Beach Bum Anon Chapter 8: Walk with Gods

>This must be the stuff mars dust is made out of
>Ice cold sand that is jagged like shards of glass
>Shards that seem to not cut, only hurt to touch
>Or maybe they did, and you just can't tell for lack of light
>The abyss is still as cold and lightless as ever
>Your entire ass feels covered in pins and needles, resting here on this lonely glass-world
>Its probably trying to prod you along, the bastard
>The planet bastard, the Bastard Planet
>That is a fitting name, the Bastard Planet
>Cold and dry and sharp, the biggest bastard you've ever seen
>The longest bastard you've ever walked
>Well Bastard Planet, the endless bastard, I've decided not to play this bastard game
>I've seen what you can throw at me
>I fight monsters
>I can fight you, mister planet Bastard
>Planet Bastard, the planet of Bastards, you are a bastard made of trillions of tiny spiky bastards
>You aren't going to walk another billion miles across a billion tiny bastards to please this bastard
>You scoop up the little grains and pile them up into a mound, unsure of what to do to displease this and these bastards
>It tried to eat you when you shouted at it
>It tried to eat you when you changed directions
>Perhaps it will try to eat you if you stay in one spot and curse the bastard in your mind
>Perhaps all you need to do is not engage and you can win whatever standoff is going on here

>Your little pile has grown into a small wall
>And on the sides of that wall you added more wall
>And you kept adding more and more wall until you were completely surrounded, and named your new fortification Fort Bastard
>And now you fought your battle of will in this small foxhole
>Or, at least, it should be a foxhole
>You can't really tell on account of the blinding darkness
>Oh well
>It's a little funny, how tranquil this place is
>Odd how a freezing wasteland of eternal moonless night turns out to be calmer than a horrible terrible freakshow and murder monster forest
>Except not really
>Not at all, in fact

>An interesting thought presents itself
>Perhaps you have merely had your eyes closed the entire time?
>Unlikely
>You try and force your lids open
>Nothing happens
>Of course, you have no way of telling whether that's because it's really really dark or because you can't open your eyelids
>So you satisfy your question the only way you can come up with
>By jamming your hoof into your eyeball
>You yelp in pain as the giant toenail scrapes against your delicate cornea
>Progress!
>So, it must be that either there is a film over your eyeball or it is really, really dark
>The question, however, needs no further thought
>For in some unknowable distance across Planet Bastard's endless desert, you spot the faintest hint of a dark blue glow

>Your nostrils feel like they've been flushed with rubbing alcohol
>A deep burning sensation has dug itself deep into your sinuses
>You wake up sneezing and teary
>After a short fit the sneezing all but disappears, leaving you to stare up at the ceiling with a small trail of snot oozing down your cheek
>Oh fuck, that's not a ceiling
>"Such delicate facilities for such a strong mind."
>You're in a teepee
>A big fucking teepee
>Laying on a small cot
>"Perhaps sensitivity to the master makes for a fragile body?"
>There is a slight haze in the tent, a familiar smoke that gives it a purplish hue
>"Trixie is proud to host such a receptive child in her modest camp."
>You shoot up at the name, suddenly all too aware of your dangerous company
>You twist your head to see Trixie's face mere inches away from yours
>"Although, maybe it is the fragility of body *and* mind which make you such an ideal colt."
>You try to squirm away, but her blue glow locks you in place
>"Tell me, Speedy, when did you first feel the touch of our master?"
>You swallow hard and stare into her eyes
>Stern, cold, and yet fierce with conviction
>You desperately stammer out a response, all of your forest macho drained in the wake of her commanding stare
"W-what?"
>She smiles at you, easing her force grip on you as if to calm your nerves
>"The man you saw, in your dreams. The same man you saw when we first spoke."
>Oh boy
>She's fucking goofy
>She has no idea what's going on
>Her hoof points out at the incense burning next to her throne, but in place of the symmetrical alignment of bowls was now a sizeable mass of smoking cones
>"Their fumes allow us to speak with the true master of this land, the only protector of the gifted and outcast.
>"You communed with him. When I first spoke to you, and again just now.
>"Tell Trixie, what did he look like?"
>Oh great
>Protector of the outcast, spoken to through magic candles, corpse immolation
>They are a bunch of Satanists
>All your fear washes away in an instant, annoyance quick to take its place
>The Conan O'Briens of the occult world
>You've dealt with their kind before, they aren't a big deal
>Beyond all the appearances and super hip millenial 'rituals'
>Beyond the top hats and exposed eczema sores
>They're just Satanists
>Holy shit
>They're Satanists!
>You clench the figure at your neck
"Wait, dude! This amulet look familiar to you? Any signifigance?"
>"None whatsoever."
>She answers without pause
>Well there goes that gamble
>You sigh and slump down in the cot
"The usual, I guess. Big horns, cloven hoof, fur 'n shit. Big wings, snake tail, the works."
>Of course, your dreams were about a terrible hopeless void, but she doesn't need to know that
>"What did you give to him, boy?"
"My heart, my soul, my undying loyalty and my very being."
>Yadda yadda yadda
>You've been around the block with these contrarian assholes
>Say the right things and they'll share their sheep liver soup and dusty ass weed
>Of course, typically they'd pack up shop the second someone gets gutted outside their weekend getaway
>And you can't recall any with the gall to actually spring someone like that Monster Mush broad did
>Must be some kind of local cultural thing
>She regards you for a moment, then grins
>"Trixie knew you were a lovely specimen the moment she first heard of you."
"Heard of me?"
>"Assaulting hospital staff and leading the friendship princess on a frantic chase, all in her own demense...
>"Deliciously humiliating. Of course, nopony else seems to care, but that is strictly because of the papers under the crown's horns.
>"If only the general public knew how foolish and falliable their leaders are, we wouldn't need to exist!"
>Her words are bitter and annoyed, and she waves her hoof dismissively in the air
"I thought you guys were just a woodfolk commune."
>"We are many things, that included! And don't go pretending you aren't one of us, now."
>She pats your head and her voice takes on a motherly tone
>"You are home, and there is no need to worry about all that."
>If her cult wasn't so laughable that would definitely be creepy

>"I don't think I've the heart to kill you, so you'll just have to sit tight for a while."
>That was the last thing he said to you before you were tossed onto some kind of cloud
>A few hours ago your sight finally returned, allowing you to make out the mass of goose down you were floating on
>The sky is a twisting kaleikodezcope, bathing you in lights of ever changing color
>Your entire body felt... off
>Lighter, more floaty
>There was an indescriptionable lag in your actions, like your brain and your body were just a little too far away
>You took to the air, to drop down from whatever impossible height you had reached
>But no matter how far you fell, you seemed to be even over the sun's reach
>Perhaps this is the area beyond the sky
>A strange nighmare realm of magical energy and no constants
>In your descent, you had passed dozens of other floating islands
>Sometimes they contained little houses, and upon entry you were thrown into impossible rooms
>Grand chambers with nonsensical stairways
>Black voids which pulled despirately at you, threatening to cast you out into some great unknown
>Floors of ponies from mundane office buildings to ancient war rooms filled with statues so lifelike it was as if their depicted characters were frozen in stone
>That was something a cockatrice could do, probably
>At random intervals you would catch some snippet of conversation
>Mundane, mostly
>Sometimes in different languages
>You couldn't tell where they were coming from
>Sometimes in your mind you would see such odd things
>An old man climbing a small flight of stairs
>Some teen deep frying flower stems
>A mare's smiling face before a wide expanse of sky
>The final room you found was some kind of field
>The grass was long and brown
>The sun beat you down like a druken factory worker
>But here there was some sense of normality
>You didn't feel that weightlessness, that sluggishocity of the bottomless sky
>Every now and then a cool breeze would drip the collected sweat off your brow and down the side of your cheek
>For hours you wandered, and the sun seemed to sway lazily in a pendulium, never quite dropping below the horizon
>Once you got hungry and tasted the grass; it was dry and somewhat salty, but filling
>Pretty soon you reached the edge of the world
>Quite literally
>The ground dropped off into more of the bright sky above, and the ground barely held together
>When you reached it you punged your hoof straight through the earth and almost fell off the side
>For some reason you wondered if you could fly back up once gravity had pulled you away
>"This is what the Zebrahari looks like now."
>You twist around to see Discord poking out of the grass several feet to your side
>He wears a weary face and stares far off the edge, into the sky below
"Heathen! Tell me where I am, and what neferimus deeds you have been up to!"
>You snarl angrily, charging up a spell to vaporize
>It only just now occurs to you that the magical restraint is gone
>"You're in my world. The interstice, as you once called it. More specifically, you are in a door reflecting the Zebrahari."
>Both names sound vaguely familiar, and yet seem unreal
>No matter, all the world belongs to Celestia and so his claim is impossible
>"As for what I've been up to..."
>He thinks for a moment, turns away from you
>"Chasing dreams, I suppose."
>Very well
>If he can't provide you with a straight answer willingly, perhaps you will have to subdue and interrogate
>You release your charge, a white hot beam of pure energy that scorches the grass around it, aimed at the heathen's gut
>The beam disappears, and Discord is unharmed
>He turns to you, rolls his eyes