The Dark Below

by WindigogoGadget

With You I Build Homes

There existed seven layers. Seven layers that made up this world.

And each layer was separated by time, space and fate.

The top layer, paradise and enlightenment. The bottom layer the depths of hell, where only the most violent of souls could exist.

The layers in between were a mixture of the others, each with its own unique qualities and properties.

The very top of this world was a place of beauty and peace, where nothing evil could exist. The bottom was the opposite, a place of damnation and pain where only the most violent of souls could be forged.

And each layer, had been christened with a name. For the first layer, it was dubbed Peace. Simple and apt, for it was there that at long last they had known the concept of peace.

The second layer had been called Harmony. In this layer, it had been the embodiment of balance and harmony, where everything was equal and nothing was out of place.

And of course, because everything was equal, it was also natural. Nature embodied harmony, the mix of creation and destruction. Gentle rains and storms, harsh winds, forests and mountains. Ponies flocked to settle these new lands back when the population had skyrocketed, and they welcomed the challenge and freedom to choose where they lived- those who had grown born of endless Elysium fields, at least.

And the third layer was Love- it embodied all that was pure and good in the world. It was the very essence of what made life worth living for this land. For this was the land where friendship and love was born.

This third layer had been easy to chart, seemed to bend to the will of the living with ease, and here they constructed a great city. Possibly the greatest to ever exist.

It was a city of grand structures and beauty. The citizens lived in harmony with each other and the land that surrounded them. There was no suffering or sadness in this place. It was a paradise among paradises- the true ideal society that had been long awaited. Built with care, it was a monument to the greatness of life itself.

Just below that, was the memorial. The endless forest. Nothing more. Nothing less. Few chose to live there, except for the groundskeepers.

And below it, was a layer that was turning to most a stark contrast of its ideal. Paradise. The fifth layer.

This was a layer of chaos and destruction - all that was opposite to the top layer and yet, it was all natural to this world.

This layer had no sense of order or peace. It was pure anarchy. Wild beasts and predators roamed freely, and the plants and creatures of this layer were ruthless and feral. It was a brutal place, where violence was king. They had constructed this land as a training ground for those who they sent to the surface. Now it is empty and barren. Not a soul lingers here.

It was a place now of desolation and decay. The lands of hell had claimed this territory as its own and no life dared to intrude within these boundaries. Here, the ground was a barren wasteland, the sky a swirling maelstrom of storms and the very landscape an embodiment of the evil that had swept through the depths. Nearly everything below before Envy's domain was like this. The world was like bedrock, a great wall that ended them all at technically six layers.

And it was here, where Nightmare Moon had been stationed. Yes, she 'presided over Peace', but that was more of a time to relax. It was where she 'lived', but down here was where the work had to be done. Not the most glamourous of work, culling the shadows that had grown rampant and mad. It hurt, oddly enough.

Still, she pulled a spear of pure light out of the head of a serpentine demon. She pitied them, knowing that their kind deserved better. But this was her station, and this fate was theirs. There were more guardians than her of course. Stronger. Better. A set of twins, occasionally even volunteers from ponies from the upper layers. The Order Of The Sword, they called themselves.

She had grown accustomed to this now- the task of culling the shadows that had spread through the depths. It was a duty that no one else wanted to do, but she had accepted the responsibility.

She knew that the shadows were necessary, for they served a purpose in this world. And yet, they did not care for the order and harmony that she had sworn to uphold above all else. It was a sad fate, but one that she had accepted long ago.

Some shadows were born of malice, and some of pure, undiluted hatred. Those were the ones she paid the most attention to. Those shadows were twisted and cruel, and they had to be erased for the good of all else.

But there were shadows born of grief and sorrow and desperation. And though they were twisted and corrupt, they were not worthy of the same treatment as those twisted ones she sought out.

They were soft jelly-like things. Unnamed, and undeserving of names. These sorrowful specters were always so morose, and they barely even flinched when they were stabbed. Initially, it was these that she encountered, and these lost souls were treated reverently, with respect, and put down gracefully.

Only one had ever escaped the collective knife, and that was one that had turned itself into a tree. The only source of living foliage for eternity.

The sorrowful specters were treated with kindness, with respect and a bit of pity. They were more innocent than the twisted ones. And it broke Nightmare's heart to have to deliver the final blow. She would often hold conversations with them before their souls departed from this world.

But they would not fight or speak, they would simply accept a gentle embrace from the princess of the night's blade before vanishing.

It was the twisted ones that gave her no remorse- it was these that she took joy in removing from this world.

Perhaps it was at one point child of the light, much like her, or the other true-born ponies. But sometimes things go wrong. Their processes failed, or fate pulled a string too tight and now they were severed. In any case, this innocent specter was now without sound or memory.

It did not matter who they were or what they had done before- it mattered not now. Now, they were simply a specter- their identity and status erased. They were just a shadow, nothing more, and she would see that they returned where they belonged.

The twisted shadows would feel no remorse from her, but the sorrowful ones would. It was almost painful how gentle the princess was with these lost souls.

There was an inherent wrongness to it. To feel the mud and false-blood under ones hooves, the way its wet, yet dries in an instant. To return from a spectacle of a battle, to then go back out and find one of these solemn beings wander around lamely and limp. These peaceful things trodded around in contrast to the war around them.

And she felt immense pity for them. It was never their fault that they had become these shadows- they had simply been born that way. And it was these beings that she tried to spare most. They didn't deserve the fate that she had to deliver on them.

She treated them with honor, giving them what they deserved and letting them pass on in peace.

It was the twisted ones, or the ones that she knew had been born from a dark source, that she would cut down without remorse.

Aptly they were called demons. Intrusive thoughts, violent wills, dissidents, and insurrectionists. These ones were like amputated limbs, they came from a larger structure- and were mindless constructs of wrath and agony.

Her spear was the cure to these demons. She would not hesitate, nor show any mercy as she unleashed her wrath upon them. These were beings bred from hatred and violence and they deserved no mercy from the one who was sworn to uphold peace.

She would tear them down, one by one, as her spear glowed with a bright light. It was like cleansing fire, sweeping away the shadows and returning life and order to this layer of hell.

These demons were the ones she hunted, because they were the ones that had escaped from the pit. And as usual, the work would never be finished. There was always one more, one more titan of wrath clawing its way through the mud, one more scarab, these monsters came in all shapes and sizes and representation.

Their numbers would be never-ending. The darkness of this layer meant an infinite supply of demons to slaughter. As she cut down those twisted beings, she would find herself wondering how it would ever end.

They were like a plague- they were not born, they simply were. They were the essence of violence and hatred and every time she destroyed one, another would rise to take its place.

It was a never-ending crusade against these demons, a battle that she had no intention of losing.

And so, the Baroness Of Justice flew back to the camp. There were few landmarks in this level, and the only voidway had also been sealed shut to prevent anything from escaping. Protecting it had been deemed useless and redundant, so the camp had been moved to the last peaceful mark in this layer.

The Lonely Tree.

The lone tree. The tree of sorrow. It had been a sanctuary in this hellish realm and it had been protected for so long.

The tree was a symbol of hope and it is what all this bloodshed fought to protect. The tree had held such a prominent place in this world and it was the one place the darkness could never intrude.

It was a cruel irony then, that the only sign of innocence and peace here had been born from despair. The lonely tree was indeed a sorrowful thing to behold. Its branches did not move gracefully with the wind but instead shuddered in pain, and its leaves fell slowly, like snowflakes.

The tree was a stark contrast to the world around it in every way. Where the sky was a roaring maelstrom of storms and the earth was a swamp of black slime and mud, this tree was a glimpse into the beauty and wonder of life above.

Its branches were twisted from being forced to endure the chaotic elements of this world, but they still bore fruit that were ripe with life, even in the depths.

It was a place of peace in the madness. It was where those who lived in this world could come and find serenity.

The deposed controller of the night sat down and rested below the tree's canopy, as she stared into the crackling flames of an eternal pyre. A few blades rested in them, ones that belonged to the Order. Traditionalists they were, preferring to use blades instead of weapons of light and magic.

The flames crackled before her, casting a glow on her and the tree that she sat under. Its soft glow lit up her face with the warmth and comfort of a mother to a child.

Nightmare's eyes closed as she sat beneath the tree. Its tranquil embrace and the heat of the flames made her feel at home, as if she were in a peaceful world far away from all the madness around her.

Her name, was once upon a time one that promoted fear in a world far away. This, she did not know. Nor did anypony else for that matter. The name of the mare resting by the flames, was the Angel Of Nightmares.

The Baroness of Justice, the Princess of Night, the Shadow of the Cosmos.

She possessed many names and titles, but she was many things beyond what she was called. She was a warrior and a protector.

She had fought- would fight for these lands, for this world. She would know- and knew its secrets, its depths and its heights.

She was only one of many who would cleanse the darkness and restore peace to this world.

And others did indeed arrive. Other groups from The Order. They came to the green zone, and sat around the pyre as well, taking stock of their equipment, the chips in their blades, dents in armor. Unlike some volunteers who had boons from the shadows, these traditionalists used mettle and sheer will.

The Order was the most traditional and ancient of the groups that had banded together to fight in this war. The Order had been around for as long as time and they were among those who held the deepest knowledge about this world and its people. At least, that was what they claimed.

They had no powers or weapons blessed by shadow- they instead wielded metal and their own will to fight the shadows that had encroached. They were the ones that had maintained the peace and order in the old world before it was destroyed by darkness and violence.

The Order Of The Sword was what was left after consolidating the remaining forces and ideals that were passed down from the original order, The Order Of Harmony.

They were the remnants of what once was, the ones who still kept the memory of what had been lost. They wielded the relics of the old world and were sworn to uphold the same teachings and traditions that the original Order had held so dear. Or at least, that was their intention.

Nightmare looked at the squadron. Four ponies, appearing relatively young. Three earth ponies and a single unicorn, dressed in muddied whites and dented plate mail. Their garb was a perfect blend of ceremonial and functionality, as chainmail was visible glinting in the firelight underneath gashes in the fabric

The four ponies sat around the fire, their tired gaze cast out on the flames as the ordered their equipment. Their armor was dented, but their equipment was otherwise well-kept- a sign of pride and discipline.

They all appeared young but their experience was not to be underestimated. These four ponies had fought through the darkest nights and yet, their resilience showed no signs of faltering.

They were a strange sight in this world of darkness and mud- pure, white cloaks and armor, shimmering in the light of the eternal flames. Their armor was dented and scratched, showing the wounds of battle that they had endured. And yet this was only surface damage- underneath, where no pony could see, the wounds were much deeper, but they were covered by their pride and duty to protect.

Their pride and discipline were a symbol of honor and a reminder of what had once been. They were true warriors- protectors of the innocent and servants of true justice. They wore their scars like badges of honor, proof of their courage in the face of darkness.

And all under the veil of their white cloaks, they each carried the deepest of scars that no one could ever see. Scars that left tired bags under the eyes, fatigue in the flesh and bones that no sleep could ever wash away, and a dulling of the eyes and sensation that no amount of honing could ever bring back.

The four ponies were silent, and they bore a look of exhaustion and determination.

The light of the fires lit up their faces and exposed the scars on their flesh. Their bodies bore the signs of war and yet, they stood strong and unwavering.

Collectively they all sat around the fire, as distant blasts lit up the sky with vibrant pulses of blues and purple. They withdrew food, bundles of hay, apples, and retort pouches of cold stews and more filling meals.

They ate their meals in silence, their exhausted faces betraying the trials of battle while their bodies nourished themselves with the meals that they had prepared. There was little conversation, as the four ponies were deep in thought. They had experienced so much together and now, faced with a whole new world, they had little time to rest in this quiet serenity.

The fires before them crackled with heat as they ate their rations. The flames bathed their faces and brought a warmth that could not be found anywhere else in this world. It was a moment of peace and quiet, an oasis amid the chaos that they had faced in their battles against the shadows.

Their morale had been fatigued. The fighting had gone on for quite some time, and there was only one word that hung in the air unspoken.

Demobilization.

The word hung silently in the air between them, unspoken yet known by all. They were tired and exhausted, and there was no denying the effect that this had on their morale.

They had fought for so long, and now, the thought of ending the war was a comforting one. A chance for a return to normal lives and a chance to be able to rest and recover from the immense amount of stress and exhaustion that they had endured.

They'd all go home. To those who actually had homes to return to, at least, Nightmare had no such station to behold over outside of her duties. They would all go home, and then another turn of fresh faced, greenhorn volunteers and fighters would descend to continue the fight.

They would all go home, and then another cycle would begin. New fighters would arrive and then they too would grow weary. It was a never-ending cycle that would never seem to end.

Nightmares' own home was no place to return to. She had no station to return to or anyone who truly welcomed her home. She was the Baroness of Justice, the Princess of Night, and the Shadow of the Cosmos.

Her home was her duty- there was nothing else.

Nothing else. Nothing else. When was the last time she had seen warm sunlight? Not since creation, at the latest, and possibly not since the last time she visited the first layer in an age.

She had no idea.

She had no idea when she last saw the light of the sun. There were moments when she wondered what it felt like to be bathed in that warmth, to see a blue sky and to feel the grass and soil beneath her hooves.

But that was a thought for another time. Her duty, her home and her identity were bound to this world of darkness and madness. This was the only home she knew- and possibly, the only home she would ever know.

Time, was dead. Put simply, time had no meaning. That, or she had also forgotten how long she'd been performing this profane work.

She stared at the pyre, trying to recall the last time she'd seen the sun. When they had sent them all down here. There was a parade of some sorts.

The parade. Had it been just a few days ago? Or had it been decades? She would never know the answer.

As the memories of the parade washed over her, she also recalled a sense of happiness. A joy that she had not felt in so long. It was a bittersweet memory, one that brought tears to her eyes and a deep sense of longing for such a day to return.

A doll. A little filly with a coat as black as night had gifted her a silly little trinket. She wasn't old enough to fight, they all knew that. So she gave them a doll.

And now, she looked back on this memory with a melancholic smile. The little filly with her pure and innocent soul, who had given her that doll.

The doll was simple, it was meant as a child's toy, but the memories it held were precious to her. It represented everything that she had fought so hard to protect- innocence and joy and life.

That doll. That sweet little filly and her innocent smile. The little toy she had gifted to the Angel of Nightmares- a reminder of her tender age and of the innocence that she still possessed.

The doll was a reminder of what this world would have been without darkness. It was a reminder of what this world could have been... if only it had not been for the shadows.

The doll. A silly toy, a piece of innocence from a child that was yet to understand the atrocities of this world.

Yet it was more than just a child's toy in Nightmares' eyes. It was a symbol, the symbol of all that had been lost and all that could have been saved. The innocence and joy that it represented had been stripped away, but still held on in nightmares heart.

It was a reminder of the beauty that once was and the world she had worked so hard to protect.

It was no one's fault that things had turned out this way. Sure, there were factors. But this had all been decided long since any one with the power to say otherwise had been born or created.

This was the way of the world and there was no changing it now. The tapestry had been woven and the strands of fate had been intertwined to create this world in its current state.

The sticks had been drawn, the pages written. This, was the only way it could have ended

It was a world that was tainted, and even with the best of intentions, there was no way to truly turn the tides and restore the innocence and beauty that had once been here.