Darkness. That was the world Dainn existed in. A pitch black realm of shadows that had no color, no shape, just an empty infinite.

Ever since leaving the purple mare, there had been nothing else to interact or communicate to, and nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts. It had to be a limitation of the illusion placed on him. The mare clearly didn’t expect him to leave the little scene she had set up for him, and thus there was literally nothing beyond it. Surely this was the cause of a mistake in design, as she could have very easily created a room that could keep him held if she couldn’t be bothered to produce a more stimulating environment. Typical female incompetence.

Dainn had to tell himself this as he pushed through the void, because he didn’t even want to think of the possibility that this was intended. If it were, then the mare’s plan was obvious, and seriously problematic. A realm like this was devoid of any and all forms of sensation; deprived of things to hear, objects to touch, scents to smell, foods to taste, and sights to see.

It was awfully close to one of the known female breaking techniques his people used, trapping a insolent female in bondage so restricting that they couldn’t move, with a thick blindfold over their eyes that shut out all light, heavy pads in their ears to remove any sound, and a gag in their mouths that forced it to gape wide open. With all those restrictions to the things that allowed the contemptible creatures to perceive reality, time would begin to lose all meaning to them. Hours could feel like days, days like months, and cause an onset of hallucinations that could drive a weak willed woman to insanity if allowed to suffer through it, a result that wasn’t entirely undesired. A woman didn’t need a mind to fuck after all.

Unfortunately, men were just as vulnerable to this technique, if assumed more resistant. The maddening effect of such emptiness had the potential to turn anyone into a gibbering mess of psychological damage. Even Dainn, with his assumed superiority over most beings in the world, could feel the void taking it’s toll on him. While his hooves were firmly stepping on some sort of floor that blended in perfectly with the abyss, an intense sense of vertigo draped him like a thick sheet, like he could at any moment fall into the endless black. A weaker man might have ran back to the perceived safety of the stage and the mare by now, but Dainn was nothing if not resolute. He had made a decision, and he was going to stand by it, knowing that to do otherwise would be to fall into the mare’s trap, and would be an admittance of defeat against her illusion.

“This trick is nothing.” Dainn said to himself, both to reaffirm his resolve and to create some form of sound for his ears to pick up. Likewise, Dainn found himself licking his lips, waving a hand in front of his eyes, and brushing an arm across his nose periodically order to satisfy his sense’s need for stimulation. He was able to stave off that need using these methods for what felt like a long time, but as he continued his march he found the frequency of these events becoming so close together that Dainn started noticing that his actions were becoming automatic.

Stop it. Dainn thought, his tongue wondering on its own along the outer rim of his lips, with his hands following its example by tapping fingers against his palms. When placing direct thought on the matter of stilling himself, the caribou found it was possible to cease these gestures, but the moment his mind tried to wander away from that thought they would start up again.

The lack of self control was bothersome, then it became annoying, and then infuriating as time went by. He could tell that the complete lack of any form of interaction was wearing on even the psyche of someone of his immense will, and that if this were to keep up, it could be possible that his mind could slip away.

“No…” he said aloud, partially trying to appease his sense of sound with his own voice, “That will not happen. There is no possible way that I will fall to such a simple tactic as this. All I need to do is hold out long enough for my men to notice my situation, and then I will be released.”

Dainn assumed that this was true, and that someone at the party would have to notice him sooner or later, but with each passing second that confidence waned a little more, and this led to him questioning why he was still trapped in this spell to begin with. Was no one at the gala paying enough attention to him to see that something was wrong? Were the admittedly incompetent pony guard gluing their eyes to the sights of females being sexually conquered by his party guests? Were his own caribou soldiers so preoccupied with food, drink, and pussy that they couldn’t turn a glance his way? Was even his own council so inept that they couldn’t tear themselves away from a flesh hole long enough to check on their king?

He didn’t want to believe that his men were so worthless as to be incapable to help their ruler in this one moment when he actually needed them, but the alternative answers to this dilemma were much more harrowing. What if he had never gone to the gala, and instead that too was an illusion caused by the mare. If that were the case, he could be literally anywhere. On his throne, in his bed… perhaps even in some secret location unbeknownst to anyone if the mare had the ability to teleport. Then there was an even more dreadful thought; what if this mare could manipulate perceived time within her spell. What if she could turn seconds into minutes, hours, days, or even years. He hated to believe that was possible, as such a feat would certainly be well beyond that of any female, but that rationalization was fading as quick as his grasp on reality in this world devoid of anything but himself.

What it all came down to though was that Dainn had no way of escaping this himself, and he could no longer believe that any others were coming for him. How could something like this happen to a person like him? With all the power he held, with the vastness of his intellect, with all his servants, money, followers, and legion of loyal caribou, how was he so easily forced into a position of powerlessness? He loathed these circumstances that he was now forced to endure. The injustice of it all was simply unbearable, even for a man of his stature, and though he had resigned himself to the fact that there was no escape, he made a desperate cry of “HELP ME!” out into the darkness.

Dainn expect only two things from this plea. Either the cloaked mare would show herself once more, or she would simply ignore him as he would her own pathetic pleas when their roles were reversed. These were the only two possibilities in a world that only held two people in it. However, something else happened that he hadn't expected.

“Help me…”

Dainn’s ears heard the words he had yelled echoed back to him, which normally wouldn’t have been odd with how loudly he had yelled, but that would have ignored the fact that there was nothing for the sound to bounce off of. Or was there? Perhaps there was something hidden in the never-ending shadows. It seemed strange, that there would be some random object in the illusion, but at this point Dainn would rather there be something than nothing. All he had to do was locate what that something was. He needed another echo to follow. Thus, Dainn took another deep breath, and prepared to let loose another yell.

Before he could though, another sound came to his ears. The words “Please… Save me…”, weakly coming in the distance. It was then that Dainn realized that the original ‘echo’ hadn’t come from him, but from someone else. He hoped so at least, as otherwise he was succumbing to his sensory deprivation and slowly going mad. When he was presented with those two options, he chose to believe the first one was the one that was true.

Dainn walked as quickly as he could towards the direction he believed the voice came from, and was rewarded with more sounds. “Where…” he heard, slightly louder than before, “Where is my master…” Now closer, and with the addition of the proper honorism for a male, he could tell that the voice was female. Had the cloaked mare gotten herself into trouble? It was a silly notion to believe that someone could be harmed by their own illusion, but there were no limits to the foolishness of women, and especially that of mares.

As he approached though, another voice came to Dainn, this one deep, gruff, masculine, “How long… How long… How long…” It said in repeat, a hint of hopelessness resonating from it.

This new voice gave Dainn reason to hesitate, as he hadn’t anticipated that another male would be here in the void. What were the implications? Had the cloaked mare trapped others like himself to this? He hoped that this was true, as this would at least give him someone to speak with that could grant him some form of conversation, something to keep his mind off the nothingness, but it was just as likely that this was just another part of the spell. Knowing this possibility, Dainn continued onward in his pursuit, as what other choice did he really have?

It was easy to follow the voice, or voices as it was, since the female voice likewise called out for her master periodically, but the closer he got, the more voices joined with them to form a chorus. They utter things such as “forgive me”, “end my torment”, "why am I here”, and such other dismal things uttered in sorrowful tones.

“Where are you!?” Dainn called into the dark ahead of him, “Come to me!”

The voices stopped all at once at Dainn’s call, returning to the dark realm its pure, unending silence. For the first time since his arrival in this realm, the caribou felt a sense of fear grow inside him. Fear that he may once more be condemned to being alone again. To his relief, the silence didn’t last long, and only a few seconds later the hoard of voices started repeating the word “Who”.

“It is your King!” Dainn replied, knowing that any in Equestria would be able to identify him by title as much as if he had stated his own name.

Once more the voices went silent, and Dainn felt the sense of fear return. This time though, it wasn’t the completely muted environment that gave this sense of foreboding, but a feeling of anger and bloodlust filling the air. It was so overwhelming that it felt as if it had mass, a cloud of pure dread that Dainn was engulfed in. Dainn found himself unable to move, fully restricted by his terror, staring into that black abyss, and as he did, it stared back at him.

Before his very eyes, a series of dull, purple orbs appeared in the shadows. First only a few, then a dozen, then hundreds. They formed in pairs, and grew bigger with each passing second. Then, forms started to take shape from them. Blackened bodies that bore few features that differentiated from one another, save for a vast variance of size and general shape. Some were short, clearly female things with curvy hips, and breasts, short tails, and a pair of small protrusions on the tops of their skulls. Others were large, muscular creatures that all were roughly his size or larger, wearing racks of antlers of a disparity of size upon their heads. While their blackened forms were obscured in shadow, Dainn could tell what these horrific beings were suppose to be. They were caribou.

Dainn’s rationality fled, his usually stoic expression evaporated. Even one as confident of his own abilities as he was could tell that the swarm shambling with ungodly speed in his direction was too much to defend against. He tried to flee, but his knees gave way, and he tumbled to the shadows that he was using as ‘ground’. Prone, the caribou could do nothing as the flood of forms attacked, grasping and clawing at him as they all called out accusations.

“Destroyer.”

“Deceiver.”

“You were suppose to guide us.”

“You were suppose to protect us.”

“We were condemned to this hell because of you.”

“How will you make up for this?”

“It’s all your fault.”

Dainn struggled as well as his body would allow, but the hoard was as powerful as they were relentless. He could only manage to push a small few off him before being pinned down, and subjected to the most brutal lynching one of his kind had ever endured. His clothing, the ceremonial armor chest plate, the cloth shirt underneath, his pants, and even his boots were torn away, leaving all that was underneath exposed.

“Is this flesh?”

“Is this life?”

“Where is our life?”

“Give back what you took from us.”

Dainn laid there as the creatures continued to claw at his skin, equally frightened and bewildered by what they had to say. What did these creatures have against him? What had he done to make them so angry at him?

No, this has to be another illusion. This can’t be real. These creatures are all in my mind.

Dainn wanted to disbelieve the existence of the things attacking him. He had to disbelieve, because if they were real, then he was surely going to die. That he could be certain about. They felt all too real though, the scraping and clawing and tearing at his body, an intense heat radiating off these shadows that threatened to devour his own warmth. This was going to be the end, unless something happened.

“STOP! RELEASE ME! LET! ME! GOOOOO!”

Dainn tried to command the creatures away, stressing his voice as much as he could to influence them, but it didn’t phase the shadows one bit. They just continued with their assault, unabated, with the intent of tearing the stag apart.

“STOP!!!”

The word boomed through the void, hitting the shadows with a force that was able to make them physically recoil. Slowly, they recovered from the shock, hesitating to move an inch, but when they did, they fled back into the darkness.

Dainn, shaken, picked himself up carefully. He was panting, panicked, and sore, but mostly… he was confused. As much as he would like to have taken credit for driving off those monsters, the truth of the matter was that it was not his command that made them run. That voice had come from someone else. The question though, was who?

A long exhale of breath came from the darkness, joined by a small rhythmic tremor that could be felt through the ‘ground’ beneath Dainn. “I know you…” said the same voice that called off the swarm, “All too well.”

A part of the void appeared to split and dissipate, like a thick fog in the wind, making way for another shadow in caribou shape. This one large, towering, and imposing, his form as huge in comparison to Dainn as he was to a pony female. Dainn scrambled to his hooves as this behemoth of a creature made its approach, and hoped that it had not spared him from the others just to have him to himself.

The creature stopped just before the beaten and bruised monarch, all regalia that identify that title in tatters around him, and bent down to bring himself eye to eye with the much smaller caribou.

Again, he let out a deep exhale of breath, as if the very act of using his lungs was a grand chore, and spoke a single word, “Dainn”.

Dainn was as shocked by the announcement of his name as he was stunned by this hulking shadow’s presence. The rack of antlers sitting upon his head was enormous, his muscle mass huge and solid, and most notably there was a rather large appendage dangling from between its legs that defined the creature as male, and dwarfed Dainn’s own in a ratio similar to their difference in size. Everything about this creature screamed superiority in comparison to Dainn.

“I haven’t seen you since…” The creature started, pacing around Dainn as he stood stiffly, the smaller caribou believing that the larger male could strike if he gave the slightest movement, “Well since we arrived here.”

“A-and who are you?” Dainn said with a slight studder, knowing that a response was being demanded from him by this entity.

“You do not remember?” The creature replied, “Or is it that you’ve chosen to forget?”

“I know not of any like you.” Dainn answered, tightening his backside as the creature went out of his peripheral vision, not daring to turn his head to follow.

“Of course not. There are none ‘like’ me. I am the epitome of what it means to be male. A paragon of leadership, and master over all I survey. Even here, in the land of the dead, I rule over my subjects…” The creature placed his lips next to Dainn’s ear, hitting it with a breath that felt hotter than the most furious of flames as he ended his sentence by saying, “And they kneel before me.”

Upon that declaration, Dainn found his knees collapsing underneath him, forcing him to catch himself to prevent from hitting face first to the floor. It was coming back to him now who this intimidating figure was, as there was only one person who had ever lived that could do this to Dainn.

“King Svarndagr,” he spoke in a hushed tone, “But I thought that you had-”

“Died?” The figure said questioningly, “Indeed, I had.”

“Then how are you here now?” Dainn asked, having little doubt that this was who he believed he was.

King Svarndagr, the former caribou king before Dainn. Of all men Dainn had ever known, Svarndagr was, as he had said, the epitome of what it meant to be a male. He was powerful, respected by all, and a ruler of his domain in every sense of the word. His rule was absolute, and his kingdom mighty. There was none who would go against his command, no matter what he demanded from them, and many believed that it was through his sheer power alone that the caribou homelands achieved its peaceful existence.

“How am I here?” Svarndagr asked sarcastically, coming back to Dainn’s front, “You should know the answer to that more than anyone else. No, the real question should be ‘Why did it take you so long to get here?’, Dainn.”

“Me?” Dainn questioned back.

“Of course you,” Svarndagr replied with a calm that hid the true fury behind the meaning of his words, “Why is it that you were spared the destruction of the kingdom, when all my other pupils died with me? When my kingdom died with me.”

That was a difficult question to answer, as the truth didn’t look favorably on his part. How could it, when any way one looked at it, he had left Svarndagr, and most of the other caribou, to die?

“Are you going to explain yourself?” asked Svarndagr, his impatience beginning to rise, “Or shall I be forced to use my old method of extracting information from you.”

Dainn’s pupil’s narrowed, and a grimace flashed onto his face, knowing that could only mean one thing. Regardless of whether or not the truth would put him in a bad light, he had to admit to the king what he had done to preserve the caribou race, as the alternative was not an option he wished to explore.

“It’s not like I wanted to leave your side,” said Dainn, cold sweat forming all over him, “But I learned of something that threatened the very existence of the caribou,”

“I assume that you are speaking of The Cycle.”

Dainn’s sweat volume doubled on the spot, “You knew about that?” Information of The Cycle was not something Dainn believed anyone outside of his own inner circle knew about. A long lost secret of caribou history, of how their kingdom would rise to absolute power, only to be decimated from within shortly after.

The knowledge of this circular process of prosperity and devastation was unknown by all caribou of the homeland, as there were few who had the ability to read the text that it was recorded on, and even fewer who held interest in such an old document. Of all the caribou within Svarndagr's kingdom, Dainn was the only one interested enough in such academic pursuits to have stumbled across its secrets.

Every few centuries, when the caribou reached the height of their power, the current king would achieve a state where their own power would be too much for them to contain, and they would become consumed by it in a violent explosion, taking everything and everyone around them with them. It tended to come about in times when the previous event would become forgotten from memory, when all those who had experienced it first hand had passed, and thus allowing a king to have no reason to limit their ambitions. From previous iterations of this event, it appeared that the devastation was never enough to completely wipe out the caribou, only make them start a new from scratch, but Dainn rightfully worried whether the next Cycle would be different, and if it would come soon. After all, Svarndagr was the most powerful caribou king in history.

“I did not know about The Cycle at the time,” Svarndagr said with a weak chuckle, “But after my demise I found Death very forthcoming with explanations concerning the methods and reasons I died.”

“And you believed her?” Dainn question, believing he meant the cloaked mare.

“Her?” said Svarndagr, “If you are speaking of the creature calling itself Death, then I’ll say that I didn’t at first. For the longest time I couldn’t fathom that I, the greatest of caribou kings, could have died in such an inane manner. Time, however, has a way of changing one’s opinions, and I have anguished here for what feels like an eternity.”

“Then you must understand, I-”

“I must?” Svarndagr said, a simmering anger now evident within his calm, “What must I understand? That you fled in fear of your own death? That you left me to die? That you stood at a safe distance while thousands of men and slaves were devoured in fire, and condemned to a universe of nothingness?”

“I didn’t run to save myself!” Dainn replied in panic, raising his normally dull tones in order to be heard over Svarndagr's booming voice. “I did it to preserve our race! Before you completed The Cycle, I banded together as many caribou men and women as possible, and set sail for a land where we could survive! Had we had stayed, there would have been nothing left of us!”

“And what did that achieve?” Svarndagr questioned, “You left with a handful of men and enough does to keep your dicks wet, and to what end? We both know that I was the kingdom. No one else could lead our race with the same kind of absolute power I wielded. Who else could keep you sex-focused idiots in check long enough to run a kingdom?”

As he spoke those words, the purple orbs that made Svarndagr’s eyes widened, and a revelation dawned upon him with a remembrance of how Dainn had identified himself earlier.

“YOU?!” he yelled, the single word making every strand of fur on Dainn’s body become displaced, “You dared to assume that you could live up to my title?!”

Dainn flinched in the presence of his mentor’s wrath, “I was one of your students! Who else would have been better to take your role?!”

“You…” Svarndagr answered, “Were the worst of my followers.”

“What?”

“Of all of the jackals who were just waiting to take my place, you were the the last one I would have ever chosen.” Svarndagr paused, and then smirked his shadowy lips at Dainn, “Let me rephrase that. I had never considered you as an heir to my legacy.”

“Svarndagr, you must be talking out of anger. You had to have had me as an option. I was the smartest of all your students.” Svarndagr once more gave a low chuckle. Dainn however, did not see the humor. “What is so funny?”

“Because you just defined the exact reason I didn’t consider you. You had your nose buried so far down in those dusty scrolls of yours, that you paled in comparison to your peers when it came to skills that truly mattered to caribou. The others were better at raiding the settlements of weaker species, were far more powerful, and were much more reliable when capturing and enslaving females.”

“But I was studying the cornerstone of our people’s magic. Learning how our runes worked, and how to read what they meant.”

“That’s the point,” Svarndagr said curtly, “You were wasting precious time trying to read the runes, when all you needed to know was how to make and use them. Even the rune masters didn’t put that much effort into their craft, which was why they excelled much further than you ever had. That was the reason I didn’t consider you over any of the others. While you were learning to spell your name, they were being trained to conquer nations.”

“That can’t be true…” Dainn replied, the information his former king was bestowing upon him hitting a weak spot in his soul he didn’t even know he had, crushing it completely as Svarndagr discarded any feelings Dainn had on the matter.

“Oh please, the only reason I ever tried to train you to begin with was because Sindri recommended you, and when I learned of your limitations, I only kept you around to read off the scribbles of surrender sent to us by the soon to be enslaved.”

“I have no limitations,” Dainn barked back, drained of any respect he had for his former king, becoming tired of being talked down to by the one he had once aspired to become like.

“Really? Then I suppose those knees of yours just like to collapse all on their own? Everyone in the kingdom could notice how often you had to sit down. How could I ever depend on a man who can’t stand on his own two hooves long enough to engage in proper combat?”

“I can stand perfectly fine!”

“Then there was your crazy ideas of allowing the males of conquered species to join our ranks, when anyone could see that a person who would turn against their own kind could just as easily do the same to anyone else. They simply can’t be trusted.”

“Well I-” As much as Dainn wanted to dispute Svarndagr’s claim, he had come to learn the hard way that this was true.

“Then of course, there was your sexual problems. How you found no satisfaction in the glory of taking a female and using her for her intended purpose. Forget being a king, you were hardly fit to be a man. Then again… we both already knew that you did much better in another role.”

For the first time since encountering Svarndagr in this dark realm, Dainn intentionally looked away from him. The implication would have been obvious to anyone, and after hearing Svarndagr mention it, any assumptions that this reunion could be all some illusion evaporated. Svarndagr himself was a person that any caribou knew of, and one could have slipped knowledge of him to some untrustworthy pony in Equestria. One could have mentioned that Dainn was one of his students. None alive could have given this information.

It was not uncommon, what Svarndagr was speaking of, as bisexuality in caribou society was something that many partook in the homelands, and still engaged in after the annex of Equestria. Many would even admit to it openly. However, what they never mention was how caribou males acquired male partners.

As one might assume, in a society made to emphasize and exalt the values of masculinity, no one really wished to be on the receiving end of such a coupling. On the other hand, many did wish to give, as it was a distinct way of showing that they were dominant, even over other males. As such most, if not all, pairings of this nature came from when one male found another that he wished to screw, one lesser in rank than themselves, and then used their higher standing to coerce them into sleeping with them.

For caribou males like Dainn and his peers, this problem of ‘pulling rank’ was not an issue for them in most cases. As Svarndagr’s students, the were considered to be higher in status to any other, all save for one man, and when the king called… you answered.

“Yes… that’s the demure look I used to enjoy when you entered my chambers.” Svarndagr mocked, “It is a shame I can no longer partake in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Are you finished?” said Dainn, doing his best to convey his discomfort with the topic.

“Does it bother you to learn what I really thought about you for all these years? How worthless I truly saw you? Was it really something that eluded your understanding for so long? I thought you had to have known. After all, why else would I pair you up with incompetent soldiers like Ivangir and Vestri? One so enwrapped with his sadistic tendencies that he would forego his duties, while the other one was so lost in trying to form the simplest of tactics that he hardly ever did anything.”

“Enough…” Dainn said in hush tone, his stoic demeanor starting to come undone.

“I didn’t even care enough about you to stop your interactions with that cursed caribou. What did it matter to me if his bad luck turned out to ruin you? If anything, it would serve you right for being stupid.”

“I said enough!” Finally, Dainn could hold back his temper no further. King or no king, Svarndagr had pushed him so far over the brink that it was now inexcusable. He had insulted his men, his capabilities, and his masculinity, but the results of his actions spoke for themselves. “I will not stand here as you belittle me when I am the savior of our race. Had I not sailed from our nation with as many caribou as I could grab, then we would all be dead.”

“As you said before,” said Svarndagr, “And perhaps you are right on that end. Am I to believe though that you feel that was an act of good then? That you had no motives behind it than to preserve the caribou?”

“Yes,” answered Dainn, “My only goal was to guide them to a place where we could continue our ways after The Cycle had caused its destruction.”

“I wonder about that…” Svarndagr stroked his chin, his mind conjuring thoughts that would test Dainn’s character, “If your intentions were truly righteous, then why not try to prevent The Cycle all together? Why not tell me of your findings, and spare the lives of thousands?”

“I couldn’t trust that method,” Dainn replied, “For all I knew, The Cycle could happen at any moment. If I had went to you first, I may have lost precious time I needed to get others to safety.”

“And yet you had plenty of time to ready boats, food, and ample supplies for your departure, along with any other unnecessary things you decided to drag with you.”

“That isn’t what I meant!” Dainn screamed, temper flaring up like before, “How would I go to you and tell you that your power was killing you? That in order to save the kingdom, you would have to weaken yourself? No man would have believed that to be the truth, and you would have thought me insane had I tried to convince you.”

“Clearly enough believed you that a small group followed you to some new land.” Svarndagr countered, “Which reminds me, I did want to ask… how did you make your selection of caribou stags and cows? Did you only take those who were physically powerful and attractive? Did you make your choices based on intellect and talent? Did you collect the finest that our indomitable race had to offer? Or… did you simply bring along those who sweared loyalty to you?”

“You seem intent on making me out to be the villain here.”

“Aren’t you?” Svarndagr asked, “Can you say that nothing you did was self-serving? That you made no move that could only be seen as what’s best for you and not everyone else? How many had to stay behind so you could take along just one extra warbeast, or that extra case of aphrodisiac? How many lives were casually tossed aside so you could take an archive of dusty scrolls along with you? How many slaves were stowed away to reward those who mindlessly followed your command?”

“I took only what I needed, and left behind only what I had to.” Dainn answered, resolute in the self asserted fact that he had done nothing wrong.

“Is that what you told yourself when you set sail, not knowing if The Cycle would take place in one minute or one year? Is that why you left behind all those who could challenge you for right of leadership? No, we both know that this was a planned out move you did so that no one you took with you would step on your toes. You coveted my role as king, just like all my students, and when you saw an opportunity, you took it. Had it been anyone else but you, I’d almost be proud.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not true!”

“Then perhaps one final question? If you really believed that I could not be saved, that our nation was doomed, and that there was no time left you could spare… Why not take me with you instead?”

“What?!” Dainn asked, finding no logic in Svarndagr’s hypothetical suggestion.

“Why didn’t you lure me out into the middle of the ocean where I could’ve gone through The Cycle at a safe distance from our kingdom? Just you, me, and enough soldiers to convince me that this wasn’t some ploy? Surely with all those brains you’re suppose to have, you could have come up with something, and by doing so you would’ve saved all of our people, instead of mere hundreds.”

“But… if we had both died, who would lead them? You said so yourself; you assumed that with your death our kingdom would be finished.”

“And you assumed that wasn’t the facts of the matter, so why not sacrifice yourself and let someone else rule in our stead? Is it because you believed the same as me? That you were the only thing that could keep the kingdom, or what small scraps were left of it, from falling apart at the seams.”

“OF COURSE I WAS!” Dainn howled, doing his best effort to expel all air from his lungs, “DO YOU TRULY THINK ANY OF THOSE LUST-CONSUMED MORONS COULD RUN A KINGDOM?!”

The two caribou kings stood in the complete silence of the void, with only Dainn’s breathing as he caught his breath making a sound between them. It had been some time since Dainn had let loose his anger, an anger that might have been building throughout his lifetime, as there was plenty to be angry about. The stress of ruling a failing kingdom. The fact that said kingdom was failing because of the antiquated and idiotic practices of your own people, along with the inability to change anything, because if you tried, the very men who saw you as their glorious leader would turn on you in an instance. The constant turmoil of being under fire from the rebellious ponies of Equestria, putting up with bold faced defiance, and having only the most treacherous to consider allies.

This, topped by his former mentor’s declaration of hatred for him, and his disapproval of his academic pursuits, had turned him into a seething mass of fury, that sought the one thing that all caribou men eternally sought, but never seemed to find: release. The yelling helped. It eased the internal conflict of emotions that warred within him, but it didn’t resolve its roaring storm. Thus, in the end, it was as worthless and unreliable as any black-collared rebel, any red-collared slut, any brainwashed stallion, any backstabbing traitor, and even any of his own men, who frequently found new and creative ways to make the kingdom he had claimed with his own two hands sink faster into the inescapable pit of its ruin.

It was not easy… holding back all this rage for the sake of being the leader of a people whose every law was based around such a meaningless concept as sex. To portray the outward strength, wisdom, sophistication, and presence that demanded the respect of all the cretins he was surrounded by daily, all without so much as a complaint when others didn’t bother to follow by his example. Yet he had to endure, as it was the only way to keep what he believed was rightfully his.

“You know, Dainn,” Svarndagr said, breaking the silence, “ I believe I was wrong about you. That look on your face, it reminds me of what I used to see in my mirror. The unrelenting anger of having to tolerate those inferior wretches that littered your kingdom, who only abide by your command because you are a means to an end. Yes… I see now that you and I are not so different. There is only one thing that may truly separate the two of us.”

“What is that?” Dainn asked, thinking that Svarndagr had had a change of heart, and knowing that it was all too late. The damage was already done, and he would never be able to see his mentor as he used to ever again.

Svarndagr grinned widely, wider than he had thus far, wider than Dainn had ever seen a creature grin in his life. It was unnatural, with the curvature of the ends of his lips stretching so far back that they seemed to touch the base of the dead monarch’s ears.

“You have yet to feel the true fires of betrayal. To have someone you kept close to you destroy your very being. Here… let me show you… so we may truly be of like mind.”

Before Dainn’s very eyes, the former king of caribou’s shadowy visage started to form a light from within him. An orange and yellowish illumination that swirled around in his chest, roiling around wildly, as if combating his form for dominance. It swelled and swelled, growing outwards, bloating Svarndagr's body in slight degrees as it did.

What is this? Dainn thought, knowing it could be nothing good. Then another thought crossed his mind, I have to escape, now!

Dainn turned around, and walked as quickly as possible away from the inflating form of Svarndagr, only glancing back once to see that the other stag was not even attempting to chase. Instead, he just allowed whatever it was inside him to gain more and more control. Knowing his old mentor well, Dainn could only come up with one conclusion of what this meant. That Svarndagr didn’t believe that a chase was needed, and that his efforts were in vain.

Still, Dainn moved as quickly as his legs would take him away from where he had been, hoping that Svarndagr was mistaken, and that he could get away unscathed. And then it happened. An eruption, a massive sound of destruction like none other Dainn had ever heard before, and with it a light that turned the black void into an endless field of white. Dainn didn’t have time to look back again, nor did he need to, as he knew what this was. It was The Cycle, the catalyst of devastation that annihilated the mightiest nation the world had ever seen. Even in this realm, having been long dead, Svarndagr still held within him the destructive power he wielded in life, and with a willful submittance to it, he allowed it to once more consume him.

As far as Dainn had made it, it took not even a second for the blast to reach him. He was devoured instantly, the massive magical explosion spreading out far and fast. At the apex of its growth in size, both Dainn and Svarndagr would become but two small specks inside its light, hardly enough to be noticed if someone were observing the sight.

Trapped within this raw force of power, Dainn experienced the same flames those he had left behind felt on the day Svarndagr completed The Cycle. A searing agony that sought to burn him to the bone, to blast off all traces of flesh from them. They were so intense, so overwhelmingly hot, that he knew that survival was impossible, even for one as strong as himself. All he could do was clutch his own body as it burned, and hope that the end would come to him soon.

It didn’t, though. No matter how long he waited, with each second in this fiery existence of pure pain, his consciousness didn’t fade. He couldn’t even pass out. All he could do was crumble to the floor, and perceive torment so terrible that nothing else compared. He could feel his fur charring, his skin cracking, and his own eyes boiling. He screamed for an end, but The Cycle kept his voice from escaping his mouth, filling the orifice with more fire that poured down into his throat to violate and destroy his innards in the same manner it did his outer form.

Eventually, Dainn relented, and submitted to the seemingly never ending inferno that The Cycle created. Every struggle and flail only made the pain worse. Every cry for finality allowing it to delve deeper inside. With it being apparent that death would not be delivered by this avatar of agony, all one could do is resign to compliance to it. That did not bring it to an end, but it eased the intensity ever so slightly. It was the fate of those so overpowered by a force far beyond themselves, that all they could do was try to minimize their suffering, and curse their very existence.

Author's Notes:

So anger... boy do I know about this specific bit of the emotional spectrum. Getting a bit personal here, I have actual issues with my own anger. The first part of my issues is that I am always angry. Well not always, but i would say that a majority of my life consists of being pissed off about someone or something around me. There is not a single person I have met in RL that hasn't found a way to set me off, and if you wanted to say "what about friends or family", well then you'd find that those are the people who usually give me the most problems. In fact, if I were to say that there are people I know who haven't upset me, then it's because i don't know them well enough.

To be honest, it is a mentality that I have learned to overcome over time, or at least deal with. Instead of being a 8 year old stabbing kids in my class with sharpened number 2 pencils, I have learn to vent my frustrations through other outlets that don't cause people so much bodily harm. Video games are a good one, as are card games, and music, but generally it all comes down to one thing in general that relieves the stress of near constant rage in side me: fantasy.

I love "playing pretend". I like acting out my deepest, darkest thought in an environment where no one gets hurt, and most of all, I love to be the villain. Villains get to have all the fun. Good guys always have to work too hard to stay within a line of rules and regulations that they impose upon themselves, or have imposed on them by some "higher power". Villains, well they just do what they want, when they want, and without worry of repercussions (even if they do receive justice). As a villain, if I see something that pisses me off, I can just remove it entirely, or if I'm feeling particularly cruel, I can just start stabbing it so I can take in the sounds of its screams. Honestly, the best way of working off a case of the furies is to put someone else in a worse situation than you. Tends to balance out the world when someone else is more miserable than you (even if it is just pretend).

This is a quality I see in the caribou as well. From how they walk around with permanent scowls, to how they only seem happy when someone else is in pain, they have the tell tell signs of a people who simply aren't happy with how things have become. One might say that this would be normal for a people who lost 99% of themselves in some tragic "accident", but honestly this doesn't seem to be the case.

For one thing, they never seem to want to bring up that specific detail of their back story, unless giving an exposition dump, and are more focused on turning the rest of the world into their own little paradise. One were everyone respects them, and they rule over everything, and they can bang an endless supply of sexy women. It's the perfect power fantasy, yet they still seem so unhappy, still act like the world around them is such a bother.

If I were a psychologist, and I'm not but I like to dabble in mental issues (especially since I have so many myself), I would say that caribou society, being one that puts being the top dog alpha male above all other goals in life, is one that would suffer from a cultural case of bullying. Where those who step outside of the norm, those who are considered "inferior" because they don't conform to a strict set of ideals, would be the target of heavy teasing and physical abuse.

These individuals would be the ones targeted for the "rank pulling" mentioned above, when concerning to caribou male/male relationships, because they would be perceived as easily manipulable, and above all else, weak. They aren't one of they guys. They are nerds, or the handicapped, or the mentally disturbed. Outcasts among their own people because they are just a little bit different from everyone else. I could even see the victims of such a relationship perceiving being picked out as a mate by a stronger male as a good thing, a show of being accepted into something that they were previously excluded from, that is until they realize that they are just there to play the part of a woman, the thing their culture believes is the lowest of creatures.

And yeah, I'm not pulling this out of my ass either, as this was at one point a sub plot for a canon story. Perhaps not on as grand a scale, but at one point Poprocks had an idea for a caribou character named Melvin. He was to be a midget who was, you guessed it, picked on and bullied by Dainn's caribou for his height (because even among the freaks there are freaks). Because of this, Melvin would have a sort of respect for the women, because he understood what it was like to be put down just for being what they were, and admired the black collars a little for their resisting their fate. He was probably was still going to be an unrepentant rapist, but hey at least he got it.

So yeah, I can truly believe that Dainn was a relatively "smart" caribou, and he knew exactly what he was doing when he left the caribou lands. He picked out all the caribou who were outside of the norm to get loyal followers who wouldn't question this mass exodus, those who were probably happy to get away from all the assholes who made their lives miserable. Unfortunately, they had already been taught that that kind of behavior was natural, and thus just continued the cycle of hatred and bigotry in Equestria, taking it out on the new bottom tier. Shame that Dainn couldn't teach them to at least be more respectful to one another, but then again that might just be a sign that he is not a very good leader.