To Kill A God

by Darkswirl

Prologue

When I came into this world, the hive was but a few hungry mouths and frightened minds. Our kind had faced extinction from the chaotic beast, and lived to tell the tale.

Extinction would have been preferable.

My mother had done everything in her power to protect her children, once called Flutter Ponies. Over forty generations of our kind birthed and passed in a beautiful, lush valley, only to be destroyed along with our home; now a barren wasteland with nothing more but death and dust.

What the beast didn't take from us by force, we unwillingly gave through time. Our wings fell apart into sharp and menacing tools of flight, and our skin grew rough and dark, like an ugly insects'.

Holes formed throughout our bodies, and we lost our once beautiful manes; replaced with harsh, scaly ridges. Our horns grew jagged and rough, and our insides painfully twisted themselves around to fit our new, horrid form.

But the loss of our once beautiful bodies was the least of our concerns, we soon learned: Food turned to ash in our mouths; water evaporated on our tongues... We lost half of the rest of our kind, and faced extinction more so than ever.

It was by pure chance, as no gods would have waited so long to grace us, that we discovered what could sate our new hunger. Ponies we once traded with had wondered what had happened to the wonderful valley we had called our home, and what had befallen those who lived there.

What they discovered were monsters who fed off of emotion, love being the sweetest. We captured them and quickly drained them completely of their emotion, leaving nothing but husks with no purpose.

So we added to our ranks.

Some Flutter Pony magic still remained, and that was the Queen's ability to convert a being's body into that of a Flutter Pony's, much like Princess Luna and her bat ponies.

But our magic had corrupted. We could no longer transform a being we deemed worthy into what we once were.

All we created were monsters, like us.

Of course, I only know this all from the stories my mother used to tell me, before she succumbed to her pain and misery, and killed herself.

That was more than three thousand years ago.

Now, the hive is strong. We know what we can do, and how to do it. We know what we must do to survive, and so we live.

Comments

[Razzy]

Poor Cutelings.

Cya
Raziel-chan