Something Left Buried

by Quarian

Something Left Buried

Something Left Buried

He had been dead for over a thousand years. That was the best estimate that he could come up with when he awoke.

After all, it’s hard to come to a precise conclusion when your organs have atrophied from centuries of immobility.

Still, if his rotting cortex could reach any conclusion, it was this; he had been dead for a while, sapped of energy and left to rot beneath the soil.

Before this… he couldn’t remember. Only now, only this moment; the spark of magical energy from the world above, the first twitch of his emaciated cadaver, the first ragged breath of stale air, the first scream of pain as his brain awoke.

He didn’t know why, who, what or where, but he did know how. How was he alive? Something above, something powerful, had just performed magic (Was he sure it was magic? What was magic? Why did he care?) that had awoken him from his death.

Awoken him to a room shrouded in darkness, on an obsidian throne. (How was he sure he was underground? How did he know this was a throne? Who was he?)

Questions fired off inside his cadaverous head, leading to more questions, which lead to questions upon questions, which lead to a handful of facts he was sure of.

He was male.

He was under the ground.

He had been dead for some time.

He was powered by magic.

He had lost something long ago.

Anything beyond that was naught but guesswork, which in his state was more than he could tolerate. So he closed the lids of his waxy eyes and went to sleep. (What was sleep? Was it like death? Did he need to sleep?)

It took several more years for him to grow stronger. Not an easy task when you’re regenerating from a millennia old corpse.

He had been drinking in the energy from the being above, siphoning the left over energy of their magic when they used it. Of course this was like trying to gain complete hydration from a raindrop, so his regeneration was happening slowly. (What was rain? Why did he know it? Why did he gain nourishment from magic instead of food and drink? What was food?)

The time spent regenerating had been focused on his mind, trying to awaken parts that had succumbed to decay to try and learn more about himself.

This has led to limited success, as all he could find were patchy thoughts and faded mental pictures. She of the Sun, She of the Moon, He of the Stars and He of the Crystals; they had been responsible for his current state. For why and what reason, he was unsure, but he knew he… he felt… there was a word missing from his mind. Something to describe the feeling in his coagulated veins, something lost to him that he hoped to regain in time.

Until then, he sat on his obsidian throne and gulped down every drop of magical energy he could sense and waited to learn more.

He had been staring into space when he felt it. (What was space?) Something familiar that he was missing, another piece to the puzzle that was him.

Without warning something burst through the ground above, a black force that moved and billowed like a fog bank (what was fog?), swirling around his throne.

Swirling around him, swirling through his skin, his veins, his heart, his mind.

Swirling, spinning, twisting, forming, setting, awakening within his mind. Coming to life and bring new thoughts, new theories.

New Hate.

Hate. HATE. HATE! That’s what was missing! Hate. He hated… Everything. He hated Death, He hated Rot, He hated waiting, He hated THEM!

… Who was Them?

The Sisters and their lackeys! He HATED them. Hated their meddling, their kindness, their rebellion and their conviction that they were right.
He remembered now, how they raised up against him and his army. (He had an army? Where were they?) How they faced him down, stole from him, drained him of his energies and left him to rot for over a thousand years.

He also remembered their names. Celestia, Luna, Starswirl, Glittering Gem. They had stolen his Hate. That had also stolen… His mind reeled, another black patch in his cortex. He was missing more than he had anticipated.

Still, he would find out in time. Until then, he had his hate and a thousand years of hating to catch up with.

Time went on and he continued to hate and regenerate from the energy from above. It seemed to be coming faster and stronger to him, coming in bursts and streams rather than drips and drops like before.

Because of this, his heart was finally pumping in his dusty rib cage. His arm and legs could move and his mind could hate with more clarity.

But even with all of his hate, he was still missing things. Things that would explain more about himself and the world above (had he ever been above? What was there?)

All that changed when something else crashed into the ground above. Something that filled his chamber with black crystals that glistened, even in the gloom that surrounded him.

The crystals continued to spread, covering the walls of his throne room, growing, sharpening, expanding, thrusting, piercing, driving into his chest, shattering the dusty ribs protecting his heart and impaling him.

But not killing him. Connecting him, merging with him, drawing every crystal in the room into his chest cavity, surrounding his heart. Becoming his heart. Yes, he remembered now. His heart of blackest stone, feeling no pity, no remorse, no guilt, nothing at all for his Tyranny.

His Tyranny.

He Remembered! His Empire of Sorrow, built on the backs of all of Equestrian kind. All that was before him kneeled in fear, all that resisted was crushed, all that he saw was His.

All but what the Sisters proclaimed was theirs. He had met their parents on the field of battle to make an example of them, to crush them and take their land for Himself. They had been stronger than anticipated though, able to match him spell for spell. An amazing fact, considering he had altered his being to be nothing but magic (Is that why he felt no hunger? No thirst?).

In the end, he had agreed to a stalemate, left the ponies to their fledging kingdom and returned to his boarders. To learn, to strengthen, to become… something more. What he became was lost to him but he remembers what he did with the power, turning the Sisters’ parents into nothing but vague concepts of reality.

Of course, this had earned him their ire, as they met him on the field of battle. He can’t quite remember the fight, but he remembers the end now, the four of them draining him of composite parts. She of the Sun stole his magic, leaving him powerless. She of the Moon stole his hate so that he would have no reason to wage war. He of the Crystals stole his tyranny, relinquishing the hold he had over his slaves. Finally, he of the Stars stole… he took…

Another block, the last one. The final fragment of his mind lost to the world above. Only time would tell if he could recapture that piece. He resettled into his obsidian throne and let his slowly reforming body rest. After all, he had much to think about.

The final piece of himself had not come like the others had, pieces of a missing jigsaw returning to fit back into the grand picture (what was a jigsaw?).

It had returned when a colossal burst of magic, stronger than he had ever known, completely regenerated him.

Gone was the weakness in his limbs, gone were the pained creaks in his bones, gone were the patches in his mind.

He knew all; what he was, who he was, what he was missing and where to find it.

He had been flesh and blood once, he had endured the cold and misery the Windigoes had inflicted on his village. He had watched as the three leaders had argued, postured and bickered amongst themselves instead of addressing the problem. He remembered rejecting their failing dominions for the pursuit of his own solution, the weeks spent reading, testing, experimenting, transforming, becoming something beyond equine kind. He wanted to be a saviour, their beacon of warmth against the freezing darkness.

He remembered the screams, the pointing of hooves, the realisation that he had been too late to be their champion.

He had been beaten by three ponies bonding over a camp fire.

What followed was a tidal wave of emotions and violent acts flowing from him; The Hate, the Anger, the Blood, the Death, the Chaos.

Chaos. That was the final part missing. Bonded to the fool Starswirl the Bearded so that he could not twist reality to his whim.

They had confronted him with an army of royal guards and Crystal ponies. He had an army of spiritually crushed slaves, monsters and demonic thoughts made flesh. He had expected an easy fight; they had given him a sound thrashing. The combination of relics known as the Elements of Harmony and the Crystal Heart had given hope to the slaves in his army, turning them against their master. It also turned his demons back into thoughts, making them vanish from existence. Finally, it reformed his monsters, making them feel compassion, love and happiness. Even though he did not eat, he retched at this thought.

He had retreated from the battlefield to Tartarus, hoping to recuperate and plan a new means of attack when they found him. They struck without warning, blasting him square in the chest with the Element of Harmony. It could not pierce his stone heart, but it left him disorientated, rendering him open to attack. They each pulled his mind and body apart, draining him of his might, reducing him to a husk and, as a final ironic punishment, left him entombed with his own monster army to act as his jailers.

He remembered it all now. His Hate boiled and bubbled within him, tempered by the cold logic of Tyranny. A thought formed of what he wanted, nay, needed to do next.

He would ascend from his earthen tomb, he would find that wretch Starswirl the Bearded, suck the Chaotic energies from his body (would he do it whilst he still lived or wait till he expired? Was he even alive after all this time?), tear the celestial sisters and their minions to shreds at the sub-atomic level with a thought and fulfil his manifest destiny that had started over a thousand years ago.

Across the twisted remnants of his face, Tirek smiled and from his Obsidian throne, planned his first move.

Author's Note:

Now comes the fun game of 'Spot which event occurs in the MLP time Line in this fic.'

More seriously, this story has been bouncing around in my brain case for a good month or so, was only after a few drinks that I decided "Let's go for it!" Any problems you might find with it or suggestions for improvements, don't hesitate to mention.

Finally, thank you for reading my first MLP fiction, it's been a while since I've done writing like thins, and I hope you enjoyed it.

Comments

[FakeScienceMonthly]

The story is visually interesting, and it's cool because Tirek's in it and Tirek is cool. But...

It's pretty uninteresting as a story. There aren't really and events in it and the descriptions alone aren't enough to drive it. It perhaps would be if you did more with Tirek's character, but he doesn't even know what's going on for the first 2/3 of the story. I guess it's good enough as a distraction, because it's short, but this is a story I will soon forget reading.

[Tetrominon]

You've got an A+ concept for a villain, here: the would-be savior turned maddened heretic, with an extra chip on their shoulder from having been psychically drawn and quartered then buried alive. It even fits in perfectly with the show's established lore, and the descriptions are also top-shelf. However, as FSM pointed out, it's not very satisfying as a one-shot. Who's waking him up? What happens now? You bring up these questions, lead them on a bit, then just toss them off a cliff. If you intended this to stand alone, you really should have handled those points better.

Also, and this may just be me, but I don't buy Tirek for the reveal at all; nothing about the origin you came up with really fits his character. If you ever expand on this idea, I really think you'd do better coming up with a new villain rather than shoehorning your story into an old one.

All that aside, whatever it turns out to be, please, do keep writing.