Let me start of by saying I no that this chapter's name is ridiculous but, I could help my self. It just seems to fit what with my characterization of the Horn King. At first I did have the idea that the OUAT version of the Horned King would be a dark elf with horns sticking out of his head and lava marking along his skin. However, the more I thought about it the more my mind couldn't help but think of well deers, which gradually led to the overall decision of my appearance for the Horned King. If anyone decided they would like to draw him for me I would be most grateful? Complete with Hen Wen of course as this story does need some cover art.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Character's or places mentioned in this story I am just borrowing them for my enjoyment. All I own is the situations I have put them in and this story as a whole, so please do not use any of my ideas or interpretations of said character's that are not already in the OUAT world, especially the Horned King, without my permission.

Dedication: This chapter is for crazyhpcfan who was the first person to review my story, the second person to follow it, liked my interpretation of how the dark one was created, and is a fellow Swanfire, Rumbelle, Outlaw Queen, and Snowing shipper, this chapters is for you. (Cause yes these ships do rule, and most if not all will probably be featured in this story with Swanfire being the mane one).


Storybrooke, Cemetery

Pain was all he felt, because it hurt so much to perform even the simple act of breathing as his soul and spirit were being ripped from his earthly form. Neal had tried to act brave as if sacrificing his life for his family's sake and death were something he was unafraid of. But, the truth was it terrified him the thought of the unknown, the thought that he was dying and with it leaving Emma the women he loved behind to mourn his passing.

Then darkness had consumed him and Neal knew nothing, before he began hearing voices like whispers against his body. He had expected to find himself walking towards a bright line, and then looking down on the world below watching but unable to interfere. To meet his mother, and all those who had gone before him.

However, that hadn't happened instead for the moment he felt more like a ghost as he saw a woman looked down on his empty body. Neal watched as she leaned down to touch his empty body with her lips, and as he did he felt fire covering, consuming, and reshaping him into something other than what he had been. He felt it as the flow of magic coursed through him merging with him and giving life back to that which should be dead as Neal descended back into his mortal body.

Neal felt his thoughts drifting in and out of consciousness and the touch of warm hands against his skin. He heard voices whispering and the crying of tears and among them he was able to pick out Emma, wishing that he wasn't dead. And for some strange reason he wanted to tell her that he wasn't, to scream and claw his way towards air and freedom. To hold her and kiss, and tell her that he loved and no force on earth would take him away from her side again. But, he couldn't move, no matter how much he wanted to.

Neal didn't know how much time had passed with him lying in utter darkness, before he groaned shifting his arms and legs. The smell of fire, and ash growing stronger, and the sound of thunder could be heard ringing in his ears, getting louder with each passing second. Then Neal felt the ground below him tumbling at his feet, and his hands shout out, pulling him from pitch blackness into what he strangely realized was a stormy night as he saw the moon shining through the clouds and lighting that cracked up above. He felt the cool breeze of air ruffling against him, and rain drop falling against his clothes. He felt his heart resuming its steady beat and his lungs gasping for air as he opened his mouth letting out a puff of smoke as he did so.

Neal glanced behind him, to see his grave now empty and the stone cracked in two. He jumped backwards with the shock, causing him to stumble and land on the ground in a tangled heap. It was not because his grave was empty, that caused Neal to scream, but rather the reflection he had glimpsed in looking at his grave stone. He reached for his hood pulling it back to get a better look letting out a strangled scream that was deeper and airier than he was used as he saw his appearance. Though his face was the same for the most part, several alterations had been made to his overall appearance.

Neal's skin once cream colored with a red hue to it from the sun's rays, had turned a pale white the very color of death itself. His lips were a dark grey and on opening his mouth Neal found that his tongue was too, luckily his teeth hadn't seemed to change at all. His hair on the other hand including the little bit of facial hair that he had, was also white, save for several strands of silver that ran throughout, and his once brown eyes were a soulless black. But, the most unusual thing Neal noticed about himself was his elf like ears, the small pair of black antlers that seemed to be growing from his head, and the crow shaped marking that ran up and along his left cheek. The crow was mostly black save for several lines of a burning bright red that ran throughout. Giving it the appearance of lava, he rolled up his sleeves to find the same black and red lines of magma running over the whiteness of his arms.

Neal glanced down at his feet next, taking a look at how them seemed to bend more than they used to and that the boots were raised of the ground with a hoofed like appearance to the end. "Oh please don't tell me?" Neal removed his boots and moved his pant legs up, to see sure enough that instead of toes he now had a pair of black and red hooves, along with white fur running along both of his legs. Neal reached behind him feeling a small tuft of fur sticking out from his but, beneath the folds of the red hoodie he wore. "Of course I have a tail? Really a faun he looked up at the heavens, is this some kind of sick joke? Answer me!" Neal shouted when he heard nothing, but the occasional sound of thunder as it made its way across the sky.

"You know what maybe it's some kind of afterlife dream and I'm still really dead. Yay that's it," he mumbled "alright Neal, there's only one way to find out" and with that he picked up a broken shard of grave stone and rammed it through one of his hands, letting out a strangled scream of pain as red blood coated it. "Not, a dream definitely not a dream," yanking the shard out of his hand and cradling it against his chest. While the skin began to knit itself back into place, until the pain and the wound was completely gone.

Now that Neal had established that he was not dreaming the first thing he realized he needed to find was some help. Someone who could explain to him what was going on and why he suddenly looked the way that he did. Someone who knew a lot about magic and since his father was under his murderesses' control, he knew that despite how much he was not looking forward to it, he would have to talk to her. So replacing his boots on his feet and with a slow and clumsy walk to his gate, since he hadn't quite gotten used to the feel of walking on hooves, or feet of any kind for that matter, after being dead for who knows how long. Neal made his trek down the cemetery for the adjoining church, where he hoped for once it his life, things would go well, but then again he was never that lucky.


Note: I hope I didn't make Neal to OOC in this chapter as am trying to establish that his acceptance towards his new fate will be coming in stages. Much like grief, with a bit of relapsing at parts. Please remember to leave your comments, concerns, questions, suggestions, and creative criticism, but no flames in the comment box. Even if you are guess with no account simply stopping by I take your comments too.