Night-terror
The harsh and frosty winds blew in a gale of winter's wrath and fury. The make shift shelter Sin had set up upon the Vention Peak mountain side already having been decimated by the monstrous storm that had overtaken his position, forcing the stallion to wrap himself in his cape, forgoing the long extinguished fire that sat in the middle of the shelter. He was unsure of the time of day, the darkened sky above a grey and dismal overcast between the flurry of piercing snow and cold.
The stallion didn't dare move, the makeshift splint on his broken hind leg already dug into his flesh in the most uncomfortable of ways, exacerbated enough by the piercing cold. Beneath him sat his essentials, anchored beneath his hooves. One cast iron pot, a knife, a crossbow, fire starter, and canteen being amongst the most valuable.
The make shift tomahawk was gone now, lost to the cascading winds that assaulted him, as were the few wicker baskets he'd made. The water containers he'd constructed from birch bark and tree sap were stolen by the torrent and destroyed. He looked around for the cords of thin roots he used for makeshift lashings, but they were nowhere to be found. There was nothing but the branches and bark of his shelter, darkness, and of course, the pummeling snow flurries that blasted in through the ever growing number of holes in the walls.
Weeks worth of work... weeks of careful carving, honing, harvesting, lashing, constructing, digging, anchoring... all the blood, sweat and tears over the past countless days of his life, all of the toil he'd gone through, all of the cuts, splinters, blisters, hunger, pain and stress, all of it was being undone. Just when Sin had thought he'd gotten a handle on things, just when he thought he'd be able to make it out of this nightmare alive, the universe just had to prove him wrong and kick the shit out of him while he was down.
But it always did, didn't it? Him? The flightless pegasus, the pony who failed to find any meaningful way to fight the gods of government, the stallion who'd given up on the world. Abandoned the Triple M. corporation after they'd offered him a position more suited to his sociopathic tendencies, making him see what he was becoming...
Sin hated it, he hated the world for all of it's wrongs, for all of it's talk of wanting to be better, for all of it's lip service, for, despite all of his work, it just constantly came back to bite him in the ass.
Worst of all, he'd hated who and what he was. How his mind couldn't stop thinking, how the desire and thirst for knowledge would never leave his consciousness at peace. How different he was from everyone else in his search for data and comprehension over feelings and relationships. How his family's lack of involvement in his life had deprived him and emotionally stunted him. His obsession with politics and economics, hatred for knowing the truth, failed attempts to fight the enemy it felt like only he could see...
But what could he do?
What was there to do? Change? No, as nice and easy as the normal folk had it, he could never ignore society and the constant lies they told themselves. That they "cared" about something, yet constantly didn't show any substantial effort to try and change the perceived "problems". Of course, Sin was of the mind that, unless a solution was being utilized, there was no problem to begin with. He'd grown tired of the "but what can we do" excuse.
What could they do? Something? Anything? But no, he'd given up on that a long time ago. It didn't matter what they could do, for he knew what they would do, the citizens would bitch, whine, moan and complain as the world burned around them... that's all they could do, that's all they were capable of, now. Gone were the ponies, dogs, griffs and others who had back bones and were willing to suffer for the creation of the "better world". Now, all that were left were the victims, those who demanded the very devil they complain about fix the hell it created, only to have it made worse by the day. The elites didn't need to worry, though. After all, what were the victims going to do? Cry out for more protection?
No, the oaken stallion was a doer, he didn't complain about problems unless he intended to solve them, or try to at least. If there was one thing he could thank his father for, it was instilling a mindset of consequentialism and perseverance into him. To know that talking and complaining didn't fix problems or garner results, only action did.
A strong wind blasted forth, the small whistles from before growing in pitch as winter's wrath stole even more of his shelter. Sin buckled down on his supplies, desperately hanging onto one of the structural branches of his deteriorating dome, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't come crashing down on his head.
Sniffling through teary, painfilled eyes, Sin adjusted himself to get somewhat comfortable. The pain in his leg taking a priority over his leverage on the hut. In a way, he was proud, proud over how strong he'd managed to make the shelter and how well it was fairing against winds that had to be upwards of forty-five miles an hour.
Sin fancied himself a stubborn bastard, or maybe it was just that he was too dumb to know when to quit. The raid on the Fire Cult, during his time with Triple M. had shown the pony just how emotionally detached and willing he was...
While others ran away from the flames the ponies and minotaur produced, Sin and his griffin partner ran forwards, dodging, jumping, pushing, shooting, clawing, punching, looking for places to hide, drenching the floor with the blood of broken snoots or slashed necks... In those moments of terror, Sin didn't feel fear. All he felt was a burning desire to kill. To end those whom committed aggression and induced suffering onto the world.
It didn't bother stallion just how willing he was to throw his life away so easily.
What did he care? If he died, he was dead, can't really feel pain or irritated when you're dead. Funnily enough, what Sin did fear was the pain that came from not dying. Burns, bruises, blisters, cuts, stabs, things he'd acquired during the raid were what he feared most, yet his sense of terror might as well have not existed.
What did exist was the ritualistic Celestial sacrificial alter that lie in the very heart of the compound, and the dozens upon dozens of charred and burnt remains of younglings there in. Foals, hatchlings, pup, no race was discriminated against in that dark and disgusting place. Each one dangling lifelessly from the walls by nails that held their legs in place, their burnt bodies, almost unrecognizable had it not been for the basic shapes he'd come to know each race by, were hung on a grotesque and disturbing ritualistic display.
His partner, who'd been specifically chosen for how stoic and imperturbable he was, threw up with the horror the two had found that day. It was a terrible sight, to know that anything was capable of sacrificing younglines, many of which looked still in their infancy and had to be some of the cultists own offspring.
He could remember the horror with vivid clarity, the looming and chard corpses baring down at him, the foul stench of seared flesh and bowl evacuation, the putrid scent of burnt blood from some sick ritual involving it's burning and boil. Yet, throughout all of that, aside from the physical sickness, Sin felt nothing.
His mind didn't care about the dead foals other than the fact of the matter for what it was. His feelings weren't disturbed, his mind didn't real with disgust or horror, all he saw was victims of a depraved group that would need to be identified and processed. To him, it was just part of the job and more evidence of the heinous acts sapient species were capable of.
Though, that's when he saw it... His partner, one of the few griffon's Sin had ever come to respect, was on the cold, stone ground, puking his guts up and more importantly, he was crying. Whimpering like a hatchling as the eyeless deceased loomed over them in silent pleas of immortalized agony.
That was when it hit the pony, his partner was... not a sociopath. The griffon was a feeling and emotional creature, so why didn't he? He should have felt something, he should have felt sick, or sad, or angry or... something.
He didn't, though. He saw the display as casually as if he'd seen the luscious pastures of the Vale.
But seeing the griffin he'd come to trust as his equal, crying and whimpering, that gave him pause. It made him feel nervous, nervous over the fact that his partner wasn't without emotion as he'd always portrayed himself. Sin contained the feelings like he always did, but he considered indulging it. His logical mind screamed at him not to, that emotions were nothing but dangerous distractions, but another part of his mind demanded he let the mental barrier go, that his calm indifference to such a situation was indicative to a mental sickness, that if he didn't react to this, then something inside of him would die, something imperative to his own moral fiber.
Sin defied the logical part of his mind and released the restraints he'd had on his fear.
So many things happened to him when he did, that he couldn't remember them all. What he did remember was wanting to scream, that he wanted to cry, to laugh, to fight, to die, and to do so many things it put his mind into a state of shock.
After that, the stallion was placed in intensive care as his mind slowly began to sort through everything he'd been suppressing. All of the guilt, all of the anger, all of the sadness he'd been ignoring for so long ran rampant. Sin didn't know what to do with it all and desperately wanted to stuff it all back into the small little corner of his mind...
Guilt for his transgressions against Zell, shame for the cold and harsh ways in which he'd taught the brother he should have been protecting, anger at how dismissive he was when talking with Crasus about how happy he'd be to see the world suffer for it's apathy, sadness for so many things that would soon come, and hopeless... so very hopeless...
That's when he first heard Critic, calmly telling him that everything would be alright and instructing him to take everything slowly. He was the reason Sin's empathy came back and helped the stallion relearn how to apply emotional responses. Yet now, Critic was gone. He'd abandoned Sin when the pony began to argue him about how he shouldn't feel guilty about the sufferings of others if they were self inflicted. Critic claimed that such an enjoyment was psychopathic and callous, Sin merely saw it as just deserts and darwinism.
Another gale hit, and forced Sin's mind away from his thoughts and to grip tightly onto the support. He felt the branch digging uncomfortably into his shoulder, but he wouldn't let go. He knew that it's support was the only thing keeping the structure up now, and that if he stopped maintaining it, the entire thing would come crashing down upon him.
It didn't matter, not really, this was just how the world worked. He made effort and worked for something, the world came forward to kick it down or laugh at him about how pointless all of his sacrifice and time really was.
Maybe he deserved it though. Sinbad never considered himself, what most thought to be, "good". Yea, he always tried to avoid inflicting pain onto others whenever he could, but he didn't help others when they needed it either. He was also a manipulative bastard, much like his father, and admittedly, grandfather before him.
Maybe this was the world's way of punishing him? For manipulating Zell's gullibility like he always had, using the poor maroon unicorn in his experiments in sociology and herbology. For all of the hateful words against the world shared between Crasus, Malich and himself. For all of the pleasure he took in the suffering of the perceived idiots of the world...
Was this curse of constant failure and rejection the world's way of telling him he was wrong? To release the curse that was the Islander bloodline in it's despicable ways?
The wind died down for a moment, just long enough for the pony to relax and regain his bearings.
Feeling able to finally relax a little, the Federalist let out a small chuckle. It was funny, here he was, fighting to maintain the hut, the only thing keeping him alive upright, and he was throwing a fucking pity party for himself. Funny how bad times make one reflect on their lives...
Suddenly, a force the stallion could almost taste slammed down. The gusts that were barely held off by the hut attacked him head on as the front half of his shelter was ripped apart in an ear shattering cacophony of snaps, rips and arial howling. Sin covered his head, grunting painfully as a well sized support branch crashed onto his back.
Already, the stallion could feel the wind ripping away his body heat faster than before, his cape doing nothing to protect nor preserve.
Sighing, Sin pushed off the debris from his body and looked up to see the damage.
His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.
There, standing just outside the hut, completely unfazed by the weather, was the maroon unicorn stallion Sin had come to know all to well.
Zell's eyes were wide and blank, the usual twinkle of light they held now vanished and withered, they peered into Sin's own, judging the pony for his sins and misgivings.
"Zell..." Sin whispered in a tired, ragged breath.
The pony didn't reply, he acted as if he hadn't even acknowledge Sin's distress. The oaken pegasus reached out a hoof, as if to grab at the phantom, but he was no where near close enough.
Suddenly, another figure strode forth and joined beside him, this one striking terror beyond terror into him. Another pony, drenched in white, with an expressionless mask and blood stained apron appeared behind Zell, an ungodly large butcher's knife in his fetlock. A knife he slowly, almost mockingly so, lifted behind the maroon unicorn's neck.
Sin felt his adrenaline spike and tried to push himself up, but the pain in his leg dropped him back down. All he could do was watch, helplessly as the Reaper raised his tool, and readied it to claim Zell's life.
"Zell..."
"It's your fault."
SHING!
Sin jolted up right, gasping for breath.
He looked around, noticing the environment had shifted from extreme cold and exciting to cool and calm. No wind, no snow, nothing but dead of night and his own labored breathing.
The stallion righted himself to check his leg, his body still quivering from the nightmare. He'd been seeing Zell and the Reaper in his dreams a lot lately, and his guilt over the unicorn's death grew with each encounter. Sin could easily justify the sacrifice as holding to his principals, but to see the look of muted betrayal and hurt in the pony's eyes cut the argument's reassurance with every passing day.
Taking a moment, Sin reminded himself that it was just a dream, that the real memory was of Zell finding him after the blizzard had ended and brought him seven miles back to civilization for treatment of both his hypothermia and broken leg, along with various other injuries and ailments.
Seven miles... seven miles that dark red pony had dragged his battered, sorry ass through the Vention Mountains. Seven miles he had to hike through snow and frozen terrain. Seven miles... north of eleven hours... and that didn't even account for the hours, days even, he'd wasted searching for Sin.
And when Sin finally woke up in the hospital, for the umpteenth time, the unicorn made sure he knew just how much fear and anger Sin caused. It was the first time Zell had ever struck Sin, it was the first time Zell had ever insulted him, calling him stupid and stubborn, and it was the first time he'd ever seen the pony cry, tears of relief over the prospect of almost losing his best friend.
Sin closed his eyes, guilt beyond guilt bombarding his chest and eyes for how selfish he was.
Zell didn't deserve what had happened to him. He was a great pony, easily one of the best the world had to offer, right beside Macintosh, he was a kind and caring soul, one who loved to laugh and make others laugh, often poking Sin with a stick just to get a comical reaction from him. Zell had done so much that oaken stallion had never appreciated. Ever since the two had become friends, the unicorn had made it his personal mission in life to try and get him to smile.
It wasn't fair that he was dead, Sin wished that the world had claimed his life in the unicorn's place. He wished that his friend would have left him on the mountain side that day to die. Zell would have gone on in life to be happy, to make a great writer, and a damn good husband and father.
The stallion gripped at the grass beneath his fetlock, fighting the tears he knew would soon come.
Why did things have to turn out this way? Why didn't Zell run when he had the chance? Why didn't that idiot have the good sense to know his courage was misplaced? Even back then, Triple M. was a growing and powerful entity, one not to be trifled with. Sin knew this and was fully ready to accept the consequences of his decision in the senate, he was ready to die to make a point.
'You'd taught him a little too well, I suppose.'
Fuck you, Critic... don't you dare make light of his death...
'I'm not making light of it. You were always the one who said that ponies needed to have a backbone and fight for what they believe in, didn't you?'
But at the cost of his best friend? A pony who didn't have a malevolent or cruel bone in his body? To sacrifice a stallion who's existence made the world an objectively better place... was that... really what he wanted?
It must have been, it had to have been. When Gemini had come forth and threatened Zell's life if Sin didn't vote yay on the bill that would allow Triple M to use more lethal measures against immigrant Zeboricans, the oaken pony stuck by his values. Yea, Malich may have tried to help, and promised Sin that Zell wouldn't come to harm, but that was a lie... Malich let Zell die, just like Sin did, and the stallion would never forgive either of them for that.
"Islander?" He heard Scootaloo say. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, just, bad dream." He sighed and laid back down. "Get some sleep, kiddo."
Scootaloo shifted a bit. "Are you sure? You were whimpering an-"
"Yes!" Seethed Sin, forcing a pleasant and reassuring tone. "I'm fine, thank you, goodnight."
He heard the filly shift a little more, as if indecisive on if to adhere to his demand or not, but ultimately settled for an irritated groan and a few words about how she was "just trying to be nice".
Sin didn't want her to be "nice", he wanted her to be quiet. Almost a full months he'd been traveling with Scootaloo, and each and every night the night terrors grew worse and worse. It felt like he wasn't getting any sleep at all for the past three days. The Federalist had tried to request that the Nightmare to stop her infractions, but she could not. That it was just another price the stallion would need to pay for harboring her and using her powers.
Even the Kid wasn't able to do anything about them, well, he could, but trading terrifying nightmares of one sort for a good life that he knew he'd never have wasn't much better.
Sighing in reluctance, Sin closed his eyes and readied himself for the next nightmare, hoping his mind would ease enough to feel at least somewhat rested before they continued walking tomorrow.
Sombra sat in silence, watching the lone filly sentinel as she stood watch over his target.
Soarin lay beside him in the brush, sleeping soundly. Sombra worried about the boy. Perhaps it was just that the times had changed, but the alabaster pegasus had made it a purpose to avoid anything pleasurable in life. While in Carrotshire, Sombra indulged his urges for sexual release, charming a pair of mares into bed and having his way with them. The first was for himself, but the second was for his companion, and despite her flirtatious and suggestive advances, Soarin remained stoic and unyielding; if not a little disgusted.
Sombra shook his head. He understood why the stallion was so miserable, he did, and he knew Soarin felt genuine anger at himself for his actions. However, dwelling upon those mistakes in such a manner was almost as bad as making the mistakes themselves, at least when it came to living life.
It was disturbing to Sombra just how narrow and single minded his companion was. Even when they were at the small ravine for a few days, Soarin wouldn't tear his eyes off of the house unless he was sleeping. The pony was absolutely obsessed with catching the target and returning him. Though, at least he wasn't completely foolish either. They'd caught Sin alone many times, but each was when he was in broad day light and in too spacious of an area for them to take him down effectively or safely.
During thier travels, Sombra had been consulting Luna upon how to best deal with the foreigner known as Sinbad Islander. He was a dangerous foe, capable, resourceful, and well endowed with his abilities. Sombra knew them well: A crossbow able to fire two shots instead of one, a tactical and tenacious mind capable of combating multiple enemies stronger than he, including a full grown dragon, Anti-magical properties, yet able to use what his mistress described as unconventional magic intertwined with the power of the Nightmare. And most interesting of all, companions who sheltered him from an at will assault from the duo.
The latter was the primary problem, Soarin only prolonged his torture by constantly avoiding any and all tactics to separate the target from his companions, citing his fear of a hostage situation. He didn't want to take any risks, nor chances, yet constantly watched the group like a hawk. Sombra thought he could help by conjuring up one of his favored animals from years past, the fanged panther, to try and scare the target into pushing away the females and leave himself exposed.
He didn't have his crossbow on him at that time, and Sombra was hopeful. Yet that girl... the blue haired one, her song had set his summon to sleep somehow. Though, if nothing else, Sombra did learn that the target's fear inducing magic didn't affect his conjuring, not enough to yield it in fear anyways. Of course, that's why the fell king favored the beast so much, the fanged panther did not know fear, it only knew desire. Alas, that was it's ultimate undoing and ran the entire race to extinction, once a predator more mighty than they had come forth and the cat hadn't the good sense to avoid conflict.
Regardless, it did give the unicorn insight into his prey. The target was a threat, but the white pegasus with them had her own unconventional magics to account for. That was the thing about cutie marks, the latent power of what most called 'talents' weren't just skills of the mind, but of the subtle magicks of nature upon the equine being.
Sombra chuckled and shook his head, remembering a debate he'd had with Star Swirl the Bearded many years ago about the intrinsic nature of the Cutie Mark. Star Swirl believed that the marks were what gave non-unicorns magical properties, citing their very existence as evidence to this, while Sombra dismissed the principal as a simple coincidence and rite of passage.
Looking back on it now, the blackened unicorn figured that maybe the old bastard was onto something.
Digressing back to the point, the stallion sighed and turned to his younger companion. Soarin wasn't happy with his little summoning stunt at all. Sombra defended his actions, of course, but the pegasus was so consumed by holding to Luna's word that he wouldn't even hear of it.
As much as the fell king did admire and respect the wisdom of Luna, her mistake with the Nightmare had made her far too cautious in his opinion. Observing the three of them for as long as he had, Sombra deduced that the target held great affections for his companions and was honorable enough not to use the three as a means to shield himself from capture. His mistress and Soarin, however, were not of the same mind.
It was a pointless chase as far as the Crystal stallion was concerned. There was no reason he couldn't have just blinked in, grabbed the two females, and blinked out, leaving Sinbad by himself, ripe for capture. But no, no that would be... how do the kids say? Too easy?
Not that it really bothered him all that much, Sombra was happy enough as he was. Now that he'd finally gotten some sexual gratification from towns larger than small settlements, the fell king could allow himself to enjoy the countryside in which he dwelled. Even with Soarin's cold behavior he did make for an excellent tour guide and proved insightful, explaining all of the different contraptions and innovations that occurred during the former king's thousand year absence. Electricity, pluming, modern-day conveniences the unicorn dared not even dream of in his day, were suddenly reality, and he'd have had no idea how to acclimate were it not for pegasus stallion.
Unfortunately, brothels and the oldest profession was, for some reason, made illegal in this day and age, but fortunate for Sombra, his charms had not dulled with the times.
If projections from Soarin were correct, Sin and his associates were headed to a place called "Horse Shoe Bay". As much as Sombra was wanting to full fill his mistresses wishes, as well as end the melancholy of the pony next to him, a few days on the beach did have its appeals.
He turned back to the sleeping pony beside him and smiled. "Maybe a few days amongst the sand and water will do you well." He whispered, silently thankful for his conjuring's failure.