• Published 28th Sep 2013
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Scarred - TheGentlecoltAlex



What if the most notorious serial killer in nearly two thousand years hadn't wanted to commit any of what he had done?

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The Lesson of Death

Macintosh sat limp in the metal chair; his eyes cast down at the floor. Small trickles of spit mixed with blood ran from the corners of his mouth. A rubber mouth guard sat uncomfortably clenched between his teeth. It was the only thing that had prevented him from biting through his tongue and drowning in his own blood over the past torturous week. There was an empty feeling in his chest, and an equally empty look in his eyes.

Being forced to watch himself kill every single pony he’d ever loved in his life in countless violent and bloody manners was something that no pony would have been able to survive. But Big Macintosh Apple had survived. He didn’t know how, and he wished that he hadn’t, but he had. Maybe if he had collapsed then and there he could have escaped from this nightmarish existence that he had been thrust into.

He looked down at his legs and tried to remember what color his fur had been before this began. Oh yeah; red. The same color he had been seeing for the past week of his life. He fought to feel some modicum of emotion towards comparing the natural color of his fur to the blood he’d watch flow from his family, and he found hope in the fact that somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he felt revolted.

He heard the horrid screeching of metal as his cell door swung open again, but he refused to look up at the monstrosity that entered his prison. A blast of icy cold water splashing against his head woke him from his thoughts quickly. He sputtered and spat out his mouth guard, shaking the water from his jet black mane.

“Glad to see that you are still amongst us, slave.” The familiar voice snickered, “Tell me, how do you feel?”

Big Macintosh looked up into the burning eyes of his slaver and for once felt no fear. “Wet.” He replied flatly, and he watch Malsvir’s shadowy figure shift. He could’ve sworn he saw his mouth turn upwards in a bemused grin.

“The mere fact that you have the presence of mind left to respond at all is a good sign. Well done, servant, all others before you have died before reaching this point in their lessons.” Malsvir snapped his claws together and spat out “Nif”. Macintosh felt his restraints fall from his body and he stood before his master. “There is but one lesson for you to survive through before you shall be branded with your new name.” Malsvir said, a hint of eagerness prevalent in his rasping voice. “The Lesson of Death.”

Big Macintosh tensed, whether from fear, or from sick sense of excitement he wasn’t sure. He could only pray that it was the former. He watched Malsvir walk to the open door and gesture for him to follow. The broken stallion followed unquestioningly. The sounds of his own hooves hitting the floor echoing around the room were distant and unfamiliar to him. He had become all too accustomed to the sounds of his own mangled screaming.

Stepping cautiously beyond the door, Macintosh held a hoof over his eyes as the direct sunlight burned into his retinas, causing his eyes to dilate to pinpricks. Blinking away the discomfort he surveyed his surroundings carefully. Trees. He was surrounded by the vibrant greens and browns of life. The light that had assaulted him before was coming from a sunset that seemed to set the forest teeming with shadowy movement. But the thought of life dissipated from his mind as quickly as it had appeared when he saw what lay before him.

A peach colored mare with rosy hair lay on her back on the grass at his hooves. Dark bruises, and shallow cuts were littered across her body, one of her long legs bent at an angle legs were not designed to go. Her mouth was gagged, but he could still hear her muffled screams for help. She stared up at him with terrified hazel eyes, rivers of tears falling from them. She squirmed helplessly against the bonds holding her legs together and cried out in further pain as her broken leg strained against the thick rope.

Macintosh looked up at Malsvir and tried to show no emotion. “Who is this?”

Malsvir grinned an evil grin and gestured with a single claw, “This, my dear slave, is your final lesson.” He stepped over the helpless mare and kicked her ribs. “I want you to take this sniveling excuse for a pony and kill her.” Malsvir tossed a dagger over to Macintosh, which landed heavily at his feet, inches away from the quivering body before him. Big Macintosh picked up the blade and inspected it. Razor sharp. An instrument that could only ever be used to fulfill one purpose. “I want you to rip her heart out, and bathe in her blood. Then, once you have baptized yourself in the blessed crimson liquid, you shall be born anew as my servant.”

The ashen gray stallion looked down at the knife, then at the victim Malsvir had laid before him. He ears were pressed back against her head. Her head was shaking furiously, and there was an added fervor to her struggling against her bonds. He looked up at the misty form of his slaver and scowled.

“Fuck you.” He tossed the knife towards Malsvir and the dragon deflected it with a flick of his wrist. The eyes were burning ferociously now. An untamed fire was burning in his eyes now. Piercing through the very essence that surrounded his form with such fury that Macintosh had to use all of his will power to not be moved by the ferocity.

“YOU DARE TO DEFY MY ORDERS, WHELP?!!” Malsvir roared, and the force of anger staggered the large workhorse. The heat from his breath caused his eyes to water.

In an instant Malsvir had leapt over the pink mare and had a vice grip on Macintosh’s chin. The dragon shaman threw Macintosh back into the tree with unnatural strength, and his large body slid across the floor. Big Macintosh jumped to his hooves as the door slammed shut behind him, and he ran towards it, slamming the entirety of his body weight against the hard wood. He watched through the barred window on his door as the dark and twisting shadows moved to surround the terrified mare on the ground.

Mac watched as her body was lifted from the ground by one clawed hand, and another moved to rip the cloth from her mouth. “No, please stop, I haven’t…” her terrified pleas for her life were cut short by sharp teeth rending into the soft flesh of her neck. As blood sprayed out of the open wound Malsvir cast her body to the ground and tore into her chest and stomach his with claws. Mac shouted for him to stop, but his voice was drowned out by the wet squelches that came with each time Malsvir jammed his talons into her stomach again and again.

Eventually, the blunt fury of his actions died down and the dragon stood up, towering over the bloody pulp of a body he’d left on the ground. “You think this would be the worst of what would come from your defiance?” He asked, in a voice low and threatening. “I will show you the true wrath of the Shaman of the Hawi.” With that, he spread his bat-like wings and gave a mighty flap, sending him into the air; leaving a trail of black smoke in his wake.

Macintosh stared blankly at the body Malsvir had left on the forest floor. A pool of blackness surrounded it and he tore his eyes away. He couldn’t look at the consequences of his actions any further. He lay down on the floor and tried his best to keep from retching onto the floor once again. A sudden shrill whining filled his ears and he grabbed his head as the room spun and went dark around him.

He was outside. He could feel the wind brushing against his sides. He was walking through a path of trees. Except it felt wrong. His front hooves weren’t moving. In fact, they were at his sides while he walked out of the line of trees and towards a small grouping of houses.

Big Macintosh could see a couple of ponies, dressed in the armor of the National Guard, at the entrance to a gate as he walked steadily towards the settlement. He could feel a bloodlust surging deep within his chest and a wicked grin spread across his face. “You are in me, just as I am in you” something whispered in his ear and he knew what was happening. “You will watch the consequences of your disobedience, and will know that there is no room for hubris in my service.”

The two ponies were looking at the shadowy figure approaching them, so why didn’t they stop him? Macintosh wanted to shout for the two guards to run away. To sound an alarm and evacuate the town. But they only stared at Malsvir as he stepped by them into the town, even raising a clawed hand in greeting to one of them, who returned it with a short nod. “Don’t you see him?!” he wanted to shout, “Don’t you know a threat once you see one?!”

But he could only remain mute and watch in horror as Malsvir turned around and noiselessly pounced onto one of the unsuspecting guards. He could feel every inch of the sharp talon that quickly drew across the soft flesh of guard’s neck. The world seemed to move into slow motion, and he could see every individual drop of blood that flew from the severed jugular as Malsvir turned to jump onto the other guard, drawing a similar gash in his throat before he could make a sound. The two bodies twitched and convulsed on the hard earth while Malsvir stood over them.

The dragon shaman turned to face the rest of the town. Everything was dark and silent. No lights were on in any of the buildings. The only movement came from the flicking shadows surrounding the dragon’s form, and the gentle wind blowing around him. Malsvir broke the silence, calmly uttering “Origato ibafarshani engulf vur svent”.

The calmness that pervaded in the town was shattered in an instant as fire erupted from the ground surrounding the homes. The roaring flame surrounded the buildings, hungrily crawling up the sides of each buildings as Malsvir moved deeper into the town. Panicked screams and shouting suddenly darted through the night air, and doors burst open left and right as parents ran from the burning buildings, carrying crying fillies and colts.

One pony, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen years old, ran too close past the chuckling demon. Malsvir’s arm stretched out as quick as lightning and ripped into the running stallion’s leg, causing him to slam face first and skid across the ground with a cry of pain.

That was what set off the chain.

Malsvir leapt onto the pony who was struggling and tore into his stomach, ignoring the screams as his hands gripped into organs and tore them clean from the body. From there it turned into a macabre dance of death. Jumping from one screaming pony to the next while the town burned around them, alighting the spiders-web of blood that hung in the air. Mac lost count of the number of victims Malsvir slaughtered, as the feeling of shredded skins, and torn muscle became the only sensation left to him. “Do you not see what disobedience brings?!”he could hear, screaming in his head.

The images slowly faded away as Mac was forced back into his own body. He was standing in the middle of his cell, vomiting uncontrollably at what he had just witnessed. His throat burned as bile forced its way from his heaving stomach and onto the floor. His eyes watered from the pain. He could still feel the blood smeared across him; could still see the dead eyes of every victim that Malsvir had forced him to witness.

Macintosh collapsed onto his side, gasping for air as he lay on the wooden floor. How many had died because of him? How many stallions? How many mares? How many fillies and colts were dead because he had refused to kill only one? In that moment, Big Macintosh felt more broken than any other moment in the past week. These weren’t just hallucinations anymore; these were innocent ponies who were ripped apart.

Macintosh knew now that he couldn’t defy Malsvir again. He had born witness to the pure amount of devastation he could cause. There could be no more defiance. He had to serve the dark dragon in any manner that he wished. He couldn’t allow for this kind of slaughter to be repeated. He couldn’t allow his desire to resist his captor kill any more innocent ponies. He had to obey. For everypony’s sake.

The door to his cell slammed open and he leapt to his hooves in an instant, facing the dark presence. The mists that surrounded Malsvir were broiling and churning with animosity. Big Macintosh could see that he had a zebra gripped by the neck in one of his hands, and Malsvir threw it in Mac’s direction. He thudded to the floor with a grunt. Big Macintosh could see unparalleled fear in his eyes, as he lay shaking on the ground.

“Now, I will command you again. Kill this filthy creature. Tear his heart from his breast and bathe in his blood. This time if you do not comply, I shall find a much worse fate to befall you.” Malsvir threw the same dagger at Macintosh and it skittered to a stop at his hooves. The dragon placed a taloned foot onto the chest of his victim and watched with eager eyes.
Mac took up the knife and stared down at the zebra at his feet. A pair of brown eyes stared back up at him. “Please, I haven’t done anything to you. Please, I have a wife, and a little colt on the way. Please don’t take me from them.”

Big Macintosh closed his eyes and ignored the desperate pleading. He drowned all sound from his head until all he could hear was the sound of his own beating heart. He yelled, and swung the knife down with all the force he could muster.

Big Macintosh could feel the disgusting wet crunching as he shattered the breastplate and dug the lethal point of the knife into the chest of the zebra. He felt the splatter of blood splash across his eyes and waited until it was safe to open them. Blood streamed viscously from the around the knife and he could see the mouth opened, probably screaming in agony. He pulled the knife down, following the curve of his stomach.

He reached down and pulled open the breastplate and grabbed the still beating heart from its resting place. He ripped it from the body and watched as the poor zebra who had been unfortunate enough to have been caught gave one last shudder, and then moved no more. Macintosh took only a moment to think about how he never even knew the poor bastard’s name before he began to smear blood across his face. He rubbed the life giving liquid across this chest and neck, and all the while Malsvir watched, both patiently and eagerly.

“Well done, my servant. You have completed your final lesson and now may be branded with your new name.” Malsvir spat a small stream of fire onto a single claw until it glowed a bright red from the heat. Grabbing Macintosh’s head he twisted it to the side and began carving into his neck with the red-hot talon. “Forget your old life, for it no longer exists. Forget emotion, for you feel none. Forget you friends and family, for they may soon be next. And forget your old name, for as I brand this sign upon your flesh you are reborn with a new one.” The claw left Mac’s neck, the blistering skin forming into an ‘M’. “Now, I dub thee, Kamati di Malsvir, the Apprentice of Evil.”

Macintosh’s head fell, his shaggy mane covering his eyes, which were void of any emotion. Malsvir laughed his horrible screeching laugh, “Welcome to your new life.”