What the fuck did you just call me? Buddy, ah’m truly sorry that you went through all of that: truly, I am. But I went through my own torture, forced to years of rape and then forced to rewatch it every time I’d die, dying myself in general, and watching my best friend’s have their heads blown clean off just because some goddamn geezers thought it be fun to hire a bunch of mentally diseased women to fight their battles over a gravel pit.
First it was watching Heresy under the influence of a demon, then it was general talk of babies, portals to alternate universes and pizza covered in cum, now me and Heresy are talking about our past lives and why they generally suck.
In Tartarus, there are no friends. It is the closest thing there is to hell on earth. There in tartarus, the screams of Bright Idea’s mother became my screams. But the serum coursing through my veins wouldn’t let me rest. I realize that, now, in retrospect. That’s why I lasted. But it made them torture me harder, and longer than anypony else. When they finally realized their mistake, I was dead too, just like the little boy so long ago. I walked out of there a ghost, no longer anyone. I tried to put my life back together, tried to retrace my steps. But I left my soul behind a long time ago. There is nothing between me and my living death but a tiny dangling thread of sanity, Abby. Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what desecration is ever again, you whore, or I swear, on Mother Constance’s name, I will end you then and there, consequences be damned, and my soul along with it. Because my life is a war that can never be won, and by God, I will see that someone loses with me.
My family soon moved from Boston to Teufort. My ma claimed it was for a breath of fresh air, but I had a hunch that she had slept with about every attractive man in Boston and wanted a new selection. My brothers were jobless and relied on me, though thankfully were not got the opportunity to rely on me in other ways.
Soon, I experienced my first “death”. A knife to the back. And it hurt, I thought it did. But as I fell, I realized I wasn’t really dead. I looked around and noticed my arms were bound to a familiar bed like nooses. And I shook and yelled, yet the damn things got tighter with every twist and in the distance, my brother approached, closer, closer, until his lips were inches from mine.
And I’d respawn, breath knocked out of me, and the kindly Demowoman would explain to me that the out of breath experience was normal for new users of the system, then tell me to get moving or she’d personally hand my ass to me.
It made me more than a pony, it made me a madman. I took to the streets, and I wreaked havoc, now finally unable to control the anger that had raged inside me for years, but not allowing myself to hurt anyone - not yet. And for all my care, for all my effort, they tossed me in Tartarus for a month. But that wasn’t the end either.
I ran, alright. And one day I ran so far that I knocked into a suspicious building off the outskirts of town offering mercenary work. And I lapped the entire thing up.
I told my family that I was leavin’. I got no response, though my brother did try to give me a parting “gift”. By then, though, I could avoid him easily, and did so. My team was made of up wackjobs, and we really didn’t win too many battle for our boss Blutarch WoMann. But it was good. I started seeing my bro’s faces on every RED team, and it helped me rack up some kills. But there was no escaping home.
Nobody would take a male priest seriously, thanks to Equestria’s matriarchy. I had to take a job as the custodian - the janitor at the boarding house. I thought I could retire there, to a life of peaceful study. How wrong I was. I was pulled into a war I didn’t even know existed, between only evil and more evil. As the filth built up around my ankles, I started having nightmares, and soon I couldn’t sleep at all. I asked Professor Nightjack for medicine to help me, but I got a little more than I bargained for.
She payed my debts, took me in, tried to put the little broken boy back together. She tried to teach me how to love. I became a priest, since a priestess was the only one who ever showed Heresy a scrap of kindness.
But did I get a happy ending? No, not yet.
They dragged her away, and Bright Idea couldn’t bear to be far from his mother. Thought he could help her. He couldn’t. All he could do was watch as she screamed for hours, maybe days, he lost track of the time, as they violated her in the worst ways they could think of. By the time her screams had stopped, they had killed Bright Idea too. So I took to the streets, still using his name, not yet realizing that little boy was dead. I started stealing to feed myself.
SHUT UP! I’M NOT FINISHED YET! My face snarls into a look of murderous hatred
Not a single pony in those five years showed me a single shred of kindness. And I got in the same trouble my - no, Bright Idea’s father did. Then she found me. Mother Constance.
And as she disappeared more often and brought more men home, I guess my brother’s started to get ideas. And apparently a admiration for bondage. And every day I would return home if I was stupid enough to do so and was forcefully strapped to a bed as one brother in particular began…well, I suppose you can guess by now. And one day my mom walked in on it, me dressed in ropes, and she just closed the door and walked away, never mentioning it again.
