For the Good of Equestria: The Alicorn War

by brokenimage321

Philia: The God of Madness

For a moment, all was still.

Then, with a mighty roar, the waters surged apart, and a massive, dripping globe of murky water lifted itself from the lakebed. Slowly, it hovered over to the nearby dry land, before it suddenly fell, spraying mud and water in all directions, and leaving pale crabs and sickly fish squirming on the grass. Philia stepped forward urgently, crunching one of them underhoof.

Philia was alone, by a small, swampy lake, fed by a sluggish stream. The clouds were gray and lowering, almost obscuring what was left of the towers of Canterlot, still on the mountaintop a few miles away. A chill wind blew, carrying with it the smells of age and decay. But Philia did not see the towers, or feel the cold, or smell the ruin. She was focused, totally and completely, on the object.

Philia reached up and frantically started to pull the lakeweed from the thing she had dredged from the bottom of the lake. Auntie had thought to hide it from prying eyes—But Philia was smarter than her. Philia had found it.

A clump of weed came free, revealing a stone carving of a fanged mouth. She paused, then stroked it gently; was it laughing? Or screaming in pain?

In the end, was there really a difference?

Philia pulled harder at the weeds. And, as she tore, the form began to take shape—a writhing, serpentine body, full of mismatched limbs and snarling teeth. The form she had seen in her dreams.

A statue of Discord, God of Chaos, God of Madness.

She sat back on her haunches, in the pile of mud and torn plant life, her chest heaving. Father’s library was not the best in the world—though it was a close race, to be sure—and every book she had found had spoken of this place. Of this thing—the last object he had been known to touch. Surely, there was a clue; surely, he had left upon this statue some spark of his being. Otherwise, the trail ran cold. Otherwise, she was lost. Otherwise, the Princess would never find her Dragon.

As she searched the stone, she felt her madness, always lingering at the edge of her consciousness, threaten to consume her. She gritted her teeth and tried to stave it off—but that only made it stronger. She had mere minutes before she became a raving lunatic again.

She inspected every inch of the statue—not a mark on it. As perfect as the day it was carved. And no messages from him either. She stepped back and lit her horn with a manic light, hissing and spitting as it flickered in and out of being. She gently probed the statue with her magic—and yelped as she jerked her head back.

Whatever the statue was, it was practically burning with magic—a pure, white magic, in swirling bars and cages—and, within, behind the locks, behind the barriers, she thought she could feel a roiling mass of blackness.

She grinned wickedly. So. There was a message after all—but Auntie had tried to lock it up. She might be smarter than her Aunt, but in a magical duel, she was drastically outclassed. She could not challenge her Aunt’s power directly.

But, perhaps she didn’t need to.

She lit her horn again, then closed her eyes, and, once again, she saw the pattern of the magic form in front of her—blinding-white bars, dancing in slow patterns, whirling chains spinning about, great, magical locks with no keyholes.

And, in between the bars—in between the chains—in between the locks—gaps. Where a Princess could, perhaps, worm through. Make contact with what lay beyond. She didn’t need to see everything it held, after all; she just needed a taste. That would be enough to set her path by. And she was sure she could slip through the bars and steal one.

She forced a little more power into her horn, and the light glowed a little stronger, a little steadier. She strained, and, in her mind’s eye—around, above, and behind the gibbering madness that threatened to consume it—she shot a tiny, crimson spark at the statue. It flew like a nervous insect—short little darts forward, anxious flits to the side, but always, always, moving forward. Past the locks—past the chains—past the bars—towards the black mass.

It hovered above the surface for just a moment, an anxious dragonfly--and, then, it plunged in—

A massive surge of magical power exploded from the blackness. Philia reeled back as her crimson spark became a burning sun, then shot back out at her, breaking the bars, bursting the chains, and shattering the locks. Even as the last of her mind succumbed, she felt the blackness surge outwards, consuming all. A deep bass laugh echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once, and the statue itself began to tremble. A mighty crack, and it crumbled—and, suddenly, the God of Madness himself stood before her.

Philia stared up, eyes wide. “Discord,” she gasped—and then speech left her completely. She began to babble nonsense, endless noise, and frantically walk in tight, mindless circles.

Discord ignored the raving pony at his feet. He stretched, and felt his back pop pleasantly; two-and-a-half centuries, give or take a decade, was a long time to be crammed into a statue. He worked through a couple more simple stretches, scratched himself, then turned—and saw that pony, still turning in her circle, still babbling.

“Thanks are in order, I suppose,” he said.

Philia looked up at him, eyes wide and trembling once more. “A down-a, a down-a,” she repeated. “Spirit of chaos, spirit of strife.”

“Ah,” he said casually. “You know me, then. That’s convenient, at least.” A flash of light—and suddenly he was wearing a bright, floral-pattern shirt, and holding a suitcase. “Now, if you’ll kindly point me in the direction of the nearest Sun Princess,” he snarled, “I must be off. I have business to attend to.”

Philia’s eyes grew wider, and her whole body began to tremble. “Wait!” she gasped. She had waited her whole life for this—and her emotions began to boil, almost pushing back her madness. She turned in her circle once or twice more. “Wait wait wait wait,” she repeated, as she continued to tremble, as sweat began to trickle down her face. Abruptly, she stopped—still trembling, still frantic—then turned to face away from him. She hiked up her tail, revealing herself to him. “Wait,” she repeated, urgently, pleadingly.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Discord let out a low whistle. “Are you really…?” he asked himself, faintly amused. “Well. At least this is more interesting than most offerings you mortals give me.” He glanced up at Philia’s face, looking back over her shoulder at him, sweat dripping for her forehead, eyes crazed, expression manic--then to her exposed backside, and back again.

“You know,” he said walking around her in a circle, “I think I will take you.”

She trembled a little more, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine, watching him carefully as he paced around to her front.

“Only,” he added, “perhaps not in the way you had in mind.”

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her by the skull. Her eyes rolled back as she went limp, her tail falling back into place, her back legs beginning to sag.

“Let’s see here,” Discord muttered to himself. “What toys do you have for me today…?”

Slowly, Philia fell into a sitting position. Dim gray light began to gather at the tip of her tail and the edges of her wings.

“Hm,” Discord continued to mutter, “Quite a bit of insanity—though that was to be expected, really—”

The light began to creep inwards; where it had gone, Philia’s hair and feathers had turned gray.

“But also anger,” Discord continued, “and sadness, and—ooh, way down at the bottom there, a little love. Dried up and crushed almost flat, of course, but it’s better than nothing.”

The light was now halfway up her tail and down her wings, and her hooves had began to glow.

“Let’s make this simple,” he said to himself. “Get rid of that love,” he said, and twitched one of his fingers. Philia convulsed. “That just gets in the way. And sadness, too”—another twitch, another convulsion—“You won’t be much use to me moping. And let’s bring your psychopathy and your cruelty to the fore”—twitch, convulsion—“might as well, while we’re getting out the cobwebs anyways. And let’s open up all that knowledge you have stored in that head of yours. Could be useful.”

The creeping light had accelerated. Philia was half-consumed by it already.

“And, of course,” he said, “let’s get rid of that madness of yours—though a little can be fun, a case such as yours is rather inconvenient, if I do say so myself…”

He tensed his entire claw, and Philia drew a painful, shuddering gasp. Discord released her, and she dropped to the ground, limp. The shining light, and the grayness behind it, raced up her neck and onto her head, then slowed as it gathered around the points where Discord had touched her. It lingered here for a moment, four isolated lavender spots still visible on her skull--then swallowed them whole.

Philia, her coat now a pale gray, lay still for a moment—then, her eyes fluttered open. Slowly, she stood, then looked up at Discord, her eyes clear, her gaze sharp.

“Philia, is it?” Discord asked. “Well, Philia—you work for me now.”

She bowed her head. “Indeed, Lord Discord,” she said, in a smooth, velvet voice. “I am happy to serve.”

“You should be,” he said with a smirk. “I assume you know what to do?”

She nodded. “Strike the joints,” she said. “Break their grip. Collapse their house of cards, and spread chaos in your name.”

“Good girl,” Discord muttered. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He leaned forward a little. “Do you job well,” he said, “and we’ll see what we can do about that reward.” He hesitated. “Your carnal reward.” He hesitated again. “Y’know, the… the sex thing.”

Her eyes flitted across his face, faint concern in her eyes. “I… understood, my Lord,” she said hesitantly.

Discord rolled his eyes. “Of course you did,” he muttered. “You’re smart, for your age…”

He turned and began to walk a circle around her again, inspecting his handiwork. He paused as his gaze flitted across her flank. “You don’t have your cutie mark,” he said in faint surprise.

She shook her head. “Insanity affords few opportunities for self-discovery,” she said simply.

Discord chuckled. “You’d be surprised,” he said. He looked into her eyes. “Would you like me to fix that for you?” he asked.

She bowed a little. “You may do with me as you please, Lord Discord,” she said.

“You’ve made that clear,” he muttered.

He reached out a finger, and a spark of purple flame ignited on its tip. He touched her flank, and a searing, almost-pleasurable pain shivered through her body. Discord dragged his fingertip across her skin, drawing an intricate pattern, as Philia let out a faint moan.

Finally, Discord stepped back, claw on his chin. “What do you think?” he asked. “I’m not much of an artist, but I think it’s a fair likeness.”

Philia looked at her own flank—at her new cutie mark. She examined it a moment, then smiled. “I like it,” she said simply.

“Good,” he said. He thought for a moment, then nodded. “While we’re on this whole self-reinvention kick,” he said, “you might as well think of changing your name. ‘Brotherly Love’ doesn’t really jive with the whole ‘agent of chaos’ shtick, after all…”

She shook her head firmly. “I have one more task I must do,” she said, “before I can shed that name.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have a target already? What did you have in mind?”

She bowed a little. “You have seen my mind, Lord Discord,” she said. “You know my secrets.”

Discord stared at her for a moment—then let out a little gurgle of pleasure. “Ooh,” he said. “Ooh. I like it. I’m keeping you.”

She bowed again. “I am glad you are pleased,” she said, “but you understand—I do this thing for myself, not for you.”

He smirked. “Those aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, you know,” he said. “At least, not in this case.” He looked up and nodded to the north. “Now,” he said, “get. You and I both have work to do.”

She bowed one more time. “I shall seek you out when I have completed this task,” she said.

He shook his head firmly. “Don’t call us,” he said. “We’ll call you.”

And with that, he vanished. Philia stared at the spot where he had stood for just a moment before a faint smile flitted across her lips. She turned to the north and spread her wings.

Author's Note:

FWIW, the Discording process in this chapter is based on an old headcanon of mine: that S2 Discord didn't flip the Mane 6's personalities--he dug into their subconciousnesses and found the parts of their personalities that they hated about themselves, and brought them to the fore. So, he emphasized Fluttershy's cruelty (seen in "The Best Night Ever" and "Putting Your Hoof Down"), Rarity's selfishness ("Sisterhooves Social"), Twilight's unfriendliness ("Friendship is Magic," "Amending Fences") and so on.

He's just being a little more hands-on this time around.

Original reddit thread, for those interested.

Comments

[michaelb958]

Oh.

Oh boy.