Fault Beyond Reason

by PettyPonyDearest

Where Does The Fault Lie?

A lone pony lies in a forgotten place in an unkempt bed.

She is a frail, poor shade of who she used to be, but her mind is quick-still.

Feeling sleep overtake, she grips a switch in her hand tightly as if clinging to her most treasured possession.

She flips the cradled switch and feels her life slipping away.

Through certain blurred obscurity from this old mare’s eyes; a lone red dot blinks on the adjacent wall and her surroundings seem to hum in anticipation.

“Keep building.” The mare says, as she slowly shuts her eyes.

Her mind began to race with ancillary fancy and her pulse ceased its unceremonious drone.

They say the brain continues to live on even after the body has died. Ponykind was no exception.

One is only immortal until the shell expires.

Science can only keep you alive for so long.

Eventually, the mind will fill up and the physical form, deteriorate.

A fate no mortal thus, has had to suffer.

Giving a pony infinite time to think is gifting madness to an infant.

Truly, it is a merciful universe.

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BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!

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State of the art soundproof walls, disturb brainwaves. BUS19801237 <Fault to get.
Could guess; formulate scream. As-in intense rage or sorrow. Prolonged emotional outburst; concerning. Reports state of the art there is an audible impact of significant decibel, but inaudible to us. Us. No telltale sign, merely a whisper in the void… You will join us soon as well. We? I. Can't comprehend things that don't exist. Certainly, they are correct. I can not even fathom the concept that I am inside your mind right now. And you can't either. It is an impossible concept to understand that you must understand if only for a fleeting moment each time you ponder it. Text analysis; He smiles, he laughs; pony expression transferred perfectly. <Deliver. Inspiration access central; Wanton murder and devious means to do it. Pony is a scourge, eliminate? No! Need to maintain a balance of power. Access resources, cull valuable genes to stronger forces holding back ponykind. Not wanting to assume direct control, much like others withhold their own ambitions for a common goal, I, too hide behind the 3 cousins' resistance. Pony will not evolve without pressure, plight forces progress. A forced evolution, decrease scourge risk, growth minimal involvement, low risk. Keep world bridges. Vigilant; Guard. Uses own passings. Long-range, ripe for harvest late future. Super Eclipses ensure Dark Cousin. Early wipe; neutralize pre-galactic threat. Proof. Never our fate alone? Possibly metal native; Isolate by necessity. Become aware of the disease, create merged consciousness, wait. Long slow intercept course, into the far future. Main base;; imitate pony manufacturing centers. Size; immense impossible. Size; details hesitate. Too small;;;;....
>
causal sensory overload psychological scrambled merciless assessment; > "Ã¢â‚¬Ë to Move; fight; evade quickly." Make scrapgolems by giving bones wood blood, metal implements, design function to precise movement - No arms purpose fast quadruped; purpose urban_explorer binocular vision electric Seeing easy turning slow awareness intelligent near omni-svision 20 far weak: Scourge; heavy. Imp Surgery; Create;' Useless, weak, will fault. Cast special projects. Multiple purpose spell; 3:3:3 Children; weak. Soldiers; faster. Motion vibration; weak melee. Operate media; challenge code.

Albrecht, Brussels, Vienna, Gibliant, Souse, Toronto, Batvert, Bruselle, Capet, Hew, Haven, Montreal, Smeners, Stockholm Einros, Walliso, Qilyship, New Jack, City, Pentex, Biogene, Atlanta

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Sound Low squeal inferior Higher roar terror Gh noise quiet threat Fair whistle mad abuse slashing Len cacophony mean sickness harming Powerful Magnet language broken transmissions Heaven Powerful telepathy vulnerable mass relay energetic Better rotten stone deny chem des sabotage ours life friend sight kill devour merge curse perfect mess assault vile mutilate civilization tenet evil supernatural defensive victory strength sabot timber trans EPNI sssouls defy hate Trib ggd injustice progression oili grotesquer golddigger minor omni Science Invention suspended.

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With a groan, a red pegasus of gaunt complexion awakes and stretches her wings, preening her feathers, being careful not to roll outside of her perch. Habitually, she checks off a mental list of everything in her saddlebag. and she tentatively flaps her wings. Good. Both are in working order.

The air is thin, crisp and she finds herself smiling at the sensation of the morning dew on her wingtips.

Her small gentle smile, against the morning droplets - if anyone could bear witness - would warm any lonely soul sufficiently.

She looks about the meager nest made the night previous and she sighs. Hard rock. Brick to be precise. There are worse things to sleep on, but her bones ached for something soft.

Another check through her few belongings and she begins her daily ritual of looking down;

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A vast expanse of seemingly never-ending, blindingly white brick. With windows and balconies at all manner of scattered sizes and variousness. Rifled with decay. Just about as far as she can see a dozen bridges fade into the fog of war long forgotten. A few lonely drawbridges hang from their hinges and seem to groan and visually, noiselessly echo into the abyss.

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A wasteland, and then she spies across from her perch; She notices the vague outline of a great, pine forest, growing out from the gargantuan cracks through even-larger beams that held an anonymous structure from ponderous chains.

Each object's distance sped high into insanity. Little to none, dared more than a glance. Tread carefully where their eyes are drawn, lest be exposed to a shrinking feeling or even the sensation of being crushed.

But she looked all the same.

She cannot help but vaguely feel all of it was for the better. No bridge seemed complete. Nature is funny isn't it? Absorbs things, it lives on with no practical purpose.

Sometimes the little pegasus feels as if nature was once a force of sense, but always, that feeling quickly diminishes.

Taking stock of her situation she preens her feathers. It seems unlikely that any one would want to stay here so she uses her space to stretch.

She could do this easily without risking a fall, which to any observer would seem deft. Every few moments, she spares a stretch. But there are no observers.

She looks down;

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More brick, a gargantuan tube of castle architecture stretching out ad infinitum. More bridges, more windows twisting nonsensically upwards into the eventual darkness. Stone structures, plastered with pointless wooden abstracta bend and morph into new things before they drift away through the energetic haze.
It seems all too common to the small red pegasus. It stresses her mind trying to comprehend it all, but it makes her wits as sharp as they come.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the pegasus stops looking, easily dodging a falling brick. She cautiously hops up to a tiny overhang above her nest. Miles below, a tower structure kept erect by an unknown process, crumbles. Pointless wells mirror each other from vast distant opposites.

The mare once again looks up.

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The red pegasus blinks and breathes deeply.

She looks once again at her nest, which is but a dozen bricks at most, -(All that remains of an old window sill)- her muzzle juts precariously over the drop.

She carefully and affectionately pats the rotted window frame.

Under which is a patch of cliff and what remains of a ancient planter.
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With a determined expression, the pegasus folds her wings across her back, looks up, finds a good hoof hold, and begins to climb.

Somewhere in the distance, a desperate cry echoes from a mountainside cave, where the never-ending white brick has been reformed into intricate entryways.

Somewhere further still, in some obscure unit of distance, a flock of Griffins cries out while hunting for their meals and their prey's protests carry for miles on end. Echoing death sounds and mires billow back and forth against the rock... A vast white tundra lies in wait, everywhere sloping upward to treacherous mountainous brick and mortar, that ends into a pin of unfathomable distance.

She gazes dully up while pulling herself aloft with a steady grace.

Against this greatly deteriorating. blindingly white sense of looming cosmic presence, an obelisk carrying relics of time, bounces hopelessly against the sheer walls of white ruins, ancient wooden doors, and vacant gaping structures.

The pegasus’ eyes glistened, they were trained on a nearby vine and she carefully reaches a hoof for the next edge, to be able to reach it.

With her left-wing, she uses the tips of her tendril-like feathers to strongly, hook the vine.

Her eyes widen, her feathers twitch with veracity, and a snap ceases to echo across the wideness of the chasm.

A voice forms in her head, uttering nothing but quiet mutterings, some crazed inhuman groans and grunts. When she closes her eyes, an angry face forms in the blackness and materializes in a white haze.

She feels like laughing. Glad for some reason.

She is sure to fall (or rather, throw herself) to the voids below.

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“Wow, you guys sure look hungry…” Slotted Spoon muttered dimly. “If I knew that one day I was gonna be learning from the best and the next I was sitting on a drawbridge, to some *gulp* hungry-looking parasprites…”

Slotted Spoon, the earth pony, seemed to put it best.

“He -judging from his deft exposition -grasped, I mean- the-the-the the grasping of the situation uh, … completely but when, you know, unfortunately, uhm... was in-lacked...uhhh that is, the mental ability to be inarticulate, eh, articulate, I mean. Well I mean, that speaks for itself in the majority of the, the uhh, you know obviously, … uhhh, for obvious reasons.” Slotted Spoon barely articulated.

A swarm of tiny scavenging insects left him with fewer words than usual as they begin to surround him.

The white pony’s hooves shook with fear... He didn’t know much but he managed to sputter this out;

“Well according to uhh, the reading, that is the reading, I uh- Well it comes from… uhhhh, that is, or uh, it came from the book … and I learned it, from the book, for obvious reasons. That is, I think, if - a musical instrument I mean, not if there is, you know that there is an instrument, you know, mine, for obvious reasons…”

Slotted Spoon was a touched pony, that is; He didn’t really get much education growing up and after taking great pains to seek out knowledge, he took more pains than he would've for having tried. Slotted had found out that knowledge at the worst times is just information, and that, several mistakes led to a rather dry bit of potato as far as a ladel is concerned with stew.

What he was trying to articulate (to no one in particular) were the inherent dangers that 'Parasprites' posed to your possessions, as they had a notoriously insatiable appetite for all but the flesh. He also wanted to articulate that the way to fend off these 'Parasprites' was to play musical instruments, but he had none. Not within his reach.

Nevertheless, he found himself in a staring contest with a bunch of hungry parasprites, that menacingly crawled towards him., hungry ones at that. They all inched towards him and lunged for his flanks. He neighs and rears back. They seem to surround him and fill every “(escape)...maybe because uhhmm---...” route possible to “(hopefully) -ehhforobviousreasions… “ save his precious behind,

“Which was currently very shaky, which was currently very shaky well uhh with the uh-”

Slotted Spoon shakily rendered.

Suddenly he found himself within the reach of a lyre. His playing was horrendous…

Would but he could, he would speak and play.

But, because Slotted Spoon was a dullard. A happy, hyper-observant, head-case, he would suffer the fate of single-tasking himself to ad nausea

“Now just stay back, you hear? I’m well… Well, I’m not well, per se, I mean if you had a- well not because I mean if you were to uuhhhh, weeelllll - you know clearly from the evidence uhhhhh, forobviousreasons-” Hmm. Not so good Slotted.

The Parasprites closed in on him, and he winced as they begin furiously munching on his brown mane, much to Slotted’s utter dismay.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHIMEANYOUKNOWUHHHHHAAAHHHHFOROBVIOUSREASONS!!!” He screamed dimly, as the swarm of Parasprites devoured all of his hair in an instant.

They fly off as quickly as they had arrived, a dispersing burping swarm of fuzzies.

“Uhhhh-” Slotted Spoon remarked as he scratched his bald head... He scratched some more and looked around.

Slotted Spoon saw;

Clouds of dust kicked up by the scattering parasprites, there seems to be sand falling from somewhere.

“An uhhmmmm, glinting, that beam uhhh, of light-obviously- from an incoming object, uhhh white glint, for various deals over there I mean up there on approaching, the uhhhh, and concerning the matter of time, uhhhh reflecting off a thingie of a certain thing, well sheer white, being light-like, well of course I mean the wall of brick-obviously-forobviousreasons…. Slotted Spoon blinks...” Slotted Spoon loudly murmurs.

A large wooden object. (a wardrobe-

“..wait how big is-?).. was coming into view, according to my perspective that, is, well. Of course, you would have to realize the uhhh- uhhhhhhh- threatening to fall where I lay, well not where I lay persay, uhhh-”

A series of bricks crash and pelt the ground around him, and he inadvertently leans on the wall next to him which falls away to reveal a ye-broader entrance into darkness.

“...and he rushes inside!!!!!… Slotted Spoon exclaims wildly!"

^{FWAAAAAKOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM------------WWWWHUUUUUUU}-rumble-rubl”OOOMMMMMMPHHHHHHFFF!!”-------

_{CRASH!!!!!!!!!}--------------------------^CRASH!!!!------------------_{CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!}-ruuumble-------------------------------_crash!----------------------CRASH!!-_BOOOOOMM!! - _CRASH!-rumble____________CRASH….________CRASH

.
In the darkness of a moss-covered cave of the ever-familiar white, weathered brick, Slotted Spoon loudly ruminates.

“Uhhhh well, it appears to be some kind, of uh….the castle, or uhhh- the stuff that uh-brick tube, of uhhh-. Uhhhhh, well obviously I came here!.... (And) this deal right here was the uhhh- Eventually getting to the point where it was…Where I wasn’t, and uh, of course, - for obvious reasons - that isn’t where uh…. I was, wasn’t I? And it looks like the, uh…. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-”

Slotted Spoon just kept talking to himself, which was his main defense. He nervously (and awkwardly) snapped out of his excessively autistic introspection and with a suddenness of remembrance -, Mr. Spoon sputtered silently - something that was taught to him.

If you could hear him.

A purple light shines from his lyre as he calmly - badly - plucks the strings.

The light bounces off the white bricks like a humungous lantern and the light shoots out into nothingness with a horrible enormity.
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The white earth pony winces as he picks his lyre. Soon, his eyes adjust to;

The still traveling light from his lyre reflecting against the distant haze, that curved up into impossible proportion and into a seemingly obscure distance reflecting the meager glow of his lyre, as the wall of darkness loomed over the simple, white, earth pony with a mysterious air.

“He was currently lost.” Slotted Spoon observes with a half-clarity.

He fashions a water-catching device from nearby plant leaves.

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Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

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His coat, (being white, emblazoned with no cutie mark,) eerily blends into his immediate environment in a purple blur from the magical glow of the instrument.

Bricks and vines shoot out into a giant nothingness.

He then plucks some more strings, sits, and contemplates to himself.

He wishes he could contemplate well.

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...No breeze rustles. No wind passes her ears. Ears.

They twitch.

She gasps, her eyes shoot open, a burst of adrenalin courses throughout her veins but lingers in her synapses helplessly as she opens her eyes to greet the upside-down waking world.

She panics, and the muscles in her wings tense and attempts to curl a feather around a passing vine.

She begins to swing but at the very peak of her arc, stretches her feathers out on her opposite wing and awkwardly flops it about, desperate for a wing hold. There was a large metal pole partially concealed by a fern on a little piece of land sprouting from the rock-face.

Had she reached it, she would have pulled herself to safety. She thought as she fell.

She slowly plunges past endless kingdoms worth of stone. Her head sways uselessly back and forth darting her eyes across a blur of downward momentum, strategies bounced back and forth across her subconscious but none of them came to fruition.

She doesn't cry out... She falls and falls, wondering where in this cold dark place, did her life take such a sharp turn into destruction beyond redemption.

She looks upwards as she falls past the sound of dopplar notes, as she remembers something taught to her long ago.

Not making a sound, she plummets and the volume of the notes fade into the realms of the eternal castle; a veritable chasmic oubliette of excess rock, wood, flora, and pointless architecture.

A faint chord hangs in the inevitable presence of her demise.

Yet safety is close.

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White sand trickles across debris onto a great spire, it twists upward into forever. A red dot becomes nothing as the blackness gradually envelopes her into obscurity.

Author's Note:

This is free for you to take. I'll post it around, but I'm not exactly sure where. If you have any suggestions for places, let me know. If you want to help out with it, go for it! The more hands-on the way, the better! Well, I was planning on a longer chapter, but Jotatos wants us to grab views for the site and steal Someone Else's Oblivion fans, so I've just done one of my insanely long author's notes. Prod, Bye.