MLP (FIM): The Infernal Dominion

by crocodile8456

In a shattered Equestria, the once-thriving monarchy is no more—Princess Celestia lies dead, her sister Luna lost to the depths of despair. The lands are now under the brutal control of President Lucifer Morningstar, a demonic tyrant who seized power with a cold, unrelenting grip. With the monarchy dismantled, Twilight Sparkle and her friends fight for the soul of Equestria.

1. Chapter 1

My Little Pony (FIM): The Infernal Dominion

Epilogue:

It began with a promise. A vision of freedom, a future where every pony could decide their own fate, no longer bound to the will of a select few ruling from ivory towers. The dream of democracy, of governance by the ponies, for the ponies, spread like wildfire through Equestria. The monarchy, long unchallenged, found itself facing an undeniable truth: change was inevitable. Princess Celestia, ever the beacon of wisdom, embraced this transformation. With her guidance, the old oligarchy was gradually dismantled, replaced with a fledgling republic. The royal crown would no longer dictate the course of history—Equestria's future was now in the hooves of its citizens. Elections were held. A council was formed. For the first time in history, ponies believed they had control over their destiny. But destiny, it seemed, had other plans. Nopony could have foreseen the catastrophe that followed. An accident—one so small, so seemingly insignificant—would unravel everything. A magical rift, the unintended consequence of a failed experiment deep within the Canterlot Archives, tore open a passage to another realm. And from that abyss, he emerged. Lucifer Morningstar. A being of unimaginable power, with an aura that crushed hope and a voice that could command the very stars. He did not arrive as a conqueror, nor as an invader. No, Lucifer came as an advisor, whispering into the ears of those who sought order amidst the chaos of a new government. He spoke of strength, of unity through control. He promised stability, prosperity, and an end to the uncertainty that plagued the land.

The council listened. And one by one, they gave him power. It began subtly—small changes to the law, a quiet restructuring of authority. But soon, the true weight of his influence became undeniable. Dissenters vanished. The press was muzzled. Elections were postponed, then abolished. Equestria's dream of freedom withered into something else entirely—an empire of fear. And with the fall of Celestia, the last remnants of resistance crumbled. Now, Equestria belongs to the Infernal Dominion. The land is divided, each region governed by Lucifer's chosen enforcers, his cabinet of terror.

Valentino, the overlord of indulgence and vice, presides over the pleasure districts, where the desperate drown their sorrows in excess, never realizing their souls are being devoured.

Vox, the master of technology and surveillance, ensures that no whisper of rebellion goes unheard, his screens broadcasting Lucifer's will across every corner of the land.

Velvette, the puppeteer of perception, warps truth itself, turning friend against friend, ensuring that trust is a relic of the past.

Alastor, the sadistic jester, rules with unpredictable chaos, his twisted sense of humor making him the most terrifying of all—because even he does not know what he will do next.

And at the throne of it all, Lucifer Morningstar reigns unchallenged, his mere presence suffocating any hope that dares to rise. Equestria's dream of self-rule has become its greatest nightmare. The age of harmony is over. The age of obedience has begun.

Chapter 1: The New Equestria

Canterlot was no longer the shining jewel of Equestria. The alabaster towers that once gleamed with the warmth of the sun were now draped in banners bearing the ominous sigil of President Lucifer Morningstar. His emblem, a crimson pentagram intertwined with his infernal crest, loomed over the city like a curse. The streets, once bustling with laughter and harmony, now echoed with whispers of fear and submission. The skies above, tainted with a permanent, eerie twilight, were patrolled by demonic enforcers watching for any sign of dissent. Beneath the towering structures, a lone earth pony stallion weaved through the darkened alleys, sweat matting his brown coat. His breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He wasn't supposed to be late—not today, not for him. The neon glow of Velvet Vice, Valentino's infamous pleasure palace, flickered ahead, casting shades of pink and red over the surrounding stone. The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume, cigar smoke, and something more sinister—something that seeped into the bones and refused to leave. The stallion reached the entrance, where two burly unicorn guards in suits blocked the doorway. Beyond them, a line of ponies dressed in extravagant, revealing attire giggled and chattered as they waited for entry—VIP guests of the overlord himself. The guards eyed the stallion with disinterest before stepping aside, letting him pass into the dimly lit club. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. The deep bass of a sensual melody pulsed through the floor, rattling the stallion's nerves as he hurried past the main stage. Ponies twirled around poles, their eyes hollow despite the sultry smiles they wore. Velvet curtains adorned the walls, concealing rooms where deals far darker than entertainment were made. The scent of lust and desperation hung heavy in the air. He forced himself forward, dodging servers carrying trays of golden liquor and trays of something far stronger. He reached the corridor leading to the private suites when a voice stopped him cold. "You're late, pony." The static-filled voice sent a shiver down his spine. He turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse him. Vox. The TV-headed overlord loomed in the shadows, his screen flickering between static and grinning teeth. His electric-blue frame crackled with energy, arms crossed as he stared down at the trembling stallion. "I—I overslept!" the earth pony stammered, his voice breaking. "M-my alarm clock—back in Ponyville—it didn't go off! I swear, I—" Vox's screen buzzed with laughter, the sound distorted and grating. "Overslept, huh?" he mocked, tilting his head. "What, too much fun at one of our establishments?" The stallion gulped, his throat dry as parchment. "N-no, sir! I—I—"

"Move along," Vox interrupted, waving him off with disinterest. "Val's waiting." The earth pony hesitated only a second longer before pushing through the last set of velvet curtains, entering the lavishly adorned office of Valentino. The air inside was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and smoke. Plush red carpets lined the floor, and extravagant furniture in shades of gold and deep purple filled the room. A massive, gilded desk sat at the far end, and behind it lounged him. Valentino. The moth-like demon was draped over his chair, a half-lit cigar dangling from his lips. His red, multifaceted eyes gleamed with amusement as he exhaled a cloud of pink smoke, watching the stallion with a predatory smirk. "Ah, finally," Valentino purred, rolling the cigar between his fingers. "Thought ya got cold hooves on me, sweetheart." The stallion swallowed hard. He was in deep now. The thick haze of smoke curled around the room as Valentino leaned forward, his red eyes gleaming like molten rubies. He took another slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a plume of sickly sweet-smelling smoke before tapping the ash into a golden tray. His smirk never faltered. "Well?" Valentino's voice was smooth, playful, but with a razor's edge beneath it. "Ya think I got you here for some little chit-chat? Nah, sweetheart, I need you out there."

The earth pony stallion stiffened. His heart pounded so hard he swore Valentino could hear it. "Customers are waitin'," the moth demon continued, waving a lazy hand. "And you? You ain't paid to stand here gawkin'. So move your ass, or I'll find somepony else to mix the drinks. And trust me, honey—ya don't wanna know what happens to the ones I don't need." The stallion swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a shaky nod. "I—I'll do it right away, sir." His voice came out weaker than he'd like, but at least it wasn't a stammer. Without another word, he turned and hurried out, feeling Valentino's gaze burning into his back as he exited the lavish office. As he stepped back into the main lounge, the oppressive atmosphere hit him all over again. The deep bass of sultry music vibrated in his chest, and the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something darker—something rotten—hung in the air like a curse. The dancers twirled on their poles, some mechanical in their movements, others throwing on false smiles for the howling audience. Dim neon lights flickered across the club's interior, bathing everything in shades of crimson and violet. The stallion made his way to the bar, the polished countertop already littered with empty glasses and spilled liquor. He slid behind it, exhaling shakily as he took in his new reality. Never—never—in his entire pony life had he imagined working in a place like this. As a filly, he had dreamed of simpler things—working the orchards in the Everfree, pressing apples to make cider for everypony, watching the golden liquid flow into barrels with the crisp scent of autumn in the air. That life was gone. Replaced with this. Here, the only thing he crushed were the remains of his dignity. The only thing he smelled was the reek of vice and desperation. Before he could dwell on it longer, a shadow loomed over him. A guttural growl rumbled across the counter. He looked up—and nearly lost all composure. A massive, anthropomorphic hellhound stood before him, his frame towering over the bar. The beast's black fur was matted in some places, his sharp red eyes piercing through the dim lighting. A scar ran down his snout, and his pointed ears twitched as he set a heavy clawed hand on the counter.

"Vodka," the hellhound demanded, his voice deep, gravelly. The stallion swallowed hard. "Y-yes, sir."

With trembling hooves, he turned to the shelves of liquor behind him, scanning the rows of glass bottles illuminated under flickering red lights. His heart was pounding. One mistake—one wrong move—and who knew what these creatures would do to him? He grabbed a bottle of vodka, pouring a glass as steadily as he could, praying his hooves wouldn't shake too much. He set the drink down in front of the hellhound. The beast stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then, without a word, he grabbed the glass and downed it in one go. The stallion barely had time to exhale before the hellhound slammed the empty glass down. "Another." The earth pony nodded rapidly, reaching for the bottle again. As he poured, he couldn't help but wonder how he had ended up here, serving drinks in a strip club owned by one of the most dangerous sinner overlords in Equestria. And, more importantly…How the hell was he going to survive? The stallion's hooves trembled slightly as he refilled the glass again, the clear liquid sloshing just shy of the rim. The hellhound's burning red eyes stayed locked on him, unreadable, unblinking. The dim red glow of the bar's neon lights cast eerie shadows across the beast's scarred face, making his expression all the more menacing. The hellhound took the second drink, downing it just as fast as the first. Another hard slam of the glass onto the counter. The stallion flinched. "Again," the beast growled. He nodded quickly, reaching for the bottle. As he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the liquor cabinet's glass doors—wide eyes, ears pinned back, sweat dampening the fur around his forehead. He looked like prey. Like a cornered animal. He had to keep it together. Valentino was watching. They were all watching. As he poured the next drink, a voice slithered into his ear like a dagger of static. "Jumpy, aren't we?" The stallion nearly dropped the bottle. His breath caught as he turned his head slightly.

Vox was perched on the counter beside him, grinning from his flickering TV-screen face. The blue glow from his screen clashed against the deep crimson of the club's lighting, making him look all the more unnatural. His long, clawed fingers tapped idly against the polished wood, sending soft, mechanical tiks into the air. The stallion forced a gulp down his throat. He hadn't even heard Vox approach. "S-Sir," he stammered, keeping his head low. Vox chuckled, the sound distorting with static. "Relax, buddy. You're doing great." His screen briefly flickered to display a loading bar before cutting back to his sharp-toothed grin. "Real natural. Like you belong here." The stallion swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. He had no idea whether that was a compliment or a taunt. With demons like Vox, it was impossible to tell. The hellhound, uninterested in the conversation, grabbed his refilled glass and downed it again. But this time, instead of slamming it down, he leaned forward. The stallion stiffened as the beast's breath—thick with the scent of liquor and something more feral—washed over him. "You ain't from here, are ya?" the hellhound muttered, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music.

The stallion's throat went dry. "I... I live here now," he answered carefully. The hellhound's lips pulled into something between a sneer and a grin. "That ain't what I asked." The stallion hesitated. He could feel Vox watching, waiting. Testing. "I..." He licked his lips, trying to keep his voice steady. "I used to be from Ponyville." the hellhound gave a slow, rumbling hum, running his claw along the rim of his empty glass. ''Ponyville, huh? Used to be a nice place. Before." The stallion didn't dare respond. He knew what "before" meant. Before the Infernal Dominion. Before Lucifer Morningstar. Before everything changed. The hellhound leaned back slightly, cracking his neck before setting his empty glass aside. "Guess we all had dreams once," he muttered. He reached into the pocket of his tattered jacket and tossed a few coins onto the counter. Bloodstained. The stallion's stomach twisted, but he didn't hesitate. He swept up the coins and tucked them into the register like it was nothing.

The hellhound exhaled deeply, stretching. Then, without another word, he stood and disappeared into the haze of the club. The stallion let out a shaky breath. ''Vox, still perched on the counter, let out a short, glitchy laugh. "Well, look at that," he mused. "Didn't even piss yourself. Impressive." The stallion kept his head down, saying nothing. He knew better than to respond to Vox's taunts. A sharp pat to his shoulder made him flinch. "Keep up the good work, kid," Vox said, hopping off the counter with unnatural grace. "Val likes reliable employees." His voice turned sickly sweet. "And I'd hate to see you disappoint him." With that, Vox turned and strolled off, his screen flickering erratically as he laughed to himself. The stallion stood frozen behind the bar, hooves gripping the counter like a lifeline. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. But quitting? In Valentino's club? That wasn't an option. Pissing off a powerful overlord meant death for some ponies. It was better to just stay in your lane, because in this new Equestria, there is no such thing as friendship, harmony, compassion, and mercy.

The bass-heavy thrum of the club still rattled in his skull as the earth pony stallion let out a long, exhausted sigh. His shift was over. For now. He slipped out from behind the bar, hooves aching from standing for hours. He had kept his head down, done the work, avoided trouble. And yet, the suffocating weight of this place clung to him like a thick layer of grime, seeping into his coat, into his very soul. Keeping his movements brisk, he weaved past the dancers still on stage, past servers balancing trays of golden liquor, past the guests indulging in the pleasures Valentino's empire provided. He made his way toward the back hallways, slipping into the dimly lit employee lounge. A single flickering lightbulb buzzed overhead as he entered the small clock-out room. The air was stale, carrying the scent of old upholstery and cigarette smoke. The walls were lined with lockers, some dented, others adorned with lewd stickers or tally marks from employees long gone.

He stepped up to the ancient punch clock, pressing his timecard into the machine. A loud ka-chunk stamped the end of his shift. He was free—at least, until tomorrow. Just as he turned to leave, the sound of a familiar, syrupy voice oozed through the thin walls. Valentino. "Make sure he knows," the moth demon drawled, his voice carrying that ever-present, lazy amusement. "I expect him back here earlier tomorrow. Same shit, same place. Ain't gonna tolerate no 'oversleeping' bullshit again. Capiche?" The stallion froze, his ears twitching toward the muffled conversation. A moment of silence, then another voice—one of Valentino's lackeys—responded. "Yeah, boss. I'll tell him." The stallion sighed, shaking his head. He had no choice in this. None of them did. "I will, boss," he muttered under his breath, as if saying it now would prepare him for the inevitable. With one last glance at the dingy clock-out room, he pushed open the back door leading to the VIP entrance. The alley outside was damp, the air thick with the acrid smell of cigarette butts and spilled booze. The neon glow of Velvet Vice's massive sign buzzed overhead, its pink light bleeding into the darkness like an open wound. As he walked, his gaze flicked to a massive glass-paneled window set into the side of a nearby building. A television inside cast an eerie blue glow against the night. Vox's face—his ever-grinning, ever-flickering screen—filled the broadcast. The audio crackled through unseen speakers, distorted yet unmistakable in its message ."Absolute allegiance. Absolute loyalty. There is no alternative. There is no rebellion. There is only order under the one true ruler." The screen flashed, cutting to a massive, towering silhouette. Wings of fire. Eyes like burning stars. President Lucifer Morningstar. The stallion tore his gaze away. He knew better than to linger. Head down, he trudged toward his apartment, the words of the broadcast still echoing in his mind. "Long live President Morningstar. Long live the Infernal Dominion..."

2.

The cold night air did little to wash away the filth of Velvet Vice from his coat. No matter how much he tried to shake the weight off his shoulders, it stuck to him, clinging like a parasite. He pulled his thin jacket tighter around himself, keeping his head low as he walked through the backstreets of Canterlot. The city was unrecognizable. Where once stood regal marble structures adorned with banners of Princess Celestia and Luna, there were now cold, towering skyscrapers wrapped in dark iron and obsidian, emblazoned with Lucifer Morningstar's infernal sigil. The old streetlamps that once illuminated the roads with a warm glow were replaced with surveillance drones hovering silently above, their red eyes scanning the streets for any signs of noncompliance. Billboards that once promoted community gatherings, artisan crafts, and farm markets now flashed with propaganda. "Harmony was a lie. Order is truth." "All hail President Morningstar. All hail the Infernal Dominion." He kept walking. Faster. The streets weren't empty—not entirely. Ponies moved in shadows, keeping to themselves, avoiding eye contact. The ones who walked too confidently were the ones who had embraced this new world. He could spot them easily—the ones with enchanted radios clipped to their belts, their eyes carrying that unnatural loyalty as they glanced at others with suspicion. He turned a corner, stepping into the worn-down neighborhood where his apartment complex stood. The once-ornate Canterlot architecture had long since crumbled, giving way to drab, concrete monoliths stacked against each other like prison blocks. His building was no different. It was one of many—tall, gray, lifeless. The balconies were lined with rusted railings, and the windows, once adorned with curtains of vibrant pastels, were now dull, some even shattered and left unrepaired. The city's new leadership had no care for the living conditions of its subjects. Just as he reached the entrance, a flickering red light from another screen caught his attention.

A holographic projection hovered near the front doors, a live broadcast streaming directly from the Infernal Council's media network. Vox's voice filled the street, smooth yet buzzing with artificial distortion. "Equestrian citizens, rejoice! Tomorrow marks another glorious day under the reign of our most merciful leader, President Lucifer Morningstar! We expect full attendance for the citywide loyalty pledge. Remember—your devotion matters." The screen flickered, cutting to an image of Lucifer himself—his imposing, celestial form surrounded by an infernal glow. His eyes, endless pools of pure energy, bore into the viewer. "Serve willingly, or be remade to serve." The broadcast ended, the hologram dissolving into nothingness. The stallion let out a slow breath and stepped inside. The apartment lobby was dimly lit, the walls peeling, the floor littered with old papers and dirt. A single security drone hovered in the corner, its red eye scanning every passerby. He ignored it, making his way up the stairs to the third floor. The elevator had long since stopped working. Reaching his door, he fished out his key and slid it into the rusted lock. With a click, he stepped inside, locking it behind him. The apartment was small, cramped. A single mattress in the corner, a rickety table with an old lamp, and a tiny kitchen that barely functioned. A single cracked window overlooked the city, giving him a view of Canterlot's corrupted skyline. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the floor before dragging himself to the mattress. He barely had the energy to remove his boots before collapsing onto the stiff bedding. Tomorrow. He had to do it all again tomorrow. He stared at the ceiling, the distant hum of propaganda screens and distant sirens filling the night air. He had dreamed of a different life once. A peaceful life. A free life. But that life was gone. And here, under the rule of Lucifer Morningstar…Dreams meant nothing.

3.

The School of Friendship stood as a hollowed-out relic of a forgotten era. Its once-vibrant halls, filled with the laughter and warmth of students from across Equestria and beyond, were now empty. The banners of harmony, once proudly draped across its corridors, had been torn down. The stained-glass windows depicting the triumphs of Twilight Sparkle and her friends had been shattered, replaced by cold iron reinforcements to prevent unauthorized gatherings. The front entrance, once welcoming to all creatures, was now barricaded with thick chains and padlocks. A rusted plaque had been bolted onto the front doors, engraved with a chilling message: "This Institution is Deemed Obsolete. Friendship is Chaos. Order is Truth." Twilight Sparkle had fought to keep the school open. Even when the Infernal Dominion first took root, she had pleaded with the new government, arguing that education was essential—that friendship was essential. But her words had fallen on deaf ears. Lucifer Morningstar's regime had no interest in friendship. Instead, the School of Friendship was repurposed. The classrooms that once housed lessons of unity and compassion were gutted, their walls stripped bare. In their place, the Ministry of Compliance had erected a new facility—a center for Re-Education. Where students once learned about kindness and honesty, now rows of young ponies and creatures sat at metal desks, their eyes fixed forward as massive screens flickered with the new history. A stern unicorn mare, dressed in the black uniform of the regime, paced in front of the class. Her magic hovered over a textbook—one bearing the Infernal Dominion's insignia. "Can anypony tell me who saved Equestria from its corrupt and ineffective monarchy?" she asked coldly. A young filly hesitated before raising her hoof. "President Morningstar," she answered meekly. The teacher smiled, but it was a cruel, thin-lipped thing. "Correct. The old world was built on weakness—on indecision. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna misled Equestria for centuries, indulging in their power while letting their kingdom rot." She turned, magically flipping to the next page of the textbook. Across it, a red X had been stamped over an old illustration of the Royal Sisters. Below it, a new image—a towering silhouette of Lucifer Morningstar, wings spread in divine wrath. "The Royal Sisters were tyrants," the teacher continued. "Their reign brought nothing but chaos and failure. Only when our true ruler arrived was Equestria able to embrace a future of order." The students nodded in forced unison, their eyes blank. Some still hesitated—children of those who remembered the truth. But hesitation was dangerous. At the back of the classroom, a pair of guards in dark armor stood silently, watching. Their presence was a reminder. A warning. This was the only history that mattered now. Deep beneath Canterlot, hidden in the tunnels of what was once the old Crystal Mines, a small group of ponies and creatures huddled around a dimly lit lantern. Twilight Sparkle sat among them. Her mane was no longer neatly kept, her eyes worn with exhaustion. She had spent years trying to fight, trying to resist, but every battle had only ended in loss. Celestia was gone. The monarchy was gone. History was being rewritten before her very eyes, and she was powerless to stop it. "They closed the last library in Manehattan today," whispered an older stallion, his voice heavy with sorrow. "They burned everything—every book that mentioned Celestia or Luna. The Elements of Harmony are officially classified as heretical lies." Across from Twilight, Pinkie Pie sat silently—something that, once upon a time, would have been impossible to imagine. Her once-puffy mane had long since deflated, and she simply stared at the dirt floor, saying nothing. "They got to the School," another voice added. "They're teaching that he saved us. That Celestia and Luna were tyrants." Twilight closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. Every trace of what they had fought for—what they had built—was being wiped away. Friendship was dead in Equestria.

Lucifer Morningstar had seen to that. But as Twilight looked at the small, determined faces around her—the last remnants of those who still believed—she knew one thing for certain. The fight wasn't over. That was for certain. It couldn't be. Celestia may not be around anymore, but that doesn't mean they should give up.

4.

The streets of Canterlot were colder than usual, but not because of the weather. The once-luxurious boutique that had been Rarity's pride and joy—the very symbol of her creativity and passion—now stood tainted by the Infernal Dominion's touch. Where elegant mannequins once displayed her finest gowns, now only soulless, mass-produced uniforms hung in neat, lifeless rows behind the glass. Dresses of dull blacks and blood reds, stamped with Lucifer Morningstar's sigil, designed not for beauty, but for obedience. Rarity stood on the stone steps of her own boutique, Sweetie Belle trembling beside her, as the demoness in front of them flipped the Closed sign on the door. Velvette, one of Lucifer's appointed overlords, grinned down at them. Her bubblegum-pink curls bounced with every exaggerated movement as she lazily twirled a smartphone in one gloved hand. "Sorry, darling, but your services are no longer required." Her voice was sickeningly sweet, her British drawl oozing with condescension. "You see, the new government has a vision, and well…" she giggled, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Let's just say you don't fit into it." Rarity's heart pounded. "This is my shop," she hissed, her normally refined tone cracking with emotion. "You cannot just take it from me!" Velvette gasped, feigning shock. "Oh, but I can! And I am!" She clasped her hands together, tilting her head. "You see, Rarity, darling, we can't have independent designers roaming about, making whatever they please." She gestured vaguely to the store behind her. "It's so much more efficient to streamline fashion for the masses. Uniformity is key in our beautiful new Equestria, don't you think?" Rarity took a step forward, her nostrils flaring. "This is my home! Where do you expect us to go?!"

Velvette's grin widened, her gloved fingers tapping idly against the doorframe. "Oh, I don't care, love. Find a nice little alley, a sewer drain, a cozy pile of garbage—though, judging by your situation, you might already be used to that." She giggled, delighted by her own cruelty. Sweetie Belle sniffled beside Rarity, her little hooves pressing into the cobblestone. "You can't do this…" she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Velvette's expression softened—mockingly. She crouched down slightly, tilting her head at the filly. "Oh, sweet pea, that's adorable." She reached out, brushing a gloved finger beneath Sweetie's chin in a mockery of affection. "But let me educate you, little one—" her voice dropped to a sickly-sweet whisper, "—we can do this. And we will." Rarity's fury surged. She yanked Sweetie Belle back, placing herself between her sister and the demoness. "You monster!" Velvette straightened, rolling her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetheart." With that, she turned on her heel, sauntering back inside the boutique. Rarity made one last desperate attempt. "Velvette, please! I built this business from the ground up! You have no right!" Velvette paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder with a slow, cruel smile. "Oh, honey…" She giggled as she placed a perfectly manicured hand on the door. "I don't need a right." And with that, she slammed it shut. Rarity stood frozen, her breath hitching in her throat. Sweetie Belle clung to her leg, trembling.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Rarity turned, her ears flattened as she stared at the empty streets stretching before them. She had lost everything. No. They had taken everything. Her home. Her work. Her dreams. Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she lifted her chin, swallowing down the grief that threatened to choke her.

Rarity and Sweetie Belle could only walk in silence. Their hooves tapped softly against the cracked cobblestone streets of Canterlot, but the once-glorious city no longer held its regal charm. It was quiet—eerily so. The laughter, the chatter of ponies in the streets, the warm glow of shop windows—it was all gone. What remained was cold. Lifeless. Neither Rarity nor Sweetie Belle spoke. There was nothing to say. Everything they had was gone. They didn't even know where they were going—only that they had to keep moving. Then, a commotion. At the far end of the street, a sharp voice rang out. "Let me go!" Rarity's ears perked as she turned toward the source of the sound. A young unicorn mare—her violet coat marred with dirt, her yellow mane in tangles—was being dragged forward by two armored soldiers. Her hooves scraped against the cobblestone as she struggled, her horn sparking weakly with magic before one of the soldiers slammed her to the ground. "That's enough of that," one of them barked, his voice muffled beneath his helmet. "You've already caused enough trouble." Rarity's breath hitched. Ponies had disappeared before. Arrested, taken away—never to be seen again. But this was the first time she had seen it happen so close. The unicorn twisted beneath the soldier's grip, her voice desperate. "You can't just take our history! You can't just erase it like it never happened!"

One of the soldiers sneered. "Oh? And what 'history' would that be?"

"Celestia! Luna!" The mare's voice cracked, pleading, furious. "They were our princesses! They saved us! And now you're teaching lies!" Another soldier stepped forward—a captain, judging by the infernal insignia burned into his armor. "Careful with that treasonous tongue," he warned. "You wouldn't want to say something you'll regret." The mare's breathing was ragged, but she didn't falter. "I'd rather speak the truth than bow to a buckin' monster!" The captain then sighed, shaking his head. "Shame. You could have been a model citizen." He motioned to the soldiers. "Take her away." A sharp crack echoed through the street as one of the soldiers struck the mare with the hilt of his spear. She slumped forward, dazed, her body going limp as they hoisted her up and carried her away toward a black-enchanted carriage waiting nearby. The sigil of the Ministry of Compliance gleamed on its side. Sweetie Belle gasped, stepping closer to Rarity. "Where are they taking her?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Rarity swallowed hard, her heart pounding. "Somewhere we can't help her." Sweetie looked up at her, eyes filled with fear. "Are they going to—?"Rarity placed a hoof on her sister's shoulder, gently pulling her closer. "Don't look, Sweetie," she murmured. "Just keep walking." And so, as the black-enchanted carriage began to make its way to the distance, Sweetie Belle and Rarity continued to walk. It wasn't too late before they had stumbled upon the Velvet Vice Studios, which illuminated the cracked pavement. Posters of Overlord Valentino's stars lined the walls -mare and stallion models alike, draped in scandalous attire, their expressions vacant, their bodies nothing more than advertisements. The entrance, as usual, was a spectacle in itself. VIP guests lounged near the doorway, dressed in revealing silks and gold chains, laughing in low murmurs, Some were ponies-but others, others weren't. Hellhounds, Sinners, Succubuses, Imps, also lined up. They originally weren't even supposed to be in Equestria. Yet, here they were.

One of the guests—a tall, reptilian creature with slit-pupil eyes—ran a forked tongue over his lips as he leaned close to a trembling young mare. His claws traced along the back of her neck as she forced a stiff smile, pretending everything was fine. Rarity's stomach twisted. "Sweetie, don't look," she whispered sharply, placing a hoof over her sister's eyes and pushing her forward.

"But—"

"Don't look!" Sweetie Belle obeyed, turning her head away. But Rarity still saw. She couldn't see. She had heard rumors about what happened behind Valentino's doors. Whispers of ponies who entered but never came out the same. But standing here, seeing it up close—feeling the heavy air of desperation and ownership—made her want to be sick. But just as they were about to pass the district entirely, a sound caught Rarity's ear. A pleading voice. It came from the shadows of a nearby alleyway, where the neon lights couldn't reach. "V-Valentino, please! It wasn't my fault!" Rarity's hooves stopped on instinct. Slowly, she turned toward the alley. A mare—a slender pegasus with a shimmering blue coat—was cornered against the stone wall, her wings twitching in fear. Her mascara-streaked eyes were wide as she looked up at the looming figure before her. Overlord Valentino. The moth-like demon towered over her, his sharp, jagged grin pulling at his lips. The faint scent of cigars and expensive cologne clung to the air, mingling with the rot of the city. His red, tinted glasses hid his eyes, but Rarity could feel the heat of his anger radiating from him. "You really pissed me off tonight, sugar," Valentino purred, voice dripping with mock affection. He traced a sharp-clawed finger along the mare's trembling jaw, making her flinch. "Y'see, when my employees screw up? That means I lose money." The pegasus shook her head rapidly. "I—I didn't mean to! The glass just slipped! I'll work double tomorrow, I—I swear—" A sharp smack echoed through the alley as Valentino struck her across the face. Rarity gasped. Sweetie Belle stiffened beside her. The mare whimpered, clutching the side of her cheek. Valentino let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, rolling his broad shoulders. "Doll, doll, doll… what am I gonna do with ya?" He leaned down, his grin widening. "I hope you fuckin' understand what happens to employees who don't meet my expectations." The mare nodded quickly, her breath hitching, too terrified to speak. Valentino chuckled, low and cruel. "You're lucky you're a star of my studios, sugar. Otherwise? I'd have Vox toss your dead body into the river and let the fish chew on your pretty little wings." The pegasus whimpered, shrinking further against the wall. Rarity felt her hooves trembling, rage burning beneath her chest. But she didn't move. She couldn't move. They were powerless. Sweetie Belle clung to Rarity's side, her small frame shivering. She whispered, "Rarity… we have to help her…" But what could they do? Valentino wasn't just some thug or enforcer—he was a government-appointed overlord. He had power, and every law in this twisted new Equestria was designed to protect monsters like him. If Rarity so much as spoke against him, she and Sweetie Belle would be the next ones dragged away in chains. The weight of it crushed her. She felt helpless.

Worthless. Valentino sighed again, shaking his head. "You'll fix your fuckin' mistake, sugar. And you'll smile while doing it, got it?" The pegasus nodded furiously. "Good girl." Valentino then smiled, his voice dripping with malice. Without another word, Valentino turned and walked out of the alleyway, humming to himself as he flicked the ashes of his cigar onto the pavement.

He passed by Rarity and Sweetie Belle without even sparing them a glance. Like they were nothing. Once he was gone, the pegasus slowly slid down against the wall, her body trembling as silent sobs wracked her form. Rarity swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to say something—to tell the mare she wasn't alone. That this wasn't right. But there was no comfort to be found in this world anymore. There was only survival. She forced her legs to move. "Come on, Sweetie," she whispered, guiding her sister away. They left the alley. Left the studios.

5.

The little diner in Ponyville had seen better days. The once-welcoming establishment, with its checkered floors and homely atmosphere, now sat under the dull glow of flickering lights. The usual warmth that came with the smell of fresh hayburgers and baked apple pies was tainted with unease—mostly because of the four demons currently occupying the space. At the counter, Blitzo (the "o" is silent, obviously) tapped his claws impatiently against the counter, his tail flicking with irritation. The mare behind the register—a butter-yellow earth pony with a shaky smile—stood frozen as she fumbled with the buttons on the cash register. "Alright, toots," Blitzo began, dramatically throwing one arm over the counter while pointing at her with the other. "Lemme get a steaming hot cup of your strongest coffee and a big-ass chocolate chip cookie." His sharp teeth flashed in a grin. "Extra chocolate chips. Like, so many that my arteries cry."

The mare blinked. "Uh... that'll be a few bits, sir." Blitzo's grin immediately vanished.

His pupils shrank. His tail went stiff. "BITS?!" he shrieked. "THE FUCK KIND OF BUSINESS ARE YOU RUNNING HERE?!" The mare yelped, nearly knocking over the register in terror. "I-I just meant—!" "You don't take cash?!" Blitzo threw his arms in the air, pulling a wad of crumpled-up bills from his coat and slamming them onto the counter. "Look! Cold, hard, stripper-earned money! Acceptable everywhere!" The mare gulped. "Sir, that's—th-that's not our currency…" Blitzo squinted at her. "Then why do you have the same damn numbers on 'em?!" Behind him, at a nearby booth, the rest of the IMP crew watched in varying degrees of exhaustion. Millie, sitting closest to the window, had her arms crossed with an amused smirk. "Here we go again..."

Loona, slumped over the table, scrolled through her hellphone, not even bothering to look up. "Just let him do his thing. He'll either get the cookie or burn the place down. Either way, it's entertaining." Moxxie, however, was less amused. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around the diner. A few pony customers were staring at them, their ears flattened, some even gripping their menus like shields. He frowned, leaning forward. "Why is everyone looking at us like that?" Millie chuckled, nudging him playfully. "Mox, we're a bunch of demonic imps sittin' in the middle of a small-town diner in pony country. They're probably not used to seein' us casually order food." Moxxie huffed. "That's ridiculous. We're just customers like everyone else!" He gestured to himself. "I mean, do I look that intimidating?" Before Millie could answer, Loona, without looking up from her phone, muttered, "You look like a depressed substitute teacher." Meanwhile, Blitzo was still in the middle of his very professional negotiation. "Listen, filly, if you don't take this money, I swear to Lucifer's tight ass that I will—!" The mare, completely done with this interaction, finally whimpered, "T-The coffee and cookie are free, sir! Just take them!" Blitzo's outburst came to an immediate halt. He blinked. "Wait. For real?"

The mare nodded rapidly, sliding a cup of coffee and a plate with an oversized chocolate chip cookie across the counter with trembling hooves. "P-Please don't yell at me…" Blitzo beamed, immediately switching to his usual cheery mood. "Oh-ho-ho! See? Now this is good customer service!" He snatched the cookie and coffee, turned on his heel, and strutted toward the booth like he owned the place. As he slid into the seat next to Loona, he took a dramatic sip of his coffee and sighed. "Nothing like the sweet taste of free shit." Moxxie, still hyper-aware of the stares, groaned. "Blitz, we're trying to keep a low profile—" "Pffft, oh please, Mox," Blitzo waved him off, already taking a massive bite of his cookie. "What's the worst that could happen?" As if on cue, the door burst open. Two armored pony guards stormed inside, their spears raised. "Alright!" one of them barked. "We got reports of a disturbance—" The guards immediately froze upon seeing who, exactly, was inside.

Their eyes locked on Loona, who slowly looked up from her phone, ears flicking in irritation. Then to Millie, who was cracking her knuckles with an eager grin. Then to Blitzo, who still had half a cookie in his mouth. Then to Moxxie. Moxxie blinked. "Um. Hi?" The guards exchanged a look. Then, without another word, they turned on their hooves and ran. Blitzo cackled, slamming his hand on the table. "THAT'S RIGHT! RUN, YOU LITTLE HORSE PUNKS! YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS SEXY PACKAGE!" Moxxie then buried his face in his hands. "I hate it here..." Que with Blitzo kicking open the entrance door as his employed assassins followed. A smug grin remained on his face as ponies who quickly saw the sight of imps quickly ran towards their homes and shops. Imps, however, didn't just pop into existence in Equestria. No, but they were the first to enter through the sudden rift in the archives. Not as conquerors, but as wanderers. Souls now lost from the home which they called hell, imps did not enter into Equestria with weapons drawn, but with curiosity, slipping into the pony kingdom like shadows through candlelight. At first, ponies tried to understand them. To coexist. The imps were the first to assimilate, proving themselves eager, cunning, and incredibly skilled in trade. They adapted quickly—some working as mercenaries, others opening businesses. Hellhounds, massive and feral, found their way into Equestrian cities, taking jobs as enforcers, bodyguards, and, in some cases, bounty hunters. The succubi and incubi? They thrived. The once-scandalized concept of their existence quickly became normalized. Brothels flourished. Ponies—lonely, desperate—fell into the temptations of Hell's most alluring creatures. And the sinners… the souls of the damned? They were the worst of all. Sinners were smart. They didn't just integrate. They infiltrated. Politicians. Business owners. Scholars. The most influential of Hell's sinners slithered into Equestrian society, using wealth, corruption, and Faust knows what else to climb the ranks. They worked fast, filling positions of power before anypony even realized what was happening. Equestria, once a land of harmony, was slowly being rewritten into a place that, today, no normal equestrian can recognize. And, oh ho boy, did Blitzo and his crew took advantage! If there was one good thing about Hell colliding with Equestria, it was that murder-for-hire was finally an accessible industry. The moment Lucifer's regime settled in, corruption spread like wildfire. Rivalries flared. Disagreements weren't solved with debates anymore—they were solved with knives, bullets, and the occasional explosion. And who is better to take advantage of this beautifully violent new world than Blitzo and his Immediate Murder Professionals?

At first, finding work was tricky. Ponies weren't used to hiring assassins. Their idea of a hit-job was sending an angry letter or gossiping about somepony until they disappeared into social obscurity. But once the Overlords took power? Once the black markets thrived and the streets became hunting grounds for the rich and powerful? Oh-ho-ho, did business explode. Blitzo and his crew set up shop in a shady district of Canterlot, a run-down office sandwiched between a strip joint and a loan shark's den. The sign above their door—"I.M.P: We Kill for Bits!"—was painted in big, obnoxious red letters, complete with a smiley face bullet hole in the center.

It was subtle. Professional. And entirely legal. Thanks to the Regulated Homicide Act (a little gift from Overlord Alastor), contract killings were technically allowed, provided they followed the proper paperwork. Did Blitzo bother with paperwork? Fuck no. But did ponies care? Also fuck no.

Meet the Clients!

The moment word spread, ponies—rich, poor, and stupid—came knocking.

Jealous spouses who wanted their cheating husbands or wives removed.

Business rivals looking to eliminate the competition.

Low-ranking politicians hoping to climb the ranks through suspicious vacancies.

And, of course, the occasional Overlord or high-society demon who wanted a "small inconvenience" wiped off the map.

Blitzo loved those jobs the most. One time, an uptight unicorn noble wanted his neighbor's cat assassinated because it kept pissing on his imported Saddle Arabian rugs. "Wait," Moxxie had said, deadpan. "We're killing a cat now?"

"Buddy," Blitzo had replied, slamming a sack of bits onto the table. "Money is money."

(It turned out the cat was actually a demon familiar and damn did that job go sideways fast.)

How They Operate

Their process was simple:

Client pays upfront. (No refunds, unless they want a bullet in the leg.)

Loona finds the target. (Her tracking skills were top-tier, mostly because she hacked into the Canterlot citizen database while drunk.)

Millie & Moxxie handle the hit. (Millie loved the violent ones. Moxxie handled the "less messy" jobs, though let's be real—he complained the whole time.)

Blitzo supervises. (Which usually meant causing problems, getting into unnecessary fights, and making Moxxie's life miserable.)

It was efficient. It was chaotic. And most importantly? It paid like a motherfucker.

Challenges? What Challenges? Of course, not everyone liked the idea of demons running a murder-for-hire service in broad daylight. The Ministry of Compliance tried to shut them down twice. It didn't go well. The first time, Millie nearly gutted the arresting officers. The second time, Blitzo made a deal with a certain Overlord (cough Valentino cough), which conveniently resulted in the Ministry looking the other way. Moxxie hated that deal. Blitzo? He just called it "networking."

Meanwhile, the Equestrian underground loved them. The black-market crime rings—operated by both ponies and demons—treated I.M.P like royalty. If a rival gang needed thinning? If a corrupt noble needed "retirement"? They knew exactly who to call. Even some Overlords found them useful. One time, Vox hired them to sabotage a rival broadcast. They had to infiltrate a news station, rig the cameras, and replace the anchor's teleprompter script with an aggressively explicit rap about Lucifer's ass. (Blitzo nearly pissed himself laughing when it aired.) Another time, Velvette paid them to "deal with a problem." Turns out the "problem" was a pony influencer who had been badmouthing her fashion empire. The influencer was found in an alleyway the next morning. No witnesses. No evidence. Just a single business card left behind. "I.M.P – We Put the 'Fun' in Funeral!" At the end of the day, Equestria was no longer the sunshine-and-rainbows kingdom it used to be. Killers thrived. Corruption reigned. And murder? Murder was just another business transaction. And for Blitzo and his crew? Business was fucking booming. And as for Princess Twilight Sparkle? Well, she didn't take the idea too kindly. For years, she had fought tooth and hoof to keep what was left of Equestria from crumbling into total anarchy. She had seen her School of Friendship shut down, watched history rewritten, and been forced to witness her ponies adapt to a world that thrived on fear instead of harmony.

But this? A hit squad—run by actual demons—casually operating like a coffee shop? No. No, this was too much. She finally found them in a rundown office, tucked between a demon strip club and a loan shark's lair. The door was cracked open. Twilight's blood boiled as she stepped inside. Inside, the office was… an absolute mess. Paperwork was scattered everywhere. A crude drawing of Celestia flipping the bird was stapled to the wall. There was a coffee machine labeled "For Emergency Hangovers Only." And behind the front desk? A massive hellhound—Loona—was filing her nails, completely ignoring Twilight's presence. Twilight slammed her hoof on the desk. "I demand to speak with—!" ''Hey, if it ain't the depressed pony princess!" Blitzo strolled out from the back room, sipping a milkshake, completely unfazed. "Damn, you look rough! What happened, Sparkle Butt? Government got you down? Best friend get thrown in a labor camp? Orrrrr did ya just realize how screwed this place is?'' Twilight's eye twitched. "You—" She took a deep breath, trying (and failing) to keep calm. "You are running a murder business. In my kingdom." Blitzo's grin widened. "Yeah, and?" "AND?!" Twilight's wings flared. "You're killing ponies for bits!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing, but, uh, pretty sure half your royal court already hires us, soooo…" He shrugged. "Guess that means you technically work with us! Heh, congrats, Princess! You're part of the assassination biz!" Twilight. Was. Livid. "You're tearing Equestria apart! You're— You're making ponies believe that murder is just another part of life!"

Blitzo blinked. Then he snorted. "Uh, sweetheart, lemme give you a reality check—murder is part of life. It always has been. The only difference is, now ponies don't gotta pretend otherwise!" He gestured to the outside streets. "Look around! You think this place still runs on friendship? On rainbows? Pffft, honey, open your damn eyes! Lucifer's in charge! Overlords are running the show! Your old princess pals are dead or missing!" He leaned in, voice dropping into a mocking whisper.

"And the best part?" His grin sharpened. "Your little ponies? They love it."

Twilight froze. "What?" Blitzo leaned back, tossing his milkshake over his shoulder (where it splattered all over Moxxie, who had just walked in). "You think everypony here hates us? Pffft. We got a waitlist, babe! Every rich snob, every desperate lowlife, every shady little back-alley dealer—they call us. They want their enemies gone. They want revenge. They want power. And they're willing to pay through the fucking nose for it!" Twilight's breath caught in her throat. She had fought so hard to keep Equestria standing. To protect what was left of its heart and soul. But now…? Now she saw the truth. It wasn't just the demons who had changed Equestria.

It was the ponies, too. Her own kind. They adapted to this new world. Welcomed it. Became part of it. Because they wanted to survive. And murder? Murder was just another tool to get ahead.

Twilight stared at Blitzo, feeling something deep inside her shatter. Blitzo just flashed his toothy grin. "So, Princess?" He propped his feet up on the desk. "You want a job? 'Cause, no offense, but with that whole 'government resistance' thing you got going on, pretty sure somepony's already put a hit on you!" Twilight said nothing. She just turned—her heart heavy, her mind reeling—and walked out into the new Equestria. She continued her walk through the dimly lit streets of Canterlot, her mind a storm of emotions. The weight of what she had just heard—what she had seen—made her hooves feel heavier with every step. The air smelled of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and something far worse. Neon lights buzzed overhead, advertising demonic nightclubs, high-end gambling dens, and the ever-present propaganda broadcasts of President Lucifer Morningstar. But worst of all? The ponies…They weren't shocked by it. They weren't horrified like she was. They were adjusted. Across the street, a unicorn in a sleek black coat was casually flipping through a contract book, discussing prices with a grinning imp in a business suit. Nearby, a pegasus slid a stack of bits into the hooves of a shady-looking hellhound, whispering something Twilight didn't want to hear. Ponies were hiring killers in broad daylight.

She felt a deep, suffocating tightness in her chest. A pressure building, twisting like a blade.

This isn't Equestria anymore…She gritted her teeth, wings trembling at her sides. This can't be the future Celestia wanted! This can't be what Luna fought to protect! This can't be—A scream. Twilight's head snapped toward a nearby alley. A stallion was pleading, his hooves raised in defense as a towering succubus loomed over him, holding a dagger to his throat. Ponies on the sidewalk glanced over. But no one stopped. No one even cared. Twilight couldn't take it anymore. Her horn flared. The succubus barely had time to react before she was yanked backward, slammed against the alley wall, and bound in Twilight's magic. "WHAT THE FU—" "Enough!" Twilight's voice rang out sharper than steel, her entire body trembling with rage. "This isn't how Equestria should be! We were supposed to be better than this!" The stallion gasped, scrambling away as Twilight held the demon in place. And then—Laughter. Not from the succubus. From the ponies around her. A sarcastic, slow clap rang out from across the street. "Ohhh wow, everypony, look! The PRINCESS is giving us a speech! Ohhhh, how very INSPIRING!" Twilight's blood ran cold. On the sidewalk, a tall, lanky figure leaned against a flickering neon sign. A moth-like demon, his fur a soft pink and his eyes glowing bright pink.

Overlord Valentino. "Ohh, sweetheart," Valentino purred, stepping toward her, his golden rings glinting in the streetlights. "You're cute when you think you still got power. But lemme ask you somethin'…" He leaned in, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Where the hell do you think you are?" Twilight's jaw clenched. Valentino grinned wider. "Ain't no sunshine-and-rainbows kingdom anymore, babe. This?" He gestured to the streets, to the dealings, the assassins, the demons blending seamlessly into pony society. "This is the new world. And lemme tell ya—nopony wants to go back."

Valentino sighed, stretching his arms lazily. "Now, normally? I'd be real nice about this. Tell ya to go home. Maybe even buy ya a drink, get ya to loosen up a little—" His grin turned sharp.

"But boss man?" He tapped his temple. "He's gettin' reeeal tired of you sticking your little pony nose where it don't belong." Twilight's stomach dropped. She didn't need to ask who he meant.

Lucifer. Valentino's eye then twitched. "So lemme be clear, sweetheart." His voice dropped lower, silkier, more venomous. "This? This little act of yours? The whole 'resistance' schtick?*" He leaned so close, Twilight could smell expensive cigarettes on his breath. "It. Ends. Now." Twilight's hooves trembled. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scream. She wanted to burn this entire corrupt city to the ground. But instead? She saw the VIP guards across the street, watching closely. She saw ponies in the crowd, whispering, waiting. She felt the noose tightening around her. She wasn't a princess anymore. Not here. Not in this world. Valentino smirked, satisfied.

"That's what I thought." He patted her cheek condescendingly before stepping back, stretching his arms with a yawn. "See ya 'round, sweetheart. Enjoy what's left of your freedom."

And with that? He disappeared out of the alleyway. Twilight stood frozen, her entire body shaking. No one approached her. No one asked if she was okay. The city just kept moving.

Like nothing had even happened.

6.

But it hadn't stopped with the Imps. It hadn't stopped with the Hellhounds, the Overlords, or even the sinners who slithered their way into Equestrian society. No, the final deathblow to whatever remained of Equestria's old ways came with the arrival of royalty. Not pony royalty.

But demonic royalty. The Goetia. And with them, the last vestiges of Harmony were buried in a grave twice as deep. The first to arrive had been Paimon, the elder King of the Goetia House, along with his son, Stolas—both drawn into Equestria from the very same rift that had torn the world apart. While Lucifer Morningstar had claimed absolute rule, the Goetia saw something else in this world. Opportunity. The nobles of Canterlot had been shattered, their wealth redistributed to demons and sinners who pledged loyalty to Lucifer's government. With them gone? A power vacuum had formed. And the Goetia filled it. They didn't settle for petty crime. They didn't run strip clubs, gambling rings, or assassinations. No. The Goetia took the highest seats that Equestria's elite had once held. They became the aristocracy. And as a result?

The lines between Equestrian royalty and Hell's infernal bloodline vanished forever. With the monarchy dismantled, pony nobility had been left scrambling, desperate for status and power. They had once been loyal to Celestia and Luna. Now? They bowed to Goetic demons with rings of Hell carved into their very names. Countless ponies flocked to their courts, desperate to stay relevant. Some pledged allegiance to Paimon. Others sought favors from Stolas. And even more fell under the influence of demons like Andrealphus, who—despite his distaste for the mortal world—had no qualms about twisting pony nobility into his personal playthings. Soon, the entire system was unrecognizable. Laws were written in demonic script. Equestrian resources were tied to Hellish contracts. Even the Canterlot Archives were no longer a place of knowledge. Instead, they became repositories of forbidden Grimoires, studied by scholars who swore loyalty to Hell's highborn. And of course, Twilight watched it all unfold. She watched pony nobles kneel before Stolas, eager for his secrets of the stars. She watched Andrealphus toy with Equestria's elite, bending them into submission with whispers of power and influence. She watched Octavia, Stolas's daughter, treated like a princess in Canterlot, ponies catering to her every whim out of fear for what her father could do to them. And worst of all? She watched pony mages turn their backs on Equestrian magic, replacing it with infernal knowledge that rewrote the very fabric of their existence. It made her sick. Equestria had been dying since the day Lucifer stepped through the rift. But now? It was fully rotting from the inside out.

And one fateful day, Twilight was forced to stand before the Goetia Court. She had no choice. Lucifer's government demanded her presence. And so, she walked into the new royal chambers—once Celestia's throne room, now defiled by its new owners. Goetic banners hung where the Sun and Moon once stood. A new council sat in Celestia's place. Among them?

Stolas, draped in royal attire, addressing pony officials as though he had been born to rule them.

Andrealphus, smirking as he watched noble ponies beg for his favor.

Paimon, overseeing it all, an ancient being whose mere presence silenced the room.

Twilight's stomach twisted into knots. This was it. The final nail in Equestria's coffin. There was no more monarchy. No more friendship. No more harmony. There was only Hell's nobility, governing what little remained. She stood before them, feeling smaller than she ever had. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why did you take this from us?" Stolas tilted his head, his expression almost apologetic. "Take?" he echoed. "Oh, Twilight…" He gestured to the room, to the nobles who had embraced this new order. "We didn't take anything. Your ponies gave it to us." And for the first time…Twilight had no argument. Because deep down, she knew it was true. A slow, measured clap echoed through the grand hall. Twilight then turned her head sharply. At the far end of the chamber, lounging upon a lavish, ice-blue chaise, sat a tall, slender avian demon. His white feathers shimmered like frost, his icy blue robes trimmed in the finest silver. His piercing, calculating gaze locked onto Twilight with a cold amusement. Andrealphus.

Beside him, his sister, Stella, sat poised and pristine, her long, elegantly preened wings folded neatly at her sides. She smirked, sipping from a crystal goblet filled with some thick, crimson substance Twilight dared not name. "Oh, what a tragic little display this is," Andrealphus mused, his voice as smooth as chilled wine. "The last princess of Equestria, standing here in the court of her betters, still clinging to the delusion that her kingdom can be saved." Stella let out a mocking, airy laugh. "It's positively adorable, brother! Like a lost puppy wandering into the lion's den." Twilight narrowed her eyes. "Equestria isn't lost. Not yet." Stella arched a perfectly groomed brow. "Oh, dear…" She turned to Andrealphus. "She actually still believes that." "I suppose even the smartest of creatures are prone to foolish dreams," Andrealphus sighed, adjusting the elegant cufflinks on his sleeves. "Tell me, Princess," he leaned forward slightly, his cool gaze scrutinizing her, "do you think you stand a chance against us?" Twilight remained silent. "No army." Andrealphus ticked off a clawed finger. "No kingdom." Another finger. "No allies—" "She has her friends though," Stella interrupted, her tone dripping with exaggerated pity. "Oh, but wait—those are dwindling by the day, aren't they?" She smirked, swirling her drink. "One by one, ponies are either aligning with our dear President Lucifer, or they're disappearing into the shadows, lost in the streets of this glorious new world." Andrealphus exhaled a bored sigh. "I'm quite frankly amazed that you're still bothering, Princess Twilight. We gave your ponies a choice, and they made it quite clear who they preferred as rulers. And it wasn't you." Twilight's hooves dug into the marble floor. "That's a lie," she growled. "They were given no choice at all."

"Weren't they?" Stella tilted her head with faux innocence. "I recall the nobles being more than eager to pledge their loyalty to us. Faust, even your precious School of Friendship fell without much protest. If your own system was so beloved, why did it crumble so easily?" Twilight's heart pounded in her chest. The truth was a jagged knife in her gut. Her school. Her teachings. Her dream of uniting Equestria. It had all been swept away in a matter of months. "Face it, Twilight Sparkle," Andrealphus continued smoothly, standing from his seat, his elegant robes trailing behind him as he stepped closer. "You are a relic of a world that no longer exists. A lingering ember in a fire that has long since burned out."

"You should be grateful really," Stella added with a cruel smile. "At least Lucifer hasn't had you executed yet." Twilight's ears then flattened. Andrealphus lifted a single talon and traced a slow, deliberate circle in the air. In an instant, a shimmering mirror of ice materialized before Twilight. "Take a look, Princess," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Take one, long, final look at what you truly are." Twilight's breath hitched as she gazed into the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Her once pristine mane was ragged and unkempt. Her eyes, once filled with hopeful determination, were sunken and dim. Her regal stance? Gone. She looked… small. Weak. Forgotten. Andrealphus let out a mocking hum. "Sad, isn't it?" Stella leaned in with a smirk. "Go on, darling. Say it. Say the words you know are true." Twilight clenched her jaw. "Say it," Stella sang. "Say that Equestria is gone." Twilight's magic flared—the ice mirror shattered into shards that scattered across the floor. Andrealphus simply chuckled. "Oh, how predictable."

"Still so feisty," Stella sighed dramatically. "I wonder how long that will last?" Twilight turned on her hooves and marched toward the exit, her entire body shaking. Andrealphus called after her, "Do send my regards to your remaining little friends, won't you? Who knows—*" His smirk widened. "Maybe one day, they'll see reason and join us." Twilight didn't answer.

She didn't look back. She couldn't.

The screens flickered to life. Across Canterlot, Manehattan, Cloudsdale, and every corner of Equestria that still had access to electricity and radio signals, Vox's empire of media spread its latest narrative like a plague. Neon billboards, holographic projections, and even the once-sacred stained-glass windows of Canterlot Castle had been replaced with giant digital displays. And on every single screen…Twilight Sparkle's humiliation played on an endless loop. "And welcome back to Vox News, your number one source for truth and clarity in this new and improved Equestria! I'm your ever-dazzling host, Vox, bringing you the hottest takes and the coldest hard facts—"* The TV Demon himself grinned, his razor-sharp teeth flashing in a predatory smirk. His massive screen-shaped head glitched and flickered, distorting between different images of Twilight's downfall. Beside him, a holographic Velvette giggled, twirling an umbrella in her grasp. "Ohhh boy, do we have a treat for you ponies today! A truly tragic tale of a fallen princess—" "—a princess who thought she still mattered." Vox finished with a chuckle, his static-filled voice laced with mock sympathy. The screen cut to the footage. There she was. Princess Twilight Sparkle. Standing in the Grand Court of Canterlot, surrounded by the Goetia, her expression a perfect storm of shame, anger, and despair. The clip zoomed in, catching the moment Andrealphus conjured the mirror. The audience got a full view of Twilight's horrified expression as she gazed into her own disheveled reflection. Then came Stella's smirk. And then—the final blow. "Say it, darling. Say that Equestria is gone." The screen froze. Twilight's silent refusal hung in the air. And then? Laughter. Mocking, distorted laughter from Vox as the broadcast glitched and warped, adding exaggerated sound effects to Twilight's expressions. One moment, her ears twitched? BOING! Her eyes darted around? HONK! Her magic flared? ALERT! ALERT! WARNING: PRINCESS MALFUNCTIONING! Vox wiped a fake tear from his glowing red eye. "Ohh, my circuits can barely handle this! Look at her, Velvette! Look at this pitiful little mare still clinging to delusions of grandeur!" Velvette pouted theatrically. "You gotta admire the dedication though, Voxxy! Still pretending like she has a shot. It's kinda cute! Like a puppy trying to fight a hellhound." The screen cut to an edited image—a tiny, cartoonish Twilight Sparkle barking angrily at a towering Lucifer Morningstar, who simply patted her on the head. The audience ate it up. Across the nation, ponies watched and absorbed the message:

Twilight Sparkle was a joke.

The Goetia were her betters.

Lucifer was their true ruler.

And anyone who still believed in Twilight? Was just as pathetic as she was. The broadcast spread like wildfire. In bars, ponies laughed drunkenly, raising their glasses in mock toasts to "Princess Has-Been." In homes, families watched in silence, too afraid to voice their thoughts. In Canterlot's slums, former scholars and revolutionaries grimly lowered their heads, realizing just how far the world had fallen. And in a small, dimly lit apartment, a certain purple alicorn sat before a flickering TV screen, her wings limp at her sides. Her own humiliation played before her over and over again. She had tried to keep her head high as she left that court. She had told herself that she still had a fight left in her. But now? As she stared at Vox's manufactured reality, warping the truth until it became an unshakable narrative…For the first time in her life…Princess Twilight Sparkle felt like she had already lost.

7.

The old Apple family barn had once been a place of warmth. A place of friendship, laughter, and love. Now? It was a sanctuary. A hideout. A fragile reminder of what Equestria used to be. A single lantern flickered in the center of the room, casting long, distorted shadows over the Mane Six as they sat in a tense circle. No one spoke at first. It had been weeks since they had all been together like this. Since Equestria fell. Since they became outcasts in their own sat with her wings curled tightly around herself, silent, staring at the floor. The broadcast of her humiliation still looped in her mind, Vox's laughter echoing in her ears. "Take a look, Princess. Take one, long, final look at what you truly are." Twilight's hooves dug into the wooden floor. She couldn't erase it. The others weren't faring much better. Fluttershy had been eerily quiet, her usual soft-spoken warmth replaced with a haunted, distant look. Pinkie Pie's curls had deflated slightly, her usual bounce nowhere to be seen. She wasn't even trying to crack a joke. Applejack, despite trying to remain the pillar of strength, had dark circles under her eyes—her hat pulled lower than usual, as if trying to shield herself from a world she no longer recognized. And Rarity…Rarity was shaking. Her usual grace and composure were shattered, her eyes bloodshot from rage and exhaustion. And she was furious. "Velvette." She spat the name like venom, her entire body trembling as she gritted her teeth. "That—wretched, two-faced, simpering excuse for a lady—I hope she rots in Tartarus for what she did to me and Sweetie Belle!" Applejack flinched at the pure hatred in Rarity's voice. "That monster threw us onto the streets!" Rarity continued, her hooves slamming against the wooden floor. "Kicked us out of my own boutique like we were nothing! NOTHING! Then she just waltzed inside like it was hers, humming some idiotic tune as she rummaged through my designs—as if she even had the taste to appreciate my work!"

Rarity clawed at her own mane with her hooves, her breathing ragged. "She—she smiled, Applejack! She smiled and told me my services were no longer required!" The room was deathly silent. Rarity squeezed her eyes shut, her breath hitching. "I have spent years building my reputation. My craft. My legacy. And now—now it's just… gone. Like it never even mattered." Her voice cracked. "They took everything from me." Twilight swallowed hard, gripping her own foreleg as she spoke. "They took everything from all of us." Her voice was barely above a whisper. The others looked at her, finally noticing how defeated she sounded. "I saw myself today," Twilight admitted, staring blankly at the floor. "Not in a mirror. In a recording. Vox's broadcast. I saw… what they've turned me into." Fluttershy bit her lip. "Twilight—" "They made me into a joke." Twilight's voice trembled. "And the worst part? Ponies are believing it. They're laughing. They're mocking me. They—" She sucked in a sharp breath, shutting her eyes. "They're starting to forget that I ever mattered at all." Pinkie's ears flattened. "That's not true, Twilight…" "Isn't it?" Twilight's eyes burned as she finally looked up. "Be honest. Do you really think anypony is going to stand up for me? For us?" The silence was suffocating. Because none of them could answer. Because they all knew the truth. Ponies weren't standing up.

Ponies were falling in line. Applejack finally exhaled, breaking the silence. "Ah can't blame 'em." She tugged her hat off, running a hoof through her mane. "Ponies got families to protect. Livelihoods to keep. Even if they don't like this new rule, what can they do? Get arrested? Get… worse?" Twilight clenched her jaw. "So we're supposed to just accept this?" Applejack didn't answer. Because she didn't know how to. Fluttershy suddenly spoke up, her voice shaky but firm. "I saw a mare get taken today." The others turned to her. "She was just… standing there," Fluttershy murmured. "Just speaking her mind. And the guards dragged her away like she was nothing." She hugged herself. "I wanted to help, but… but I knew I couldn't. If I tried, I—" Her breath hitched. "I would've been next." Pinkie Pie looked down, biting her lip. "It's like… everypony's afraid to even breathe wrong now." Twilight felt her chest tighten. This wasn't just about her failure anymore. This was Equestria's failure...

The barn's silence felt heavy for a moment, suffocating. Then slow, deliberate applause echoed from the darkest corner of the barn. Twilight's wings snapped open, and the rest of the Mane Six whirled around, their eyes darting towards the shadows behind the hay bales. And from that inky abyss, a figure emerged. Alastor. The Radio Demon. His toothy grin stretched far too wide, his crimson eyes glowed like burning coals, his gentleman boots clicked against the wooden floor as he stepped forward, his movements eerily puppet-like. His voice crackled through the air, distorted—almost musical. "Oh my, oh my! What a truly delicious display of dismay we have here!" He chuckled, twirling his radio cane as he took in their horrified expressions. "A broken kingdom! A fallen princess! And friends, oh-so-hopelessly grasping at the embers of their little dreams!~" Twilight's horn then ignited, her wings flaring as she instinctively stepped in front of her friends. "What are you doing here, Alastor?" Alastor tilted his head, as if genuinely amused by the question. "Why, to congratulate you, of course!" He took a theatrical bow. "On your magnificent failure, dear Princess!" Twilight's magical horn flared brighter. "If you're here to gloat, then leave!" Rarity's breath was ragged, her mind still swimming with rage from her encounter with Velvette. "H-He's one of them, Twilight! A filthy—wretched—monster! He's probably here to rub it in our faces, just like the rest of those—those demons!" Alastor gasped. A sharp, exaggerated inhale as he placed a hand against his chest. "Oh dear, oh dear! You wound me, darling! Whatever happened to good old-fashioned hospitality?" He let out a booming laugh, one that made their fur bristle.

Applejack snorted, standing beside Twilight. "We ain't in the mood for yer nonsense. If ya got somethin' to say, say it. If not, git." Alastor stopped laughing. Just like that, the atmosphere shifted. The shadows seemed to stretch, the warm glow of the lantern flickering violently as Alastor's grin turned… sharper. Darker. "Very well, my dear country gal." Then, in an instant, he was right in front of Twilight. His unblinking, blood-red gaze bore into hers, his voice dropping into a low, electric and radio static hum. "Failure is a fascinating thing, don't you think, Princess? It builds character! It humbles! But most of all? It defines you." Twilight refused to step back. "I haven't failed yet." Alastor eerily tilted his head, causing it to snap. His grin widened. "Haven't you?" The screens in Canterlot, the mocking laughter of the public, the cold stares of ponies who once admired her—The memory stabbed into her like a knife. Alastor saw it. He saw everything. And he was relishing it. "Let's be honest, dear! You fought, you resisted, you clung to your precious little ideals—" he gestured wildly with his cane, "—and yet, here you are! Cowering in a barn, hiding like a rat while the world you loved has been devoured! Oh-hoho! Tell me, how does it feel, knowing that every desperate act of rebellion has only made you a bigger* joke?*" Twilight gritted her teeth, her wings twitching with rage. "I—"

But she hesitated. Because deep down, his words cut too deep. She did feel like a joke.

And he knew it. Alastor's deer-like ears perked up, drinking in her silence like it was the sweetest wine. "Ahhh, I do love a bit of hopeless reflection! But I digress, dear—" his voice suddenly became cheerful again, "I did not come here just to tease you! No, no, no! I came to offer you a choice!"

The Mane Six stiffened. Pinkie Pie narrowed her eyes. "We're not playing your games, Alastor!" Alastor's shadow flickered violently against the barn walls. "Ohhh, but you already are, my dear! You've been playing since the day that rift opened!" He let out another radio-static laugh. Then, his tone shifted into something… smoother. "Listen closely, Twilight. You're at a crossroads, whether you realize it or not. You can continue your pitiful attempts at resistance, watching as everything you love is picked apart and devoured—OR…" He leaned in closer, his voice a silken whisper. "You could do something interesting." Twilight's ears flicked. "…Interesting?"

Alastor's grin stretched even wider. "Yes, yes! Something bold! Something unexpected!" He twirled his cane. "If you want to defeat a kingdom of monsters… why not become one yourself?" The barn felt colder. The implications hung in the air like poison. Twilight's heart hammered. "…You're asking me to become like you?" Alastor let out a playful hum. "Ohhh, not exactly! I'm simply suggesting that you adapt. That you evolve. Because let's be honest, darling—" His eyes glowed brighter, "—what you've been doing? It's clearly not working!~" The mane six exchanged uneasy glances. Applejack stepped forward. "You're wastin' your breath, demon. Twilight ain't becoming nothin' like you." Alastor's eye twitched. For a brief second, the cheerfulness vanished. Then—"Ohhh Applejack, dear, dear, dear—" He chuckled, waving a hand. "Who said anything about becoming me? That would be terrible. No, no, no! I simply mean she should… how do you ponies put it? Fight fire with fire." Twilight's stomach twisted. "…What exactly are you suggesting?"

Alastor's grin stretched wider. His shadows loomed over them as he let out a final, distorted chuckle. "Ah, but that's the fun part, Princess! That's for you to decide." And in the next blink of an eye—He was gone. Leaving behind only his laughter and the unbearable weight of his words.

No one moved. No one spoke. Even Pinkie Pie—who could usually crack a joke in any situation—looked pale, her eyes locked on the spot where Alastor had stood. Twilight's hooves trembled, her mind reeling. "You could do something interesting." "If you want to defeat a kingdom of monsters… why not become one yourself?" The words burrowed into her skull like a parasite, twisting inside her like a dark, coiling vine. "Twilight?" Applejack's voice was uneasy, breaking the silence. Twilight didn't answer. She just stared at the ground, her breath shallow, her thoughts racing. The others shifted uncomfortably. "That was… that was terrifying," Fluttershy finally whispered, clutching her wings tightly around herself. "H-He shouldn't have been able to just—appear like that, right? This is Sweet Apple Acres! It should be safe!" Applejack exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Not anymore."

Rarity was still shaking, her fur bristling. "That ghastly, loathsome creature. The absolute nerve of him! Coming here, mocking us, talking like he knows anything about us! Honestly! Honestly!" She stomped her hoof, her voice shrill. "He actually had the audacity to suggest—" She stopped mid-sentence. Because Twilight still wasn't speaking. And that was worrying. Rarity took a cautious step forward. "Darling?"

Twilight's head snapped up. Rarity flinched. Because Twilight's expression was off. There was no rage. No sorrow. No fiery rebuttal about how they wouldn't listen to demons, how they wouldn't let them win. Instead—Twilight looked… haunted. Lost in a storm of thoughts none of them could see. That wasn't normal. That wasn't Twilight. "Twilight?" Applejack pressed, her eyes narrowing. Twilight blinked rapidly. "I—" She hesitated. "I just need to think."

"Think?" Rarity repeated, voice rising slightly. "Think about what, exactly?"

Twilight's wings twitched. "Nothing. I just—I need a moment." Her horn flickered, and in an instant—She teleported away. The others barely had time to react before she was gone, leaving behind only the sharp scent of displaced air and the weight of unspoken fears. A cold silence filled the barn. Rarity swallowed. "She's—she's not actually considering his words, is she?" Applejack didn't answer. Because the truth? She wasn't sure anymore.

Canterlot Castle—Twilight's Chamber. The once pristine and radiant bedroom of Equestria's Princess was now dimly lit, the curtains drawn shut to keep out the ever-present banners of Lucifer Morningstar's reign. Twilight stood by the mirror, staring at her own reflection. Alastor's voice still rang in her ears. "Failure defines you." -"What you've been doing? It's clearly not working."

Twilight gritted her teeth. She didn't want to believe him. She wanted to dismiss him as nothing more than another monster, another manipulator, another cog in Lucifer's twisted government. But…She couldn't ignore the truth. What they were doing wasn't working Equestria was losing. No—Equestria had already lost. And now, the only question left was…What was she willing to do to take it back?

8.

When the rift first tore open in the heart of Equestria's ancient archives, it had been a mistake. A cataclysm born from a reckless experiment—one meant to study the limits of interdimensional magic. But what had been a scientific breakthrough soon became a nightmare. Because something answered. And through that crimson tear in reality, the Seven Sins of Hell came forth. Not just imps. Not just hellhounds, sinners, or overlords. No. These were archdemons. Beings who had ruled their own dominions in Hell, each embodying a fundamental corruption of the soul. And when they set their sights upon Equestria…They conquered.

Lucifer Morningstar - The Sin of Pride (President of Equestria)

He was not just a product of the rift itself, the Morningstar of Hell had been its greatest benefactor. Through charm, cunning, and sheer dominance, he wrestled control of the mortal plane, toppling Celestia's rule and declaring himself President over all ponies and demons alike. Lucifer represented Pride in its most unshakable form—an absolute, unrelenting belief in his own supremacy. He erased history. He rewrote laws. He crushed rebellion before it could breathe. And worst of all? He did it all with a smile. "Democracy is such a beautiful thing! Just look at what it has allowed me to become!"

Asmodeus - The Sin of Lust (Entertainment & Vice Czar of Equestria)

The Lord of Lust wasted no time in making Equestria his playground.

Asmodeus embraced the world he had invaded, bringing entertainment, corruption, and indulgence in equal measure. Nightclubs, casinos, brothels—Canterlot became unrecognizable under his influence. Ponies who had once lived simple lives found themselves drawn into his web of desires, whether by pleasure or force. And those who resisted? Well. That's what Valentino and Vox were for. "Oh, don't be shy, little ponies! If you're gonna be ruled, you might as well enjoy it!"

Mammon - The Sin of Greed (Minister of Economy & Resources)

The King of Greed saw Equestria not as a kingdom, but as a gold mine waiting to be stripped. He seized control of Equestria's economy, privatizing what had once been free, taxing the poor into dust, and ensuring that wealth flowed only upward. Every bit, every resource, every inch of Equestria now belonged to him. "Oh, ya wanted to feed the poor? Bwahaha! That's adorable! But, uh—where's my cut, huh?!"

Beelzebub - The Sin of Gluttony (Agricultural & Resource Exploitation Czar)

The Queen of Gluttony turned Equestria's once-thriving lands into wastelands of overconsumption. Forests? Cut down. Oceans? Polluted. Crops? Engineered for excess, not for need. She gorged herself on whatever could be taken, ensuring that nothing was left untouched. Starvation skyrocketed. The rich feasted. The poor wasted away. "You ponies always dreamed of a land full of food and sweets, right? Well, here ya go! Enjoy it… while it lasts!"

Belphegor - The Sin of Sloth (Overseer of Equestrian Labor Camps & "Rehabilitation Centers")

Belphegor didn't care for conquest, wealth, or even control. What she wanted was stagnation.

A world where no one moved forward. And so, under her "guidance," Equestria's workforce was reduced to shuffling slaves. Ponies who refused to work for Mammon's businesses were sent away to rehabilitation centers—where they were conditioned to accept their new fate. Her influence spread like a sickness, making ponies too exhausted to fight. Too broken to resist. "Why struggle? Why fight? Just… give in. It's so much easier this way."

Satan - The Sin of Wrath (Commander of Equestria's Military Force)

While Lucifer sat upon the throne, it was Satan who ensured it stayed there. The Embodiment of Wrath commanded Hell's legions, turning Equestria's once noble military into a force of terror. Ponies who resisted were met with brutality. Villages were burned. Families were ripped apart. Even the wonderbolts had been turned into something monstrous—aerial enforcers who swooped down like hawks, striking fear into any who dared defy the new rule. And the worst part? He relished it. "Go ahead. Rebel. Try me. I dare you."

But not everypony was ready to kneel to these sins. Queen Novo had seen what happened to Equestria. And she knew what would come next. The moment Lucifer's legions stepped onto her shores, demanding allegiance, she chose war. The hippogriffs and seaponies had once survived the Storm King. They had once vanished beneath the waves, hiding until the day came to rise again. But this time? There was nowhere to hide. Instead, Mount Aris became a fortress, its cliffs lined with war machines salvaged from old battles. The tides became their weapons, as seapony warriors struck from below, dragging enemy ships into the abyss. For months, the Sin of *Wrath—Satan himself—*sent legions of flying demons and corrupted pegasi to break them. But the Tidebreakers, as they came to be known, held fast. For every warrior they lost, three demons drowned in the storming sea. Yet… they knew they couldn't last forever. The world had to unite. Or it would burn. "They think us cowards because we fled once. But this time, we do not run. This time, we drown the devils in their own blood." – Queen Novo

Some kingdoms were divided. Some stood defiant—unwilling to fall, unwilling to kneel.

Some were corrupted—their leaders and warriors lost to the temptations of Hell's influence. But one thing was certain. The Seven Sins had not conquered all. And as long as a single kingdom stood, as long as a single warrior still fought—the death of Equestria's soul was not absolute. The war was not over. Not yet.

...

...

...

The office of I.M.P had changed. What was once a small, scrappy assassination business operating in Hell had become something much more sinister in Equestria. Gone were the days of petty revenge killings ordered by disgruntled demons. Now, I.M.P was a cornerstone of the new world—a sanctioned force of Hell's regime. And its services? They were deadlier than ever.

The Client – Diamond Tiara

The door creaked open. A mare stepped inside, her hoofsteps slow, deliberate. The office was dimly lit, the neon-red glow from Vox's propaganda screens outside casting sickly shadows against the walls. Diamond Tiara was no longer a spoiled filly. She was older now—her once-pristine coat dulled by years of hardship, her elegant jewelry worn more as a statement of power than wealth. Her eyes, however, remained the same. Sharp. Cold. Calculating. Vain. And pompous. She wasn't just a business mare. She was a survivor. And tonight, she had come for blood. Blitzo, the infamous imp, leaned back in his chair, propping his hooves—no, feet—onto the desk with a cocky grin. "Well, well, well! If it ain't another rich bitch coming in for a little ol' favor! Let me guess—you want your ex dead? Some political rival? Maybe that asshole who cut you off in traffic?" He snickered. "C'mon, lady, give me somethin' interesting."

Diamond Tiara didn't laugh. She reached into her saddlebag, pulling out a stack of bits—a fortune's worth—and slammed it onto the desk. "I want Apple Bloom dead."

Silence. For a brief moment, even Blitzo was caught off guard. His smile faltered, his tail flicking with sudden intrigue. Moxxie, sitting across the room, looked up from his paperwork, eyes widening in alarm. "Wait, Apple Bloom? As in—Applejack's sister? The little farm—"

"She's not 'little' anymore." Diamond Tiara cut in, her voice cold. "And she's not innocent, either."

Blitzo's grin slowly returned, more wicked than before. "Ohhh, now this is some juicy shit. A little personal vendetta, huh? Mind spillin' the tea, sweetie?" Diamond Tiara's lips then curled in distaste, her hooves against the armrest of the chair. "She was my rival. She was my enemy. And now? Now she's a fucking problem." She leaned forward, eyes burning. "Apple Bloom leads a resistance cell. One of the biggest still left in Equestria. She's out there, hiding in the badlands, plotting Celestia-knows-what against the regime. And worse?" She practically spat the words. "She's making a difference."

Moxxie frowned. "So… let me get this straight. You want us to assassinate a rebel leader because what? She stole your lunch money as a filly?" Diamond Tiara's cold gaze turned to him. "No! I want her dead because she's a threat!''

She motioned to the stack of bits. "I know what she's doing. I know what she's planning. And if she succeeds, this whole 'new world order' collapses. I worked too hard to climb the ranks of this society—I am not going back to being nothing." Blitzo let out a low whistle, spinning a knife between his fingers. "Damn. Y'know, I almost respect the pettiness."

Then he leaned in, smirking. "Almost." He flicked the knife into the desk, embedding the blade deep into the wood. "Alright, lady, you got yourself a deal."

Loona, lounging nearby, raised a brow. "You sure this is worth the heat, boss? If we take out a high-profile rebel, there's gonna be some major blowback."

Blitzo snickered. "Oh, please. Like I give a shit. This is our business. We kill who we're paid to kill. And this?" He tapped the stack of bits. "This is a damn good payday."

He turned back to Diamond Tiara. "Consider Apple Bloom a walking corpse."

A small, satisfied smile finally crept onto Diamond Tiara's lips. "Good." She stood up, adjusting her expensive coat, before heading for the door. "I'll expect results soon."

Blitzo gave a mocking salute. ''Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. You'll get your pretty little corpse delivered fresh." As Diamond Tiara disappeared into the shadows of the city, Moxxie sighed, rubbing his temples. "Sir, this is a terrible idea..."

Blitzo just grinned wider."Oh, Mox, buddy, pal—it's a fuckin' amazing idea." And as he leaned back in his chair, tail flicking lazily, he chuckled to himself. Because if there was one thing Blitzo loved more than money— It was chaos.

(To be continued..)