The feral unicorn lay on the ground, neck straining to keep his head from falling, dried blood crusting his stubby horn. He’d been there hours, barely able to keep his head up. His legs were broken, useless, and with every heartbeat they throbbed agonizingly. His vision was blurred, partly from blood loss, partly from exhaustion, and mostly from tears.
The smarty who’d left him there had had more foresight than most, or perhaps was just willing to put more thought into cruelty than others. The unicorn had been left mere feet away from a pond, which sat tantalizingly close, an opportunity not to quench his thirst, but to end his suffering. But with his broken legs, he couldn’t even drag himself over to the water to drown.
Under his head lay the bodies of his mate and babies, crushed and mangled by the smarty’s two tuffies. Every time the unicorn’s head dipped from exhaustion, it rested on the bodies, and the reminder of their deaths jolted the unicorn once more into wakefulness and despair. The bodies even denied the unicorn an easy death by starvation, for the access to something in theory edible, but something his mind could not grasp eating, would make even starving himself a battle between will and instinct.
Slowly, the unicorn’s mind began to drift. Memories of better times, of his family and of the joys of being a father, beckoned him into a fantasy. And for a blissful moment he forgot where he was. Then his chin touched fluff and he was dragged back to the painful reality.
“Wan die. Wan die. Wan die. Wan die.” His low voice chanted unceasingly.
A shadow fell over the unicorn’s face, cutting off the light of the quickly-setting sun, prompting him to look upwards through tear-stained eyes. A figure stood there, flawless and angelic, but strangely it seemed more distorted by his tears than the surrounding trees. Still, he wasn’t going to throw this opportunity away.
“Pwease, nice wady. Fwuffy wan die. Wan be wif famiwy. Pwease gib fwuffy forebah-sweepies.”
The figure leaned over, eyes full of pity and compassion.
“What happened to you, little one? Why are you so full of pain?”
“Meanie hewd wan gib babbehs forebah-sweepies. Wan make speciaw-fwiend enfie mawe. Wan make fwuffy poopie fwuffy. Fwuffy gib smawty wowst seeing-pwace huwties, bu’ tuffies huwt fwuffy, kiww famiwy.”
“I see. Well, if you indeed want to die, I can help. But first, wouldn’t you like a name? No fluffy should die without a name.”
The unicorn wanted to scream, wanted her to just get it over with, but the ever-insidious programming took over.
“Fwuffy wan namsies”
“Then I shall call you Abbadon.”
“Abba…Abbadon wuv nyu namsies. Nice wady gib forebah-sweepies nao?”
The lady reached down and gently stroked his mane, her fingers bitingly cold, but somehow soothing.
“Do you want to die now? With those who hurt you running free? Don’t you want vengeance?”
Vengeance. Abbadon had never heard the word before, and it wasn’t one of the words programmed into the fluffy lexicon. Yet somehow, he knew what it meant. Suddenly, he wanted it more than anything else in the world.
“Abbadon wan vengeance. Abbadon wan kiww.”
“Well then, I’ll help you with that. But first, you need to sleep.”
With those words, the lady collapsed into a horrible, alien shape. Abbadon’s eyes burned, his mind revolted at the shape which seemed to defy space. Horrible, unnatural agony pulsed through him, his body becoming distorted, and he scree’d. Fortunately, the darkness of sleep soon took him.
…
The smarty of the herd was in an absolutely terrible mood. He seethed as waves of pain pulsed through his left eye, crusted closed by blood after the unicorn had gored it. He sat awake, unable to sleep from the pain. His herd also could not sleep, for fear of what he’d do if any of them fell asleep while he was unable.
Eventually, exhaustion overwhelmed the pain, and he began to drift closer to sleep. The clearing was illuminated by the full moon, but the light was still comfortingly dim. He dozed, forgetting his pain for a moment.
CRUNCH! The loud sound would have startled him from his sleep, if the searing pain through his back left leg hadn’t done it first. His one good eye snapped open as he cried out from the pain.
Standing over him was something he couldn’t understand, some monster that was worse than any he’d seen before. Seven long, spindly limbs ending in sharp points, two of which were driven through his tuffies’ heads and a third through his leg. Eyes that glowed with a sickening malice. But worst of all was the voice, the voice he recognized, the voice of the unicorn he’d left for dead.
“Nu…” he gasped, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“Abbadon…KIWW!”
The smarty wept, terror filling the small space that pain had left in his mind. He couldn’t understand, but he knew that he wasn’t going to survive this. So he wept, as the last thing he could do.
Soon, Abbadon dropped the still-breathing smarty, turning his attention away with the certainty that his tormentor was already doomed. The smarty couldn’t even scream and he lay there, ragged and flayed, his life spilling onto the dirt. Abbadon would have smiled if his new face allowed it. Now he could finally die.
A sudden thought struck him. A human, or even a normal fluffy, would have noticed that it felt jarringly external, as if something else was speaking in his mind. But Abbadon was too far gone, consumed by artificial stimulants and alien instinct. The rest of the herd stood by and did nothing. They are guilty as well.
Abbadon turned to the cowering remainder of the herd.
…
Blood soaked into the soil. Scraps of fluff and flesh hung from the trees, waving in the gentle morning breeze. Abbadon sat, staring blankly, waiting for death. After all, that’s what he’d been offered, after he got his vengeance. So why wasn’t he dead yet?
Other smarties, other herds, are just as bad, the alien thoughts suggested. Is my vengeance complete while they’re alive?
Abbadon stood, finally reaching understanding.
…
In a world a whisper’s breadth from ours, something rested, watching through Abbadon’s eyes. While it would have preferred to be on the Lower World in person, slaughtering the abominations and helping to bring order to the multiverse once more, the Lower World was too small to contain its full being. Each moment there was an eternity of agony. Sometimes, even monsters needed to learn to delegate.
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Offered himself on eternal vengence forever burn by hatred and anger…
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Always think about what you’re asking of horrible eldritch abominations.
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Yup it always never came out good.
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