Author's Notes:

Here comes another crazy fic from me. Strap yourselves in and enjoy!

The choices we make often have consequences far beyond what we ever intended.

This story takes place in a land filled with people of the equine persuasion, so we shall call it... MAGIC PONYLAND!!! Hey, I'm telling this story, so I will call it whatever the fuck I want. This all began because a nice, sweet, and tenderhearted princess who happens to be able to control the sun... we'll just call her Princess Hott Butt, decided that, rather than using her own powers and those of her sister to defeat an evil overlord, she'd take a set of shiny, shiny rocks with the power to summon the Glorious Double Rainbow of Limitless Whoopass, and use them to defeat that overlord. We'll call this evil overlord Studly McAwesomerod.

It worked. Big time. They were scraping bits and pieces of the guy off of about eighty square miles of landscape for weeks afterwards. Ding dong, the king is dead, and there was much rejoicing, you all know the drill.

...Except for Princess Hott Butt. You see, Princess Hott Butt was secretly in love with an alternate universe's version of Studly McAwesomerod and his Truly Massive Rod of Awesomeness +15, and killing one killed both. While not quite as awesome as the rod of the true Studly one (His was a +20), this version had still managed to catch the heart of one of the hottest pieces of tail that Magic Ponyland ever saw, but then lost his chance at tapping that ass because reasons.

No, I'm not going into detail about that shit. You can look into it on your own time. This is my story, now let me tell it.

So, because she'd discovered that the Glorious Double Rainbow of Limitless Whoopass was secretly a doombow in disguise, Princess Hott Butt decided that these murderstones had to be put away before she accidentally killed anyone else. That could have been the end of it, but sadly, it was not.

See, Hott Butt had a sister, whom we shall call Princess Best Pony. Best Pony was jealous of her sister, due to the fact that, while superior to her sister in almost every way, her booty was not quite as rocking as Hott Butt's. Seriously, Hott Butt had this sweet badonkadonk that had all the boys drooling after her. She couldn't move for the all the guys aching for a piece of that. So the younger, cuter sister got jealous, and in a dark magic fueled fit of butt envy, transformed herself into the evil Worst Pony, and decided that the best way to get everyone to want her slightly inferior backside was to kill her sister, turn off the sun, and declare herself the eternal goddess of everything.

Of course, Princess Hott Butt took exception to the whole sororicide thing, and fought back. Thus began the greatest cat-fight that Magic Ponyland ever saw. Sadly, while incredibly hot, it was, like many cat-fights, doomed to end with at least one less hot piece of tail in the world. Unlike most cat-fights, though, it ripped the heavens a new one, and about half the stars in the sky ended up being used as projectiles by an angry moon lady, and the sun being used as a death ray by the sad but resolute sun mistress. Ultimately, it ended with both near-godlike entities murdering each other. Incidentally, the sun and moon crashed into each other, and both shattered.

Yeah, I don't know how the fuck the sun shattered, but it did. Magic Ponyland has its own rules, and does not care what you think about them.

Hott Butt might have been able to win, had she just kept the murderstones around, but she made a bad choice, and there were consequences. Consequences even worse than the sky getting broken.

Some time ago, Hott Butt and Best Pony had created a magical prison where they had locked up everything bad that could ever happen in Magic Ponyland, and when the two of them died, all those angry assholes came out, angry and ready to be assholes once more. All the legendary heroes of Equestrian lore came out to face these dreaded villains: Clover The Clever, Commander Hurricane, and all the rest, they gathered the best warriors in Magic Ponyland, readied them for battle, and marched them out to face the escaped fiends...

...And were all wiped out in less than six minutes. Seriously, the bad guys might have experienced more difficulty strolling through a field of flowers on a sunny day. The residents of Magic Ponyland are many things, but skilled warriors is not even in the top ten.

But Clover the Clever WAS clever, and knew that failure was a very real possibility, so the elderly magician sent out her one and only student on a secret mission, just in case shit went wrong. That was why, one year later, that student, a young mare by the name of Sparkling Sunset, was standing in a cave in the depths of a cold and lonely mountain with one hundred and seven virgin mares of various ages, attempting to perform a supremely dangerous ritual.

You see, there comes a point where things have gone so bad that you have no choice but to do something you'd otherwise never do, something that you would fight to your last breath to stop someone else from doing in other circumstances. That time had come, the time to bring back the baddest motherfucker on the planet and hope that he's not too angry about the fact that somebody killed him with a pair of rainbows.

Of course, things didn't go quite as planned.
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You want me to take this more seriously? Really? Fine. I'll quite renaming ponies, but that's as far as I'm willing to go. You wanted my story in my own words, chronicler, so you'll have to bear it. Okay? Good. Now, where was I...
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I am not, by nature, a difficult person to get along with. I have a number of eccentricities, but who doesn't, really? I consider myself to be a pretty laid-back guy, when it's all said and done. However, there are a few things that I consider sacrosanct...

Such as my right to sleep as long as I fucking want on a Saturday.

Friday nights, I unwind, playing my favorite games, binging on my favorite animes and manga, and more or less just doing whatever I want until three or four in the am. I work hard during the week, so when the weekend rolls around, I don't waste any time waiting to enjoy myself. This means that I have to sleep late on Saturday, or else I'm a grumpy fuck for the rest of the weekend.

Which was, of course, why on one Saturday morning, I began waking up to the sound of someone, or perhaps I should say several someones, speaking in hushed whispers in my room. My luck is just plain shitty like that.

I am pretty slow to wake up on Saturdays, though, even after my eight hours, so I was only half-paying attention to what they were saying, but it sounded a bit... odd.

"Is he... alive?" This voice had a certain gruffness to it, in spite of being the voice of a young woman in her early twenties. She had the kind of voice you might expect from someone who'd done some time in the service, or maybe some time behind bars. The kind of voice that proclaimed that she'd seen some shit, and if she was going to see some more, well, she'd be ready with some shit of her own to deal with it. My brain dubbed her as Gruffette.

"I can see him breathing, so he must be," another voice said. This one had a certain... educated quality to it. Every word was fully enunciated, as if she was slightly afraid of being misunderstood on accident. She sounded really cute, though. My brain decided that the best name for her was Nerdette.

Okay, like I said, I am slow to rise, so my mind had not yet caught on the the fact that there were two females in the same room with me, watching me sleep. However, something in my brain did file the conversation it heard under 'Deeply Suspicious' and began to initiate emergency awakening procedures, but another part of my mind concluded, 'I must have left the tv on last night', and my brain went back into regular startup mode.

"But why isn't he doing anything?" Gruff girl asked, sounding more than a little confused.

There was a pause, and the cute nerd girl said, "Maybe he's just tired? You get exhausted easily when you're recovering from a serious injury, right? He was dead five minutes ago, and I can't think of a more serious injury than that."

Gruffette said, "Or he's come back as a vegetable. Something must have gone wrong." There was a snort, and she added, "I told you that one hundred and eight wasn't the right number for the ritual. It should have been an even hundred. What kind of number is one hundred and eight for anything?"

My brain, on auto-pilot, started my mouth working, and mumbled, "One hundred and eight is the number of times a bell is rung to ring in the new year in Japan, as well as the number of shrines visited in a traditional pilgrimage. It is also the number of tiles used in a game of mahjong, and the number of double-stitches on a baseball." As an afterthought, I added, "Offering one hundred and eight roses is also a form of asking for someone's hand in marriage." It was strange, my voice sounded... off in my ears. It sounded dark, gruff, guttural. Evil...

There was a moment of silence, followed by Nerdette saying in a smug whisper, "See, I told you that I had it right."

There was a loud gulp, followed by Gruffette whispering, "Don't sound so proud of yourself. Remember who you've just brought back from the dead."

Whispering, yet still somehow managing to sound annoyed, Nerdette said, "I haven't forgotten, but think of the possibilities. We've just succeeded in returning... him from the great beyond." It should be impossible to squee while whispering, but somehow she managed, exclaiming quietly, "We've proved that the ritual works! If we could find Celestia's remains..."

With an equally annoyed mutter, Gruffette said, "If there's anything left of her, you mean. You weren't there, Sunset, so you didn't see what it was like that day. I doubt that there's enough left of either of them to fill a thimble."

"Oh," Nerdette, or rather... Sunset? Weird name. Well, anyhow, she sounded terribly disappointed.

My brain was at about twenty-five percent activation, and rising. By now, I had realized that either I had brought home two girls last night (Which isn't exactly something I usually do), or I was sleeping someplace other than my room. Either way, they were preventing me from getting any more sleep on a Saturday morning, a crime I regard as only one rung below punching a baby in the face. I muttered, "Look, I don't know what the two of you are going on about, but unless both of you are naked, one of you has a jar of honey, and you are both feeling frisky this morning, I'm going to need to ask you to leave. I'm trying to get some sleep here."

There was a sound like several articles of clothing hitting the ground, and the nerdy sounding voice called out, "Does anybody have any honey on them?"

A third voice, surprisingly perky, called out, "I do!"

My libido, hearing that, abruptly activated emergency wake up procedures, as well as emergency sexy-time procedures. I instantly snapped awake and sprang up out of bed, my eyes opening wide as I shouted, "I'M AWAKE!!!"

...And promptly found myself facing a crowd of ponies, all of them staring at me wide-eyed in shock.

Well, that killed my morning wood pretty damned quickly.
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Commander Ironhide, the muscular brown boar who led the elite soldiers of Boardor, the Razorbacks, looked at his troops in frustration. It wasn't their fault, he reminded himself. They'd not expected the ponies to trigger an avalanche to close the pass behind them. His boars were doing their best to clear the snow as quickly as possible, and if you set one hundred adult boars to digging anything, they'll make a mole turn envious for the sheer volume of stuff they can move, but they weren't moving fast enough...

A shadow fell over him, and he turned, not surprised to see the Swineherd, his master's right trotter, looming above him. The titanic, black-armored boar said, simply, "Master nap over. Master want know why stop when ponies no am caught." He wasn't the brightest of boars, but he more than made up with it with size, muscle, and a capacity for violence that made even the most deranged psychotic look like a pansy-sniffing pacifist.

Clearing his throat, Ironhide said, "The ponies triggered an avalanche to slow us down. We're clearing the snow now, and expect to be through any moment now."

The giant nodded, then turned around, heading back to the master's palanquin. Ironhide would have to hurry and catch those ponies before sunset, and the master lost his patience. The commander shuddered, frightened to his core. Who wouldn't be frightened of failing someone named Diretusk the Cruel?