At the End of Everything


                                            Synopsis: Anon finds himself at the end of the world, but he's not alone.


                                            >You walk across a wasteland of death.

                                            >The flat, dark earth underneath your feet is overcast by an even darker sunless sky.

                                            >Dusky, rolling hills shift in the horizon like mirages.

                                            >And intermittently sprouting out of the ground are blackened, decaying trees—if you can even call them trees—that struggle to even match up to your neckline.

                                            >The only noise that graces your ears in this expanse is the cold, howling wind that's also buffeting your face.

                                            >You can feel it within your bones—this world is, and forever will be, devoid of life.

                                            >Perhaps life flourished here at some point, but such conjecture means little to you now.

                                            >It's not like you can travel back in time to see it.

                                            >The hopeless atmosphere that oppresses this place is enough to crush anyone's resolve—it has almost crushed yours.

                                            >But there's one thing keeping you going—one thing that's keeping you from lying down and meeting the same fate as rest of this world's past populace.

                                            >Curiosity.

                                            >Because you see a shining beacon in the far distance.

                                            >The tower of azure light that it emits soars high into the sky—a stark contrast to this otherwise-bleak and colourless landscape.

                                            >And so you push onwards—stepping across the cracked dirt and over the lumps of rock that litter it.

                                            >As you do, you begin to wonder what exactly this place is.

                                            >Why were you brought here?

                                            >*How* were you brought here?

                                            >Could this be a Limbo of some kind?

                                            >Or Hell?

                                            >You struggle to recall your last moments before waking up in this place; it almost feels as if your past is growing blurrier with every passing second.

                                            >If you were to fall asleep here, what would you wake up to?


                                            >As you draw closer to the source of the light, you can slowly make out its shape.

                                            >It looks like…a large round table.

                                            >Perhaps a sign of a past civilisation?

                                            >Once you get over there, maybe you can finally get some answers.

                                            >And then you can…you can…

                                            >You're not sure.

                                            >Eventually, you make your way over to the table; it takes a few minutes, or maybe it was a few hours—it's hard to tell. Time itself seems to have lost all meaning in this place.

                                            >As you examine the table, you find it…curious; from afar, it seemed to shine like an azure star, but up close—it appears dull and dilapidated, with not a glimmer of light emitting from it.

                                            >You rest your hand upon the table's rim; it's covered with a thick layer of dust, and underneath that—it's hard and bumpy.

                                            >It seems to be carved out from rock—no, crystal?

                                            >And upon closer inspection, you notice that this table's surface is far from flat; there appear to be all sorts and sizes of bumps layered over the table top.

                                            >Upon clearing away some more of the dust, you uncover what appears to be a topographical map of some kind; it protrudes out of the table's surface like a 3D-printed model.

                                            >You spy miniature mountains and replica ravines all across this crystalline chart of the world.

                                            >Unfortunately, unless there's an "endless expanse devoid of life" section on the map that you're glossing over, you wager that it's past its expiration date.

                                            >Once upon a time, you can imagine that this table would be right at home in a fancy establishment of some kind—maybe a noble's mansion or a medieval castle.

                                            >You can see it now—the lord (or lady) of the house and their closest associates, gathered around a table just like this; they'd discuss the evolving, ever-changing matters of the world using that fancy map, and they'd sit on those fancy crystalline chairs—

                                            >Oh…the chairs, of course.

                                            >Yes, you've only just noticed it now, but there are chairs around this table, too; they appear to be made of the same crystalline rock as the table itself.

                                            >Although, unlike the table, the chairs seem to be in a much worse shape; in fact—you'd be stretching the term to even call them "chairs" in their current state.

                                            >A few of them are turned up or on their side, and all of them have eroded away quite heavily in some fashion; you count only three of them still standing.

                                            >Needless to say—any potential occupants to these seats have long since left this realm.

                                            >Well, except for one.


                                            >There's one chair that's in a better shape than the rest—it's the only one with an in-tact back.

                                            >You see a symbol adorning the top of its back; it's partially faded, but it looks like a star.

                                            >But what really catches your eye is what lies on the seat of this chair; you see what appears to be a decently-sized stuffed animal slumped against the back.

                                            >With its equine features and a horn atop its head—you wager that it's meant to be a unicorn.

                                            >It has dusty, lilac-coloured fur and a deep purple mane with turquoise accents that's done up in a front-end bang; its mane billows about in the harsh wind.

                                            >How curious; while you can understand these crystalline structures being able to survive in this wasteland—how is this toy still intact? And who left it here?

                                            >The more questions that arise in your head—the more you find yourself strangely enchanted by its visage, unable to look away.

                                            >You continue to gaze at it, and it continues to lay slack against the chair—lifeless, blinking…

                                            >Blinking…

                                            "A-ah!" you gasp.

                                            >Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest for the first time in what feels like aeons.

                                            >That's no stuffed animal.

                                            >It slowly lifts its head up to look at you in response to your surprised yelp.

                                            "Y-you…you're…uh…"

                                            >It gazes at you with bored, blue eyes.

                                            >"Hmph."

                                            >It looks you over with an indifferent, unchanging expression before speaking up again.

                                            >"Haven't seen one like you yet."

                                            >That voice…you recognise it as feminine—dry as the tone may be.

                                            >Its head slumps back down as it once again stares at the ground underneath the table, having seemingly lost interest in you already.

                                            >You take a deep breath to recollect yourself before you address…her.

                                            "'One like me?' Are there others?"

                                            >"No. I'm the only one here, and the only one who ever will be here," she responds without looking at you.

                                            >You give her a quizzical glance before her words sink in.

                                            >It's likely that she doesn't think you're real—perhaps a delusion brought on from the maddening desolation of this place.

                                            >It would certainly explain her nonchalance.

                                            >And perhaps yours, too.


                                            >Still, if she's willing to at least acknowledge your presence in some form, then maybe you can get some answers out of her.

                                            "Do you know where we are?"

                                            >She takes a small moment to respond, her eyes flickering ever-so briefly.

                                            >"…This is the end."

                                            "What do you mean 'the end?' What happened here?"

                                            >"This is the end of Equestria—the end of everything."

                                            >She shuts her eyes briefly and sighs.

                                            >"And…"

                                            >After a few seconds, she raises her head again to stare at you; her gaze appears to be slightly more focused this time—more lucid.

                                            >"I did this."

                                            >At that moment, it feels as if the roaring wind has died down—as if the entire world has stopped to exacerbate the weight of her confession.

                                            >Within this strained silence, you can feel your own heart nervously beat in your chest; *she's* the one who did…all of this? The reason this world is so devoid of life? Of hope?

                                            >A murky cocktail of emotions threatens to well up from within you as a result of her apocalyptic admission.

                                            >Yet, above all else, you find yourself wanting to know more.

                                            >There are a deluge of half-formed questions swirling about in your mind that demand to be asked.

                                            >But there's one pertinent question that stands above the rest.

                                            "How?"

                                            >She shifts her gaze downwards—this time, to look at the round table's map.

                                            >"…Revenge.

                                            >"There was a battle, between myself and…and her."

                                            >She frowns.

                                            >"She claimed that her…friends were the sole reason why this world maintained its peace."

                                            >Her brows furrow.

                                            >"Obviously, I didn't believe her. Who would? Who could?

                                            >"So we fought… We fought and fought and fought, until…until…

                                            >"She didn't want to fight any more; she wanted to…understand."

                                            >She lets out a tired huff, shaking her head.

                                            >"As if she ever could…

                                            >"But in that moment of weakness, she let her guard down—just enough that I could grab it."

                                            >She leans forward ever so slightly, extending a forehoof and resting it on the dusty table.

                                            >"I had it—I had the spell. All I had to do was…"

                                            >She quickly flicks her hoof across the table, dispersing some of the dust into the wind.

                                            >"She knew that, so then she tried—one last time—to get me to admit defeat…to give up."

                                            >She lifts her head to look at you once more; her brows are furrowed, yet her eyes betray the slightest amount of watery gloss.

                                            >"I didn't.

                                            >"I tore it up—that fragile bond. And then…

                                            >"She…she failed her Sonic Rainboom. They never got together.

                                            >"And I won."

                                            >Her gaze shifts past you, and she stares into the empty horizon behind you.

                                            >And her next words are but a whisper.

                                            >"I won…"


                                            >Her words hang in this empty world, with you and her being the only ones left who can acknowledge them.

                                            >As you rest a hand on the table, staring up into the dead sky, you reflect on her speech.

                                            >The story she told was one spoken with scattered words, a bitter heart, and a pyrrhic resolution; yet as an outsider to this tale—you could never hope to grasp it in its entirety.

                                            >But while you may not understand the circumstances that had lead up to this point—you fully understand the emotions intoned in her voice.

                                            >You understand them all too well.

                                            >So you circle around the table, one step at a time, to make your way over to her; she shows no sign of acknowledging your presence, instead continuing to stare off into the distance.

                                            >Soon enough, you find yourself standing at her side, gazing at her as she sits on her lone crystal throne.

                                            >And you lean in, slowly wrapping your arms around her body as you bring her into a hug.

                                            >She gasps in response, immediately tensing up.

                                            >"Huh—what?"

                                            >As you rest a hand upon her withers, you can feel that her fur is matted and covered with dust, so you tenderly brush that layer of detritus away.

                                            >And in doing so, you unearth the mare hidden underneath that sullen shell of silt, laying bare the emotions that she has bottled away in her solitude.

                                            >She slowly, shakily reaching up one of her forehooves and touches you.

                                            >"Y-you're…"

                                            >She cautiously turns her head to make eye contact with you; her tearful expression is a mix of uncertainty and incredulity.

                                            >"…Why?"

                                            >You already have your answer.

                                            "You looked like you needed this."

                                            >She takes a deep, shuddering breath.

                                            >"I-I…"

                                            >She sniffles as her eyes begin to water more and more.

                                            >You can feel her body steadily relaxing in your grasp.

                                            >Eventually, she relaxes enough that she can bring herself to lean towards you, cautiously laying her head against your shirt and closing her eyes.

                                            >Gingerly, she wraps one of her forelegs around your back, reciprocating your hug.

                                            >You feel a damp spot forming from where she's resting her head on your shirt, but you don't mind.

                                            >As time passes, what started as quiet, restrained sniffles soon turn into cathartic, wailing sobs as she expels everything that she's held back until this point.

                                            >Her tears are a tempestuous kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions.

                                            >And yet, despite the freezing cold of the biting wind and the dampness of her tears, the warmth that you two share right now outshines everything else in its intensity.

                                            >Neither of you say anything; nothing more needs to be said.

                                            >Because at the end of everything…

                                            >You'll be there for her.