LEGEND OF THE GODDESSES
Tartaros, 99,946 years ago
Two serpents, one green and one purple, slithered down a circular earthen tunnel. Both were armored and helmed, and carried large, vicious halberds in their claws.
"Stay sharp, rookie," said the purple one, poking his companion with the butt of his weapon. "We've been transferred to the highest-priority prisoners, and that means we've gotta be the toughest and smartest guards in this filthy dungeon."
"Right," said the other, stretching and flexing his arms. "I'm ready. Who exactly are we guarding?"
"You mean you don't even know?" the purple serpent demanded. "How long you been working here?"
The green one shrugged. "What, here in Tartaros? A year or so…"
"I thought it was common knowledge," the purple serpent muttered. "Anyway, we're almost there. I'll show you who we're guarding."
He scratched the wall with his claws in a very specific pattern, and the earth opened wide like a mouth. Through the gloom, the two spotted a long black shape floating near the opposite end of a massive cavern.
"That is Sørmur dï Mitgaeard," the purple serpent whispered to the entranced green one. "This prison has become a great place to just stick folks that we don't like, but when it was first built, it was meant solely for her."
"I… never knew that," the green serpent admitted.
"Of course, the place doesn't really hold her," the purple one continued. "She could escape any time she wants. But she's been sufficiently distracted by books."
"Books?"
"Yeah, books. Mitgaeard gets a copy of every book that's ever been printed. It's the law. She reads constantly—she just can't help herself. She can't resist the urge to find out what's in her next book. If she were to ever run out of books, she'd be outta here and go right back to destroying the world."
The green serpent frowned. "I don't think she's reading…"
"Well, it's kind of hard to see a book from a quarter of a mile away," the purple one said casually.
The other's eyes widened. "She's a quarter of a mile away?"
"Yep. She's that big." He tapped the wall with the butt of his halberd, and the hole in the wall closed.
"Just how big is this monster?" the green serpent whispered.
"Four hundred and… twenty feet?" the purple one suggested. "Something crazy like that? She gets bigger as millennia go by."
The two serpents continued slithering down their tunnel, which had begun travelling uphill at a very steep incline.
"Where are we going now?" the rookie said nervously.
"We're gonna take a look at the other top-security guy," said the purple serpent as their tunnel climbed higher and higher. He tapped out another pattern on the wall, and it opened just as the first one had, revealing the bulky white shape of Accord directly adjacent to the tunnel.
"Whoa!" the green serpent exclaimed, readying his weapon.
"Relax, he's not going anywhere," the other said calmly. "He can't see or hear us, and he definitely can't pass through the wall." To demonstrate, he tapped his halberd against the barrier separating them from Accord, even though it was completely invisible.
The white serpent's blank blue eyes were scanning the pages of a book. He was very still, scarcely even seeming to breathe.
"So who's that?" the green guard said, calm now.
"That right there is Accord," the purple replied. "Sørmur dï Mitgaeard's son… which is the only reason he's in here at all, never mind kept in the same cell as her. He's as immortal as she is, sure, but he's harmless… mindless and soulless, as far as anyone can tell." He looked over the white serpent with something akin to affection. "He enjoys his books… as much as a creature with no feelings can 'enjoy' anything."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Accord was oblivious to the conversation about him taking place just on the other side of his wall. His mother was faintly visible on the opposite side of their impenetrable, quarter-mile-wide prison cell, but he paid her no mind. His lips moved as he scanned the text of the new book he had just received.
The illustration taking up half the page depicted several cheerful creatures, surrounded by flowers and rainbows. Accord glanced at the caption beneath them.
"Ponies," he whispered.
He set one of his stubby fingers on the page and began reading.
"Ponies are a newly discovered race who rose up some sixty years ago, and quickly became a curious and surprising oddity in our world. The species is notable for the way nature responds to them: where they gather and settle, the local flora, fauna, and weather revert to a helpless state, requiring care and management from the ponies. The creatures themselves are more than eager to help: farming and military, magic and science, these things all come very naturally to this young race."
Accord stopped at the end of this page, then wondered why he had done so. He scanned the paragraph again, reading it twice more to make sure he had taken in every detail. Still unable to comprehend his thoughts, he shrugged and turned the page.
"The pony race is defined by their odd affinity with DESTINY…" The word had been oddly emphasized by the scribe. "Ponies use an odd system of names, names which are meant to outline their personal traits and skills. Their names take them on a path through life, at the end of which is a mysterious phenomenon known as the 'cutie mark': a symbol or piece of art which appears on their flanks in adolescence, representing their inner self.
"Since the dawn of time, individual sentient creatures have wondered who they really are. The pony race has a valuable gift: they always know. They are entirely in touch with the world around them… and their destiny."
A tear dripped from Accord's eye. He touched it, and examined it, his head tilted quizzically. "Huh," he commented. "What could that mean? Am I feeling… feelings?"
He looked at the cutie mark drawn on the page, a spiral tower. "I've always wondered what feelings are… I've read so much about them, but never understood… what could have caused that? Is it these ponies, their cutie marks?"
He blinked several times.
"That… feeling… caused me pain," he muttered. "But I want it again. I want to feel again." He kept thinking, for a very long period of time. "Is it the shape of a cutie mark? Hrmm, I doubt that. Destiny seems an appropriately weighty topic to induce emotion…" He turned to a pile of books next to him and plucked one out, flipping through it rapidly.
"Destiny," he recited, "is akin to lot or fortune, the inevitable course of events, or the power or agent that determines such. The concept moved me to, I believe, sadness." He looked between the book on ponies and the new one he had produced. "Destiny provokes emotion. Ponies have an affinity for determining their destiny. Ergo, to feel emotion again, I must take command over my destiny, and to do that, I must become more like a pony."
Accord paused. "Well, that makes very little sense," he said. "Many leaps and fallacies were taken in that conclusion. Mother would call it unsound logic. And yet… I know it to be true. Perhaps this, too, is a feeling."
He flipped back to the first page, to the drawing of several ponies. "And how do I become more like a pony?" he wondered. "Well… a pony has four legs. Yes, and I only have a pair of arms. A sound beginning…"
Accord looked to his thick, finned tail. "Are physical characteristics a factor in destiny? They must be. A cutie mark is a physical display." He nodded slowly. "I have magic, or so Mother said… it is time to try it now."
He closed his eyes, and sprouted a pair of legs ending in cloven hooves. He stood erect, examining himself.
"Hrmm," he remarked. "This seems rather… ineffective. Where am I going wrong?"
He picked up the second book yet again and began scanning it. "I wonder, I wonder… controlling my own destiny, does this require…" He nodded, having come to a realization. "Creativity," he decided. He snatched another book, a smaller and thinner volume, flipping through it.
"Creativity," he mumbled. "Be spontaneous and color outside the lines… don't be afraid of mistakes… hmm. I don't quite understand the… concept…"
He looked down at the book of ponies. "Spontaneity," he muttered. Decisively, he kicked the book, flipping the pages, coming to a two-page-wide illustration of a flock of dragons.
"Dragons…" he hissed. He raised his hands; one of his legs transformed into a green dragon talon, and his tail became long and skinny, with red scales and ending in a white tuft.
Accord broke out in raucous laughter, falling flat on his back and rolling around.
"Oh, I enjoy this feeling very much!" he said through his uncontrollable giggles. Still on his back, he held up his mismatched feet and looked them over. "How… how very eye-opening!" he said eagerly. "A mistake, but a most ideal one. I suddenly understand… Mother's preoccupation with symmetry is highly unnecessary. Mother was… wrong."
He looked impressed with himself. "Mother… was wrong. Who'd have known such a thing was possible?" He stood up, still chuckling. "So, I don't have to be like a pony… there are many options for pursuing destiny… and destiny means I can still have… HANDS!"
Accord threw out his sickly white hands, and they quickly transformed into a lion paw and an eagle talon. The brown feathers on his shoulder began covering his entire torso.
"WHOOOOOO!" Accord declared as his once-stubby body stretched and extended. "And it is many creatures' destiny… to FLY!"
A mismatched pair of blue wings, one feathery and one leathery, sprouted from his back. He dropped onto his hands and knees, heaving and quivering.
"Destiny," he said in a shaky, ragged voice, "must be fought for!"
A goat horn and deer antler sprouted from his head.
"What is this inspiration?" he crowed. "Why is this making me feel so… good?"
He scrambled over to the book, flipping away from the dragons and back to ponies.
"So exciting!" he sang. "Okay, give me the head of a pony, head of a pony… these illustrations are terrible, I have no idea what a pony actually looks like… I'll have to take a shot."
His tiny white head became big and gray; he started off looking fairly like a pony, but his face drooped and became elongated as he sprouted a short black mane and thick white eyebrows, a long beard and a single fang.
He lifted his talon and squeezed his fang between a thumb and finger. "Hmm… that's odd," he said. "I don't think I did that… but I love it… I love this…" He squeezed his bright blue eyes shut and raised his arms triumphantly. "BY THE STARS, I'M SO HAPPY! AT LAST, I TRULY FEEEEEEEL! I FEEL EVERYTHIIIIING!"
And he did indeed. Even though his eyes were closed, he could see straight through them, straight to the outside of Tartaros, straight to the stars and planets far beyond the night sky… and every individual atom and quark on those planets… he saw the fabric of reality itself, all its stains and imperfections, and he felt the magical energy in his own body, the power to move worlds and to warp the very nature of the universe…
"Oh, yeah," he said passionately, in a new voice that sounded quite unlike the one he'd had since the day of his birth. He slowly opened his eyes, his lids fluttering—his eyes were now two different sizes, and yellow with bright red pupils.
"Now I know why it made me feel so excellent," he mumbled. "I was Accord, a god of pure analysis and organization… but only because that's the way I was born." He examined his arms and chest. "Who'd have thought that accidentally changing one leg but not the other would lead me to find out who I really am? Oh, but I bet those pony creatures have happy accidents like that all the time. I owe this whole thing to their race, and I've never even seen one…"
He continued feeling his face, becoming more joyful with every passing second. "This is why I never had emotions! I was always chaos trapped in order's body." He reached out with his eagle talon and touched the air. Ripples appeared in it, as if he'd touched the glassy surface of a pool of water.
He danced in place. "Yes! This is what I am! Chaos incarnate! Not Accord… Discord."
The newly-named Discord started snapping his fingers and staring into the rippling air he had created. He gave the shimmering air stripes, then polka dots. With a snap of his finger, the rippling air became a sheet of pure sugar, which attacked and enveloped him, leaving him mildly surprised and, for some reason, covered in wet leaves.
With another finger-snap, the leaves were gone.
"I can do anything," he realized. "Anything I can imagine… and my imagination is ever so much better than it was before." He brightened. "I can do what Mother wanted me to do! I can destroy everything!"
He started to run down the sloping cavern toward Mitgaeard, but he suddenly paused. "Wait… I don't want to do that. If I destroyed everything, what would I watch? What would I play with? What would I feel?" He snapped his fingers a few more times, creating flashes of light which darkened the spacious cavern, and bringing swirling comets flying past him which bathed him in orange light even though they were purple.
"This would be fun for a while, but how could I keep having fun with nothingness?" he wondered. "Surely a living universe is more desirable? Well… I can do anything. If I destroyed the universe and realized that I shouldn't have, I could just bring it back. Anything I can make, I can unmake, and vice-versa. Heh, that really takes the pressure off, doesn't it? Oh, but I should be careful… there might be something too intricate for me to understand, something that, if I remade it, wouldn't come back properly…"
He shook his head rapidly. "I should really discuss this with Mother. She'll know what to do."
He started across the cell, toward Mitgaeard far on the other side. He stumbled a few times, unused to having legs at all, occasionally throwing out his arms to balance himself but finding that, with their radically different sizes, his arms weren't of much use in that.
He didn't bother to use his powers to close the distance between himself and his mother. He simply felt like walking, allowing himself time to mentally prepare for his first taste of genuine face-to-face interaction with the colossal black serpent who had spawned him.
Her side of the prison cell was at the bottom of a long slope, and Discord slowly edged his way down. All the while, she floated high above him, barely visible in the gloom, a diminutive book held up to one of her eyes by a flipper.
"Mother?" he called up to her. "Mother, look at me."
Sørmur dï Mitgaeard set her book aside and snapped her head toward him with alarming speed. At the sight of him, her eyes widened… then slowly narrowed again as she released a puff of air from her nostrils.
This display of anger and hostility went right over Discord's head. "Look, Mother," he said gleefully, spreading out his arms to present himself. "I'm Discord now!" With a wiggle of his fingers, he conjured up an illusion of a night sky behind himself, full of white stars and multicolored planets, which detached themselves from the illusion and started swirling around him.
"We don't have to confine ourselves to their reality anymore!" he proclaimed. "Reality is whatever I say it is!"
Mitgaeard curled back her lip in a snarl, baring her fangs. He cowered, wringing his hands together. "Things can change for us now, Mother, you see?" he said nervously. "We can leave. We can accomplish things together, like you said."
She pressed her lips together suspiciously.
Discord held up the fist of his lion paw. "For I am now the purest embodiment of chaos!"
He grinned, waiting for her to respond.
For a moment, she seemed unsure of how to react, but after a few seconds she began quivering with rage and revulsion, and finally she opened her mouth impossibly wide and gave a deafening, glass-shattering screech, accompanied by two long tendrils of smoke bursting out of her mouth, obscuring Discord's vision.
Discord could have defended himself if he'd had a split second to react, but Mitgaeard was too fast. Her immense bulk lunged out of the smoke.
"Ohhhhh no," Discord squeaked, paralyzed by fear.
She pinned him between her nose and the ground, and breathed on him. In seconds, he was immobilized in a shiny shell of silver goo, every detail of his horrified face and body clearly outlined.
"Chaosssss?" she spat in his frozen face. "Do you even realize what you have done, my ssssson? I am the earthly vesssssel of order and logic, you fool! Did you think I would approve of thisssss? 'Dissssscord'. Bah!"
She lifted her head, and her beady blue eyes began darting around the huge, empty cavern. "How?" she whispered. "How have I let myssself become dissstracted enough to allow my perfect ssson—my emotionlesssss and thoughtlesssss ssson—to become thisssss? A being of chaosss, as flawed as any other mortal or god?" She threw back her head and keened furiously. "Thisssss… SSSHALL NOT COME TO PASSSSSSS!"
A sticky silver filament shot out of her mouth, wrapping around the frozen Discord. She flew straight up, her body breaking right through the roof of her cavern, Discord dangling from the corner of her mouth.
Serpents, gargoyles, and other sorts of armed guards scattered chaotically, some of them rushing forward to fight and others fleeing for their lives as Mitgaeard continued her progress straight up, shattering every floor and ceiling that stood in her way, utterly ignoring all of the attempts to harm her as well as the many easier routes to the surface she could take.
After only a few minutes, she burst out of the ground, into the open air of a rainy, temperate forest. She dragged her entire, ludicrous length out of the ground until her head hovered some five hundred feet above the ground.
She tossed her head, swinging the frozen Discord flawlessly onto her nose, where she made eye contact with him.
"You can sssssee and hear everything around you, I would asssssume, 'Dissscord'," she sneered. "I ssssso dessssspise you. I will reforge the world into a beacon of perfection and harmony AND I WILL MAKE YOU WATCH, MY CHAOTIC SSSSSSSON!"
She started flying in a straight line to the north, where the low-hanging sun was directly in her path. She screamed in pain at the sun in her eyes, but didn't bother to change her course.