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Warning: The following chapter contains disturbing imagery and descriptions.

This is your only warning.

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For centuries, Humans and Ponies both have asked themselves the same question.

What is evil?

Gunshots.

Such a simple question… Yet the answer is anything but.

Screaming.

Every soul, deep down, knows what evil is. But putting that innate knowledge into words is so difficult, that whole books are written on the subject.

The unsettling crack of broken bones.

What is evil?

An elected official, betraying their neighbors for money.

Panicked gunshots.

A sociopath murdering their whole family.

The terrified face of a soldier in SWAT gear.

A cultist sacrificing the innocent.

The taste of blood.

A drug dealer knowingly selling his wares to a customer on death’s door.

Another soldier, pounding on a closed door in desperation.

A warlord building a throne made of skulls.

The screams of tortured steel, and of a dying man.

A wealthy elite purchasing a child for their hotel room.

Disciplined gun fire.

One can go on and on about the after effects of evil, the clean up, but that never really addresses the core question.

A hideous mockery of laughter.

What is evil?

The screaming of a room full of panicked men.

In fiction, it’s often represented by themes of hate, rage, or senselessness. Like a cult of bloodletting cultists sacrificing a whole village to their Lord. Evil is shown as something barbaric, unnecessary, and violent.

The dancing of shadows among the dead.

In reality, there are many specific reasons for why such an event occurs. Maybe one cultist was abused by their fundamentalist father. Maybe another became disillusioned with the corruption in the local parish. Maybe the local government had decided to criminalize some aspect of the otherwise normal citizens, and said citizens want to bring about the downfall of the governing body for their own safety.

Shouting down a concrete corridor.

There is no such thing as black and white morality. Is a “bad” deed done with “good” intentions still evil? How about a “good” deed done with “bad” intentions? Intention may indeed count, but is it truly evil if the good deed, bad intent still helps someone?

Flickering shadows, made real, flood a hall.

How do you recognize evil? How do you fight evil? How do you win against evil?

Screaming.

That answer is simple.

Gunfire.

You peer into the darkness in your own heart.

The splatter of bright red blood onto a wall.

You peer into the darkness and you confront the self you are too ashamed to admit exists.

The screaming of a man being torn in half.

The fight, and it will be a fight, will be long and hard. And there is no guarantee you will win. There is no secret, no golden bullet, no cheat code.

A shadow drags a flailing soldier into a dark corner, never to be seen again.

Should you fail, you will join the long list of those before you who gave into temptation. But if you succeed…

A black hoof holding a soldier by his throat, slowly crushing his windpipe.

If you succeed, you will recognize evil on sight. You will know what must be done to protect the innocent from those who failed their fight. And you will know there is no victory.

The shriek of ripping metal.

There can be no victory. It is impossible.

A startled cry from a man wearing a lab coat.

For every person, for every angel that can fall from grace, for every soul born into this existence, there shall always be that chance they succumb to evil. So long as self aware beings exist, there will always be evil in the universe.

The flop of a newly made corpse.

Is that after all, not what harmony is? Is that not what balance is? The precarious settling on the edge of a knife, the slight teeter totter motion between light and dark. For good to exist, so too must there be evil.

Gunshots from behind.

But what is evil?

Shadows slice across another soldier.

I know what evil is.

The arcane glitter of something familiar inside a strange machine.

You could say I taste it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air.

A black hoof pulls open a locked access hatch.

I see it deep inside.

A black hoof pushes aside delicate robotic machinery.

What evil is, what it truly is; is simple.

A burst of arcane might twists a thick metal arm out of the way.

So simple every soul can recognize it instinctually. On such a primal level no one can easily put it into civilized words.

A shadow slices away bundles of wiring.

An imperfect explanation would be power. The will and drive to change another’s life irreparably. Without consequence or oversight.

A black hoof punches out a clear window of glass.

But that’s not quite right. Evil is something… More.

A shadow pulls apart two apparatus'

When you look into the abyss of your own heart, you face every sin, every selfish want, every possible action that will lead you down the path of no return. And I?

The shadow lifts a tarnished blue tinted helmet from its stand.

I know what evil is.