Part I
Hell’s Traitor
by Mystic
Part I
The sky burned. It roared ferociously, an inferno of wild magics and unstoppable power that filled the air with a storm of ash and embers. Great clouds burned, their shadowed bodies engulfed in licks of white-hot flame. Thick and poisonous smoke churned chaotically in the air. The alicorn stallion screamed to the heavens, his voice an agonised act of defiance in the face of his imminent defeat.
His armies lay wasted on the ground below him. The field was charred and blistered, littered with the dead, lying like the scattered playthings of a careless child. The city along the mountaintop beside him was burning, the once magnificent buildings crumbling into explosions of masonry and embers. He twirled in the air, his horn burning like the sky above him as he levitated his sword, black as the night and razor sharp, closer to his body.
The white alicorn fell upon him like a bird of prey, her spear radiating with a holy light. He raised his own weapon in an attempt to parry her blow. He stopped the blade, but the force of the blow was enough to almost knock him out of the sky.
“Thou art a fool, Aurvandil!” his opponent yelled, her voice booming so all present could hear. “Thou hast betrayed thy people, thy kingdom and thy family! And chief among thy crimes is thy wilful rejection of Harmony in favour of the darkness!”
Aurvandil flinched away from the disappointment clouding his princess’ fury. “No! You cannot take this from me!”
“Foal! Thou hast destroyed all dreams of thine own without my interference! Thou hast forsaken Harmony’s light; thou hast already seen to that!” She struck out again with her spear, pirouetting gracefully in the air as she channelled the power of the sun through her weapon.
Aurvandil reacted with barely enough time to spare. He flicked his blade up and felt the jarring impact of the spear slamming into it. Just as before, he was sent flying backwards, flapping his wings wildly in a desperate attempt to remain airborne.
He was much lower to the ground now, and he could still hear the sounds of fighting carrying up through the smoke-choked air. Concussive waves buffeted him as some of the larger magical explosions rippled past. Mammon was putting up a fight, by the sounds of things.
Aurvandil finally managed to right himself, flapping hard to maintain altitude. His horn felt like it was on fire, and he snarled to drive away the pain.
“And just as we have the other demons who curse harmony’s name, I shall cast thee to Tartarus!”
Aurvandil’s blood froze. “No!” he screamed, his throat already raw from shouting. “No!”
“Thou hast left me with no choice. For thy crimes, no other punishment is appropriate.”
“Kill me!” he screamed. “Kill me, you coward!”
The white alicorn looked at him with something akin to pity. “No, Aurvandil. Thou art not deserving of the Void, let alone the stars of the Golden Fields. Millennia in a hell of thy own creation is the only thing thou deservest.”
Aurvandil screamed again. He coated his body with tendrils of darkness, his eyes burning black, the once blue irises clouded in fury. He levitated his blade above his head, marshalling all his remaining strength.
“You shall not have me! I will not lie down in the face of your arrogance, you coward Queen.”
“I am not thy Queen, Aurvandil,” the princess said, watching with eyes burning white like the newborn sun. “I am no longer even thy Princess. Thou rejected my name the day thou betrayed my trust.”
Aurvandil cried out, throwing everything into one last desperate effort. “Die now!” With the speed of lightning, the alicorn erupted forward, using magic to augment his flight. He angled his sword toward the Princess’ body, channelling every fraction of his magic that he had left.
The white alicorn watched him, her head bowed as if a great weight were forcing it down. He almost didn’t hear her whisper, “So be it.”
Her shield pulsed once, a blinding white light that encased her completely. Aurvandil struck it with the force of a meteor, and his power shattered, defeated completely. His horn flickered and went dark, and his sword fell from his magical grip, broken into three pieces. He fell with it, his wings broken and useless, his flesh still burning. The colour vanished from his vision, blurring into a veil of welcome darkness.
But he would not be granted his release. Filling every space left in the sky that was not burning, the rainbow light grew and grew, twirling around her in streamers of youthful exuberance. She was surrounded now by five other winged shapes, and they all stared down at him with faces that judged.
He tried to whisper up at them, but he did not have the strength to speak.
With a blinding flash, the rainbow light raced toward him, enveloping him, covering him. Aurvandil tried to scream once more, a silent cry lost in air.
The last thing he saw of the surface was her face, filled with pity and remorse.
I flew down through the wall of smoke and red haze on darkened wings. The air was scalding, hissing like a nest of angry snakes as the sky baked itself into an inferno.
The world stretched out beneath me. The ground was a sickening red-wash of cracked and blistered earth, crags of obsidian looking like deformed tumours. Here there was no sky. There were only burning clouds of sulphur and ash, obscuring the prison roof that was certain to lie just above.
Shoots of flame spat forth from cracks in the ground. A volcano rumbled, expelling more ash into the air. Shallow pits that were scratched over the ground like scars crisscrossed the land, filled with fires burning with the souls of the damned.
But that was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the sounds. The air was filled with the most hideous yells and screams, cries in pain, laughter, agony and delight. Metallic shrieks lingered like wraith calls. The rock itself groaned as the fire within heaved and bubbled.
This was Tartarus, the bottom of the seventh level, a place forgotten about by all of the surface walkers. This was my prison.
I banked a little to the right, the ash, smoke and general filth not even close to affecting me now. As I descended, the sounds became louder, rising up from the camp beneath me, now no longer dampened by the clouds of haze.
The sprawl of tents stretched out as far as the eye could see to the north and east. Constructions of matted leather, stitched together from the rotting hides of every species known on the earth, and bone lay in a haphazard mess. Narrow and cramped rows had clearly been attempted, only to have been abandoned in favour of a system where the strongest got their pick of the rubble strewn land, the weaker being left to whatever they could find afterwards.
It was a system that I couldn’t care less about. They were my army, and they were ready to move at a moment’s notice. They had been ready for years now. Monsters from the darkest nightmares of the surface world stalked the tents, twisted orcs, corrupted monsters, demons, wraiths, shades, gargoyles and even more creatures whose names had long since slipped from use. Near the mountain I could see the looming shapes of black dragons, their burning eyes staring at me as I flew.
I made my final descent, landing in front of a tower constructed out of chipped black obsidian, made of curving lines where each point was sharpened at the end. Its name was Darkolith, I think, but I wasn’t sure. It had faded into the depths of my memory, lost in amongst millennia of memories that lingered like smoke.
A narrow path of ash led up to the structure, lined on both sides by the low-lying tents, fires burning in front of them, the smoke coiling frantically in the air like it had a mind of its own.
Like a child, an orc stumbled into my path the second before I stepped forward. He jerked, trying to move out of my way, but he slipped on the ash, pushing against me as he fell. My wings flared up, smashing him to ground, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
He rolled over awkwardly, picking himself up, holding a three tailed whip in front of his face as protection. “My lord! I didn’t see you, my Prince. Please, my Lord! I am sorry.”
I exhaled loudly, making a show of attempting to look calm. “You didn’t see me?” I said slowly.
“No my Lord, I didn’t see...” He stopped, looking past his whip and at me with wide eyes, terror clearly painted on his twisted face.
He was trying to protect his head, but it was no matter. I simply went for his stomach.
On the outside, it looked as if nothing happened, but the orc grunted as he doubled over, suddenly holding his gut as if trying to prevent it from exploding. To be fair, his silence was to his credit – that was no small amount of fire. He twitched once, twice, and then stopped moving altogether. A little red light began to flicker around his body, moving erratically, lost and confused. It was his soul. Even down here, death was no release.
It was only then that I looked beyond his corpse. There, shivering as if they were caught in a blizzard, was a line of ponies. They looked at me with eyes as wide as dinner plates, their once-bright coats filthy and matted, covered in lacerations, sores and bruises. The oldest could not have had his cutie mark for more than a year. What it had been, however, was a mystery to me, for it was gone now, replaced by a poorly healing gash, the flesh putrid and sickly. The mark of the shadow and cold had been placed there instead, the circle with the single line cutting it in half. One of the ponies was crying now.
These ponies were new, dragged down as the spoils of raids made against the surface in the past few weeks. It was part of His plan, to draw the enemy’s greatest weapon out before they could respond to the shadow building in the depths of the world. A plan that was mere hours away from completion. But now these slaves were trapped down here, imprisoned with the dark things of the universe until their bodies gave way, after which their souls would then endure for all eternity.
Without saying a word, another orc moved into place, the whip in his hand in a flash. He cracked it once, and the ponies started to move, shuffling forward on chained hooves. He would be leading them to the forges. They stared at me with naked terror, and I glared at them to force them to look away.
I knew why they looked. I knew that when they looked at me, they saw their precious Princesses, only twisted and corrupted. I took comfort in the knowledge that soon all ponydom would look at me in exactly the same way.
I walked forward, caring little for the screams so thick and desperate that you could almost feel them rattle your bones. The steps leading to the tower were warped, the rock shining like blistered glass. I ascended them carefully, placing my armoured hooves with purpose.
At the top of the stairs was a metal door the colour of blood that shuddered open after a brief thought. The corridor was lit with a mixture of blue, green and red lights, all of which emanated from torches set on brackets on the angled walls: soul lamps. If you looked close enough, you could see the ghostly flickers of faces dancing in the flame. And if you listened hard enough, you could hear their screams. I had stopped listening a long time ago.
It did not take long for me to ascend the winding staircases and narrow passageways. I encountered nothing on my trip up; this tower was usually empty.
At the tower’s summit, another blood-red door awaited me. To my surprise, this one was open already, soul-light pouring out into the corridor I stood in.
“Oh Aurvandil,” said a sickly-sweet voice, dark and hissing. “You take far too long.”
I walked into the room, my face settling into a dark scowl at the lack of respect. “Skelleitzor,” I said shortly. I was a little surprised; I hadn’t seen the demon in almost a century.
The grotesque shape sitting in my chair turned to look at me. Five eyes blinked from the middle of a misshapen head, more like a goblin’s or orc’s than a pony’s. The body itself was black and bulbous with six legs, thick and broad at the top and thin with pointed hooves at the bottom like a minotaurs. It was blatantly apparent that this… thing would not be able to stand.
I looked at him for a moment, letting him see my disgust. “What are you now?”
The thing with five eyes laughed, though it had no mouth that I could see. “I am not quite sure. I saw something just like it dying down in the Workshop’s waste pits. I quite like it, don’t you?”
“It’s vile.”
“Now, now. Don’t be cruel. You wound me.” Suddenly, the creature melted, turning into a pool of darkness that writhed on the ground. It shifted, coiling up like smoke, forming a long body with spindly legs and arms. The shadow coalesced, and I was left standing in front of a shadow wraith, its elongated claws and fangs dripping with mucus. “Better?”
“Hardly. But at least now you have a mouth as well as eyes.”
“Oh, do we find it disconcerting? Is being anatomically correct that important?” His mouth shifted, turning into a vertical line while his two eyes moved to either side of the gaping maw. “One would think that you would have long since accepted that not everything looks… natural down here, unlike yourself.”
And that was where I decided I had had enough the demon’s sarcasm. My eyes flashed dangerously, and I let black sparks sizzle along the length of my horn. “What do you want, Skelleitzor?”
Skelleitzor’s face righted itself and he smiled, an expression that would have broken even the most stalwart of ponies. “Calm yourself. I simply want information.”
I stared at him, my expression speaking death. “What about? Do you not hear anything, oh shapeless monster?” I knew he shouldn’t be asking for information. He wasn’t anything important down here, but he was old, so impossibly old. He was ancient back when I was first sealed away several millennia ago, and he would probably continue to exist long after the earth crumbled to ash. If there was anyone I was likely to divulge information to, it was him.
“I hear whispers, oh Prince of Darkness, whispers that say we are days away from breaking the final seal.”
I’m not sure why I was surprised that someone like Skelleitzor has heard that. “Whispers?” I snorted. “They are much louder than whispers. The wheels are turning; the gears of the machine are already screaming as we move them into place.”
“How soon?”
I smiled coldly. “A day after tomorrow. Maybe a day later.”
Skelleitzor at least had the decency to look impressed. “So soon?”
“Not a day too late.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose not.” He waved a claw. “What of the surface? Surely they have received word by now what your plan entails for them? The raids should have been warning enough, but it appears the Sun Queen has grown particularly fat and lazy in the last several thousand years.” He sat back down, his spindly limbs far too long to do so properly. “Honestly, no one tells me anything anymore.”
“They have known for sometime that something stirs. But they are far too complacent in their peace and their misplaced belief in their wards and gates.” I paused. “And weren’t you sleeping in the Baal crypts?”
“I was too… That’s why I’m so hungry… Where is that imp?” He shook his head, almost as if to clear it. “Ah yes. Another rumour. He has grown brave indeed if he thinks He can strike so publicly at such important weapons of the enemy before the Gate is down.”
“It was the only way. We will not be having a repeat of last time.”
“Because failure is never quite so bitter the second time round, is it?”
My eyes darkened. “Watch your tongue, wraith.”
“Am I a wraith?” He thought for a moment, looking genuinely interested. “Hmm. I don’t think so. It’s been a very long time since I remembered exactly what I was…” He shook his head. “It is no matter. It is interesting, though, Aurvandil; the Sun Queen will be waiting for you. Not only that, her sister is there now too. Apparently He was too slow by about a couple of years. A shame. They will be waiting for you with the vengeance of Him Himself, you know. Especially when they see you leading His armies for the second time. A tactical error, if you ask me.”
After he spoke, I laughed, a bitter and cruel sound that echoed in the small room. “Oh Skelleitzor. The Princess is weaker than a foal. Her power has dwindled, a candle compared to the flame it once was. There is nothing to stop me.”
To my surprise, Skelleitzor smirked. “Ponies do not change, it seems. Even mockeries such as yourself.”
“Your point?” I asked, genuinely confused and trying to not let it show.
“The Midnight one,” he replied as if in explanation.
I glared at him. “She will burn like the rest. Or perhaps I shall cut off her horn and make her my Queen.”
Skelleitzor laughed. “Of course, little Prince. At least you don’t have to pretend with the Sun Queen.”
“I have nothing to pretend.”
Skelleitzor got up, moving around the room, his red eyes never leaving mine. “With the Sun Queen there is fire, isn’t that right, Aurvandil?” His body started to shift, melting away only to begin to form the shape of a pony. Wings and a horn sprouted, looking ominously familiar.
And then his coat turned white. Red hot fury bit at the back of my mouth, burning and leaving a metallic taste that made me want to spit. I looked away from the shapeshifter, staring at the thick, warped planes of glass the colour of dried blood. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Isn’t that right, oh Prince of Darkness? At least with her there is reason for your hatred. Revenge is a sweet desire, is she not? I should know. I’ve met her.” He circled me, his mimic coat infuriating in its perfection. The mane was the same ethereal mist. My mane had once looked like that. A glance out of the corner of my vision showed me that at least he couldn’t get the eyes right. They were still burning red slits.
“You could cut out my heart right now!” he continued, growing frantic as he danced around. “Come now, little Prince!”
“Shut your mouth, Skelleitzor,” I growled, my voice shaking. My horn was already starting to burn. My sword, Acchreon, was already beginning to form next to me.
Skelleitzor began to laugh, still circling me. “Ahh! The little Princeling doesn’t like the memories, does he? What if I called you a traitor? Would that change your mind?”
I shook, my whole body feeling like it was going to explode. I couldn’t see. I could only feel the hate.
“A little traitor about to lead the armies of Tartarus against the same Queen and her sister he worshiped for centuries. Oh what fun! A story worthy to tell for all the little foals on the surface. The Traitor of Hell!”
I snapped. Acchreon hissed through the air, the black longsword encased in my grey magic. The shapeshifter didn’t even blink as my blade removed his head in one stroke, after which it rolled around on the floor, still laughing. A fresh coat of crimson painted the walls, running down to pool thickly on the floor.
“Oh little traitor!” the head exclaimed, cackling loudly. “A nerve, I see? Over two thousand years later and you still can’t control your temper.”
I glared at the severed head, its lips grinning spitefully at me when he finished talking. “Watch your tongue, demon, or I shall silence it eternally by banishing it to the void!” I pressed my blade against his mouth.
The head melted into a pool of shadow, leaving the blood behind. Before I knew it, Skelleitzor was back in his wraith form, grinning at me again. “Oh Aurvandil, don’t tempt me.”
There was a knock on the door. I turned abruptly to see an imp waiting, his scrunched-up face glistening with apprehension. I looked to Skelleitzor, confused. The demon, however, looked very happy.
“Come in,” he crooned, much in the same fashion he did to me. “I will not be a moment.”
“Your imp?” I asked as the little creature fluttered over to the table, wringing his hands together, looking between us with nervous eyes.
“Hmm. Yes. But I am forgetting my place… Yes! That’s right! You threatening to send me to the void! Oh Aurvandil. You’re such a tease. To think, next you’ll be threatening to send me to the Golden Fields were I can see the stars with all the nice ponies!”
My anger began to creep back in, burning along my veins, leaving my vision red and raw like a freshly opened wound. “It would be easy. The void, that is.” I didn’t think about the Golden Fields with its sunlight and perfect stars.
“I don’t doubt it,” Skelleitzor said, not looking at me but rather at the imp. “But you don’t have the compassion, Aurvandil. You wouldn’t free me from this place by killing me when you could leave me to suffer.”
I glared at him out of the corner of my eye.
“But me,” Skelleitzor said slowly, continuing, “I am a merciful demon.” With a black flash, his claw snaked out and grabbed the imp, bringing it to his salivating maw as the creature writhed and shrieked. The demon leaned down and whispered softly to it like a mother to a child, “Isn’t that right? I am going to set you free…”
Skelleitzor was many things, and there was a great deal more which he was not, but he was certainly a fast eater. The bright red light of the imp’s soul flickered before vanishing from sight, fading away even from Tartarus, not left trapped here like everything else.
“Better?” I asked sarcastically.
The demon smirked, licking his fangs clean, not a trace of the imp left. “Much. I forget how long it was since I ate anything at all.”
An eldritch shriek shook the earth, echoing from down the tower’s base. I recognised that sound, and apparently so did Skelleitzor.
“Hmm. Beelzebub is here. Now that’s a surprise.”
“Not particularly,” I said, more to myself than him.
“Oh now, is there a hint of anger I hear there?”
“You would do well to leave, Skelleitzor. Beelzebub would not take kindly to your presence.”
The demon sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Well, thank you for the chat, Aurvandil! I quite enjoyed it!”
I grunted in acknowledgement.
“Ah well. Good luck with the coming war. I expect to see Celestia’s horn around your neck by the end of the week. By His name I am looking forward to seeing the sky again…”
And with that, he disappeared, dissolving into a pool of shadow before whisking away down the open door.
I sighed, letting Acchreon fade away back into the nether. My weapon existed almost purely within my magic, a blade crafted thousands of years ago on the surface from star-metal. It had been reforged here in Tartarus after I had fallen, now imbued with dark magics. All of the greater demons had similar weapons, though theirs were all made from hell-steel instead.
I thought about removing Skelleitzor’s blood but found I couldn’t be bothered. Let the Demon Prince make of it what he will.
It was not long before his heavy hoofsteps could be heard making their way up the narrow obsidian corridors. I waited patiently, collecting my thoughts before he arrived.
The first thing I noticed about Beelzebub was the smell. The smell of his rotting flesh was stuck perpetually in a way that never started to smell less, and it was not something I had grown used to even over the millennia I had known him. Flies followed him wherever he went, their constant droning eating away at the sanity of anything in the vicinity.
He walked into the room with his face locked in a grimace, his body sagging under the weight of its own dead flesh. His horn was cracked and deformed, twisting jaggedly as it rose from his putrid forehead, almost as long as mine. His eyes surveyed the room coldly, white pupils and irises that were devoid of even a hint of pity or empathy. His eyes were completely lifeless.
It was easy to believe Beelzebub weak and slow. Doing so would be one of the greatest mistakes something could make, no matter their station. I had seen him fight Celestia herself and almost win; the Sun Princess had to summon the might of her namesake before Beelzebub had finally retreated, missing the majority of his body in the process. There was a reason the demon prince was one of His finest.
“Aurvandil,” he breathed, his voice deep and wet, a forced whisper that carried far more than it should. It resonated, the walls snatching it out of the air and carrying it around the room, echoing.
I suppressed a shiver. “Beelzebub. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He hissed. For centuries we had fought this argument. Pleasantries were reserved for Him and Him only. Formality was an alicorn creation, and not something that he ascribed to. I, however, took great pleasure in his disgust. I was who I was, after all.
“Little Prince,” he rasped, his voice dripping with mockery. “I am waiting for His call. Gothgor should be back within the hour.”
That got my attention. My insides churned at the thought, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. “Already?”
The demon nodded, his blank eyes locked somewhere behind me. “Yes.”
We both fell silent. We both knew just how important this was. The army outside the door was nothing, a useless collection of nightmares if the mission Beelzebub spoke of was a failure.
I shifted on the spot. Beelzebub was as still as a statue.
Eventually, the rotting pile of flesh spoke. “He is looking to you, Aurvandil. You would do well not to let him down this time.”
I bit back my retort that it was not me who failed last time. In fact, I was the most successful part of last time. But that would end me in more pain that I cared to admit. “I shall see to it. The gates shall open, the wards shall fall and the surface shall burn.”
Beelzebub rumbled. His throat made a wet squelching sound. “Good. We have spent almost two thousand years making this happen. I will not let you destroy our chance, traitor.”
I looked at him harshly, my wings flaring open. “Watch your tongue.” Beelzebub was strong, but not invincible. Two thousand years had done incredible things to my power, while the same could not be necessarily said for him.
He shifted his head, his white eyes definitely locked onto mine now. “Don’t fail him.”
“I won’t,” I said. “The sun will fall and the world will burn, and what was promised to me shall be mine.”
“If you earn it.”
“You will be hard pressed to do better than myself, demon. Why else am I leading His armies? Why else am I the one charged with her death? Not you.”
Beelzebub growled, his horn hissing with black magic. “Don’t tempt me, traitor. You are an infant compared to me, do not forget it.”
“And I am His finest. The burning jewel in His dark crown.”
Before I knew it, Beelzebub was an inch from my face, his hot breath suffocating me with its putrid stench. “Watch yourself,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I was casting the angels down from the heavens before you were born. I was fighting enemies with twice the power of the Sun Queen before there was light in the world.”
I held my ground. “And you were defeated, every, single, time.”
To my surprise, Beelzebub simply snorted, though he did not move away. He leaned forward, past my face to whisper into my ear. “Remember, little Prince… I have made you scream…”
His horn shone black for a second and I bit my tongue to stop from flinching. A multitude of burning lines spread across my body, scars left the very same horn. He waited for a reaction, but upon receiving none, he stepped away, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. The scars stopped burning, and I glared at him, letting every drop of my malice show upon my face.
“It’s a beautiful thing,” he whispered. “So much pain. So much… fear. Ponies do not change, little Prince. You are still as weak as you ever were.”
Before I could respond, the light vanished from the world. The temperature froze, the air hissing as the stone walls constricted and cracked around us. I snorted in pain, and I heard Beelzebub do the same. The blood still left on the floor froze instantly.
And then, just as quickly as the change had happened, it vanished, the soul lamps flickering back to life, the temperature rising back to its normal sweltering heat.
I looked to Beelzebub and he exhaled, the breath hissing between his rotted teeth. “It is time,” he said.
I nodded, my stomach suddenly back to a writhing nest of snakes, biting and spiting with nerves. Centuries. Centuries of magic, work and patience. It all rested upon the success of one group of the lesser monsters of hell.
Tartarus had not been cast into the void with His displeasure, though, so I allowed myself to have some hope.
“Let us go then,” I replied.
He nodded, and we left the room.
The cave was lit by a cluster of black candles spluttering silently around the stone altar. Dark shadows danced along the walls, glistening with fresh blood. A shape moved around the room, circling the altar with slow, deliberate hoofsteps.
“Little Prince…” he whispered to the body tied down with twisting strands of black magic. “Can you hear me, little Prince?”
The alicorn nodded, his vision blurred with pain and a cloud of magical induced sleep. “I hear you.”
“Good,” the shape crooned. “Can you see me?”
The dark alicorn tried to shake his head but found it tied down. “No.”
“As it should be.” The shadow creature turned, his flesh already starting to show the first signs of rot under the candle light. The flies were already lingering around his body. “Now tell me little, Prince, can you feel me?”
The alicorn screamed. Fire. Pain. White hot agony that hissed and bit and stung. He screamed until he could scream no more and then he writhed on the stone altar instead, bound down by the same magic inflicting the pain.
It was only after he fell silent that the pain went away. He couldn’t feel his body. It was numb, completely lost to him. He held back a sob.
“Good. Tell me, little Prince, want do you want more than anything?”
The alicorn tried to speak, but his throat simply burned. The creature’s horn flashed, and he found he could speak again, his throat mending itself just enough. He shuddered to think what his body looked like. “I want… what was… promised to me…”
“What was promised to you…” the shape repeated gently. “And what was that?”
“My responsibility. My power, my position.”
“The city of Galathadros? The crown of the dead High King? The keys to Valaiya itself? Or do you want something more: the rule over The Golden Fields? The complete mastery of time? Tell me, little Prince, for I am kind and able to give many treasures.”
“I want what was promised to me. I want the rule of the golden city, and the respect of its ponies. I want to sit upon the council as an equal, respected. And I want her...”
The shape clicked his tongue. “Ah, of course. I can give you some of what you desire, but not all.”
“Only some?”
The creature smiled. “Only some. But you should be very pleased, for I can give you some and then so much more.”
“More?”
The shape resumed his circling, his eyes never leaving his charge. “Tell me, little Prince, do you want to live forever?”
The alicorn frowned. “But I already live forever.”
“You do not live forever. You endure. There is a difference.”
The alicorn thought for a moment. “Then… how do I live forever?”
The shape leaned down, whispering into the alicorn’s ear. “By grasping the power I can offer you. Would you like that, little Prince? Would you like to be able to create a new sun and move the stars? Would you like to rule the earth, respected and feared by everything that breathes upon this world?”
There was a silence, and then the alicorn nodded.
The shape’s lips curled upwards in a snarl of pleasure. “See? I can make you live forever. Not just endure in the shadows of those you call your greater. Would you like that?”
The alicorn nodded again, this time with more purpose. “What would you have me do?”
The creature’s whole body shook in silent laughter. When it spoke, however, its voice was the same collected hiss. “Simple, little Prince… all you have to do is open the gate…”
“Open the gates?”
“Open them wide as soon as the sun touches the sky. Can you do that?”
“And you… you can make me live forever?”
The creature leaned in, placing his lips against the alicorn’s ear. He smiled. “That I can, little Prince. That I can.”
Aurvandil woke with a short gasp, his body drenched in sweat, the sheets made from Dramad silk bunched in a tight ball near the bottom of his bed. The air was cool, and it kissed his skin softly as breeze worked its way in through the open window.
Just a dream, the alicorn stallion told himself. It was just a dream.
He looked over at the window, a buzzing sound causing him to frown. He watched as a small swarm of flies left his room, vanishing into the murky depths of the night.
Slipping onto his soundless hooves, Aurvandil walked from his bed and to the window. He took a deep breath, trying to see where the flies had gone.
Nothing. He could see nothing.
Nothing except for the gates to Valaiya, mighty doors of star-metal forged from the fires of the sun itself, set into a wall of stone over a hundred feet high. They were illuminated by a shaft of light not coming from the moon, not coming from any source Aurvandil could see at all, sickly and ghost like.
Aurvandil stared at the gates, his heart pounding in his chest.
I can make you live forever…
The flight to His fortress of Duvundur from Darkolith was short. His tower dominated the seventh level of Hell, a monstrosity of obsidian, tempered glass and hell-steel, Tartarus’ equivalent to the star-metal used by the alicorns so very long ago. Great spikes rose off it like the spines of a dragon, running along the edges. Their keen points glinted in the light of several hellish green glows, burning in little alcoves cut into the walls: soul lamps created by immortal alicorn souls. At its top was a great crown of spikes, piercing the sulphur clouds above.
Lightning arced through the air as I flew, the thunder’s roars becoming lost amongst the wall of sound that was always present here. A city surrounded Duvundur, black towers and temples all constructed in a mimicry of His own, all made to worship His name. Daemons who lived in the shadows whispered His words over and over in those darkened halls, cursing Harmony and the light of the sun and the moon.
I knew Beelzebub was somewhere behind me. The demon couldn’t fly on his own, or at least not without an incredible expenditure of power, so he flew on the backs of great dragon hybrids, crossed with birds of prey long since extinct from the surface world. Even with his mount, he was no match for my speed.
I landed on a platform on the highest level, the sky crackling with dark lightning and torn to pieces by a mighty wind. The balcony doors swung open after a thought, my horn not even needing to glow. I strode in, immediately surrounded by lesser demons, their horrific bodies all shapes and sizes, their hooves making different sounds as they walked on the polished floors.
“Oh exulted Prince of Darkness,” they said, bowing before me. “He the Most High awaits you, Your Majesty. The darkness awaits us all!”
I ignored their whispers, all praising my name and His, and walked past, going deeper into the corridor. Beelzebub would have to catch up. I knew I would be first to His throne room. I always had been first, especially back in the early days when I had been eager to please Him. Now I knew better; there were other ways I had to prove my loyalty.
The hallway was wide and well-lit, the shadows clinging desperately to the darkest recesses of the walls. Some of them moved, slithering up the cracks out of their own free will, all trying to find a darker home. The floors were polished obsidian, veins of grey diamond magically laced throughout. The walls and arched roof were made of hell-steel and flanged with more dark spines.
The whole thing had been built by Him Himself, right after the dawn of time when He and His brothers still had physical forms, back when they could still fight the alicorns and Harmony’s light.
He was the only one left now. His two brothers had long since been cast into the void, and now He was chained without form or movement, locked in His high tower of darkness.
Yet even then, even without body or movement, He was still the most powerful thing in existence. We all knew it. We all feared it. The surface would do well to bless their protector’s names for suffering so they do not have to. The creatures and monsters they encounter are nothing compared to Him. Even locked away, we know what carries on above thanks to His eye.
I turned a corner, only to be met with a closed double door of blood red metal, two snarling demons of stone standing guard motionless on either side. His mark adorned the frame on the top. Two eyes looked at me from the door’s centre, slits of black that followed my every move.
A voice whispered at me, “He has been expecting you, Prince of Darkness.”
“The summons has been received. My presence is accounted for.” The guard was Xastulis, a watcher of Him for longer than the sun has been in the sky. He fought in the darkness next to Him, and he was by his side when He fell. I had seen him slay a greater demon with nothing more than a thought when the abomination lost himself upon hearing His voice, tearing at his face with his claws, attacking anything that drew near. Nothing got past without Xastulis’ permission.
“Yesss,” the voice hissed. “You may enter.”
The mighty doors swung outwards, revealing a chamber as dark as the void itself beyond. With a nod of my head I strode forward, walking into the shadow without a word.
The doors shut behind me with a shudder. At first I could not see a thing, His presence banishing all light even from this plane, removed as it was from reality. The air cracked as I exhaled, any moisture freezing the second it left the shelter of my mouth. I refused to shiver, even despite the cold gnawing away at my outer extremities. I could survive worse.
But the worst thing about the chamber was His presence. It burned at me like a fire pressed up against my flesh. It was oppressive for it was everywhere in the hall. It filled up every possible space, saturating the room to where the walls themselves screamed in protest. These walls had been screaming for thousands of years now. If you listened carefully enough, you could hear the whine they made, a low frequency that ate away at the sanity of any unfortunate enough to hear it.
To my surprise, however, He was completely silent, choosing to ignore my presence for the time being. So I waited, ignoring the grinding presence of Him and the freezing cold.
It was not long before the doors swung open again. Light flooded in, briefly illuminating the stained walls, covered in symbols and pictures and artifacts of His past.
Beelzebub was the first to enter, followed quickly by Dracire, an orc captain, Cyricus, the demon spider, and Abbaddan, a demon in a body that vaguely resembled a pegasus’. His wings were leathery like a bat’s, his body diseased and mutilated like all the other greater demons. Several more demons and generals of the army I commanded entered soon after, lining up in the darkness as soon as the door closed.
When everything who was meant to be here had arrived, we waited. The silence dragged on, yet none of us spoke. None of us dared move save to breathe.
And then, like a voice coming to us from beyond this world, He spoke, “My faithful subjects… your presence here comes at an hour most of us have been waiting for for millennia.”
All around the room, everything assembled suppressed a shiver at His voice. It was cold, colder than death, and it sucked the feeling away from the chamber. It was a voice that carried with it all of the anger and malice and malevolence of all existence and destroyed all hope, all laughter, all goodness from the world. It was the voice of Him.
“Our armies are waiting on the plains of death; the wards of the seven levels have fallen, one by one, to my power; the Gate itself is breaking, the magic binding us mere days away from shattering.” He stopped, letting his voice sink in. We all knew it, yet we listened silently and attentively regardless.
“And not five minutes ago, Gothgor crossed back through in Tartarus.”
The room exploded. Voices sprang up, yelling, asking questions, desperate to know what the outcome had been. The noise was deafening for a heartbeat before silence fell again. This time, however, none of us dared to breathe in His presence for none of us could breathe. He took the breath from our lungs without rebuke or explanation.
The seconds ticked by. The orcs and lesser demons twitched, their eyes darting wildly. The greater demons and I simply stood still, the muscles in our necks tensed, waiting.
Eventually, after a minute, he released us, letting us take a single inhalation before continuing. “Silence. Word has not yet reached me.”
And so we were silent. We waited. And we did so without question.
The minutes dragged on, silent and unmoving. The only thing that dared move was the fog of our breath, and even that shimmered anxiously, tentative to be noticed by Him.
For how long we waited, I was not sure. The tension in the room was so thick it could almost be seen, a sludge of nerves and unspoken fears and doubts that threatened to unravel centuries of planning and work. If the plan failed, if the weapon was still in effect, then the Gate would be sealed again before we even had a chance to open it. The mission could not fail.
Only the orcs and trolls and other lesser monsters could leave Tartarus. The wards could be lowered just enough to let the lesser evils escape. He had been doing this for weeks now, always in secret, always with creatures still found on the surface, gathering slaves and information. I could not go though, and neither could anything even remotely powerful as Skelleitzor; the wards were still too strong and would be for some days yet.
The sound of tramping footsteps snapped time back into a measurable pace. Iron clad boots marched on the obsidian floors, ringing loudly in the otherwise silent halls. It grew louder and louder until it stopped right outside the doors. There was silence. Xastulis’ voice hissed, too quiet to be heard. A guttural voice replied, also indistinguishable.
And then the doors opened. Gothgor entered first at head of six orcs and two trolls. Thick shirts of black mail and plate armour covered their bodies, strapped over coarse furs. Dull helms rested on their heads, and metal boots and greaves covered their feet and legs. Each carried a sword or an axe, now harnessed to their sides, small round bucklers on their backs. They all bowed low upon entering, marching straight into the centre of the room.
It was then that we all saw what was being forced along in the middle of the procession. Connected to a spiked chain leading to one of the troll’s iron grip was a pony. She stood in the centre of the room, shivering uncontrollably, her purple coat covered in blood, not all of it dried, cuts, bruises and burns. Her mane, a darker shade of purple with a lighter streak was matted with filth, hanging down around her eyes as she shook. I could see the effect He was having on her. His presence alone was sucking the life from the creature.
The pony collapsed with a sob, the chain pulling tight as she fell, turning her cry into a choked gasp. Her whole body trembled. Blood dripped down her forehead and I noticed with a savage smile that this pony had once been a unicorn. Where her horn should have been was now a bloodied stump, a burn having cauterised the worst of the wound. Her cutie mark had been mutilated by a single cut on both sides, the blood from the wound obscuring the rest of the image.
He began laughing. The voice that destroyed souls laughed and laughed, a sound colder than the abyss of space. We all waited until He had finished.
Gothgor raised his fist in salute. “Your Eminence,” he growled, his guttural voice filled with confidence. “We have returned.”
“That you have, Gothgor. You have returned to me with the greatest prize I have laid eyes on since my brother cut off Alaris’ horn.”
“Everything went as planned, My Master. They were moving by train, heading to the Gate. The guards were many, and they were strong, but they were no match for the power of the orc and troll.”
Abbaddan finally drew the nerve to speak. “Forgive me, My Master, but how exactly is this our victory?”
He must have been happy beyond measure, for Abbaddan still had all his limbs after he finished speaking. “Can you not feel it? You know what this mission set out to achieve; reach out! Feel it! Feed off it! None of our station in the history of the world have been able to stand with the likes of her in their midst, completely defenceless!”
As he spoke, Beelzebub’s face contorted into a malevolent grin, knowing something the rest of us didn’t. I reached out with my magic, testing the unicorn, trying to work out what He was speaking of.
The unicorn pony was radiating a power I had not felt since the elder days. Flashes of rainbow light broke across my vision, only they had been wielded by the ruler of the sun at the time. I knew I gasped, but that was quickly forgotten.
It couldn’t be…
The mission had been to kill or eliminate the threat. No one, absolutely no one, had expected a live capture. Not her, not in the wildest nightmares of any present.
It couldn’t be. But it was. My own cry of delight rivalled even Beelzebub’s in its primitiveness. I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.
“What is your name, oh precious pony?” He asked.
I was already trying to hold back laughter, quietly, and Beelzebub was doing the same. Abbaddan looked to me, confusion plain on his face.
The pony looked up, her whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her voice trembled, weak, empty, wracked with pain and the soul-crushing emptiness being near Him induced to those pure of heart. “My… my name,” she whispered, quivering with fear, “is Twilight Sparkle. And… and I want to go home…” She sobbed quietly.
“And she is the Element of Magic.”
And just like that, myself and Beelzebub were not the only two monsters laughing. It all fell into place, the disbelief that the mission had actually succeeded to the degree that it had sinking in, savage joy taking its place. The Gate would never be sealed now without her. Without the Elements of Harmony, the surface was as good as defenceless.
“Yes! Yes!” Cyricus screeched. “We must sacrifice her in His name!”
“The world shall burn!”
“The Sun Queen will fall!”
The hiss before he spoke brought silence to fall once more. The unicorn was trembling on the floor, collapsing into a tight ball, rocking back and froward as He continued to wear away at her soul. “Tell me, Twilight Sparkle, tell me about yourself. It has been so very long since I have heard a pony speak. It has been a very long time since I have seen anything so good, so pure, at all.”
The unicorn numbly shook her head, whimpering.
He laughed. “Speak.”
Tears streaming down her face, the unicorn’s head snapped up, forced to stare at the black altar at the head of the room. “I- I’m the librarian of Ponyville,” she whispered. I had to hold back a laugh. “I live with my brother, Spike, who’s a dragon, in our treehouse. I’m the element of Magic, and I’m… I’m the protégé and personal student of Princess Celestia…”
If she spoke anymore, whimpering and crying like a foal, I did not hear her, for all sound vanished from the room the second she mentioned her name. Her student? Her personal student?! She had a relationship with the Sun Queen! This unicorn, she was close to her!
And so I laughed again. I laughed and no one stopped me. Eventually Twilight’s mouth stopped moving, and she slumped back down, the compulsion holding her up fading away.
“We kill her now! We kill her in His name!”
“No! We wait and kill her in front of the gates as they shatter! The surface will see their champion’s body as we pour out from the darkness!”
He laughed. “Fitting. A worthy banner for our forces to rally around; the very spark that ignites the greatest weapon of our enemy.”
“Harmony shall fall!”
“Can I have her till then, Master? The Workshop always needs new parts, and something with her power…”
“No.”
Everyone turned, staring at me, my voice still ringing in the chamber.
“And why not?” Cyricus snarled in challenge.
I glared around the room, radiating black light for effect. “Because she’s mine.”
Beelzebub remained motionless. Everyone else looked at me, confusion written across their faces.
He just laughed. “Yes… Yes! I like that. I like that a lot. Oh Celestia’s precious student, you have the most perfect host.” He laughed again. He knew exactly why I wanted her. And I was thrilled to hear Him like it.
“Good,” I said. “The unicorn is mine until the day of our release. The day we march to war as gods.”
“That she is, Little Prince of mine. Make her suffer. Make her rue the day she was born in defiance of the shadow.”
This time, I laughed. I laughed and Twilight sobbed, the unicorn all but ignored as we talked about her.
I smiled. “Oh, My Lord… it will be my pleasure.”
A huge thank you to my editor, Sessalisk, for generally making my writing so much less terrible. Also, another massive thank you to everyone for reading!
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coolio
Holy hell
Stories off to an awesome start, fav'ed
1071886 I sure hope so!
1071989 Hahah, I'm glad you like it!
And once again, your ability to describe awe-inspiring set pieces leaves me dumbfounded
Nice!
Are you going to turn Twilight on Celestia? That'd be kinda twisted. 
1072029 Heh :D Thanks! I know I sure love writing it! Haha.
1072108 Oh no, I have other things in store for her...
It is well written, but I cannot feel nothing but disgust after reading. Especially from what you done with Twilight.
I do not think that I will watch it. Too dark for me.
1072807 Haha, if it makes you feel any better, you are meant to feel disgust at this point!
So Tartarus is a mixture of Hell, Mordor and the Negative Zone? Interesting
Althought poor Twi... Cutting of the alicorn of an unicorn must be pretty painfull. As I understand she is now without any magical power, correct? That would be like cutting the hands of an human, depriving him of the tools that actually define humanity. She is now just an earth pony how cruel... My and my fantastic racism 
But when I consider the facts: a maimed, young and innocent mare in a place where torture, rape ans pain are the standard social begaviour, than I have to wonder if you don't have something against her 
1072811
I told that it is well written, and I suspected that it was written in that way intentionally.
Kinda reminds me some good fictions (not fim) which used Lovecraft based mythology.
Well, I expected good writing from author of 'The Sun Whispers Your Name' :)
But I still cannot read about Twilight in that state.
I suspect that you will change things in future, but I do not want to hit another cliffhanger while things are as they are.
So, do you suggest me to came back later when several chapters are released ?
Let´s get to reading!
____________________
Well.. Very well written, the story just completely sucked me in, you really put a good storyline there and I can not wait to read more! Twilight will suffer, bwhahaha :D. Thumbs up and faved. :)
Oh... my. So dark. I like dark. This is really dark. I like this. A lot. I only fear for Twily. Though, I guess I should, at this point.
Dear Sweet God... That is just awful. I knew this was going to be dark, but Twilight's life is literally now just hell.
Quick question: Is this story being set apart from your other work in progress, or is this going to be a part of it?
I don't remember if you've answered this or not, sorry if you have.
As for the story itself, pretty freakin' brilliant. Your prose is a tad purple, and before you take that as a bad thing, I enjoy purple, just don't go over using similes and you'll be fine in my book. As for the description in general, I don't think I've really ever written anything that has painted such a bleak and depressing picture in my head, and red for that matter. It was great. I was sketchy with the first person POV at first as well, but I think you've pulled it off so far.
And your characters, gah! They're vile and down right disturbing, but some of them are oh so very interesting. Albeit they're not really someone I'd want to get to know, just due to the fact that whatever it is I would discover about them wouldn't be very pleasant, and they probably don't think about too much anyway. I particularly like Skelleitzor, if only because he seems to be the only playful thing down there -- playful in a twisted and warped sense, mind you. I do question what he is, though. He's lived countless millenia and he himself has even mentioned he does not know who he is. The Little Prince calls him a Shadow Wraith (and I myself don't know what that entails), but he can also shape shift, it seems. How do we know that wasn't what he originally was? We can't, not really, all speculation and such. I find that interesting.
Also, it's actually hard for me to comprehend in my mind just what Beelzebub looks like. That may just be for the better, though.
Moving on, I don't quite understand what Skelleitzor was trying to say when he mentioned "ponies never change" and "The Midnight One". He goes on to mimic Celestia just to point out the terrible grudge The Little Prince has against her, but I still don't see what that has to do with Luna =/
As for the problems with this and EqD, the only things I can really think of is the over all dark place you've written, the rather extravagant description, or the first person POV. If it's neither of those, which I don't honestly see too much of a problem in, then I don't know what it could be. I guess I'll be awaiting that blog post and it's in depth explanation.
And once more, poor Twilight
1073099 Oh yes, no magical power from her. Well... to an extent.
And heavens no! I adore Twilight, haha. This story was really hard to write in some parts for that very reason. The more I make a character suffer, the more I love them. If I didn't like her she'd be dead, hahaha.
1073117 Well, the entire story should be up in the next couple of days, so yeah, I guess you could do that! You certainly wouldn't have to wait terribly wrong before you could read the entire thing in one go!
1073785 Poor Twilight. She certainly gets the rough end of this stick, haha. Thanks for reading!
1074131 I also like dark, haha. Which perhaps is self defeating, but ah well. Do what you love!
Thanks for reading!
1074307 It is set apart from the other stories. I did, however, steal heaps of the world building from it, so you will certainly see similarities and names popping up again, but they're technically different universes.
Yeah, I love having shades of purple in my description (much to my editor's frustration at times, haha). The key is moderation, I guess. Can't go too far in one direction otherwise then we start having a problem.
Most of the bad guys were really interesting to try and construct; it's far too easy to fall into villain clichés and keep them two dimensional. I know with this I really tried to give each one their own living breathing personalities while keeping them all suitably creepy and in some cases downright dangerous. Skelleitzor was always a particular favourite of mine, as well. I got the idea for his character in my head and I couldn't get him out. And so here he is! Creepy and trolling!
With Beelzebub... rotting flesh, white eyes and a horn. There really isn't too much more to describe than that. The eyes are what's important most of the time.
As for Luna... I have a sneaking suspicion that there are some answers given next chapter!
Thanks for reading, and thank you for the comment! They certainly make my day!
This is how a Dark Fic is written!
Now to relish in the deliciousness of it.
...
I have relished and it was satisfying.
1077394 Haha, I'm glad you're liking it. Thanks for reading!
Omg... this is beautiful.
Is it just me, or do I sense shades of Barlowe? I'm definitely sensing Dante and Milton. This is in no way a mark against anything, ever. These are some of my favourite things, and then ponies. Oh good lord I'm back in the pony Inferno, it's just... I can't... omfg just wow~
So happy.
I know I have more (and more coherent) words in me to react to this but I can't for the life of me untangle them right now; you'll need to give me a moment.
More. More.
OH. MY. GOD! My friend, you have earned an instant watch just from that chapter.
1077877 Oh man, now I want to get my hands on a copy of Barlowe. It's so expensive, though! D: Interestingly, Dante's Inferno is another item on my 'to read' list. Fortunately with that one, I have a link to a free version online, haha. That kind of imagery is definitely what I was taking inspiration from. I know my demons' personalities drew quite a heavy influence from Doctor Faustus, which rests within that same hell archetype.
Regardless, I am super happy to hear that you are enjoying it so far! Thanks for the comment!
1077979 Hehe, I'm glad you're liking it! Thanks for reading!
1077166 The more I make a character suffer, the more I love them... The more I make a character suffer, the more I love them... The more I make a character suffer, the more I love them...
You know that a healthy relationship works a little bit in the opposite direction do you?
We care for those we love, and make the ones we hate eat theit own faces or cut their bellies open, nail their guts to a tree and make them run around it till they die. The Hussite Wars are such a wonderfull source of inspiration...
1078575 Wait, wait, wait... Are you telling me that I am meant to treat the people I love... nicely?! Good lord... that explains so much.
Hahah, but seriously! I put the characters I love into stories, and generally terrible things happen to my characters so they can learn something, or to show a particular theme or idea. Let's face it, it sucks to be my characters, but hopefully stories come out that aren't completely awful!
1078772 Yeah I know what you mean
Suffering is also a good way to make the character more sympathetic or to explain his background and motivation if he's more of a anti-hero or even a villain. Considering this tendency of yours and the great job you've done with All paths lead home, you should maybe consider making a story in the Fallout:Equestria setting. My newly found love for that alternative universe has nothing to do with it of course 
1078882 Oh man... I've always wanted to do a story in the Fo:E universe... but I could never live up to the giants. I would have to have the absolute perfect idea, and so far, inspiration is yet to hit!
1078897 You could never live up to the giants? Filly, please! All paths lead home, althought more like Mad Max or Stalker in my opinion, is practically Fo:E but without guns and pegasi extinct
1078948 I would be so depressed because I would be constantly comparing it to Project Horizons. It's my favourite fic in the fandom for a reason! Haha
1079012 I know it sounds wicked but until now I've only read Heroes and Guise of Chaos, two wonderfull side stories with characters so flawed and yet determinated to be better ponies that it's simply awesome, and only started reading Fallout:Equestria, so PH still lies somwhere behind the Horizon. The best part about the setting? Ponies are suddenly able to be psychotic monsters! As an example lets use my favorite arsonist bitch from GoC - say hallo to Cinder "Cindy" Trails
th09.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2012/067/0/7/you_almost_burned_me__by_kibugamikenzo-d4s3cs9.jpg
1079079 Oh man... PH... PH is one of the most entertaining stories I've read, published or not. And I adored the original Fo:E as well.
Siiigh. Who knows, maybe one day I'll come up with a good plot idea for one of my own.
1079098 I have to read them, the problem is I've get something that could almost be called a life that inteerferes with my hobbies
I don't know if it helps, but as I've noticed a repeatable motive in the Equestrian Wasteland is maim, rape, kill in whatever order you choose 
1078204
I didn't want to make a comment before reading the second chapter, given to the fact that it actually appeared exactly when I was going to read this, but:
YOU DIDN'T READ DANTE'S INFERNO YET?! WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU!
Sorry. But seriously. WTF! There is one book about this pathetic hell/heaven-stuff worth the time and you didn't read it.
And don't come with that 'But the translation from old-italian is so dry'-mimimi!
Going for the next chapter and a more..polite comment.
Well, that was dark all right !