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Manofass(2017): Beach Bum Anon Chapter 8: Walk with Gods [discont.]
By dadonequus_archivesCreated: 2021-05-13 18:29:40
Expiry: Never
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>This must be the stuff mars dust is made out of
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>Ice cold sand that is jagged like shards of glass
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>Shards that seem to not cut, only hurt to touch
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>Or maybe they did, and you just can't tell for lack of light
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>The abyss is still as cold and lightless as ever
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>Your entire ass feels covered in pins and needles, resting here on this lonely glass-world
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>Its probably trying to prod you along, the bastard
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>The planet bastard, the Bastard Planet
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>That is a fitting name, the Bastard Planet
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>Cold and dry and sharp, the biggest bastard you've ever seen
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>The longest bastard you've ever walked
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>Well Bastard Planet, the endless bastard, I've decided not to play this bastard game
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>I've seen what you can throw at me
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>I fight monsters
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>I can fight you, mister planet Bastard
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>Planet Bastard, the planet of Bastards, you are a bastard made of trillions of tiny spiky bastards
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>You aren't going to walk another billion miles across a billion tiny bastards to please this bastard
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>You scoop up the little grains and pile them up into a mound, unsure of what to do to displease this and these bastards
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>It tried to eat you when you shouted at it
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>It tried to eat you when you changed directions
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>Perhaps it will try to eat you if you stay in one spot and curse the bastard in your mind
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>Perhaps all you need to do is not engage and you can win whatever standoff is going on here
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>Your little pile has grown into a small wall
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>And on the sides of that wall you added more wall
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>And you kept adding more and more wall until you were completely surrounded, and named your new fortification Fort Bastard
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>And now you fought your battle of will in this small foxhole
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>Or, at least, it should be a foxhole
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>You can't really tell on account of the blinding darkness
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>Oh well
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>It's a little funny, how tranquil this place is
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>Odd how a freezing wasteland of eternal moonless night turns out to be calmer than a horrible terrible freakshow and murder monster forest
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>Except not really
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>Not at all, in fact
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>An interesting thought presents itself
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>Perhaps you have merely had your eyes closed the entire time?
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>Unlikely
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>You try and force your lids open
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>Nothing happens
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>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
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>So you satisfy your question the only way you can come up with
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>By jamming your hoof into your eyeball
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>You yelp in pain as the giant toenail scrapes against your delicate cornea
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>Progress!
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>So, it must be that either there is a film over your eyeball or it is really, really dark
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>The question, however, needs no further thought
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>For in some unknowable distance across Planet Bastard's endless desert, you spot the faintest hint of a dark blue glow
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>Your nostrils feel like they've been flushed with rubbing alcohol
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>A deep burning sensation has dug itself deep into your sinuses
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>You wake up sneezing and teary
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>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
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>Oh fuck, that's not a ceiling
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>"Such delicate facilities for such a strong mind."
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>You're in a teepee
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>A big fucking teepee
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>Laying on a small cot
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>"Perhaps sensitivity to the master makes for a fragile body?"
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>There is a slight haze in the tent, a familiar smoke that gives it a purplish hue
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>"Trixie is proud to host such a receptive child in her modest camp."
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>You shoot up at the name, suddenly all too aware of your dangerous company
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>You twist your head to see Trixie's face mere inches away from yours
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>"Although, maybe it is the fragility of body *and* mind which make you such an ideal colt."
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>You try to squirm away, but her blue glow locks you in place
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>"Tell me, Speedy, when did you first feel the touch of our master?"
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>You swallow hard and stare into her eyes
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>Stern, cold, and yet fierce with conviction
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>You desperately stammer out a response, all of your forest macho drained in the wake of her commanding stare
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"W-what?"
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>She smiles at you, easing her force grip on you as if to calm your nerves
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>"The man you saw, in your dreams. The same man you saw when we first spoke."
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>Oh boy
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>She's fucking goofy
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>She has no idea what's going on
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>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
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>"Their fumes allow us to speak with the true master of this land, the only protector of the gifted and outcast.
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>"You communed with him. When I first spoke to you, and again just now.
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>"Tell Trixie, what did he look like?"
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>Oh great
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>Protector of the outcast, spoken to through magic candles, corpse immolation
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>They are a bunch of Satanists
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>All your fear washes away in an instant, annoyance quick to take its place
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>The Conan O'Briens of the occult world
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>You've dealt with their kind before, they aren't a big deal
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>Beyond all the appearances and super hip millenial 'rituals'
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>Beyond the top hats and exposed eczema sores
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>They're just Satanists
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>Holy shit
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>They're Satanists!
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>You clench the figure at your neck
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"Wait, dude! This amulet look familiar to you? Any signifigance?"
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>"None whatsoever."
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>She answers without pause
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>Well there goes that gamble
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>You sigh and slump down in the cot
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"The usual, I guess. Big horns, cloven hoof, fur 'n shit. Big wings, snake tail, the works."
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>Of course, your dreams were about a terrible hopeless void, but she doesn't need to know that
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>"What did you give to him, boy?"
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"My heart, my soul, my undying loyalty and my very being."
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>Yadda yadda yadda
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>You've been around the block with these contrarian assholes
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>Say the right things and they'll share their sheep liver soup and dusty ass weed
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>Of course, typically they'd pack up shop the second someone gets gutted outside their weekend getaway
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>And you can't recall any with the gall to actually spring someone like that Monster Mush broad did
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>Must be some kind of local cultural thing
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>She regards you for a moment, then grins
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>"Trixie knew you were a lovely specimen the moment she first heard of you."
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"Heard of me?"
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>"Assaulting hospital staff and leading the friendship princess on a frantic chase, all in her own demense...
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>"Deliciously humiliating. Of course, nopony else seems to care, but that is strictly because of the papers under the crown's horns.
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>"If only the general public knew how foolish and falliable their leaders are, we wouldn't need to exist!"
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>Her words are bitter and annoyed, and she waves her hoof dismissively in the air
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"I thought you guys were just a woodfolk commune."
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>"We are many things, that included! And don't go pretending you aren't one of us, now."
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>She pats your head and her voice takes on a motherly tone
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>"You are home, and there is no need to worry about all that."
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>If her cult wasn't so laughable that would definitely be creepy
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>"I don't think I've the heart to kill you, so you'll just have to sit tight for a while."
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>That was the last thing he said to you before you were tossed onto some kind of cloud
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>A few hours ago your sight finally returned, allowing you to make out the mass of goose down you were floating on
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>The sky is a twisting kaleikodezcope, bathing you in lights of ever changing color
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>Your entire body felt... off
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>Lighter, more floaty
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>There was an indescriptionable lag in your actions, like your brain and your body were just a little too far away
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>You took to the air, to drop down from whatever impossible height you had reached
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>But no matter how far you fell, you seemed to be even over the sun's reach
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>Perhaps this is the area beyond the sky
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>A strange nighmare realm of magical energy and no constants
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>In your descent, you had passed dozens of other floating islands
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>Sometimes they contained little houses, and upon entry you were thrown into impossible rooms
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>Grand chambers with nonsensical stairways
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>Black voids which pulled despirately at you, threatening to cast you out into some great unknown
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>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
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>That was something a cockatrice could do, probably
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>At random intervals you would catch some snippet of conversation
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>Mundane, mostly
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>Sometimes in different languages
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>You couldn't tell where they were coming from
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>Sometimes in your mind you would see such odd things
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>An old man climbing a small flight of stairs
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>Some teen deep frying flower stems
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>A mare's smiling face before a wide expanse of sky
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>The final room you found was some kind of field
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>The grass was long and brown
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>The sun beat you down like a druken factory worker
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>But here there was some sense of normality
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>You didn't feel that weightlessness, that sluggishocity of the bottomless sky
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>Every now and then a cool breeze would drip the collected sweat off your brow and down the side of your cheek
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>For hours you wandered, and the sun seemed to sway lazily in a pendulium, never quite dropping below the horizon
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>Once you got hungry and tasted the grass; it was dry and somewhat salty, but filling
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>Pretty soon you reached the edge of the world
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>Quite literally
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>The ground dropped off into more of the bright sky above, and the ground barely held together
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>When you reached it you punged your hoof straight through the earth and almost fell off the side
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>For some reason you wondered if you could fly back up once gravity had pulled you away
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>"This is what the Zebrahari looks like now."
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>You twist around to see Discord poking out of the grass several feet to your side
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>He wears a weary face and stares far off the edge, into the sky below
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"Heathen! Tell me where I am, and what neferimus deeds you have been up to!"
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>You snarl angrily, charging up a spell to vaporize
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>It only just now occurs to you that the magical restraint is gone
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>"You're in my world. The interstice, as you once called it. More specifically, you are in a door reflecting the Zebrahari."
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>Both names sound vaguely familiar, and yet seem unreal
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>No matter, all the world belongs to Celestia and so his claim is impossible
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>"As for what I've been up to..."
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>He thinks for a moment, turns away from you
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>"Chasing dreams, I suppose."
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>Very well
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>If he can't provide you with a straight answer willingly, perhaps you will have to subdue and interrogate
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>You release your charge, a white hot beam of pure energy that scorches the grass around it, aimed at the heathen's gut
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>The beam disappears, and Discord is unharmed
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>He turns to you, rolls his eyes
by dadonequus_archives
by dadonequus_archives
by dadonequus_archives
by dadonequus_archives
by dadonequus_archives