath's eyes widen as I advance on him again. No charge this time, but a fighter's advance. The tip of my tulwar licks out for his midsection as I lunge. Sekeolath somersaults out of my range and his boot connects with my temple. I grit my teeth against the pain and force myself to not fall unconscious. My tulwar spears out of my hand as I throw it at the spot he is going to land. Even as it rolls slicing through the air, I roll to Sekeolath's left side. He smashes the flying blade away with a casual flick of the wrist and turns on me launching as monstrous sweep with the flat of his ax. His eyes widen in surprise as I allow the blow to land on my side. Ribs fracture but I roll with the blow and turn sweeping the szabla I had recovered during the roll to his face. It strikes true. I remain shocked as I see the blade caught between his teeth. "Finally, a decent attack" he mumbles and bites the steel into fragments. His first punch lands into my throat, almost shattering my windpipe. His second and third break three ribs. His claws dig into my flesh as he lifts me high and slams me down onto the unforgiving stone of Ginun. As I lay there, unable to move, the sweet peace of unconsciousness slowly claiming me, the red headed beauty that is Shagga leans over me. There is no more contempt in her eyes. I can almost see pride. "He may be small and weak, but he has the will of a true Draka" she says as she looks towards Sekeolath. For the first time in the three years I have been part of the Legion, I see Sekeolath's face twist in the semblance of a smile. "He's got grit, I'll give the runt that much". The daemons slammed themselves against Celestia's magical shield again and again. It was only a small battalion of daemons, no more than fifty, barely a scouting party, most likely part of the larger army that had attacked them atop the plateau. Behind the magical cocoon and in front of the refugee convoy, the Royal guard hastily formed into a shield wall, and leveled their spears. With a sound like broken glass the cocoon broke and the daemons charged the Royal Guards. Ponies yelled as the shield wall was pushed back. Gold plated spears and Equestrian steel thrust out between interlocking shield only skid away harmlessly against daemon forged armor and stone hard daemon flesh. Celestia and Luna hovered over the battle, magic sizzling from their horns in a hail ofaethyric bullets as they attempted to support the Royal Guard. A score of daemons fell, their bodies riddled with suppurating gashes, but it took many hits to end even one. Celestia gasped heavily as she made ready to launch another hailstorm of magic. She was exhausted. Spike and his Legion had made killing daemons look so easy but it was nothing like that. A few daemons would have been enough to tear through her entire contingent of over two hundred Royal Guards if she and her sister had not been there to lend their considerable magic to the battle. Savage, blood-maddened and tough as stone, daemons were complete killing machines and these ones were barely minor daemons. The lowest on the daemonic pecking order. Her train of thought snapped into fragments as a stone the size of a cartwheel flew inches from her cranium. A bellicose roar caught her attention and she looked down only to see a mutation riddled bull headed daemon glaring at her, another boulder in his head making ready to launch it at her. "Come down weak-meat, so that I make feast on your flesh" he called out in a distorted Equestrian language. Celestia didn't bother retorting to the monster's taunt but instead launched a fusillade of blazing white lightning at it. It shattered against the boulder as the daemon brought it in front of itself as a shield, blackening and cracking apart the stone. A last bolt caught the daemon in the chest pushing it back a few feet. The smell of charred flesh assaulting her nose, she made to turn from what she presumed was a dying daemon, only to stop as it began laughing in a hideous amalgam between the sound of a bull and a goat. "Gahahaha, weak-meat thinks little light show can kill Haz'zak the Red Horn. Gahahaha, no wonder weak-meat's kingdom was so easy to slaugh..." His words were lost to the wind as the creature exploded in a spray of broken flesh and blood, a crimson stained curved blade in place of where the daemon had stood. The air thickened with threat, the stench of daemon flesh drowned out by the scent of burning embers and the iron tang of lifeblood. All sound dimmed save for the steady thump of heavy boots on the ground. The daemons turned from the shield wall, all thoughts of feasting on pony flesh drowned out by this apparition straight out of nightmares that even daemons feared to think of. A purple scaled giant,, his face, a hideous death's-head grin of lipless dagger fangs, his bare chest and arms, slabs of scar and blood covered steel chord muscle, his single eye, a dot of green promising a messy death from beyond the locks of his green mane of hair. The first three daemons died behind their shields, Spike's blade cleaving through iron and flesh like the Reaper's scythe. The next six died within seconds as his claw and blade lashed out, opening throats and chests. The rest died running, begging for help as the behemoth waded through them like a whirlwind of cutting steel and talons, reducing them to so much gristle and flesh carpeting the grass. The battalion Celestia, Luna and the Royal Guard had been fighting for half an hour, had been reduced to nothing by Spike in half a minute. He made it look so easy, Celestia though again as she flew towards him. "Spike, I..." she began only to stop as the sheer wrongness of Spike registered to her mind. His body twitched, veins bulged out like iron cables and muscles swelled until they looked about to burst. Froth bubbled from his jaws and he turned to her. As they locked eyes, Celestia fell to the ground, her body rigid with fear. Spittle dribbled from the corner of her mouth and tears flowed from her eyes as for the first time she beheld Spike in the grip of the encroaching Madness. In that eye she saw a creature that would drown the world in blood and still be left starving for battle. She saw one that would devour the Sun, the Moon, even the gods themselves. "No. Not yet. NOT YET" Spike roared smashing his fist against his forehead. When his hand came down, his eye was once again steel and control. His muscles relaxed and his veins shrunk as he wiped the froth from his mangled, lipless mouth. Celestia continued to look as her body trembled and cold sweat dribbled down her spine. Slowly she calmed and rose from the ground. Spike waited respectfully for her to regain her regal composure, although his eye narrowed dangerously the more time passed. "Casualties?" he asked brusquely. "Uh...I...n-none... but more than a few wounded" Celestia stammered. "Stabilize them, load them onto the wagons and carts. We leave in ten minutes" With that Spike turned and set himself in front of the convoy, cutting short any attempt at protest. Celestia looked on, still in shock until the sound of running steps and wheezing gasps of air made her turn. From the woods, their fur matted with sweat, their hair unruly from grasping branches, their eyes glazed over with exhaustion from the six hour long jog from the plateau, the Mane Six emerged. "T...Twilight?" Celestia whispered slowly as the girls reached her and grasped their knees trying to catch their breath. "Where is the Legion?" Twilight lifted sorrowful eyes and slowly shook her head. Celestia turned back to look at Spike. She could see only his back but the grief that permeated his form was as clear as day. "Oh... no... Spike... why does the world wish for you to suffer so?" Without the distraction of battle, memories flooded anew. I wake up in my cot surrounded by the canvas of a tent. My body hurts as the bandages constrict and chafe at my fresh wounds. I twist in my cot and a piercing pain thrums through my entire body originating from the base of my neck to my lower abdomen. The pain is good. It gives me clarity. It helps me remember. That fight. That glorious battle against the Avatar of the Abyss. In the over one thousand years I have been part of the Legion of the Damned, never have I had such a battle. Never have I felt so at peace. The pain from my neck to my lower abdomen must be where the abomination had split me open with it's flaming sword. It had been it's final mistake. The slash had not been enough to kill me and had been enough of an opening for me to slice him in two separate halves. Two gentle hands rest against my chest and push me back down onto the cot. Shagga's wide smile greets me like a refreshing drink of spring water. She sits cross legged in her lacquered armor at the edge of my cot "One who has defeated the Avatar of the Abyss in single combat deserves a bit more rest". I look at her for a moment longer, the feeling of her comparatively small hands still warm upon my flesh. A thousand years ago when I had arrived upon Ginungagap as a new Legionnaire I had always seen her as a gigantic woman. But I had grown a lot since then, battle and the hardship of Ginun feeding my body more than any food could. Now she seemed almost petite to me, a full head and a half shorter than me, just my arm almost as wide as her entire midsection. And as a thousand year old Draka, I am still growing. "Still alive" I retort, trying as I always do to hide my deformed and mangled face from her. I know better than anyone how hideous I am. Her hand touches my scarred cheek and turns me to her. "Of course you are. You are Spike. You do not fall. You never do. For you is reserved a greater doom than a mere Avatar of the Abyss. Your death will be a blaze of glory". she chides me, her smile turning into a full fledged grin. "And stop trying to hide your face from me". Offering me her shoulder, she leads me out of the tent. I pull the flap to reveal a sight that warms my heart and heals more than a thousand ointments. The Legion is arrayed before me, their faces split by wide grins and honest smiles, their fists at their chests. Sekeolath walks towards me. His hand falls on my shoulder and his eyes glint with pride for his former student. "For over five hundred years I have said that you should be Darraor. Yet every time I have said that, you say you are unworthy. You, who is strongest of us all. You, who made us into a family bound by more than just shame. You ARE the most worthy of us all to be Darraor". My shoulders begin to shudder and I can feel my eyes begin to moisten. How I hated them at the beginning. How I foolishly thought they despised me, when all they wanted to do was give me purpose and honor. How I have grown to love them over the past centuries. "We know you have been ready for a long time. Now that you have killed the Avatar in single combat, have you finally proven to yourself that you deserve this honor?" I still my shuddering and wipe the burgeoning tears from my eyes. They pretend not to notice. A Draka should not cry. "What are you to do if I am to take your job, old friend?" I ask. "Bah, I have my hands full trying to make sure you do not hog all the best fights, that alone is a full-time job by itself". Smiling widely, he extends his arm. "Lead us to glory, Darraor Spike". Cheers and ululating howls of joy erupt from the Legion as I grab hold of his forearm and take the title of Darraor. As I become their elder brother. This feels right. It feels like... family.