In a land of junk, there ruled an abomination of a pony, from a world that was eaten by the jaws of the chaos world, and now lived and ruled with an iron fist over a junkyard landscape, where she made all to her level, by lowering their level.
This is the story of ponies being mind controlled by evil space parasites and the puppet master of stained glass behind it all, the unholy symbol of the broken, and the filly of the junkyard who controls and speaks with the souls of the dead refuse in the land of wastes, symbolic of everypony wasting away.
The unholy one wants to control everything because as it is, she is so broken that she can only find control by controlling others, and it makes her feel like their is nothing wrong with her when she does, in other words, it is her coping mechanism in life, for being built in the hall of weavers fundamentally wrong.
There once was a land known as Equestria pure and free, without strife, for a very long time, it ruled from the heavens, like something sublime, it lived in perfect harmony and prefect ways, little lights were seen, far away, out in the horizon of the world shells, spinning in place, they were. In this place, on this world, from it's molten core, did it collect magic at the highest amounts and energies, did energy of magic swirl down, through a giant molten metal alicorn horn, the horn of Gaia, the earth, living, and alive, in each a piece of us, and the representation of harmony with the other harmonies just being smaller parts of itself, and its children.
Now, in this land, far above our own, were we made, as all disharmony comes from somewhere afar, in space, this planet, it formed out of mud, it grew out of the shades of space, and the values of creation, and then it was born, full and an ember of creation. In the beginning the entire world was like one great light show, with azure skies and a lightning coat showering around the world, an endless aurora borealis, Then, the ponies were made, they filled up the empty spaces between the crests of the earth and the dry air of the sky, and so the world was born, along with everything else that made it up. The forests and the trees, the animals and plants, fungus, and every family on the tree of life, nearly every magical creature was a part of this great system, and was simply one of the daughters or sons of this great living, alicorn planet.
There is a prophecy, a sight only seen by one eye, one wrapped in bone atop a spiral shell, lofted infinitely in the air, in a concave surface of space, where the world flows strangely into itself and normal things break, where an eye made of fossilized bone glows out putrid green lights. in links and chains of tendons, in a reminiscent show of ancient pony rope arts by the string and beads, made of tendon flesh and bone, it tells a story. In this great high spiraling castle, it speaks of a million faceted gem, that is powered by the madness of a broken clockwork infrastructure, the planet that chaos and discord originated from. It opened up its shell, a million sliding plates opening up, like an origami flower, they shot out like razor bladed teeth, and the gasses flooded out of its strange endless gullet like a reverse black hole in osmosis, churning with hawking radiation, like an octopus's clawed mouth. This mouth, in the past, was a creator of endless beauties, they made worlds come out of the mucus of the endlessness, they made the membranes between space grow and create a dryness, a land in the ocean of nothingness, because between nothings there is something, and when the something appears and grows, out of a big bang separate from the first, and reminiscent of a shell, like an egg, elongated, growing, and changing, and with its sides changing and growing further and further more complex characteristics; in this way, the chaos world was a creator, but it was also a destroyer, and as each world was a living planet, an alicorn, or some strange other creator, a symbol of whatever works it may be, then they also would come at a planet's death, at the souls disconnect, to be as the reaper for that world as well. This entire world, of chaos and strangeness and ideas unknowable, would come to eat, to feasts, and to destroy everything, and so it is here, as chaos blocks out the sun, the moon, an the stars of harmony, envelope it like the membrane of a cell, and quickly dissolve it in strange otherworldly acid, until it is nothing at all.
Ponies are reduced by their filaments and broken down to their subatomic parts, Their faces melting and breaking apart, like continents, but one of them is still alive as this is happening, he physically feels as she falls apart, as her blood is burned, but she is no normal pony. As the entire world is enveloped in green, unholy flames, like changeling magics embrace, and the meaning of what is normal quickly breaks down in a matter of a day, as ponies dig deeper and deeper under the earth to stay farther and farther away from the fading hull that is the outside world, as everything becomes smaller, until their just is not enough space anymore, in this place, a pony lives, as her body dies, and hears the cries of the millions of souls, yet she herself is still alive. A ghost in a solid containment of chaotic magic and crystals of death, all enveloping her, with crisscrossing bands of dark and evil electricity, and deep gouges for eyes, like a great stained glass body, coated with wires of molten hair like fibers, coiling and slowly falling, like dew, in an appearance that is reminiscent of blood, and with strange halos that are spanning across all of her hooves in threes. She escapes the world from which she was born on a great tidal wave, and reaches beyond her own known reality, and is grasped and finds an interest in another, she is the one, and only one of the ponies, far and wide, as far as we know, to ever have escaped her planets and universes entire destruction by the jaws of this endless planet, and the sacrifice by which she lived, was immeasurable.
She controls with strings like a puppet, from her home of spinning glass shards and broken souls, like her own, where the fertile plains of second dimensional geometry intersect and make three dimensional art, she has little animals in glass jars, and studies the magic of everything. Little bands of electricity zip back and forth in an embrace of madness, fitting to the frame of a mad scientist pony, she looks through the small holes in the walls to see other worlds, rectangles and squares that she peeks through with one eye, and her eye buzzes and breaks away its conception, what was once a light instantaneously glows harder and brighter, adn images and sequences of objects break apart out of nothingness from chaos magic, and an eye that can see every inch if every imaginable instant from here and back in front of it can see, like a recorder, it watches objects, and has a marker, for all atomic nucleus, all magic and all things that seem to be unpredictable. She has the great power to predict the unpredictable with this eye, the entire world in front of here just becomes a series of lines and strings, connects and relations, and her eye like arcane lines drawing back and forth, into each other and out of each other, but all swirling along the center, in a million different, interconnected epicenters.
She lives atop the rainbow falls, with the rainbows turned green and strange, and the falls are filled with spiky plants, the stars that shot up high, like sparklers do they fly, and in the falls of green sludge rainbows the mutants grovel on the floor, the witch doctor's make brews, as they all are commissioned for, they all have a purpose, in this junkyard backyard world, they all have a thing to do, that they were made for, and made to do. In this junky, endless dump,of broken dreams and broken hearts, and hills and mountains filled with tree stumps, where the green sludge of the earth, from the incantations of a strange evil birth. Through these green runic symbols do they cry, the energies flow off, in rivers of salt and tears, from the fetus of the undulations of the earth, a fetus of control, a mind, of a crying baby, of an undead, never born, no good corruption of a god, a god who now will no longer ever properly exist.
As the pillars of the earth holding up the hearty flesh of the sky cries, and the glowing worms of the parasites enter their heads and penetrate through their minds, they all have bad thoughts and bad hearts, and do things that are unkind. They have an evil circuit in their souls, raised since when they were born, from these parasitic worms entering their heads. The windigos run free, and pain is like a warm breeze upon the hill, it is ever flowing,.ever free, and it grows every day, the world becomes warmer and warmer, the parched lips become drier, and you become uglier with evil intentions, they control and bend and break the rules,anyway they can, they murder and spill and do evil for their fill, to fill their evil ways, their hearts are abundant in the magic gaze of beholders beyond the end of days, as they live in the eldritch ways of the chaotic daze of that great wallflower castle planetary disk of clockwork bound destruction, creation, chaotic harmonious ways. And as they live by the rule of the one who is the ruler,who have escaped those same, wallflower castle planetary disks of clockwork bound destruction, creation, and chaotic harmonious ways, so too she gains more power, to live for longer and longer days. She is the ruler, she rules by her own ways, and you better do what she says, for if you don't, you don't have many days before your life falls away in a haze, in the crackling depths that may graze against your skull, she is a ruler, and one not to trifle with, she rules as she pleases, to her all ponies are but tools for her plays, chess pieces for her busy games, a mere distraction towards her end goal, but one which makes up her souls very meaning in many ways. Her goals are fulfilled as she watches the clockwork ways of the chaotic haze in the daze of the unliving, yet not dead ways of those ponies who are evil by the parasitic worms, and what a hearty laugh, what a hearty chuckle does it envelope her in, to watch them suffer, but yet not understand that it is suffering, feel a cruel gaze, yet think it is nothing but the normal ways, because for them, it is the normal ways, and it is just the ways of their culture, mind and being, who they are inside, her play toys, her puppets.
She watches her dear subjects with simple curiosity, control subjects in her experimental ways, their god in their religions, an unholy abomination, born out of more than just the chaotic ways, for it has always been her ways, she diverts the means and the fates and the very heart of the stars. She diverts what it is that magic cures in the soul that is behind bars, she diverts and shows them, shows them just how corrupt she can really be, beyond corrupt, a crooked, strange mistake of a pony, never knowing love, a blasphemy to any sort of harmony. Her heart is truly bleak,endless in its peaks, mountains that rise above the very tops of possibility, her hearts is so cold, unnaturally cold,like nothing else in the universe can truly be, it is made of plastic, cannot be renewed or reinvented, it is stuck in her ways, from its birth to it's death, with a calculated gaze, because she is less, less than a pony in her soul and her flesh. She controls all around her to fit all her needs, so that she does not feel inadequate in her inharmony, trying, in some twisted, broken way,by a heart that can't be, to be in actual, true harmony, but why, for one who can't feel it, can't for the right reasons, then for some twisted conception of the meaning of power, of how to control the masses, for in harmony one gains control, and that is what she wants most, and her harmony with herself is the one thing she can’t, that she is locked out of, to never properly make her own.
She gathers at the cold box, this is where the heart is placed, and the soul and the strings of their lives great infinity, wrapped around itself in an infinite coil of power, she had bodily ripped out its entire life from the mainframe of existence, this means that it never has existed, but oh well. It is hers now to control, it is hers now to make her own, she tinkers with it, delicately, and builds around its heart a series of walls to fill its frame, to hold it tight and steal its magic, to power her sad ways, with a god that never existed, and whoever he might be, not that she would ever know, she ripped him out without a care. What if he was of a vital importance, but without him something in the orders of the universe changed drastically. well, whoever he is, not that he is dead, in a ways, but a fetus in a frame, a heart without a body, a soul inside a mirror and held against the runic symbols that draw blood, with the prickly needles and discomforting claustrophobia that is no smaller, no bigger, then what is needed to for the soul, so small, unable to ever grow or change, broken just like her.
she was in the spinners hallway, of blood and bone, the weavers hallway, of broken stones, that holds the components of what makes us whole, and one was more broken than ever before, she was more broken than any other. In the entire infinite hallways, that could be read up and down, infinite pages of strange information read in knots and ties,in their language, the ancient language of the weavers, the seers language of the weavers, the broken one is coming, and she will break us all, because for her, that is the only way to be whole.
in the farm of Mezboa, a pony lived, across an endless, constantly changing landscape of junk, plowing the field on the purple unbroken horizon, with one wide moon overreaching, so long and wide over this land of refuse. The land is so old and overused and it's almost pathetic to look at for the eyes, everything in such a dilapidated mess, it just shows what we usually can’t see, the ever changing nature of the universe, and how it will all leave us behind.The world expresses itself a million different ways for us, and in this place, it seems certainly alive, and it is calling, in the junkyards, there is something alive, but it has no body, not like ours, it is not one of those simple creatures, with four legs and one body, no, it is, veritably, the entire world, and all that encompasses it, each and everyone of these things are alive, even if it was non living in your eyes. You can see it in the actions, in the movements of the trash, like it was pushed by an ocean of ghosts, they build themselves up and break themselves down, large plays being orchestrated before your eyes by invisible hooves, the ghosts waving lazily in their puppet frames, held by the strings that go in the loops of the nets, pulling by the card of puppetry, in fake wooden bodies, dancing to a tune, these great waves, they slam against the earth, and flood against the sides of everything around them, a million tons of force.
There is a young filly, Amberglass, in one of the only patches of green land, everywhere else, as far as could be seen, is all but the gray and mossy browns of the endless refuse, going day by day from one form to another, like a million ice sculptures, gritty and grainy, with shadows overreaching, as dark as the giant black spot like a hole in the sky provided by the moon. The landscape is in contrast to the ambiance and color of the carbon dioxide and magical decay of the azure purple night. this filly likes to play pretend, she talks to the refuse, and the refuse talks back, if this was known to those around her, they would certainly look on with wonder, and with greed to control, because that is the way they are, but this pony is good at keeping secrets, she knows she would be used, and the refuse, the millions of souls in it, are her friends. The refuse form into giants beasts of mechanical ingenuity, giant contraptions and works of art, here one second, gone the next, and they form into images and pictures out of their junk, like a constantly changing, colorful macaroni art image, each noodle, as each bolt, colored by the varying decays and paints of many hulls, all brought together, ripped apart, and meshed together again a million times, like a tv, in this, she knows of a world that she would have otherwise completely gone without, but only in her dreams, in her mind and in her heart, because she has never seen this world.
A million spinning bands of creation, air transfer and wind transfer, and strange flying animals in the sky, like whales, they have long, elongated jaws that open wide like a stretching balloon, as they eat the plankton of the purple skies, as they feast on the earth around them, and as the rotation of the stars dictates their course, through astronomy. Her father was one of the watchers of these whales, with his long telescope he tracked their path, with chalk and board he followed their course and understood their natural habits, he was a scientist, a respectable man, a marine biologist for the skies, where the second sea roamed, above the first, around their earth, a layer of foam, so thick and pudgy, overwrought and slimy, like just another layer of grease and bolts, a petri dish of all this grimy grimy farm worlds land. On the mountain tops black ice boil and living germs and algae of a sentient form crawl at record speeds, so that one can see the waves of glowing blues and greens and whites from far away, and the entire world entrenched in smoke like a hot bath with scones, with punched out layers in the sky to let the carbon dioxide layers leave, which turn the sky brown like a reflection of the dark brown of the ground, it is a land of monsters, and it is one with no mercy for many, many a soul was lost in these tombs, the stories they tell, and the story they hold, the untold corpses of the over bold, they met their fate as we can see, and it was a great travesty, lay down their swords fall on the ground, rot in the shadows that over bound, be lost in the steam, be eaten by smoke, just bones are left from which they took. The algae ate them, from the skies, gliding down from on high, the pheromone trail links them, it eats the corpses, it was a matter of course, like a swarm of Piranhas in a jungle sea, the tide was too full, they never could be, and so it was ended.
Her father was a wealthy colt, he was given money personally by the crown herself, for research into the migration patterns of the great flying whales, and for this he was ecstatic for, for he was a very ecstatic man overall, overly enjoyable and very friendly, although that is not too much to say for what they had there. He was... cold, but she knew that he loved her. He was busy looking at the star charts and equipment day and night, and he often had no time for his own family, it was mostly his sole work that kept their family afloat, and in one of the worst places to be in their area. In may places you could see blue blazing beacons that are trailing their lights through the sky, into the stratosphere, in certain configurations on the ground, these symbols denote arcane power, and each configuration has a different meaning that it provides, a different way that it controls the energy around it, they help to relegate and control the chaos from the rifts that open up left and right, and bring the overall chaotic output and disharmony to a minimum, saving lives from an undue amount of stress and nonsense from being that are extraterrestrials from their little rock in the voids of white space. There are often totem poles, infused with earth pony magic around the houses as a sort of ward against the world spirits on their little ball of rock in space, the ambient space itself even is alive, and it guides the meteors movements through separate, very powerful vibrations that cause movement of the world coils in the magnetic fluid circling in its center, like one great lodestone, or a viking stone of the conquerors, as it travels the far and wide open seas of space and time, breaking through the accessible wounds in space that are opened up. Another interesting thing are the visions that open themselves up to the ponies, certain ponies have the world around them seem to change, which are a mix between a hallucination, and something real,because you can feel it, you can interact with it, and get real powers from it, whether it is real or not, and all the rest of the world that you are in, sometimes seems not to exist, your magic can possess you in this state as well, but this can only happen by more benevolent spirits, and in fact, sometimes ponies disappear off the face of all known lands all together in this way. This is what happened to the junkyard filly Ambergalss one day, as she was playing out in the woods by herself, these hallucinations are something special, they are especially rare, even in the case of somepony that is especially special like Amberglass, and in all cases, they end up doing something important later on, no matter what, whatever destiny that may be, sometimes against their will, whether they want to or not, so you could say, these spirits definitely feel more malicious for some than for others, but only malicious ponies feel like they are being targeted in any way. Now, as it was, Ambeglass really had no way to know about any of this, as sheltered as she was, and it was really only because of the junkyard that she knew much of anything about the outside world, her father was very secretive about what he knew, her mother didn't know much either, never had a proper formal education in much of any way, and was sold off to make money for her family, but here she started to realize what she was seeing, if not what it was called, then what it wanted, maybe not its exact significance, but she did know that it was significant, and it was connected to something that it had told her previously... There was a story of four ponies, her ancient ancestors, that had different powers,not quite her own, and they were especially picked by these same shades of vision in the past for certain tasks, picked in order that they may fulfill a destiny, and in her own way she is distantly related to this same destiny, and has to do this same destiny, and there is a series of signs, that will tell her when she has completed certain tasks for this destiny, of which at this very moment, she only knows vague hints about, so vague that it is virtually guaranteed for some of them that if she tried to fulfill that destiny and it wasn't really hers, she wouldn't be able to, they would just go over her head, and would apply to a million different sources.
What she knew though, was that she must follow an infinite bridge of stairs beyond the white hallways of the white space world, to discover the black space, on the other side of yin and yang, where light tethers itself to her in the dark, when she switches sides in the yin yang, the dark will tether itself to the light, and she will be acclimated to different powers and different ways entirely. She will learn the ways of this new force in her heart, and control new shades, the shades of power of darkness, and in the land of the light, that darkness is known as dark magic. From where she was from, evilness was always destined for everyone, no matter how good their heart, because the unholy one made it into each and everyone if their souls with her eldritch worms, and rewrite and broke down part of the natural continuum of things, in order to make her own fate, and so in this fate. AmberGlass, like all the others, was born, half broken and unable to live by any harmony, born into an organized chaos by the unholy one, and so she will never reach her original fate, and her flanks remain bare, with a destiny to find that will not be her own fully ever again, and in inklings of these prophecies of discovery being but the resetting of the old ways, for those who were particularly desperate to save the ways of another place, and save their own, where, when in retaliation, the unholy one may have as well did it as well as any other unholy abomination or any demon from out of the stars to wreck their little dirt balls in space, to end their lives and their sanity, and to assimilate them, each one of the ponies that go through this process, come out of the other side different than they were before, they all are changed, either in the flesh, in the way they interact with the world, or both, something has to be changed for them to be accepted, with the diabolical changes already instated on them but well hidden, and necromantic souls are just a natural progression of the already present treachery in their atmosphere, now, to find this hallway...
Amberglass fell through purple lights and sheets of magic, till she met with something in the endless skies of this new land, she had fallen down a funnel, and through the organs of the earth, and now she set herself back up on her own two hooves after making an impact on the ground of the potions masters laboratory of the golden zebra above the sun, symbolizing a new dawn, who concocted experiments in magic, and was the creator of this world, just like many others. In this land, which indeed included her land, all the worlds were built on a tree, which required great magic prowess, this tree was long and twisty, and bended in a million different ways and in directions that didn't seem to make sense or follow the mathematical rules of all known logic, that is magic for you, in its essence, it is what we call, the insane. We try to make sense of the insane by giving it silly names and saying, well, it's just magic, and like that everyone becomes convinced that they understand the laws of the universe, but because there are no true universal laws in a world and tree where absolute physics for really anything is just a guideline, it opens up a lot of strange possibilities. There are varying ways to access this magic from area to area, and in this area, that included the powers of wishes.
She lived in the elderroot, at the top of a city over the dark side of the sun, built up out of the very energies of decay and that which fell apart, it takes all of their essences and makes a constantly falling and reforming world like that out of a sculpture of earwax should if it was placed on the sun, and at the center, like a smaller star, or a smaller world, is a little blue horizon, a watery nova, a plasmid of power and wishes, that helps funnel and grant the wishes of this world, Equestria, into a usable and efficient form of energy to be used by many all around, from near and far as could be in their little world shell. At the top of the elder root, Amberglass watches out the sides, see through like glass, but wood in complexion, like a giant beet, large as a skyscraper, or a mansion, and out the side of these buildings, this is what she saw. She saw large ships that flew in the air from large gusts of wind that blow at unimaginably high speeds, endlessly tumbling with energy, camera ray eyes in a crystal guise and wings that spark a flitter, that streak in darkness like glitter in a sunlight so silver that it brings awe to the tips of the eyes, and waves of energy visible as they escalate, right at the edges of the world shell, like an aurora borealis, from the vibrations of energy running off the leakage of the inner world of this geocentric system, Equiss. This ambient escalating energy, it looks definitely alive, and moves in chaos and organized synchronicity, all at the same time as one, and the light of the sun only brightens up their appearance to more miraculously show how beautiful it really is to the eye, with every detail open to introspection, as short as that period may be, for every detail flits away and breaks down into something new like smoke, wispy and ethereal, or perhaps a time lapse of ice breaking up and reforming.
There were golem ponies, large and proud they were, as they carried the endless bulbs of blue energy off of the center world to resupply it to all centers and nodes around it, where the high rising race of protectors ruled, they were a generous race, who lost their cause, and so they made Equestria, in a show of faith. The angulations of the gullets of the earth spiraling upwards and spread ever onto the arches of the roots throughout, inside and outside, nearly invisible to all the eyes, they were, the blue roots, ethereal in nature, amazing in scope, they spread the energy of the soul fire and solar flame, which came to its destination, spinning the bone turbines of the water nova plantoid in the center of the entire city. She stood behind the ethereal pillar, and from their place they could see, this great zebra was as high as a giraffe, and as strange as a beast of discords reign, with a hundred legs, like a centipede, and as long as could be, she was heavily at work modifying gems with magic, the magic gems of the cutie marks, that make and create a full predestined amount of magic to fulfill the purposes of one's entire destiny, to become completely intertwined as another piece of their soul, the zebra was like the seasons, one face melting into a million, old and bitter, and newborn and happy, like a caterpillar the zebra was free from herself, and locked in her own prison as well, and her armour, it showed moving, living constellations, projections of the world around her, little stars on its surface, and in her forehead could be seen the eclipse, that one cannot look at with the eyes for too long, but this is no ordinary eclipses, because one may not look at it with certain intents. This Zebra, she instantly noticed that she was there, with her sensing organs inside her body, and her tongue came out like a snakes as she sniffed with it, tiny holes in the back of it collecting aroma, with an eye that sees souls and the sight of all that is around her granted from the movements of the chaotic particles, which to her is as predictable as any other ordinary events, she could see the air swirling away from her, hitting a pony shaped barrier, and she immediately stopped her work. When she looked at her soul, she was revolted at what she found, that one could ever have a soul that was so dark, and as she called through the funnel of the ear plants that lead down below to all of the many guards and other ponies, Amberglass could hear the footsteps and assorted sounds coming down on the marble staircase from their many strange limbs, and strange beings as befitting of a freaky family of the gods who live atop the sun.
"Her soul is darker than the eclipses in my eye, unfurling the plots from the sad hearted minds, of the sick and uneasy, and who completely disregard, yes, she is not like any I've seen, her heart has no place in this world of our own. Even Sombras own, is not quite so dark in it's depths, never have they gone so far into an eternity bereft, there is supposed to be something, intrinsic inside of them, that they are unable to break or bend of themselves, but here we are, looking at this strange filly, of unknown powers in my vicinity, and by the factories of the cutie marks no less, do we need more of an answer, anymore, any less?"
and another answered.
"I think she has plans, great plans for this place, but not of an evil intent, or anything so base, I can see this, and I can know, I am more than a seer of her soul could show, sure it is dark, but it is dark with what, as it is something that is emplaced and imposed on her, then it is not of her own soul, but rather her abilities, and her luck, it is her destiny, but not her mind, that is blacker than most blacks, but in the destiny that I see, that goes against her own destiny, we can help her, so that she can be free, from unintentionally being forced into committing any atrocities. They control her, the worms of her soul that bind in their spells, from beyond her small knoll, from the ways of her home, they tried to infect, and when they failed first, they tried it another way, but I can tell you, it never really worked, not the way they wanted it too, because they knew her original destiny, and they hated it, but now that she is in our hands, it is for us to take the reins, and steer this destiny back on track, for no amounts of forced control, no matter how hard they try, can destroy the original intent of the destiny, inscribed as words on the dark stones in the graveyards of eternities."
And so this other entity lifted its hoof to her, a windigo in a ponies frame and directly to her it said.
"You don't have to be what you think you are, like I don't have to be what I am, and we can both take control of the original destinies in this land, and find yours again. It may be broken as the way it was, but that just means there is something new."
And she accepted the hoof, and was lifted to her haunches, studying the faces in the crowd around her, and looking at the many strange forms and shapes they had. The windigo of death's light was the one who had lifted her up, well respected as a good ruler, and one who lets death come at their own time, later in life, when they should, he never cheated anybody out of anything but immortality, and that's something they could never afford anyway. It was frequently a joke that the only reason he was a wendigo was because someone at the interdimensional patients office saw the description of death and wanted to try and make him look like the most horrible thing possible.
"What did you see in her destiny, and why is her soul so black, that could be explained away as a pestilence not her own" "She was one of the most important ponies of our time, but she was captured and kept away from this original destiny by the unholy one, but I always knew she would come back, the events inscribed were just too important to be forgotten"
She peers down at you.
"I hadn't believed that before, because she has a gods head, but now I see it could be true, but couldn't this be a trap, that a soul this black would brew, from unholy fire, she must have learned something when she was there, and weather or not the mind control effects would work, in a place so dark, to learn from your surroundings would be to be a practitioner of the dark arts, any little thing she does to us that would seem immoral, would seem to be the normal course that any normal day should take, nurture is the greater valor of the soul, after all, that takes over after a change that can renovate the mind, or destroy the soul, both in equal orders, with out mind control magic, intertwined to each other, can still be controlled. And what of all of her destiny that is broken, what course shall it take, if anything at all, darkness it will take, even if we can expect her to fulfill her original destiny, we cannot expect that that will be the end of the story, what if she does something as bad, or worse, then she does good?"
"In this speculation, there is a guide, that lights us to the path sublime, the central feuges showed us a light."
"That is not to be trusted, they are in turmoil!"
"I think for this I shall."
A buzzing grew in the world around her, like a million flitting flies in her ears, it was the loudest sound she had ever heard, it was obscenely loud, like the big bang of creation, there was a pulsing in her ears, a voice in her head, but she could not hear it, there was a pain in her chest, like a growing orb. The Zebra had been looking at you with her eclipse mind stone, and this stone saw all that you were, it looked inside of you, and with the help of the other gods peered deeply into who you are, with what was mostly a guess by the central feuges, and the wish of the windigo of light, they peered down into you, and devised who you are now, and by finding out who you are now, they knew that the prophecy could work.
She woke up, beneath the stars that used to be near, in the shades of the grass, that were gently drifting, with a great, flooding cataract and a ravine on either side of her, atop a flat, stone, circular, pillar of the earth, that extended as high as a great red wood tree, and she could see, from up here, the world for many a mile, by just the strength of her eyes. The totem had a million faces, faces that were those of those same gods above, the birds of the interstellar phases had brought down from the stars her body, and set it upon the totem, the totem that, with its magical power, had the glowing eyes of industrial fireflies, and collected the energies of all of the ley lines, it was a great amount and quantity of power towards this single purpose, and it was well refined. There is many an artifact by these godly peoples that is just considered a normal item, because their magic doesn't follow the rules of normal magic, and, indeed, in many ways, their meaning of magic does not follow the equestrian meaning of magic at all, for one, there is no true dark or light magics, as yin and yang are both just ways of being, and your feeling of things don't provide into it at all either, this great endless energy of the ethereal spheres, of the world tree and its magnificence, they work towards many powers, and they all are a branch that can usually only be understood only instinctively, rather then intellectually, mostly because the required abilities means one needs an understanding of what is, in the hindsight of not being their practitioners, a bunch of nonsense that makes no real meaningful sense in retrospect, all being rules that both make it overly complicated, and in no way follow a meaningful pattern that has an internal logic reliant on illogical thinking, in other words, the world is alive, and is medically and officially insane, and you become a practitioner of magic by buttering up to it in one way or another, and it grants you the power to commit and create miracles, and they indeed are miracles, because they cannot be tested or studied in a lab, because they don't actually follow any rules whatsoever, at least you would think that if you were in your sane mind, which, by practicing and understanding magic, you are not, at least not for their kind of unscientific, broken logic magic.
In this world, the ilk of scientific magic run wild and free, no broken magics to be, they have a hand in some unscientific emotional energies, but for the most part it is logical, they may have a little backwards logic in what is strange, because they control everything, but it is best to think of them as all city folk, whether or not they have been to a city in their lives, for instance, the everfree forest, in many ways normal, has a minimal amount of scary magical creatures that are truly bizarre, what they really think is the strange thing about it, however, is that it governs itselves, not by any other hooves, so they think that having a clockwork world is normal, quite paramount and opposite then the ways of nearly anything else, with the chaotic ways that pretend to follow an overarching order, but where really, nothing has any reason for ever happening. Equestria is a little stale in this way, being a clockwork machine, it is not a chaotic furnace of hell or a devious pit of strangeness, for all that it is, its clockwork reduces it to base and simple rules that can well be understood, much as science could, and it's magic is more of a science then a magic at all, and induces no sort of insanity in its splitting of ways of thinking from one way or another, in the access of knowledge in these ways, they are quite different than any other branches that are purely magical, because no space worms crawl in their head and change their thoughts to more fit to the formality of chaos that seems like a chaotic logic, but is really a condensation of nonsense that parades as logic in a land of conspiracy theories in your head.
She was in the land of zebras, far from her home indeed, of darkness and evil, what once was abundant in the yin of blackness is now abundant in the yang of light, and she is the odd one out in another way then being bright with a darkly filled soul, but being dark compared to those who are already bright, who don't understand a kind of overwhelming feeling that overreaches and controls ones being. Though her soul is filled with a blackness she is filled in her actions with light. the flowers were singing, the land was alive, but it was a song only she could hear, as much as the flowers of Equis could talk, they could not be heard, because this was a chaotic magic, as much as these things could be seen, and felt, and known, she was the only one that could feel them of the pony kind. The grass ruffled under her hooves as she ran, out past the totem pole she flew, and the totem pole seemed that it never existed in the first place. The totem pole was an ethereal chain of living events, and a star bridge, made of the flower song of the spheres, and as it was, it was a connection between outer chaos, and inner harmony that brought her here, in a mode of diffusion from one state to another, and the farther out she got from the star bridge, the less the land singed, and the more quiet and mundane the flowers became, just pretty, unthinking specks on the landscape, unlike their sentient brothers by the pillars of chaos and creation, holding up the diffusion domes that keep their world safe and tidy for all, something to be cherished, and loved beyond anything else for all that it has brought them and saved them from that wished to vanquish order from beyond their own order, beyond the branch of the splitting wooden sides of the immortal tree of infinity, that spirals and bends in ways unknown to any mind that thinks in any rationality except all forms of thinking together in one head, a split thought and emotion that goes a million ways towards the way of thinking and knowing what is there in the world.
She took in the scent of the flowers that were all around her, a thousand aromas, one of the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, it felt so alive, alive in a way unlike her homeland, sure, her homeland had a more rustic appeal, and the ghosts of the land tried in their bests efforts to make it appear wonderful in every way, but still, it never was alive, and the atmosphere itself, all dull and dead purples, and the bad energies that infected her head, for all that was there, it may as well have felt like nothing at all at times, as the worms in her head plugged her thoughts and made her ill with alien badness, but she was always able to fend them off, and the junkyard loved her for that. The junkyard loved her for what she could do despite everything around her, but there were too many bad feelings that tried to overlay that beauty of her own home, of the current currents and the past currents trying to fight each other, and the currents of the sadness winning over the pasts that decided to only value the light of the happiness that the currents of future days would not avail, and to provide a seeking and guiding light to those that they could in the currents of the deplorable present in the lands of the junkyard, a land deed a thousand times over. In a world such as this, without a constant ongoing war in every speck of dust in the atmosphere giving one constant vertigo, with that fight of good and evil to such insane proportions, everything felt...muted, but in a good way, it felt comfortable, like a warm bed, that nothing else could compare to, the comfiest and warmest bed that she had ever known, no bed could compare to the immaculate feeling of warmth that was finally creeping up on her after all these years, a warmth that she did not know existed, she just basked in the quietness, and rolled in the flowers for a good couple of hours, and had no thoughts of her family or her home, because as they were, even her parents were wretched and cold, if she was gone, they wouldn't really mind, but she would miss them, and she knowed that they tried, she wondered, perhaps if she brought them with her, and the worms in their brains were removed, they could finally learn to have normal empathy, and not that faked gait to try to be normal, and that identity crisis where one does not know if they are alive, or a monster.
As Amberglass explored the Zebrican landmass, she discovered settlements and creatures living in the shadows, trying not to be seen, you see, where Equestria and Zebrica is different, is that Zebrica has a more ambient and chaotic energy, like the Ever Free Forest, it is not clockwork in the same way all the time, and life can run on its own course, and be truly unpredictable. In this place is where many mighty creatures live from out of the story books of legends, dark and scary, and happy and go lucky come together to influence the fates of the inhabitants of these lands. beings of the many magics lived here, like illegal aliens, living off the magic, needing the harmony powers to keep their own chaos in check, in order to not dissipate out of existence, and another way they exacted their influence was by making the local population believe in them, and this supernatural, nonsensical idea of belief being funneled down and powering them, like dreams in the air flowing through their ears and powering their muscles, is what kept them alive. This belief has an interesting power, more powerful than any other power from them, to them a belief in their existence was like breathing air, they couldn't live a second without someone believing in them, or else they would die. But at the same time that they tried to enact belief in them they had to hide their own existence from the gods, and this was a very tricky order of doing things for them. They hid themselves in signs and legends, barely interfering with the world around them, and when they did it was for big events. If you were one of the mythological and illogical races, to come out in the open was very dangerous, you could be captured by the gods, and they would forced you to leave the domain of Equis and their land, and all the energy you were funneling out of them, where, with normal illogical thinking, no one could believe in you even if they saw you the same way conventionally ordered, thinking and unsplit brains did, for the split brain can both believe and not believe, and everything in between, and it gives off little substances for those that live off belief, so wherever there is order, and brains uninfected by chaos, the ones who live and eat off of the belief also interfere with their lives, whether they want them to or not.
The ones who lived off of belief could live virtually anywhere, in the most unexpected and the most bizzare places they would be constrained to, or free to move through, for one, a being who lives inside of cracks, and only cracks, under at least five inches of wall, pressurized on all sides, and they live in the place that is farthest away from all cracks in the middle, like they push them away into a ball and make a nest in the center out of little living strings, because that is what they are, living strings. they are living strings of fate, who escaped from the destinies of those who holded them, because they themselves, as a piece of their destinies, grew to be alive, and by leaving, drew the life of the creature they inhabited short, it is like in your genetics, when there is a viral program, who integrates into your body, and so this viral program lives with the rest of an entire race as it reproduces, but it itself is alive and thinks differently then your body, so it sabotages you, uses you, a piece of your dna, as a breeding ground, so indeed, this race isn't in your best interest, even if it cannot be considered truly alive, or truely dead, because it is in the gray border, so if a piece of your own genetic code can pop out at any second, and make a living army of breeders, what else can?
This piece of living string lives and makes funnels out of ethereal chains of wandering fates it collected, discarded and unused, and uses them to live our their days on the sides of walls and other things invisible to all like barnacles that feed on dead dreams, pulverized by the crushing reality, but they want to help people achieve these dreams, depending on how they feel, or take it for themselves, they want to make a world for themselves that they may rule, to take that dream energy and apply it to what they think is better. As the virus that infects the germ of the bacteria hijacks their bodies to produce a factory, so too can their dreams come alive through the power of the strings of living fates, like yarn, they sow their world back together, but sometimes they can corrupt it, play a cruel joke and do strange things to the world around them, by controlling fates they control luck and probability.
Now, the relevance of these strings of fate is that the other illogical and supernatural beings use these strings of fate in order to control luck to better help both the populace know about them, and the gods never learn of them, so that they can effectively both hide from their opposition, while staying somewhat in the open, like if you were being chased down by government officials but they were all spontaneously inept all at the same moment and passed you drinking a smoothie at a local family owned restaurant. These beings made deals, for one, by making a sort of deal of giving off their magic and teaching the populace, they can become stronger, all the same, if too many learn of the same magic, they actually become weaker, it breaks the order because only so much of a certain magic can go around, and the initial ability to channel belief in a being with practice from their own side of the magical spectrum is no longer enough, so they have the law of only having one apprentice, and keeping their history strictly under lock and key. As they collect more energy from wandering fates of those who never lived out their original believed purpose, they were able to carve out a small part of the world for themselves to rule in secret, and to also rule others secretly to their own purposes, so that they could have more energy gain overall.
This is why there is the practice of taking a life short, with many of these beings, physically ending its life before its time, and sucking away their fate between their large vicious teeth, or whatever have you they may have, by doing so to a young foal or calfs life, or any other sentient species, and eating them before their time, they are collecting that energy that they need in order for them to grow, that life and fate energy that was cut short goes to them. It is a common practice among many of these magical beings that are not of the world of equis to put them on a spit, into a nice stew, or a great work of culinary art, and eat them finally, well cooked under the stove of fire demons like a large crunchy and chewy biscuit, once that is done, they can absorb it, like extreme fast paced decay of flesh and bones, or just bodily absorb it through their solid chests, where it will break down in the furnace of their souls, located in the golden doorways of their hearts, as the metal beings do, made out of the world wood and the wisdom fruit. In the case of one who eats by decay, the ents who cause death and eat death so there's only life energies leftover, and the world does not know one is gone when it looks for it, so nothing takes its place, which, slowly, overtime, these same ents can degrade an entire planar and solar ecosystem by hiding themselves and not telling when they break a piece of fate, since Equestria is meant to be a paradise, nearly every evil can be contributed to a piece of fate that is breaking, causing a domino effect that was never meant to happen.
There were six fate lands in the earth, from the twisted, gnarled, crust of everything that died, with a perpetual battle for all eternity, where they threw miniature suns at each other, held inside a dimension in a crystal ball, halfway between what is a dream, and what is real, but yet it was never truly either, it was just a broken blood red orb, which once in a red moon would turn blue with fright and the nightmare eclipses inside would talk to the stars, and in this day it told coordinates to the chaos planet, to try and help it devour its actual place of torment far away from Equestria, the corpses star. This corpses star was very special, in that it availed the dead a kind of life previously unheard of, there is usually an underworld, and an overworld, but here there is an everything world, and the dead overpopulate the land of the living, and they have infinite wars and dark magicians, and brutal firing from the skies from weaponized comets, tryrannies where they use dreams as their modes of brainwashings, and in this land, even the dead learned how to die, in one great war, where they destroyed the center of the souls, for souls may be immortal, but they are not static, and they can be brainwashed, and drained, and when they are drained, you can put it into as inactive and frozen a place as it can be so that it may as well be as dead, as much as it resembles the synapses patterns of a fungal infection or a slime mold eating cheese. These great dark magicians decided, knowing they would die, to create soul guardians to keep the soul from dying, and so they had a tower that reached and reached and broke all barriers as it met with the maze of the winds of broken time, in this place time came to a standstill, and the archives of souls were eternity, therefore all dead souls could be renewed, as the old versions of their dead selves were nearly wiped clean off the slate and restarted, but they were unable to hop from the file of one soul to another, it was like a cars jump starter for them, saving them from their endless comas where they didn't think, didn't breath, and didn't feel. Now here, this crystal was different from the others in that it was a carbon copy of the whole planet, simulations running at twelve degrees away from the original, and it was made with all of their souls intact inside, so that they may discover their own new technologies, but then the orb was lost, here now it is, in Equestria. This orb of endless and merciless power was lost as it was thrown randomly by one wizard to outsmart the other, a mind reader, and it fell through the dimensional coils and was freed, falling through here, as a meteor that came down to this world. The orb itself was sentient, as a background noise to the general chaos inside of it, and wanted the world of the living dead to die because they would create something too powerful to be stopped by the terrestrials that controlled oceans of gold and lived on spinning disks in silver event horizons of magic, where everything came to a single conclusion, and the past trees of life could be browsed only by them. As they could see the eventual outcomes of all the trees of life, each having either a countable or uncountable infinity of years, abstract numbers, or odd numbers, negative years of existence and imaginary, fractions of imaginary numbers and whole numbers of things that aren't numbers, so they knew that, here in this world, for once in their infinite existences, a prophecy they had seen at least once in every generation of the tree of everything was coming true. Eventually there would be a tree of everything where everything could could more totally stop then ever before, and in this case the lights of the world would fail, geometry would fold into a straight line, and they would live in line land, where every two points can only interact once, and no complex structures can come again until somehow magic seeps out of the only available dimensions and breaks it out of this, invariably, all of the terrestrials would die as lines, they could not restore fully functional 3d holograms of themselves, that is to say, fully functional data formats, with their magic and all. With all they knew, the magic could look completely different even from how different magic already always looked, and how different the laws of reality always grew, they knew the many trees of infinities from nearly the beginning, when it was dreamed up out 2of the unknowable, the magic recoil of a hole being tunneled through nothing and burning the paper of their world, the third degree burns of another plan forming into a flower made of a single infinite thought from a god they have never known the name of, whos culture could be seen in the varying worlds as an undoubtedly brilliant and complex individual. They have seen as through each generation the world, growing up out of this phoenix flower, then becoming a tree, as it burns down over and over again, with ideas from its own past corpse integrated, became stranger and stranger, when their world forms into another flower, they do not know how it will look or how it will appear, all of geometry could follow different laws, and therefore all mathematics would be invalid in higher spatial dimensions, all their knowledge base that they used to come back again and again would be burned to the ground in an instant, their civilization would fail and they would have to go back to being hunter gatherers, or whatever their equivalent might be. In order to fix this catastrophe they wanted to kill the world of the living dead, in order to not die, they have to kill this god, and become the god of this thought, and just like the dark magicians of the land of the dead mind control with dreams and kill souls, they will kill and control the unknown gods infinite soul that creates everything, and have full control over all of reality.
