• Published 13th Mar 2020
  • 4,003 Views, 852 Comments

Skeletor, Master of The Empire. - Hotel_Chicken

A monster was dethroned and a demon was thrusted into a position of power he never wanted. Now, the Displaced Lord Skeletor finds himself in the Frozen North of Equestria, fighting frigid temperatures and an evil king.

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Chapter 1. Thrown into the Storm.

The bellowing winds of the Frozen North sang an agonizing song of pain as the spirits of those who died in the terrible tundra followed the winds to their final destination. Snow fell from the heavy clouds above without any care for where they landed, disappearing into the large drifts of snow that covered the Frozen North.

As the snow continued to fall haphazardly from the dreary clouds, a sudden and surprising stillness fell over the Frozen North. For the first time in millennia, not a single snowflake fell from the skies and the voices of the damned stopped their wailing songs of pain.

A brief moment of stunning silence filled the usually chaotic winds of the Frozen North, pure and undisturbed silence. And like a minotaur firing off a glass cannon, the deafening silence was shattered with the screams of reality itself being torn apart.

An orchestra of fear, anger, and suffering filled the momentarily silent air as a massive earthquake shook the centuries of snow off of the abandoned ruins of the Crystal Empire. Flurries of snowflakes exploded as the violent winds of the Frozen North turned into a monsoon of snow that washed over the frozen tundra.

The clouds began to swirl as the fabric of reality was briefly ripped apart and the seams that held that specific portion of reality together let loose loud explosions of thunder as they snapped apart, an announcement to the world itself that something was coming.

As the fabric of reality tried to mend itself, it fought against the outside force that was causing it to unnaturally tear. The thing that had struggled to hold the tear in place finally relinquished its grasp on the hems of reality after something was hurdled through the tear and landed in a large pile of snow.

The aggressive snow storm returned to its usual chaotic nature a short time afterwards as reality was stitched back together. As the world continued on as if nothing happened, the thing that had been tossed through the portal began to wake up.

The figure groaned as it sat up slowly, a wave of pain shooting through his body suddenly as he did so. The being was a creature from another world, a human man turned demonic monster.

The man was completely underdressed for the freezing climate of the Frozen North, his only protection against the natural elements were two purple greaves on his shins, two similarly colored vambraces on his forearms, a dark purple cingulum that covered his crotch, and a navy-blue hooded cloak that covered his head and back. His spiked shoulder plates and ornate cross-bone harness offered little protection against the cold but were still able to cover up his almost naked body.

The man’s skin had turned into a deep and unnatural shade of blue and he gained the well-defined muscles of an Adonis, along with herculean strength that most men would kill for. His once normal hands and feet had turned into draconic claws and feet similar to a tyrannosaurus-rex, a mockery of his old appendages. The last and most significant change the man had gone through was everything that rested above his broad shoulders. His neck, face, and hair had completely disappeared, only leaving a demonic humanoid skull with large fangs where his once dull canines were located.

The man groaned as his conscious mind entered his new body, his stiff muscles screamed in agony as he tried to stand up in his dazed state of mind. Most of his memories alluded him as his thoughts swam through a murky swamp of confused questions and jumbled memories. He was only lucid enough to know that he shouldn’t have been out in the snow, and he had a faint memory of a man in a leather hoodie who sold him a staff.

He placed a hand to his temple as he tried to force his memories to become clear and linear once again. As his mind fought to put the pieces of his history back together, he nearly failed to notice the odd texture of his head. His fingers lightly traced the ridges of his skull, feeling the rough texture of his new skull as they did so.

As the man’s senses returned to him, a terrifying pang of fear ran through his soul as he felt his fingers press against his bare skull. His other hand flew to his face to desperately attempt to feel something familiar, to find his nose, ears, hair, anything that wasn’t bare bone. One of his thumbs brushed against the inside of his jaw, causing him to recoil from the feeling of his thumb inside his jaw.

“Wh-What?! N-No no no no. Where’s my fucking face? What the fuck is going on?!” The man screamed before he began to hyperventilate.

Panicked thoughts raced through his mind at a rapid speed until everything was drowned out by his screams of fear filled the air, a desperate cry for some type of normalcy and sense of understanding. His wailing panicked screams were laced with a series of expletives and cries for help from anybody who could hear his pleas.

He continued on like that for nearly half an hour, until his lungs had effectively given out and he resided to curl himself up and quietly sob. No tears left his hollow eye sockets as he wept. The only telltale sign of his distressed state were the haggard breaths that tried to fill his lungs.

He placed a hand on his well-defined chest to feel his rapid heartbeat, a confirmation that he still had a pulse, which unfortunately did almost nothing to calm his nerves. If anything, it set him more on edge as he waited for his heart-beat to slow down until it completely stopped, waiting for an inevitable death that never came.

As the seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes turned into irrelevant measurements of time, the man finally uncurled himself and sat on his knees. His focus was directed on the snow that surrounded him in every direction.

“H-hello?” He called out with a hoarse voice, waiting patiently for something to respond. His teeth clattered against each other as he felt the cold embrace of the Frozen North.

“A-anyone out there? Helllllo?” He said a little louder. The wailing cries of the storm were the only response he received.

As his gaze traveled across the arctic grounds around him, his eyes caught a familiar scepter lying a yard away from him. It was a six-foot purple staff crowned with a golden horned ram’s skull that he had bought from a man dressed up in a long leather jacket.

He reached out for the familiar object, grasping the nearest part of the scepter to pull it towards himself. He held onto the Havoc Staff tightly one hand while he used the other to hold the edges of his navy-blue cloak closed.

As he stood up, using the staff to steady himself on his trembling legs, he mentally prepared himself for an arduous journey to find a way out of the eternal winter he was lost in. His worries and questions about his new body were pushed aside for his survival instincts to take hold.

He didn’t have the luxury to wallow in grief or panic more than he already had, he could only trudge forward and silently pray for a miracle.

Thousands of years of darkness passed in a matter of moments for King Sombra and his enslaved army, time becoming a relative fantasy to the ponies that were trapped inside the realm of darkness. Generations and lifetimes had become seconds for the displaced Empire, and it had finally returned.

The body of a grey ruva with etherial mane of black fire laid motionlessly on the crystal floor of his throne room. The lord of the Crystal Empire, King Sombra, awoke from his long banishment with a sudden start after being brought back to the realm of the living. His body ached after his confrontation with the two Alicorn sisters, a battle that waged on for hours had left him worse off for wear physically but no less powerful in terms of magic.

The grey ruva stallion eyed his throne room wearily, keeping a look out for a surprise attack from the Alicorn sisters.

As his green eyes traversed the throne room, he noticed the damage from his battle with the two sisters had grown larger with age, the architecture of the room failing to hold itself together after years of being left alone in the frozen climate.

King Sombra wasn’t sure how long it had been since the battle, nor did he know why he was freed from his banishment, but his lack of knowledge didn’t prevent a wicked smile of glee to etch its way across his muzzle. He looked to his right to see the frail green body of one of his most “loyal” of slaves, Emerald Secret.

She was still sound asleep after the sleeping spell the lunar princess placed on her, a spell that prevented King Sombra from forcing Emerald Secret to join the fray as a living shield for her king.

King Sombra quickly tried to feel his dark magic in her mind, confirming that she and all of the other subjects of the Crystal Empire were under his control. Even if most of his slaves were asleep he still had them, which meant he could still use them once they woke up.

As King Sombra felt the magic inside of his enslaved citizens, taking account for how many slaves still drew breath, he felt another magical signature a mile or so away from his Empire. A foreign type of dark magic born of pain and suffering was coming towards his domain.

King Sombra used his magic to summon a scrying orb made from pure refined crystal to look at the possible threat. Seconds ticked by slowly as his magic honed in on the individual until an image of an odd creature appeared in his scrying orb.

The revived king observed the creature with a bemused fascination. It was an odd creature, bipedal in nature like a dragon or minotaur, but without any of the scales or fur either of the races had. It had no discernible snout pushing out from under its blue hood, and any other facial features it may had had were completely obscured by an unnatural shadow.

The most striking feature of all however was the large scepter in its hand, a long staff with a golden horned ram skull embedded to the top of the scepter. King Sombra could feel an overwhelming amount of power emanate from the ram skull, a testament to the power the being must have wielded within their own body.

A herald of the Demon Lord, Grogar, perhaps? The king wondered to himself. If any creature could have freed King Sombra from his bonds, then it would have had to have been Grogar or one of his disciples.

It would have explained how he and his slaves were rescued, but that explanation brought a great worry along with it. King Sombra had raked up a considerable debt to the Demon Lord, Grogar, in exchange for his new dark powers. A debt that he had failed to pay because of his defeat at the hooves of the Alicorn siblings.

Unfortunately, that theory brought a horrifying sense of realization to the freed king. Grogar would have only freed him if he could be of use to the demon lord; Which meant that Grogar either sent a herald to tell him of Grogar’s commands, or Grogar had sent a debt collector to take his power back from King Sombra.

King Sombra’s eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the creature in his scrying orb. He would not be bullied by a low rate demon into paying Grogar his dues. The demon lord would get his souls when Sombra had conquered all of Equestria, and not a second sooner.

Well, if one of his heralds has come then I should prepare. The king reasoned as he turned to trot over to his large crystal throne, a chair made of obsidian that was decorated in the most pure and ornate crystals the Empire could spare. After sitting himself down on his throne, he sent a mental command to two of his recently awakened slaves to escort the creature to him and waited for his orders to be carried out by his mindless drones.

The man turned demonic monster trudged through the winter hell-scape slowly, the snow crunching gently beneath his monstrous feet as he ignored the bitter cold that assaulted his nearly naked body.

He lost track of time while walking in one direction, minutes merging with hours as his body refused to stop moving. Moving forward meant feeling warm, and feeling warm meant staying alive for a few more precious minutes. He wasn’t sure what he’d accomplish with those scant few minutes of life, but he hoped that he’d at least reach civilization before he died. It was a cynical dream, but a dream none the less.

The idea of dying alone in a frozen wasteland was a grim thought that he tried to ignore. In a morbid way, it reminded him of the timeless question, “if a tree falls in the woods and no-one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Except instead of a stupid tree in a forest, it was his life being meaningless once his corpse was buried under a mountain of snow. He'd become a frozen and mummified corpse that would be lost to time, possibly only to be discovered by some wild and hungry animal.

Disturbing thoughts about his final moments on Earth were the only thing that took his focus away from the bitter coldness that nipped at his skin. The man wrapped himself more tightly in his navy cloak as he tried to protect himself from the elements as best as he could.

As his body continued to move forward, he eventually saw a silhouette of a tall spire off in the horizon. A spark of determination ignited inside of him as he stared at the spire, a beacon that signified civilization and salvation.

A desperate smile spread across his surprisingly malleable skeletal features and a nervous laugh escaped his throat. He moved at a much brisker pace as his resolve to keep moving was invigorated by the silent promise of salvation. He didn’t dare question the sight he saw before him, fearful that doing so would make this wonderful gift disappear without a trace.

He saw several smaller spires that surrounded the tallest one, all connecting to a triangular tower that reminded him of the Eiffel Tower in France. Parts of the tower shimmered and gleamed with a beautiful shine that grew more brilliant with each closer step, as if it was made of beautiful diamonds. He stared longingly at the breathtaking view, convinced that he was staring at the gates of Heaven itself. The hope and joy he felt however diminished as several more details about the structures became more apparent.

Black jagged rocks jutted out of the spires at odd angles and several spires were struggling to hold up their own weight under the brute force of the winter climate. Years of abandonment took their toll on the structure, a bleak shadow of its former glory that created an ominous tension in the air as the man continued to look at the decaying spires.

He also saw many smaller structures surrounding the base of the spires, multicolored towers of crystal that littered the area around the base of the structure, blocking his view of whatever building the spires were attached to.

Large black spikes made of crystals stuck out of the smaller towers, as if they were reclaiming the area those buildings stood.

A sense of foreboding fear washed over the man as he stared apprehensively at the monolith of dread at the center of the cluster of buildings and towers. Despite the uneasy feeling the decrepit ruins brought him, he continued to move towards them.

His resolve never faltered as he approached his only hope for sanctuary, his body on the other hand did. Unknown hours of plowing through the snow had finally took their toll on the demonic man, and his muscles gave into the deathly embrace of the cold.

His sockets stared at the strange city that laid less than a few miles away from him, so close. If he had only woken up a few miles closer to it, then he may have survived the arctic plain.

As he looked at his only hope sit perfectly still, far out of his reach, he felt his consciousness slip from his mind slowly before he was consumed by the darkness.

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