It has to die. He glanced up from his desk. A small candle burned at the corner of the table, illuminating the wall before him in an orange glow. The wall in front of him boasted a picture of a stallion, a mare, and a young colt.

The light of the sun shined in the background. A picnic blanket beneath their hooves was perfectly flattened against the grass. Smiles gripped their faces, but he knew better. Those smiles were false. They were brave faces one would put on in the face of danger. As if to convince others, or himself, that nothing was wrong. They were just a normal family with nothing interesting, and certainly not horrifying, about them.

But of course, that was hardly the truth. There was evil in their family. Evil in their blood. And it laid within the crib only a few rooms away. It laid there in the dead of the night, waiting for its mother’s embrace.

She can’t know. She can’t. He leered towards the knife at the edge of his desk. The sharpened blade almost started glowing in the dim light of the candle near it. It was such a simple tool. Yet, it seemed that it would save the world from the terror that he knew would plague it. And he would use it.

His trembling hoof reached out for the handle. A cold rush slithered up his arm as his hoof lightly touched it. He exhaled a deep breath.

It’s just a child, he repeated to himself. But we have to! The world might depend on it! Like two children, his mind bickered back and forth. He had spent months agonizing over his decision, but, in the end, he knew that the moment was inevitable. The moment he knew he had to kill it.

It seemed like only hours ago the child had been so docile, as if it was unable to harm a fly. It seemed at peace. It was smiling and the tone in its voice brought about a sense of tranquility that would fool even the most doubting of hearts. Hearts, such as its mother's. She was buying into such tricks and was being played with emotionally. A little angel, she called it. An angel, as if it was some divine creature sent forth by the heavens themselves to answer the prayers of the parents he was given unto.

And while it did answer their prayers, he knew better. It had come from the heavens, but it was by no god that they worshiped or a benevolent god. This god enjoyed the misery of others. This was a god whose only purpose was to watch others suffer, to point and laugh as ponies struggle throughout their lives in the hopes of leaving a mark on the world in their limited time.

Violent, ravaging, and uncontrollable, the child had become a cycle of anger that seemed to have no cure. He looked down at his front hoof as it sat upon the table. Teeth marks shined in his skin. The creature had dug them into him, simply because it could. It wanted to kill him. He could see it in the creature’s eyes.

She would deny these things and believe that he was merely blind or was merely irrational. Irrational?! I’m saving the world!

He glanced over to the photograph once more, examining its eyes. The eyes seemed to be staring at him. Green pupils that pierce through his own eyes and slithered into his soul, like some damned thing. He glared back at the picture, as if he demanded it to stop staring at him. However, the eyes continued to stare. He clenched his teeth together, a small whisper escaping his teeth. “Stop looking at me.”

The eyes continued to hold their ground. Its indomitable will seemed to mock him as they continued to stare. Mercilessly, they taunted him, telling him that there was nothing he could do to stop them. They would always see him, always glace into him like a window into his heart, his mind, and his soul.

His ears could only take so much of their insults. He gave a roar as he raised his hoof. With a swiftness that would rival a lightning bolt, he smashed his hoof into the picture. The crackling sounds of glass reached his ears, echoed by the rumbling of the wall behind the picture frame.

The picture swayed back and forth as if it was in slow motion. The eyes were distorted by the swinging and the cracks in the glass, which covered its face. The frames movements became slower and it lost momentum. It stopped, tilted to its left side. He looked for the eyes, as if he wanted an omen for the work he was about to do for the world.

A spider web formed at the breaking point of the picture, centering on its face. The eyes were gone. Then let Celestia’s will be done! His hoof wrapped around the knife and gently raised it off of the table.

As if the darkness beckoned him, he braved the shadows that lie beyond the blaze of the candle. The knife grew heavier with every step, as if gravity was opposed to such a monstrous thing as the death of a child. He felt that it was his own will fighting against him, but he knew what needed to be done. This was not a question of what he wanted, but a question of what was asked of him.

It has to die, he reminded himself. He took another step forward to the where the doorway should be. The darkness coated the room in its impenetrable veil, blinding him. He should have been handicapped. It should have had an advantage. But he was not so foolish. He had perfectly memorized the number of steps he would need to come to the child’s crib. To the door of office. Seven steps.

The plan needed to be perfect. He couldn’t afford it not to be. The fate of the entire world depends it on! He took another step, completing his seventh. The door would be in front of him, the knob just short of his right foreleg. He waited a moment, listening down the hallway. The mare couldn’t find out what he was doing. There was nothing he could do to persuade her and she would surely try to stop him.

But he knew this was the right choice. Nothing could stop him from saving everypony. His ears listened intensely for any sound. The silence engulfed him as much as the darkness had. Not a sound from the walls, the floor, the air, or even the night birds was heard at all. There was nothing to hide his movements, should he make a mistake.

He continued raise his hoof and placed it firmly on the doorknob. His warm hoof shivered abruptly by the cold touch of the metallic knob. Nearly giving out a panicked yelp, he quickly silenced himself. He had not expected to react to the knob as he did. A slow, deep breath filled his lungs as he began to clear his mind.

Turning the knob after several moments, he pushed his way into the hallway. The door lightly squeaked, forcing him to stop after creating a small opening, one with just enough room for him to wiggle into the hallway. It seemed like the entire house was against him. Every movement he made seemed to cause an earthquake beneath his feet and a thunderclap in the air.

As careful as he was, he felt he might as well have been banging pots and pans. Does the house not realize what is at stake here?!

He shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts. His mind began to visualize the hallway. It stretched for several yards, with several set of doors at either side. There was a table and vase to his left only a few feet from the doorway. Two steps to the center of the hallway and forty more until he was directly in front of the door where it lie. Forty steps?! he shrieked to himself. How will I make it that far without making a sound?!

He stood in the center of the hallway as his mind contemplated the wisdom of performing the task. It would be difficult not to be discovered in forty steps with how much noise he was making. Every step felt as if he was a dragon trying to tiptoe his way past a busy market, but if he did not perform the task at hand, it would destroy them all.

No matter what the risk, he knew it had to be done. He took his first step towards his destination. Carefully, he waited for a sound to pierce the darkness. Nothing came. It was silent as the night itself. He smiled and took another step. Again, it was an unadulterated step with nothing to break the calm. A series of steps followed with stillness reigning supreme over him.

Thirty-nine. Another step forward. Forty. He turned to his left and his mind began to paint the picture of horror in front of him. The door led to its room.

Suddenly, his breathing became more rapid. The knife nearly fell out of his hoof by the shift in weight. Silence was replaced with the booming sound in his chest. His heart felt as if it were ramming against his rib cage.

I have to do this quickly. He reached up for the doorknob ignoring his thundering pulse. He leaned against the doorway, slowly revealing the small room on the other side. His heart seemed to beat louder than before. Every breath he took felt as if he were gasping for air. That is what it was capable of, even when it was asleep.

If it was awake, it would have been impossible. He glanced into the darkness. Why, he did not know. There was no need to see. The darkness only covered him, shadowing him and his work. He took a single step into its room, taking a deep breath as his hoof tapped the ground. He could not afford to make a sound. The opportunity had presented itself and he couldn’t waste it.

Another step forward, another silent echo. His heart seemed to slow down, as if the deed was already done. Confidence bloated in him like an infection. He moved forward, taking several steps. The crib lie only a few feet away, of that he was sure.

The knife shook in his hoof, as if it were anticipating the taste of blood.

Suddenly, an orange light came into the room, illuminating the crib with the thing tucked tightly into bed. He twisted his head to see a mare standing at the doorway, a candle in her hoof. Her widened eyes and open mouth indicated that she found the knife in his hoof. “What are you doing?” she asked.

No! I can’t let you stop me from saving the world! He lunged at her, the knife stead in his hoof. A cry was unleash from his throat that caused her to back away, her eyes widened as if they were to burst from her head. The force of his body colliding with her’s knocked them both to the ground. He stood over her, the knife raised over his head.

The knife dove for her, but the mother quickly caught his hoof. She pushed as hard as she could, but could only slow his descent. He moved his free foreleg onto the butt of the knife, pushing down with all his might. The knife inched closer and closer to the mare’s eye. In mere seconds it would be over.

Then a small cry came from behind him. A cry that shook his body and froze it in place. It was its cry. The thing that should not be awoken from its slumber was finally awake.

With his body frozen, the mare struck him in the forehead with one of the toys scattered across the floor. His vision blurred as he felt a cold liquid run down the side of his face. The voice had come so unexpectedly, catching him off guard. He would not make that mistake again. As he took a moment to collect himself, the mare tackled him to the ground, her falling on top of him. The mare revealed the knife in her hooves.

His mind raced as she stood over him with the knife in her hoof. He struggled against her, blocking the knife as best he could. His forearms bled with every attack, the blood running down his legs. Finally, he caught her foreleg with the knife and started to drive her back.

Then the tiny voice entered the room. A series of mumbles and grunts that seemed to speak of very little intelligence. They froze his body again.

The world is doomed, the father had finally come to the realization. He had failed. With that moment, the mare had raised the knife and in a split second, his eyes closed, condemning the world to its fate.