Dim wasn’t walking so much as he was floating—or maybe he was walking and he just couldn’t tell. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his hooves as he approached the large group of bandits that had landed in the town square. Motes of darkness swirled around him; it was impossible to determine if they were real or a hallucination. This town was built upon a foundation of chalk and the magic here was strong… strong and easy to reach. It required no effort on Dim’s part to begin siphoning it to fuel his magic.

There were pegasus ponies still overhead, circling over the town, and earth ponies cowered in their doorways. Dim could smell the fear around him as mothers stood protective over their foals. None moved to resist the bandits, and that was understandable. Peasants were supposed to work, to farm, to do manual labour… as for himself… he existed to destroy bandits. Just like the wizards of old did in his foalhood storybooks. These bandits were aggressive, fearless, they had forgotten the old ways, the old order, when the peasantry had their guardian wizard.

Dim was coming to remind them, to give an object lesson on why one should not mess with a wizard’s peasant charges. Dim could only recall one single, solitary law of Equestrian Feudalism and the Covenant of the Three Tribes: To harass a wizard’s charges was to invite disaster. There were other laws, quite a number, but Dim’s memory of those were murky, muddied, and didn’t seem important at the moment.

Some inconsiderate, oafish, boorish noble had left these poor peasants wizardless. In the back of Dim’s mind, he was already thinking of all manner of terrible punishments, should he find the cretinous ignoramus responsible for this vulgar act of ineptitude. Dim trembled while the coca-laced salts did a number on his body and his rage brought everything into perfect focus.

A wizard did not just punish, but made examples. Bandits were not just killed, no, that was a wizard being lax in his duties. No, examples had to be made, to discourage future bandits. The peasantry was owed a measure of safety for all of their labour. While Dim approached the gathered bandits, his scowl intensified.

“You there! Stop!” one of the armored pegasus ponies commanded.

In response, Dim cast a spell into their midst. One single, terrible spell, and he did it in the hopes that from this moment forwards, all bandits would rethink their wicked ways. With a furious snarl, Dim made an example out of the gathered crowd, and he did so by targeting their armor, their symbols and vestments of false-authority, their illusion of martial might projected upon the peasantry.

The spell took hold, a transmutation spell that was far more suited for use in a foundry or a smithy. It sank into the metal like liquid into a sponge, and then, obeying Dim’s will, the metal transmogrified into a liquid state. The pegasus ponies wearing the armor hardly even had time to scream, plead for mercy, or even screech. The liquified steel cooked them, liquefying their remains as well, and about two dozen bandits became a puddle that simmered in the town’s center.

“Sterbt, alle von euch, sterbt!” Dim’s voice, magically amplified, echoed through the town, bouncing from wall to wall, stone to stone, travelling up every street and alleyway. “I am Dim Dark of House Dark, distant son of the War Maiden, and you bandits… you disgusting primitives… you have brought this reckoning down upon your own heads!”

A dreadful smell wafted up from the puddle of bubbling steel in the center of town.

A long, long time ago, when Dim had been a foal, he had once read in a book: A single earth pony can stave off famine and starvation. A lone pegasus can end a drought. The steadfastness of but one unicorn can turn back an invasion, allowing the earth pony and the pegasus pony to labour in peace. This is the balance of harmony.

Now, in the remote town of Shepherd’s Shore, far, far away from Equestria and its almost unique inter-tribal ideals of harmony, two centuries of pegasus ponies faced off against but one unicorn, one lone, crazed, drug-addled, grief-stricken unicorn that remembered the noble virtues presented to him during his foalhood, and felt a spark of salvation ignite within his soul.

It was, for all intents and purposes, the clash of two noble ideals. That is to say, the ideologies of two very different groups of nobles met head to head. The two centuries of pegasus ponies came to do their jobs, to round up a town of ponies that had committed an act of secession against the ruling Crowns of the Grittish Isles. Their cause, if not just, was supported and given relevance by the law of the land. They were soldiers following orders, doing their jobs. Dim, addled though he might be, had a somewhat more romanticised view of feudalism and his duties. The windmills might be giants, and the pegasus ponies might be bandits. Neither bandits nor giants had a place in Dim’s own take on the ancient treatise known as Equestrian Feudalism and the Covenant of the Three Tribes.

Overhead, a phalanx of pegasus ponies circled—they flew in formation—and unleashed a swarm of missiles; javelins, pilums, and incendiary oil bombs, all of which rained down upon Dim. On the ground, looking up, and seeing the incoming swarm, Dim raised a shield just to be cautious, and then he began casting his response.

It was almost insulting to have spears thrown at him by disgusting primitives. Gravity assisted or not, they posed no real threat. Reaching out with his mind, he grabbed them all, and the incoming incendiary bombs as well. While holding the missiles, he launched a fireball into the midsts of the bandit’s aerial phalanx. The tiny orb of fire, small, insignificant looking, seemed like such a harmless thing—no real threat at all.

Until it reached the flock of flying pegasus ponies and blossomed into a fiery cloud of destruction. Feathers caught fire, armor superheated, ponies went blind, and hairy hides ignited. It began to rain bodies down onto the thatched roofs. Dim, mindful of his precious peasants, snuffed the flames before they could spread and the town was engulfed. The bandits that crashed down to the cobblestone streets began to roll around, trying to extinguish the flames.

Still others tried to rush Dim, a foolish endeavour. Turning about his many missiles, he faced the pointy ends at those who came for him, and gave a push. The streets filled with wailing and screams, and the cacophony of violence was almost deafening. Crushing open the oil bombs, he doused some of the pegasus ponies in oil and then with a flick of magic, he ignited them, setting them ablaze, and filling the air with the nauseating miasma of burning feathers.

Black smoke roiled up into the skies, curling as it was carried aloft by the ocean breeze.

Still more were coming, running down the streets, going from one place of cover to another, and Dim watched them with a wary eye. Reaching out with his mind, he gave a shop window a telekinetic thump, shattering the glass into many tiny shards, which he then gathered. A simple transmutation spell—a spell more suited to craftsponies who worked with various mediums—turned the glass into blobs of bubbling, boiling liquid, which he kept entrapped in a containment field of magic, a somewhat more complicated spell that required a great deal of concentration.

With but a gentle nudge of his mind and willpower, he positioned the containment field of liquified glass over the encroaching bandits, and let go—a terrible fate indeed. As the molten, superheated glass began to rain down, skin blistered, eyes popped, lolling tongues fried, sizzled, and shriveled. Some of them ignited, while others had dribbling liquefied glass burning holes through them.

Magic was a terrible thing, an awful thing, a miraculous thing. When coupled with imagination and sufficient schooling, a wizard became a terrific force to be reckoned with. All things considered, Dim wasn’t very powerful, but he was well schooled and had creative ways of using the most simple of spells in horrifying ways. He often dreamed of what he might do if he had an actual talent for magic, and near-limitless power at his disposal.

More of the disgusting primitives were coming, and Dim knew that he needed a breather.

Taking shelter inside of a souvenir shop, he could hear ponies upstairs in the living quarters. He had teleported away from the crowd of pegasus ponies, the bandits, the disgusting primitives that had dared to come to this town. His blood was singing and his heart was racing. Days with little or no sleep, a lack of food, and far too many substances was taking a toll on Dim.

A terrible toll indeed.

Inside of his head he could hear weeping and wailing, a sound that disturbed him. Was it Darling? The pink voice lodged inside of his head? Was it whatever remained of his own soul, mourning the loss of whatever might remain of his sanity? There was no way of telling, no way of knowing.

Sucking wind, Dim felt a terrible pain in his barrel, a constriction around his heart, and his head was thudding. Seeing the glint of steel outside the window, he grabbed the scouting pegasus pony and hauled him inside, silencing the screams of the captured bandit. Dim pulled him close, so much so that it was almost intimate, and he pressed his lips against the captured stallion’s ear.

“I need for you to go and kill your fellows,” Dim said, murmuring his words into the bandit’s quivering ear. After a moment, the pegasus’ eyes clouded over, lost their colour, went dull, and then he nodded, causing Dim to smile. “Good… do as I say… go and make a good accounting for yourself, you degenerate, disgusting primitive. I am repulsed and sickened by your very stench.”

When Dim let go, the pegasus ran off, his wings extended, and a murderous expression could be seen upon his face as he exited the shop. Standing behind the counter, Dim waited, listening, and was rewarded with the sounds of violence, of steel on steel, shouts and screams. His parchment thin upper lip curled back into a sardonic sneer, and he continued sucking in deep breaths, trying to ease the constriction in his barrel.

He was unaware of how close his heart was to bursting.

Dim took perverse delight in taking mundane utility spells and finding new, creative uses for them. He had done so since his foalhood, causing his mother no end of eye-rolling and consternation. A practitioner of unicorn-utilitarianism, Dim delighted in infuriating and annoying his mother with his practices of magical minimalism. In duels with his family members, Dim could do more with less. He had a knack for turning the simplest of spells into deadly combat ready incantations. While his other family members focused on big, showy, flashy displays of combat prowess, Dim focused on prolonged casting.

That said, he was capable of his own big, showy, flashy displays of combat prowess—which was the only reason why his mother tolerated his willful displays of disobedience, insolence, and individualism. By the age of twelve, he had cast his first spell of immense destruction: The War Maiden’s Seeking Skull. It was a spell that few adults in his family could cast, and Dim was able to do so—in silence—without the usual required verbal component, which he felt was a silly and nonsensical rhyme. Great Grandmother was said to be the Element of Laughter at one point, and she was a silly pony.

How droll, here comes yonder skull! Lookout, thou ungrateful shits, thine War Maiden hast come to render thee to bits!

Sometimes, magic was stupid.

The weeping inside of his head had grown grating, and was now accompanied by a voice that Dim could not bear to hear. The voice was pleading with him to stop, to put an end to the slaughter, but Dim dismissed it as a drug-induced hallucination as he once more returned to the streets to finish what he started.

What few bandits still survived, had changed their tactics. They did not fly in a tight formation, having seen the end of their fellows, nor did they come near the ground. After significant losses, they had learned that distance was their friend. Dim peered up at them from behind his goggles, watching, waiting for them to do something. Anything.

They were armed, some of them still had javelins and pilums, which they did not throw.

Preparing a spell, the very sort of spell that might be frowned upon by the princesses, Dim spat out a string of arcane words to prime his vile hex: “Vorticem nocte caecitas!” After speaking, he released what appeared to be a small black tornado, which went streaking off towards a pegasus.

The bandit fled, but to no avail, the seeking spell was faster and unerring. It caught up with the pegasus, who was watched by his fellows, and when the black twister touched him, he let out a cry of alarm. His flight became erratic, confused, and directionless. Listing, he swooped and swerved, trying to get his bearings, and then he smashed into the tall lighthouse, leaving behind a bloody smear.

The remaining pegasus ponies all exchanged a glance with one another, but said nothing. As one, they all retreated, fleeing, less than a dozen airborne survivors, all of which took off to the west. Dim let them go and he squinted as they become little more than birds in the distance. Scowling, Dim trotted away to search the city for any that might yet still live, with the intention of putting them out of their misery.

It was the least he could do.

Using a snapped-in-half javelin, Dim made a swift movement and opened up the throat of a burned pegasus pony. Smoke rose all around him, but no fires burned, he had been careful and thorough in his suffocation of the flames in the thatch. The dying pegasus let out a strangled bleat, his legs twitching and kicking, and the feeble flicker of life departed from him.

Well over a hundred bodies lie in ruin, some of which had very little in the way of remains. Dim moved from body to body, checking them for signs of life, and extinguishing those who still drew breath. There was no cruelty in his actions—the time for fighting was over—and he felt no malice towards those he dispatched. This was a job, a job like any other, and Dim was a consummate professional.

The stench of burning hair and feathers was thick in the air, unpleasant, foul, and Dim’s goggles kept his eyes from the worst of it. Many of the whitewashed walls were smeared with soot and blood. Entrails lay festooned in the streets, hung from lampposts, and dangled from signs like grim ribbons left behind from some cute-ceañera gone wrong in the worst ways. One of the pegasus ponies was skewered atop the wrought iron spike on top of a gas lamp.

He still lived and gave Dim an imploring look while he hung there, helpless.

“I have a family,” the pegasus gasped, his wings flapped against his sides, and blood trickled down from his quivering lips.

“I had a family too,” Dim responded as he approached. “If they could be called as such. I’ve killed them, I have. My actions have been their undoing.”

For a moment, the two locked eyes and stared at one another. The hanging pegasus had an upside down view of Dim, and he began to whimper. Leaning in, Dim let out a soft wicker, a gentle sound, and then he sighed with weariness.

“Go to sleep, Bandit.” With a swift motion, Dim sliced open the helpless pegasus’ throat and there was a gasp as blood came geysering out. He sidestepped, avoiding the gushing crimson stream, and then watched as the light in the bandit’s eyes faded into nothingness.

Hearing hooves behind him, Dim turned, his protections active, and he whirled about to face whomever was approaching. One terrified earth pony approached, with about a dozen ponies cowering behind him. He was fat—not chubby—fat, and he was sweating a great deal, which left streaks on his soot-stained hide.

“My name is Rainy Noon, and I’m the mayor of this town,” the pony managed to say, though he sounded as though he was going to choke at any moment. “We thank you for everything you’ve done… and we’re all very grateful—”

Dim heard a ‘but’ lurking and he stood there, waiting as the skewered bandit bled out.

“—but you can’t stay here.” The mayor blinked and was terrified. “The townsfolk are horrified by what you’ve done. But we are both grateful and thankful that you’ve saved us.”

“What will you do?” Dim asked in a low whisper, now feeling his exhaustion, and he wondered if perhaps he should ingest more coca-laced salts. “More bandits will come, and when you send me away, who will protect you?”

The mayor blinked, confused. He stood there, stammering for a moment, his lips flapping and his sagging jowls jiggled. When he recovered, he said, “There are ships in the harbour. A fair number. I think we’ll leave this place and set sail for Equestria.”

“Ask them for refuge. Ask to speak to one of the princesses. Tell them that Lord Dim Dark sent you, and you tell them that you are to be given asylum under my name. The law should protect you, if the law is worth anything anymore. Tell them that bandits came to sack your town.”

“Aye, yes Your Lordship.” The mayor’s ears splayed out while he took a step backwards, and he took on a supplicative, submissive posture. “Your Lordship is very kind, offering us asylum in your name. I’m really very sorry about asking you to leave, but the townsfolk are terrified of you… just… look… at… everything.” Turning his head, the fat mayor looked over at the cooling puddle of steel in the town’s square. “How do we even fix that?”

Not even bothering to look, Dim shrugged. “I will leave soon enough. Perhaps I can get passage on a boat.” Raising his voice a little, he continued, “All of you should leave as soon as possible. Retribution might be swift and terrible. I will not be here to protect you. Please, listen to me. Flee this place. Go to a place of safety.”

“We will,” the mayor responded as he returned his attention to Dim. “Your Lordship, if you don’t mind me asking… why’d you do it?”

Dim drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and it felt as though his heart would give out at any second. “I am a wizard, they are bandits. Bandits should fear wizards. This is the natural order of things. Peasants should feel safe and secure in their home.” For a brief moment, Dim felt the crushing weight of a new kind of sadness, one alien to him. “Even if it is the wizard that frightens them. I will go and no harm will come to you from me.”

“I… am sorry…” the mayor stammered, and his sorry state seemed sincere.

“I am too,” Dim replied, the sound of weeping echoing in his head, “for everything I’ve done…”

Author's Notes:

This chapter was consuming.