Death, Sacrifice, and the man in blue

by MrTyrannousaurusX

Chapter 22: Fictus Sanctuary

Worthless. Absolutely worthless.

Those were the only two words in Gary’s mammoth vocabulary that could begin to reasonably describe the debacle at Sugarcube Corner. Fruitless. A complete and utter waste of time. If the man were to perish that night, burning his precious minutes not only walking there but interacting with the owner would be his solitary regret. A woeful one, at that.

An odd handful of minutes had passed since five-thirty in the morning struck. Under any normal circumstances, Gary would’ve been half-dead drowning in the illimitable ocean of slumber. Tucked gingerly and fastly in his air conditioned home with whatever TV show he randomly flicked to blending into the white noise of Roseville, Alabama. Homeless junkies declaring war for ramshackle street corners they viewed as “territory”. A situation he played a helping hand in forging with ravenous business tactics. The occasional gunshot or two signaling an inevitable flock of a Roman Army of police cars. Red-and-blue deluging through the uncurtained windows of the drug-addicted residents. It was only a matter of time till the newspapers came vomiting out of the woodworks, that same wretched, pitiful headline plastered in the boldest font known to humanity.

“MAN SHOT AND KILLED IN TUSCALOOSA. SUSPECT IN CUSTODY.“

Whatever endless rambling followed after that could be predicted by a child with a third-grade reading level. Father of whoever. Uncle of whoever. Innocent bystander. The one who brought death to their doorstep being their son, nephew, niece, daughter. Someone they never met in all there thirty, forty, maybe twenty years of living. News grew stale briskly. It wasn’t a tragedy that rippled up and down those pothole-littered, hobo-infested streets any longer. Over time, the manifold of law enforcement and titanic colorless vans of the news struck the citizens more as an inconvenience than anything else. Not a moment of silence to honor those who suffered a meaningless death for an equally futile cause, but a moment to groan in aggravation. A few days later, thankfully, they’d be gone. Their investigation would conclude and the icy corpse would be wheeled off to its final resting place. An urn or a cheap casket dropped in a dirt hole being their terminus.

If there was anything remotely similar to positive that could arise from his current state of affairs, it had to be, without an iota of doubt, the peace Ponyville wore on its sleeve. The unwavering reign of serenity. A veil of tranquility that separated the quaint dome of protection the village offered from the unnamed horrors that lie beyond its demarcations. Equus was herculean. He figured as much when he trekked those several ghastly, bitter hours all the way from the benign field the Ether spat him out to here. To this foreign place so undeniably alien in nature and the unearthly inhabitants it housed, yet teeming with a never-before-felt exuberance and vibrance that Gary couldn’t rebut. A fact known and recognized by no-one sans himself about the bastard was that, despite how euphoric his limitless power over Roseville was, it invariably failed to satisfy his muses. The urges for an existence bereft of the bloodshed and misery he wrought upon its half-irreproachable, half-deserving populace. A common lust that could effortlessly satisfy his basic human makeup, but was hollow in its efforts to soothe his wild, unchained fantasies of grandeur. Those nagging images of golden thrones and skin-and-bones servants bending backwards to his every command. Bowing to his disastrous will, both metaphorically and literally. His psyche was merely a slave to those pipe dreams as much as the natives of Tuscaloosa were to him. Gary desired an existence where he could fulfill his restless hunger for simplicity and normalcy. No existential crises after every gunfight or skirmish. Waking up in a boundless ocean of cold sweat not being a common, nigh-nightly occurrence. Just him, a rickety old chair on a back porch, and a windy day. Alone, bathed in pure, precious solitude. Bereft of fake heroes and unpunished murderers. A great chunk of the motivation for migrating to Alabama was to accomplish that.

But when he fell into the throes of hard times all those years ago, his options were nix. Either slowly rot away in the vice-like grip of starvation and the wrath of the elements. Or flourish in prosperity in a vile profession. Essentially alter everything he was taught during his rocky upbringing and become the man his parents feared he would grow into. Suffering a needless demise or being a shepherd guiding lost souls to slaughter wasn’t a choice. But it was an ultimatum that required a verdict. When he strolled into the gun store and greeted the bushy-bearded man with a fabricated grin, his ruling was jarring. No effort put forth to conceal it in the least bit. Regret for his harrowing crimes seized him for the latter part of nearly a decade. But when Levi and Alan sent his heaven-scraping tower built on deceit and genocide into oblivion, there was only one thing left. For the Man in Blue’s blood on his hands.

He pinned the blame on his savage appetite for revenge on his present less-than-favorable situation. The sharp rubber treads of his boots, like a intricately detailed map for an inescapable labyrinth, impaled the soft Ponyville dirt with every smarting stride he took. His grey work pants with the hems pooling and tucked neatly behind the tongue of his shoe aided in the unforgiving bite of the early morning air, his shirt did the opposite. If anything, the aquamarine button-down was akin to a palisade of paper mache attempting to repel a blitz on a castle. Everything below the midway point of his pythons were bare and in the throes of the whistling, gnawing gales. Swimming down the empty, dead roads of the village lined and bordered by deserted carts and vacated stores. A vast majority of them lying stock-still and lifeless in cursory quietus, but a minority stood lit by a singular candle or lightswitch. Illuminating the lifeless floors and blackened windows of their establishments, devouring their goods and products in the gentle umbrella of gleam. The rank jungle of coiling forearm hair twisting around one another like exposed wires attended to the orders of the breeze, dancing fervently.

A cosmic plain of hueless pinpricks honeycombing the sheet of rich tenebrosity above frowned upon him with a sweltering glare of animosity. The venom dripping from their razor-sharp gaze manifesting into the strident, arctic zephyrs stealing precious breath from his lungs. Oxygen he undoubtedly wasn’t deserving of. Their own unique method of inflicting their inner secreted indignation towards the male. He wondered which one of the specific atrocities he’s committed upon the guiltless had indirectly affected the stars. Combing every inch of the broad pasture of his psyche for, out of the tens of thousands he’s perpetrated, the singular transgression that spelled ruination for the celestial bodies.

With a name as jolly and merry as Sugarcube Corner, one would expect their visit to be riddled with joyful memories that send their heart into an elated frenzy. The mere mention of the bakery’s title being more-than-enough to tear the ripcord on there core, galvanizing every cell of their essence. But from now until time’s coda, whenever Gary looked back on that deranged madhouse of pastries, the only thing he could do was mourn for the scared time barbarically butchered in front of him. Kneeling on one knee at its side, clutching its ever-so-benumbed hand while life spilled from their irises with every word. Each sentence more unique and faster than the last. The male forsook the idea of attempting to cling onto any string of dialogue he managed to catch by the skin of his teeth. Tuning it out and forlornly longing for an opening to depart being the solitary concern plaguing his mind.

Well…that and the welcoming-slash-badgersome voice occupying his skull rent-free. Shut out by the world and penned in a coarse veneer of stone flesh, but accepted by Gary for reasons unknown to the both of them. Two minds that thought relatively alike. A duo of brains hellbent on the same goal, a healthy mix of revenge and domination. Sweet, sweet domination.

“Discord?”

“Mhm?” The disembodied draconequus answered, drowsiness polluting his tone despite his spectral state.

“So what the hell do I need this book for? Still haven’t told me.”

Gary motioned with his populated left hand clutching a mahogany-brown book encased in genuine, smooth leather. A singular golden horseshoe was plastered onto the cover, bejeweled with a continuous row of glimmering round sapphires barely bigger than his thumb nail. The bougie gemstones complimented the moon’s pale influence joyously. Glimmering with a radiance Gary hadn’t seen from anything in years, and a sight he never knew he missed until now.

The noirette noted the absence of the rhythmic jingling of the coins tenanting his pocket with every stride. Two precious things would be wasted that night, it seemed. Money and time. The lifeblood of the universe. Precisely what kept the globe spinning and the seasons changing.

“Well maybe if you put some pep in your step, we’d be at the motel by now,” Discord replied.

Gary somehow managed to stifle a scoff in spite of knowing his tone wasn’t malicious.

“Whatever.”

“Oh, lighten up, friend.” Discord exclaimed, “Be grateful you’re not the one trapped inside a head.”

“What do I have to be grateful for?”

“Walking. Eating. Sleeping. You can do just about anything. What can I do?”

“Can you get cold?”

“Not exactly-”

“Well, I can.” Gary retorted. “That’s something I won’t ever miss.”

Matching the testimony of that wretched unicorn’s posse, Gary had died that day. The last thing he remembered before he was thrust into perpetual darkness was fatal doses of glee, a skull-splitting explosion, and silence. But only for a minute did that quietude persist. With his jaw-dropping several minutes of fun being a thing of the past, a gaping maw of hellish damnation widened its jubilated jaws to swallow him whole. The only way his sin-paved road could properly conclude.

And if it wasn’t for the semi-pesky draconequus ravaging his mind with nigh-constant banter about everything, he would’ve stayed trapped in that hellscape. A boundless sea of impossibly smooth sable obsidian. No blemishes, divots, or anything of the sort that dared to disrupt the measureless lake of perfection. Just him, an utter lack of senses, and his crimes to torture him illimitably. But a deal was struck. A deal he couldn’t refuse even if he set his blackened, oozing heart on it. Discord breathes life into his parched, decayed veins and Gary does the same in return. It didn’t take a pinnacle of man’s genius to figure out why a being labeled as the so-called “God of Chaos” wound up there. Trying and failing numerous times to piece together the story that led him there was enjoyable in a way. A stark deviation from the righteous torment pulverizing him day-in and day-out. But if his countless failed machinations against his enemy were an indication of anything, this venture would only lead to one familiar avenue. Death and eternal doom. Locked away to wither in dreadful isolation, sitting on that limitless bed of obsidian with crossed legs and a face of stone. A blight among the endless dark, like a dove defying the cold command of the night sky.

Gary lost track of how long ago the glacial, bony hands of death sabotaged his ineffective endeavors at redress. He wanted to say five grueling days at the bare minimum and, surprisingly enough, the imbuing headless voice filling his pounding skull couldn’t tell him. If a god who’s lived to see empires rise and fall more times than he himself could count was unable to recall, who’s to say anyone could? Through forests invaded by spongy tenebrous and desolate paths untouched by man, Discord was his sole companion. A knight in shining armor riding valiantly through the excruciating reclusion, liberating him from the throes of solitude. While the unholy amalgamation’s company wasn’t what he envisioned for a companion, it was better than the other alternatives. The breathy voices of his victims spewing mocks and taunts from a realm far beyond his understanding. Knowing clear and well the monster who ended their lives was unable to reach them. If he could, it was more than assured that dimension would see the end of its days.

Although, sometimes, the woeful calls from the land of the dead were preferred.

“Not that book!”

“I said brown leather, didn’t I?”

“No, no! Not that one either.”

“Do you plan on staying here until the sun rises, Gary?”

That excursion through the library should’ve been rewarded with a medal of the highest honor for his patience. Trekking through the blazing magma field of Hell would have been dramatically easier. It was prodigious how the owner of the book surplus hadn’t stirred from her placid respite. Never had he picked a lock that easily in all of his years.

All Gary needed now was a place to lay his weary head. A malleable mattress where a canyon could be gouged into the textile with his ironclad frame. The scanty knowledge that a compendium of pillows and blankets awaited him somewhere in this ramshackle town made him weak in the knees. If his knees could grow any weaker, that is. He mentally scalped himself for making the grave mistake of wearing high-top work boots in the comfort of his own home. When that bullet drilled into his ribcage, his footwear was the last regret plaguing his loathsome, dying mind. But now, with the Grim Reaper hot on his tail for the head of Gary Demonio, he could grieve his mistake to his heart’s content.

The raven-haired sod scanned the vista intensely with furrowed brows and exhausted amber orbs. Prowling the trodden roads of Ponyville, grazing the jagged horizon of chimneys and abnormally-shaped roofs and houses with a fatigued gaze. While the permeating crepuscule had no problem leaving the man to his own devices, it took great satisfaction in hindering almost every sense or bodily function he harbored. Sight had been robbed from him long ago. Ears were ravaged by the discordant orchestra of crickets, singing their palpating hearts out for all the ponies to watch in awe. Only there were no mares or mustangs to dazzle at their inharmonious performances. Just him and the unbothered beast lodging in his head. Taking steps with mindless ease was a distant memory. Now, each and every one of the untold divots or gouges in the earth would threaten to hurl the man to his knees. Maybe these signs of the universe were pointing Gary in a different direction. One bereft of the inevitable warpath he would surely pave with illimitable sin and carnage. Whoever created these otherworldly creatures blessed with the gift of cognitive thought and free speech has a plan for him. But so does he.

“So, Discord.”

“Yes?”

“You still haven’t told me what the hell this book is for?” Gary reiterated.

“You know, the one I spent half a damn hour looking for?”

“I was only persistent because you weren’t looking hard enough.”

“That isn’t the point.” Gary replied, attempting to cleanse his tone of aggression towards his only sliver of sanity. “I would like to know what it’s for.”

“Well, I’d need your full attention for you to retain everything.” He responded, “And right now you can barely walk without stumbling.”

“Maybe if you didn’t send me on the longest fucking path here, this wouldn’t be a problem!”

“There is no ‘long path’. There’s only one way.”

“I’m sure there was another way.”

“There wasn’t, Gary.”

The male scoffed, the choir of insects raging on only stoked the cocoon of irate flames clasping his heart. His head thundered with agony, like white-hot glowing spears impaling the wrinkled walls of his brain without a hint of relent.

Gary sighed.

“Dammit.” Gary rubbed his dirt-caked visage in irritation. His stygian stubble poked the hardened skin of his fingertips like cactus needles. “I need a break.”

“Oh, no need to tell me, friend.” It could’ve easily been a trick of his wrung-out brain, but he could’ve swore he discerned a faint iota of sympathy from his exclamation.

“If it makes you feel any better, we’re almost there. Just keep it together until then. I’ll tell you everything when we get a hot meal and a shower.”

Gary’s breath hooked to the walls of his throat with wild vigor. Surprise led an uprising against all else.

“Excuse you?”

“Whatever is the matter?”

“We-I am me. You are you. There is no ‘we’. Not yet, at least.”

“May I remind you who brought you back here in the first place-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Gary never thought interrupting a voice in his head mid-sentence was a feasible action.

Yet here he was, severing a statement that he wasn’t entirely sure was even planted in reality. For all he knew, Gary’s entire journey from that hellish perdition he was flung into was all an unchained ruse. The byproduct of free reign granted to a crazed mind deluded by violence and unshackled urges. Accorded freedom where it doesn’t belong. Emancipated insanity with complete and utter prerogative to manifest whatever its rotten depths desired. If not that, then this entire escapade with fairy tale-esque Discord could be chalked up to his conclusive moments of consciousness stretched incomprehensibly. Perhaps he was still lying there in that dank, frigid castle. A bitter mirth forever locked in the belly of his stagnant lungs. Slack, yawning jaws hanging like unfortunate criminals in the gallows. Heart ceased and amber eyes drained all of arrogance, yet his brain persisted. He persisted. Survived against mountainous odds like he had his whole life.

The gimcrack, sorry-excuse for a hotel was nestled snugly between two near-identical houses to the male’s left. Both of them cut from the same cloth with terrifyingly similar features, the thick stygian smog clinging to the coarse skeleton of the cardinal chimney being one out of the numerous. A semi-lofty, three-floored rectangular building stood high and mighty, dominating the serene ill-lit sky grinning down on the picturesque town. Every roof and olden cottage within a five-foot radius of it turned a sickly green with envy, gazing upon its gangling build with an undesired longing for a similar chassis. While to Gary, an individual from a world where buildings pierced the clouds and managed to grow higher, the construction was meaningless. Something he’d expect a ragtag band of Amish to make in a few months out smack-dab in the center of nowhere. Living contently in the undivulged bowels of a rank forest. Somehow, someway, glorying in their willingly chosen existence of solitude and societal divergence.

A set of sliding glass doors, locked rigidly shut with a slender steel bar, stood posterior to the not-so-spacious deck in each of the rooms. One singular lounge chair and a solid black metal table with a cobweb pattern, standing on two duos of criss-cross rangy legs, imprisoned by chest-high wooden railings. The smoky grey curtain, embroidered with some pattern he couldn’t recognize, shielded the reposeful quarters from the calamitous cacophony of sights and sounds lying outside. A sanctuary away from the cultural amalgamation that seized Ponyville on any given day. Essentially closing the fortunate paying customer in their own personal bubble of respite for a, hopefully, meager price.

Gary scoffed at the oak flesh and mahogany triangular roof, glowering at him with vigorous animosity mirrored only by the loathsome stars minutes prior. He suppressed a mental beatdown of reprimands and a slew of unholy curses at himself for his impossibly high expectations. Anticipating a paid dormitory bearing any sliver of resemblance to one he’d find on the outskirts of Alabama was a losing game. A fool’s contest with nothing but rotting corpses of sky-scraping assumptions and disappointment lying at the end. A grizzly prize for an equally grizzly man.

After a razor-sharp cut to his left, relishing in the transition from doughty silt to the lush belt of vibrant grass, Gary’s larger-than-normal calloused hands wreathed the handlebars. Two superlative tubes of wood, polished and sanded to uber-perfection, were incarcerated to the duo of doors, held in perpetual confinement against them. The entryway itself was as Ponyville-like as Ponyville could possibly get. A pair of megalithic manchester doors had a measly pitiful handful of inches that could barely be considered an advantage towards the raven-haired sod. A small porthole bordered by a ring of steel dotted with bolts adorned each door, granting his amber leer access inside the fine establishment. “Fine” in every sense sans the traditional one. Fine for the purpose it was striving to achieve. But the instant Gary steps foot in there, each and every hair of hospitality or warmth would be incinerated. From what little wasn’t censored behind the mangled corpses of trees, all he could make out was a shined staircase and the sharp corner of a large reception desk.

Gary sighed, enveloping the handlebar with a large palm and divorcing the door from its frame. Given everything else he had seen thus far in both Tuscaloosa and Ponyville, how the owner would react to a bipedal alien sauntering into his establishment demanding domicile. It could easily be one of two things. An irritable senior with a chip on his shoulder, ready to blast the youthful vigor he oh-so forlornly longed for out of him. Or a significantly calmer individual could be residing behind the gargantuan desk. An equine that viewed anger as a foreign concept. Not an irate envious mustang eager to stuff his shotgun barrel down his throat. On second thought, a yokel musket or a whetted tomahawk seemed more fitting. How could a town absent of power lines and partially lit by half-dead candles have militarized gunpowder? It simply wasn’t feasible. His imagination knew no bounds when it came to envisioning what form of dilapidated government they enforced. It wouldn’t shock him if he saw criminals dangling from rickety gallows in the near future.

Gary’s boots were rude to the vivid scarlet carpet protecting the meticulously shined wooden floors. Its rubber map-like treads dug into the lush textile, his footsteps pounding. Each one akin to a prodigious stone being hurled at the ground. Above him, hanging limply like an executed prisoner, was a large silver chandelier, clad with an array of tallow candles. Their wicks aflame with arresting orange life and their slender frame a quarter of the way melted. Each passing minute sent the wax one stride closer to their inexorable demise. In accordance with the moon and the illimitable stars, it too harbored a rooted, unwavering animosity towards the man. He could only wonder what lifeless, inanimate thing would scrutinize him next. The oak walls were destitute of any flare or personality. Just bare uniform planks adorned with miniscule framed photographs and a singular painting. A sunrise in a vast, naked desert, the blood-red sky a beautiful backdrop for the equally alluring sun barely peeking out from the coarse horizon, bordered by a mahogany frame. One of the astronomically few displays of artistry Gary surprisingly took a liking to.

Halfway down the arresting carpet on the right-hand side was the colossal reception desk. Bankrupt of anything that can be remotely correlated to clutter. A glimmering mass of carved wood that reeked of expensive polish, akin to the intoxicating scent of perfectly aged wine. The consistently flat desk dropped dramatically behind it, giving whoever manned it a small cubicle of space to themselves. Inside sat an opened book with a maroon leather cover, flooded with lines upon lines of aimless scribbles. A kind of witless writing one would expect to see either engraved into a cave wall miles underground, or found in the diary of a lunatic imprisoned in a derelict asylum. The manic jottings were illuminated by a tall candle, lagging behind its brethren above on their staggered march to death. A pattern was engraved into the bottom half of the golden bell situated atop the desk. One rose vine. Stretching and winding the full length of the bell.

At the rear of the brown treen chair for the receptionist was a hollow doorway, giving into a break room for whomever grew weary of the extraneous labor of reception. Jotting down names of cursory inhabitants and collecting payment is back-splintering work, after all. In the mini-lounge room, a tallow-colored pony stood diligently stirring a steaming bowl of oatmeal. Her wavy mane was bisected. One half navy blue while the other deviated, taking on a vibrant bright pink. The war between colors didn’t stop at just her head. The mare’s tail was no exception to the horrors of this calamity. Two hues battling for dominance over the equine’s luscious locks. A duel with no possible way of victory for either side. Crystalline blue irises gazed into her early morning meal with a wild hankering, stomach brimming with unbridled hunger. Her flank was plastered with a trio of neatly wrapped cyan-and-yellow striped candies. Their shape as stereotypical as they come. An oval center with two flared edges on the left and right.

Gary stuffed a calloused hand into the murky depths of his pocket. Oh how miserably he took his immeasurable wealth for granted. That field of stuffed suitcases he cached beneath his tumbledown floorboards, like a battlefield of dead soldiers. Their zippers on the cusp of greeting its maker. Tail ends of Ben Franklin and Ulysses Grant peeking out from the bowels of the sack, annexed by silt and dust and crinkled by the absence of space. Money he always planned to use for a good reason. Yet the opportunity never arose. He could only wonder where that limitless fortune smothered by soil beneath his flooring was now. Reclaimed by the bank? Given to the homeless by a vigilante who raided his house? On that note, where was his house? Demolished? Reclaimed by either nature or his scroogelike landlords? Gary had all the time in the world at a later date to lament the loss of all he held dear. He possessed little, and time was one of the things that scarcity ravaged.

Now all that belonged to his name was a trifling handful of bits, limited time, and the stygian big iron tucked securely in his waistband. And if his brutally low finances won’t cut it, perhaps a pistol barrel to her forehead would do the trick. He was doubtful she witnessed a determination as fiery and unwavering as his. Let a room in this ramshackle establishment not be in his name by the end of the night, he would be the final person she saw.

Gary cleared his throat, the frigid early morning air still clinging to the dry walls of his throat. Measly minutes followed since he regretfully consumed that sugary concoction born from the twisted fathoms of lunacy. While the aftertaste wasted no time in beating him to a pulp, food and water were the only thing separating him from a corpse. Two necessities that moron at Sugarcube Corner couldn’t provide. He fabricated as much faux-kindness as his blackened heart would allow, pouring it out into a duo of words.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see-.” Her head swiveled. Anything that could’ve barely resembled hospitality was deposed. Assuming its stead was a vile amalgamation of many things Gary half-expected, half-dreaded. Fright. Confusion. Urgency. A twinge of panic. Just about everything the raven-haired man had forebodings about. If negotiating the mountain-high price was barely considered an option before, it had been undeniably squashed to bits now.

Whatever the case may be, at the end of the day, one of these temporary quarters was going to be his. No ifs, ands, or buts. One way or another. It didn’t matter what lens the situation was viewed from by any party. This hotel was the key to Levi’s blood painting this decrepit town. And the only thing that could stop Gary now was his severed head hitting the hardwood floor. He’d get a room by any means necessary. That was a promise to the heavens above.

“You…” The petrified receptionist finally concluded. Her forelimbs welded to the carpet. Bones imprisoned in blocks of terror. Confusion seized her thundering heart. Eyes scanned all around the spacious lobby, scanning for some proof that she was trapped in a fever dream. A clock or some other off-the-walls detail that would grant this theory with concrete evidence. But there was none. She swallowed.

“H-How may I h-help you?”

The receptionist brutally tore her hoof from where it was rooted into the floor. One after another, painful steps. Slow, calculated strides, as though she was approaching a malnourished lion annexed by primal hunger and plagued with rabies. And in a way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. After all, the noirette’s hands always felt empty without the coarse material of his pistol grip digging into them. Pushing the gun barrel to her forehead would secure him a domicile devoid of question. But was it the inevitable bounty that would be placed on his head that stopped him? The wanted posters? Or was it the manhunt?

With distance now shaved, a rectangular golden name tag was clipped to her bare chest. The aurate badge read Bon Bon.

The earth pony took a seat.

For the first time in his life, Gary had second thoughts about securing his desires with violent intimidation.

“I-I’m Bon Bon. What can I d-do for you?”

Gary suppressed the gnawing urge to flash a confused mug at Bon Bon. Partly for the sheer stupidity of her name that matched her flank tattoo to a T, but greatly for her fear. That cold, unwavering, heart-palpitating fear that he’d expect to see in a person staring death in the face. Outright rejecting its claims that their time had come. Spitting in the wake of truth that their terminus had arrived and he was here to take him. The face of a man who was by no means prepared for death. It was debatable on whether she recognized, or at the very least saw, the instrument of war tucked into the back of his tattered pants. Given all he had seen thus far from Ponyville, he wouldn’t bet money on finding an operational gun store anytime soon. If she charged at him clad in glimmering Spartan gear and a whetted spear, shock would be the last thing he’d experience. But he doubted that battling him was a resort she’d consider.

Gary grinned.

“What’re your prices?”

“E-Each room is twenty bits a night.”

“Twenty?” Gary replied, baffled.

“Yessir, twenty.”

“Shit!” Gary cursed beneath his breath. “Can it get any cheaper than that?”

“I don’t t-think so.” Bon Bon avoided eye contact with the Grim Reaper like the Black Plague. “I won’t be a stranger to n-negotiating if that’s what you want.”

“I’d like that a lot.” Gary rested his hairy arms on the reception desk, his head leaning ever-so-closer. The timid mare recoiled like a cornered street dog.

“I’m new to-”

One of the vast array of drawers at Bon Bon’s disposal exploded open. The desk quivered from the sheer might of the herculean tug. From his new perch on the table’s crest, his amber orbs locked onto the brutalized drawer’s innards. A lake of golden keys occupied the otherwise dark, lifeless space. Each of them clad with a royal blue plastic tag printed with a stark white number. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty-eight. Thirty. It seemed this building was a lot bigger than he anticipated.

She carelessly plucked a key from the nameless sea and threw the drawer shut, dropping it with a sharp clink! upon his freshly claimed territory.

“H-Here. Take it.” Bon Bon stammered, sinking into her seat that swallowed her like a tar pit. “Give me whatever you have, it doesn’t matter.”

Gary shrugged, blessing the pitiful family of glimmering coins in his pocket with light once again. They clattered to the blemishless wood stridently, one of them rattling like a snake’s tail before its fervor was drained by gravity. All that stood in that surprisingly well-kept hotel lobby was Gary, satisfied and racked by poverty, yet taking steps down his blistering warpath. And a mortified earth pony, accepting his hollow ‘thank you’ with zero grace. Gary’s boots boomed against the firm wooden stairs. Scuffing the flawless polish irreparable with each callous step. The sonorous sounds that echoed throughout that gimcrack building sent combers of unrest in all directions. Colossal waves opening their broad, mammoth jaws to swallow the serenely resting residents whole. They all might be devoured by the tranquil ocean of slumber, but their hearts were the polar opposite. Wide awake. Electrified, jolted by fright and unease. Perturbed to the utmost of the manifestation of bad luck sauntering through the darkened halls. His thick boots pounding the floor carelessly, like a ravenous, greedy bounty hunter strolling into a saloon. Prowling with furrowed, shrewd irises for his target’s horror-struck mug.

In more twisted ways than one, Gary’s life bore many similarities to that of a vicious, unforgiving debt collector. Roaming the pothole-marked streets of Roseville. Walking through the fields of dead grass, the blades either a sickly yellow or scummy brown. There was never an in-between. His menacing footsteps thundering up and down that decrepit neighborhood. Bulky pistol almost always tethered safely to his side. There were two beacons of absolute superiority in Roseville. Him and poverty. No cars. No top-of-the-line security systems. No police. Just him and his mighty kingdom. He was the ruler of all. The emperor. Playing god with those innocent, manipulated souls like a child with a ball. A puppeteer in a sea of misguided dolls, tugging the strings in whatever way he pleased. It was heaven.

However, now, his state wasn’t too far off from the poor bastards he governed with an iron fist and cold command. Now, he was as worthless as the meritless peons he dominated. He filled the shoes of someone who would, under any normal circumstances, go into cardiac arrest at the mere mention of his name. Scrounging every corner, nook, and cranny of this out-of-date village. A trifling speck in a foreign world with an equally foreign feeling plaguing him. One of utter inferiority. That euphoric thrill of authority had long-since abandoned him. Deserted the man and left him to the elements, like it had done with so many others before him. Presently, he was merely a husk. A living, breathing corpse of that unshakable pillar of supremacy that made that town his footrest. He was nothing.

The darkness of his room reminded him of this in every way. Mocking him, screaming soundless taunts from its endless bowels. Roaring with wild ecstasy and pleasure at his fate. Muted howls of mirth. A deathly silent guffaw engulfing him and invading his psyche with every step. Insults that had no face or name attached to the source. Just pure, unadulterated malice from the boundless dark, decimated only by a singular candle. Standing proudly in the fullest state he had seen thus far. Perhaps this was another one of the tenebrosity’s cruel jeers. Showing a lonesome, fatigued molt of a male looking at a high and mighty being. Gary paid the jeer no mind. Simply igniting the wick and stripping his grimy button-down and tattered pants. For a town with little-to-no electricity or generators, the fact that running water was extant was nothing short of a miracle. Cleansed but far from restored, Gary rested his weary head on the lush pillow. Throbbing spine comforted by the alluring textile. Pounding skull soothed, yet the agony remained more thunderous than ever before.

Gary sunk deep into the lush textile of the motel bed. Devoured in an unchained sandstorm of quilts and blankets, his head consumed by a pillow’s starved mouth. Buzzed sable hair quenching its roaring stomach. His pockmarked stone-grey pants, belt, turquoise shirt, and his frayed boots all melted into a singular shambolic pile at his bedside. His unpigmented, pockmarked socks stuck out of his left shoe like a crude mockery of a plant protruding from the earth. The room’s natural, inert musk of moth balls and dirt-cheap cleaning chemicals would surely cling to his only outfit. Following him on his wolfish hunt for the so-called Man in Blue until one of the two men perishes. Sauntering down the drubbed roads of Equestria with an unfaltering stench was better by leaps and bounds then the contrary.

A human teetering dangerously on the cusp of being considered a kinetic corpse. Sleep-deprived, famished, and unwavering, skulking in the shadows for his unfortunate target. Eyelids howling for mercy. Bloodshot globes scaling up and down the battered frame of his enemy. Hands trembling with desire as the hammer clicked back. Trigger pulled. An enraptured bark. A new glittering varnish of brains and ichor. Enough gore for all of his mortified family to scream in misery at to their grieving heart’s desire.

That was the inevitable reality Levi would soon face. The removal and subsequent decimation of his kingdom would not go unpaid. Every injustice that was brought upon the noirette all his life didn’t go unchecked. And that wouldn’t change now. The only thing stopping him was the titanic thorn in his side that he, as much as he resented confessing it, owed a stupendous favor too. Rescuing a fallen soul from beyond the grave and bringing himself along with them was a daunting task. One that required extraneous amounts of magic that no being, neither mortal nor omnipotent, were capable of. Yet he accomplished it. Somehow, someway, Discord managed to do the impossible. Like he had done many times before, according to him. All he needed in return was a simple one-time payment. Sweet liberation from his eternal dungeon of stone flesh and to break the chains on centuries worth of shackled chaos. Unleashing thousands of years of pent-up disarray onto an oblivious Equestria. Glory in the illustrious screams of confusion that gorge itself upon the entire nation. Ever-so-beautiful anarchy spitting its fury out onto any hapless civilian who happened to cross the discordant warpath. And Gary envisioned himself gazing out at the boundless destruction. Sitting on a throne crafted from solid gold at Discord’s hand. Not a lap dog or a meaningless pawn in his illimitable game, but in a position of power. Authority. The very same he had been lusting for since that bullet laid waste to his heart years ago. Countless others in the same position he once had would die, but he would persist. He would thrive in this brand new world forged from utter discord and pandemonium. Madness reigning supreme.

That was fair. That was just. An even trade. An effortless life of grandeur for…the destruction of millions of lives. Alongside the vanquishment of the fragile fabric of society.

That was fair. That was…just?

Right?

The ancient book, worth the lion’s share of his already bone-dry funds, was fit snugly between his broad blemished hands. Creased hide greeted his thickened fingertips with grace. Who knew how long it had been since another living soul blessed it with their touch. Out of the hundreds of ever-so-slightly yellowed, grooved pages, Gary had flipped to a single particular one. Page two-hundred and thirty-three to be exact.

Or to be as specific as possible, the treasure trove for all that was known about the prehistoric totalitarian entity occupying his skull. The one and only draconequus alive. Discord, the God of Chaos. A black-and-white olden photograph was plastered onto the upper half of the page. A twisted amalgamation of limbs and an unchained variety of flesh. Ranging from the mangy fur of a mountain goat to the vibrant seaweed-green scales of a primordial dragon. His right foot a cloven hoof of a Ram, his left a scaly, three-toed appendage of a reptile. Left arm a mighty lion’s paw, the other an eagle’s set of whetted talons. Left small wing a leathery purple pinion like a bat, right wing a feathery one bearing many similarities to an average brightly-colored eagle. His slender frame was like a pool noodle gifted with the girth of a large totem pole. The middle portion of his frame was thick dark fur that gave way to a winding squamate tail, punctuated with a tuft of stark white hair at the end.

Discord’s visage and all that surrounded it wasn’t spared from the rotten lunacy his creator was plagued by. Long achromatic bushy eyebrows. Pointy ears like that of a gargantuan squirrel with pink interiors. A singular sharp, tusk-like tooth jutted from his upper jaw, stretching past his impossibly lengthy lower brethren. Two horns protruded from his scalp, one resembling a small cornuple, the other a thin antler that appeared more like a dying branch. A stygian plume grew from the back of his neck and extended to his upper back.

Discord stood frozen in a never-ending state of glee on a tiny Greek-style pillar resting in a wide plate. His gangly tail coiled around the granite pole beneath him. Wings pointed towards the lush plane of grass he would ne’er feel the touch of again. Massive paw placed on his chest, razor-sharp talons pointed behind him. Mouth open ever-so-wide, as though he was petrified in a herculean guffaw. A howl of laughter at his cursory victory severed by the unintelligible blast that defeated him. Standing on both sides of him were the Royal Sisters. Composed and stoic, although shoving screams of relief at their conquest into the murky recesses of their stomachs.

Maybe Gary would prove to be a pawn after all.

Discord’s sighed echoed endlessly in his head.

“What am I looking at here?”

“That’s me. At least that’s what they turned me into.” The fallen god replied, “A prisoner in stone. A tourist attraction.”

“What the hell did you do, Discord? They don’t do that to everyone who’s a criminal, right?”

As much as Gary resented pondering the possibility, imagining the consequences of his raging warpath for the Man in Blue was a past time he was beginning to grow accustomed to. He couldn’t bear the prospect of living in a cage of coarse stony flesh. Forced to stand and endure the passage of the world around him, weighed to the absolute bottom of the river of time. Decades swimming past him gracefully, mocking the noirette for the grand heist on his freedom. The seasons changing, and the world shifting. Sun rising and the moon setting. Yet all of it unfelt. Cherished by all except him. He suppressed a shudder.

“I…I won…only not for long.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I conquered Equestria a millenia ago, and that was the punishment the Princesses saw fit for the likes of me.”

“Princesses?”

“Yes, the Royal Sisters. Celestia and Luna. They control the sun and the moon. Luna’s been gone for quite a while, I’ve heard. It’s only Tia now.”

“What happened to her?”

“Equestria’s fearless leader banished her to the moon for a thousand years. Jealousy got the better of her.”

“Huh.” Gary shifted comfortably.

“But that’s nowhere near important,” Discord emphasized, “what lies in that book is the key to getting me out of that wretched place.”

“You don’t like my mind?”

“It’s…alright. A lot of terrible memories in here. But it’ll work.”

Gary paused for a brief moment.

“When are you gonna tell me your story, Gar-”

“Soon.” Gary interrupted. “Soon. Very soon. Let’s… let’s find out about this damn curse or whatever first. Priorities, Discord.”

“The Elements of Harmony.”

Gary cocked an eyebrow at nobody. Not even a sentence into this damned book and the interruptions are coming in full-force. “The what?”

“The Elements of Harmony. The most powerful artifacts in all of Equestria. They hold all the power you could ever dream of, my friend.”

“That’s how you ended up here?”

“More or less,” A faint hint of shame peppered with vexation polluted his formerly calm voice. Discord subdued a sigh bubbling in the pit of his non-existent throat.

“But never the matter. That is an Equestrian book detailing all of the magnificent feats of our rulers over the centuries. Both before me and after.” Discord explained, his tone honeycombed with sarcasm. “Somewhere in there, I know there’s a way to free me.”

“How do you not know yourself?” Gary inquired, “Shouldn’t you know by now how to break your own…whatever the hell this is?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than you think, Gary.”

“You’re the God of Chaos. What’s stopping you from-”

“I will not tolerate mindless questions.” Discord interjected. “Less blabbering, more reading. We don’t have any time to waste.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

“I’m sure that poor little pony downstairs alerted the entire Royal Guard here by now.”

It could be a trick of his mind but…was that panic he discerned? Worry? Was the Discord perturbed by the fear-governed actions of a meaningless civilian? What could this so-called “Royal” Guard possibly do to him that a shower of bullets couldn’t fix?

“And if they find out what we’re planning-”

“How could they?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Discord responded, “just read. We have to figure something out.”

Gary’s amber orbs diligently grazed each individual cable of text. Sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, Discord’s story was gradually unraveled, one miniscule thread at a time. His eyesight, when used for anything other than locking foreheads in his crosshair, was the textbook definition of dirt poor. Combined with weak coalition between the dim candlelight and ever-increasing morning gleam, dissecting age-old abnormally constructed writing was a nigh-impossible task. Retaining pages upon pages of a topic he was barely invested in was a daunting challenge in and of itself.

Allegedly, countless centuries ago, Discord attempted to overthrow the basic fundamentals of sane government and society. And to say he paid the price for it would be a mammoth understatement. Something about Celestia, Luna, and the union of power from the Elements of Harmony forced him into a mortifying defeat. Blah, blah, blah… The tale stretched endlessly. Diving head-first into the fallout of Discord’s failed machinations and dismantled reign of terror. ‘Till this very day, the Statue of Discord stands as a monument to Equestria.’ The spun-out fable read. ‘Standing as not only a testament to all upcoming villains who sought to destroy Equestria, but as a demonstration of-’

This, that, and the other about how courageous the faux-democratic leaders of Equus were. Celestia and Luna, Equestria’s knights in shining armor. The aristocratic duo who oh-so valiantly put their lives on the incredibly thin line to rescue the country. Wrench it from the septic claw and lion paw of a certain draconequus.

Yet, throughout the entirety of the ramble that somehow managed to get published, no remedy for Discord’s ceaseless ailment was recorded. Not buried beneath a thick layer of subtext or secreted deep in some hidden code or cipher. Nowhere. In every page regarding his long-lasting confinement, any page that mentioned the God of Chaos’ name, nothing was present. Not in the section dedicated wholly to Discord. Absent in the section devoted to Princess Celestia and Luna. Nor in the ones discussing the Elements, the royal family dating back thousands of years, Canterlot, or the mind-boggling twenty-two chapters talking about every variation of magic. Changelings and their isolated ability to shape-shift. The Crystal Heart and its paramount significance. A long-dead foe named King Sombra and his gift of mind-control. Lord Tirek and the Centaur race’s expertise of burglarizing magic from others by force.

If the circumstances were deviated from the sinister road he was currently on, Gary would’ve stayed up night and day tirelessly studying the book. Every unrepeated species. Every creature, both viciously hostile and not. Every location, spell, magic variation, everything this book had to offer, whether big or small, was appreciated wholeheartedly. A small flash of serenity in a calm setting. One blessing amidst the violent, savage cacophony of death and tyranny he had grown accustomed to. A worthless life led by utter and complete barbarity. It was him, his guns, his wealth, against the herculean forces of the world. The more he thought about it, bitter solitude was his only company throughout the entire ordeal. Always ever him. His heart harbored zero space for anyone else other than him. Perhaps Equestria can be a second chance. If he survives that long to see the opportunity, that is.

With no cure for Discord’s imprisonment blatant, Gary reread just about everything involving the chaotic draconequus in full. And it was only then, by some unrighteous divine intervention, that medicine for his stony condition had been discovered. But more importantly, foolishly written down for all to see. Especially Discord’s newfound partner-in-crime.

“Oh, this is hopeless.” Discord whined mere moments before. “How are we to-”

“Quiet!” Gary whisper-yelled to the voice in his skull, “Let me read, dammit.”

‘Legend has it that the only way for Discord to see Princess Celestia’s light is to ignite his passion for chaos with chaos. Despite being disproved numerous times by the Royal Sisters when asked of it, it hasn’t stopped the citizens of-’

Again. Blah, blah, blah. Trudging through the remainder of that gangly paragraph was fruitless. His answer was there. All he needed to achieve his, what he felt inclined to refer to him as, comrade’s freedom and his lust for Levi’s brains misting the town. “Glorious chaos” was exactly what he was promised. Eternal anarchy for the entirety of Equestria until the end of time. Or at the very least until the bastard responsible grew weary of that constant, uniform cycle of screams and howls of anguish. Retreating back into his home dimension, taking the unfathomable havoc he wrought along with him.

Gary had wondered for some time where he would fit in this grandiose plan of nationwide domination. A hellish realm known as the aptly named “Chaos dimension” was the tumultuous damnation Discord managed to call his humble abode. A reasonably-sized home floating amongst a boundless plane of oblivion, accompanied solely by the lawlessness scattered every which way. If Gary’s fears were rooted in reality and Discord did eventually abandon Equestria, where did his puzzle piece fit into the grand scheme? Fleeing back to Discord’s home? Him being forsook by the god, deserted to face the full wrath of whatever unbridled judgment was warranted? Gary was more-than-aware of Discord’s incomprehensible, manic ruses and machinations in the very same literature where his cure lie hidden. A part of that felt overwhelmingly poetic. Not only that, but somewhat prophetic in a way.

What if Gary was another one of his pawns? What if all this effort he’d put in to free his savior was all for naught? In the end, when all is said and done and no amount of forced guilt could reverse their ruinous actions, what would be left? A human clad in turquoise standing upon the mildew-conquered gallows. Patchy potato sack, annexed by grime and walloped by age, enveloping his pate. Gritty rope biting deep into his neck and nape. A crowd of millions jeering him, cheering the anonymous harbinger of death to slam the lever. All of them waiting in combined excitement to watch the callous sod swing lifelessly. To hear that sickening crunch as Gary Demonio exited Equus as quickly as he entered. One command from the Princess, and he was dead. Gone. Forever. Gone to a place where none of the souls he irreparably marred could reach him. Roar his name in unbelievable agony, but no screams could pierce the veil he hid behind.

Was that what awaited him at the end of this road? Death and suffering. Not just for all, but for him? It was a truly thought-provoking exercise. One Gary had no interest in entertaining any further.

“Is this what you were looking for? ‘Igniting chaos with chaos’?” Gary asked, part-hopeful and part-desperate for slumber. His pine sap-colored irises strained.

Discord chuckled. A deep rumble of satisfaction, elation, and lunacy like tires rolling slowly over pulverized gravel.

“Yes…precisely!” Discord replied, undeniable fever braided with his words. “Oh, Gary Demonio, you and I will reach great heights together!”

“I sure as shit hope we do.” Gary slammed the book shut callously, utterly destitute of vigilance for the delicate sleep of those housed around him. The noirette haphazardly dropped the tome onto the discordant heap of old clothing and beyond battered footwear. Its spine collided with the grimy toe of his boots, situated side-by-side, before meeting the hardwood floor. Gary’s gaze flicked to the surprisingly lively candle on his bedside table. The sole abnormal aberrant to the soupy tenebrous devouring the room in its entirety. A soldier with boundless valiance leading a one-man rebellion against the mighty forces of the dark. The wax’s slim frame was bisected. Bottom portion melted far past the bounds of recognition, fusing together and bonding with the black steel candelabra. The top half standing high and mighty like the unflagging trooper it was. Vivid flame in a passionate flamenco, wick burning ever-so-bright. The sable metal stand it stood on was in the vague shape of a wine glass. Flat base, slender form, and broad bowl the wax itself burned on.

“Save your hopes for another, my dear friend. This is our destiny!”

Gary’s thumb and index fingertips ran over the top and bottom of his tongue. Lubricated with saliva, the raven-haired male squeezed the dancing wick. The flame died between his calloused digits. His gimcrack hotel room was plunged without warning into darkness, sans the shafts of preliminary morning light storming his cursory domicile.

“‘Destiny…’” Gary scoffed. “I never really believed in it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Never have, never intend to.” Gary pulled the quilt up to his neck, pinning it to his chest with his chine for a split-second.

“Why, my dear friend?” The draconequus asked, “We are all tied to destiny. We’re bound to it, can’t change it.”

“Do you think my destiny was this? Or what happened before you found me? What god would want me to do that?”

“A god from your world, I suppose.”

Gary barracked at the idea.

“I doubt my world had a god. Even if it did, it left me a long-ass time ago.”

“Did it leave you, or did you leave it?”

“I don’t care,” Gary managed to be drawn deeper into the plush mattress. “and it doesn’t matter. It’s been too damn long to do anything about it.”

“I’m inclined to believe you didn’t fancy the idea of a god much, did you?”

“You read my mind.” Gary flipped to his side, facing the oncoming armies of lionhearted beams of light plunging into his room. “I wasn’t too crazy about the idea of some all-knowing being watching over me. Judging everything I do, no matter how small. I didn’t like following their rules either.”

“Rules?”

“It’s too much to explain. Ask me in the morning, Discord.”

“I’m dying to know,”

His breathing slowed to leisure heavy swarms of air. Brain lulled ever-so-deeper into the thick river of slumber. Being carried onward in its ginger, tranquil current. In other words, a euphoric land absent of Discord’s inescapable barrage of questions and inquiries.

“Rules like what, Gary?”

Radio silence.

“Gary?”

A deep guttural noise erupted from his nostrils. Akin to an elephant’s trunk, clogged with mucus and slime, attempting to release its mighty pandemonium.

“Gary? Are you there?”

Nothing.

All was silent, sans the panicked receptionist eager to bound to the Ponyville Gazette the instant her duties were relieved. Trouble was brewing, but not imminent. A stark contrast to sleep.

“Gary?”

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

Is this a crossover?

[MrTyrannousaurusX]

11761006
No. Why do you ask? Gary's an original character, by the way.

[ShortCaveman]

This story is confusing me?

[MrTyrannousaurusX]

11761160
What's confusing about it?

[ShortCaveman]

11761593
Words too big ingrish hard😩

[MrTyrannousaurusX]

11761685
I get that. I need to chill on some of the big ass words lmao. Your ingrish is gonna be okay, I promise.