Manofass(2017): Beach Bum Anon Chapter 8: Walk with Gods [discont.]


                                            >This must be the stuff mars dust is made out of

                                            >Ice cold sand that is jagged like shards of glass

                                            >Shards that seem to not cut, only hurt to touch

                                            >Or maybe they did, and you just can't tell for lack of light

                                            >The abyss is still as cold and lightless as ever

                                            >Your entire ass feels covered in pins and needles, resting here on this lonely glass-world

                                            >Its probably trying to prod you along, the bastard

                                            >The planet bastard, the Bastard Planet

                                            >That is a fitting name, the Bastard Planet

                                            >Cold and dry and sharp, the biggest bastard you've ever seen

                                            >The longest bastard you've ever walked

                                            >Well Bastard Planet, the endless bastard, I've decided not to play this bastard game

                                            >I've seen what you can throw at me

                                            >I fight monsters

                                            >I can fight you, mister planet Bastard

                                            >Planet Bastard, the planet of Bastards, you are a bastard made of trillions of tiny spiky bastards

                                            >You aren't going to walk another billion miles across a billion tiny bastards to please this bastard

                                            >You scoop up the little grains and pile them up into a mound, unsure of what to do to displease this and these bastards

                                            >It tried to eat you when you shouted at it

                                            >It tried to eat you when you changed directions

                                            >Perhaps it will try to eat you if you stay in one spot and curse the bastard in your mind

                                            >Perhaps all you need to do is not engage and you can win whatever standoff is going on here


                                            >Your little pile has grown into a small wall

                                            >And on the sides of that wall you added more wall

                                            >And you kept adding more and more wall until you were completely surrounded, and named your new fortification Fort Bastard

                                            >And now you fought your battle of will in this small foxhole

                                            >Or, at least, it should be a foxhole

                                            >You can't really tell on account of the blinding darkness

                                            >Oh well

                                            >It's a little funny, how tranquil this place is

                                            >Odd how a freezing wasteland of eternal moonless night turns out to be calmer than a horrible terrible freakshow and murder monster forest

                                            >Except not really

                                            >Not at all, in fact


                                            >An interesting thought presents itself

                                            >Perhaps you have merely had your eyes closed the entire time?

                                            >Unlikely

                                            >You try and force your lids open

                                            >Nothing happens

                                            >Of course, you have no way of telling whether that's because it's really really dark or because you can't open your eyelids

                                            >So you satisfy your question the only way you can come up with

                                            >By jamming your hoof into your eyeball

                                            >You yelp in pain as the giant toenail scrapes against your delicate cornea

                                            >Progress!

                                            >So, it must be that either there is a film over your eyeball or it is really, really dark

                                            >The question, however, needs no further thought

                                            >For in some unknowable distance across Planet Bastard's endless desert, you spot the faintest hint of a dark blue glow


                                            >Your nostrils feel like they've been flushed with rubbing alcohol

                                            >A deep burning sensation has dug itself deep into your sinuses

                                            >You wake up sneezing and teary

                                            >After a short fit the sneezing all but disappears, leaving you to stare up at the ceiling with a small trail of snot oozing down your cheek

                                            >Oh fuck, that's not a ceiling

                                            >"Such delicate facilities for such a strong mind."

                                            >You're in a teepee

                                            >A big fucking teepee

                                            >Laying on a small cot

                                            >"Perhaps sensitivity to the master makes for a fragile body?"

                                            >There is a slight haze in the tent, a familiar smoke that gives it a purplish hue

                                            >"Trixie is proud to host such a receptive child in her modest camp."

                                            >You shoot up at the name, suddenly all too aware of your dangerous company

                                            >You twist your head to see Trixie's face mere inches away from yours

                                            >"Although, maybe it is the fragility of body *and* mind which make you such an ideal colt."

                                            >You try to squirm away, but her blue glow locks you in place

                                            >"Tell me, Speedy, when did you first feel the touch of our master?"

                                            >You swallow hard and stare into her eyes

                                            >Stern, cold, and yet fierce with conviction

                                            >You desperately stammer out a response, all of your forest macho drained in the wake of her commanding stare

                                            "W-what?"

                                            >She smiles at you, easing her force grip on you as if to calm your nerves

                                            >"The man you saw, in your dreams. The same man you saw when we first spoke."

                                            >Oh boy

                                            >She's fucking goofy

                                            >She has no idea what's going on

                                            >Her hoof points out at the incense burning next to her throne, but in place of the symmetrical alignment of bowls was now a sizeable mass of smoking cones

                                            >"Their fumes allow us to speak with the true master of this land, the only protector of the gifted and outcast.

                                            >"You communed with him. When I first spoke to you, and again just now.

                                            >"Tell Trixie, what did he look like?"

                                            >Oh great

                                            >Protector of the outcast, spoken to through magic candles, corpse immolation

                                            >They are a bunch of Satanists

                                            >All your fear washes away in an instant, annoyance quick to take its place

                                            >The Conan O'Briens of the occult world

                                            >You've dealt with their kind before, they aren't a big deal

                                            >Beyond all the appearances and super hip millenial 'rituals'

                                            >Beyond the top hats and exposed eczema sores

                                            >They're just Satanists

                                            >Holy shit

                                            >They're Satanists!

                                            >You clench the figure at your neck

                                            "Wait, dude! This amulet look familiar to you? Any signifigance?"

                                            >"None whatsoever."

                                            >She answers without pause

                                            >Well there goes that gamble

                                            >You sigh and slump down in the cot

                                            "The usual, I guess. Big horns, cloven hoof, fur 'n shit. Big wings, snake tail, the works."

                                            >Of course, your dreams were about a terrible hopeless void, but she doesn't need to know that

                                            >"What did you give to him, boy?"

                                            "My heart, my soul, my undying loyalty and my very being."

                                            >Yadda yadda yadda

                                            >You've been around the block with these contrarian assholes

                                            >Say the right things and they'll share their sheep liver soup and dusty ass weed

                                            >Of course, typically they'd pack up shop the second someone gets gutted outside their weekend getaway

                                            >And you can't recall any with the gall to actually spring someone like that Monster Mush broad did

                                            >Must be some kind of local cultural thing

                                            >She regards you for a moment, then grins

                                            >"Trixie knew you were a lovely specimen the moment she first heard of you."

                                            "Heard of me?"

                                            >"Assaulting hospital staff and leading the friendship princess on a frantic chase, all in her own demense...

                                            >"Deliciously humiliating. Of course, nopony else seems to care, but that is strictly because of the papers under the crown's horns.

                                            >"If only the general public knew how foolish and falliable their leaders are, we wouldn't need to exist!"

                                            >Her words are bitter and annoyed, and she waves her hoof dismissively in the air

                                            "I thought you guys were just a woodfolk commune."

                                            >"We are many things, that included! And don't go pretending you aren't one of us, now."

                                            >She pats your head and her voice takes on a motherly tone

                                            >"You are home, and there is no need to worry about all that."

                                            >If her cult wasn't so laughable that would definitely be creepy


                                            >"I don't think I've the heart to kill you, so you'll just have to sit tight for a while."

                                            >That was the last thing he said to you before you were tossed onto some kind of cloud

                                            >A few hours ago your sight finally returned, allowing you to make out the mass of goose down you were floating on

                                            >The sky is a twisting kaleikodezcope, bathing you in lights of ever changing color

                                            >Your entire body felt... off

                                            >Lighter, more floaty

                                            >There was an indescriptionable lag in your actions, like your brain and your body were just a little too far away

                                            >You took to the air, to drop down from whatever impossible height you had reached

                                            >But no matter how far you fell, you seemed to be even over the sun's reach

                                            >Perhaps this is the area beyond the sky

                                            >A strange nighmare realm of magical energy and no constants

                                            >In your descent, you had passed dozens of other floating islands

                                            >Sometimes they contained little houses, and upon entry you were thrown into impossible rooms

                                            >Grand chambers with nonsensical stairways

                                            >Black voids which pulled despirately at you, threatening to cast you out into some great unknown

                                            >Floors of ponies from mundane office buildings to ancient war rooms filled with statues so lifelike it was as if their depicted characters were frozen in stone

                                            >That was something a cockatrice could do, probably

                                            >At random intervals you would catch some snippet of conversation

                                            >Mundane, mostly

                                            >Sometimes in different languages

                                            >You couldn't tell where they were coming from

                                            >Sometimes in your mind you would see such odd things

                                            >An old man climbing a small flight of stairs

                                            >Some teen deep frying flower stems

                                            >A mare's smiling face before a wide expanse of sky

                                            >The final room you found was some kind of field

                                            >The grass was long and brown

                                            >The sun beat you down like a druken factory worker

                                            >But here there was some sense of normality

                                            >You didn't feel that weightlessness, that sluggishocity of the bottomless sky

                                            >Every now and then a cool breeze would drip the collected sweat off your brow and down the side of your cheek

                                            >For hours you wandered, and the sun seemed to sway lazily in a pendulium, never quite dropping below the horizon

                                            >Once you got hungry and tasted the grass; it was dry and somewhat salty, but filling

                                            >Pretty soon you reached the edge of the world

                                            >Quite literally

                                            >The ground dropped off into more of the bright sky above, and the ground barely held together

                                            >When you reached it you punged your hoof straight through the earth and almost fell off the side

                                            >For some reason you wondered if you could fly back up once gravity had pulled you away

                                            >"This is what the Zebrahari looks like now."

                                            >You twist around to see Discord poking out of the grass several feet to your side

                                            >He wears a weary face and stares far off the edge, into the sky below

                                            "Heathen! Tell me where I am, and what neferimus deeds you have been up to!"

                                            >You snarl angrily, charging up a spell to vaporize

                                            >It only just now occurs to you that the magical restraint is gone

                                            >"You're in my world. The interstice, as you once called it. More specifically, you are in a door reflecting the Zebrahari."

                                            >Both names sound vaguely familiar, and yet seem unreal

                                            >No matter, all the world belongs to Celestia and so his claim is impossible

                                            >"As for what I've been up to..."

                                            >He thinks for a moment, turns away from you

                                            >"Chasing dreams, I suppose."

                                            >Very well

                                            >If he can't provide you with a straight answer willingly, perhaps you will have to subdue and interrogate

                                            >You release your charge, a white hot beam of pure energy that scorches the grass around it, aimed at the heathen's gut

                                            >The beam disappears, and Discord is unharmed

                                            >He turns to you, rolls his eyes