Crimson mist spewed from violated, shredded entrails and the neverending roar of a seven-foot-long chainsaw choked out the wailing swan songs of the vilest demons to ever crawl from the depths of pony hell, and for a brief moment, the mighty hero known as Flare Blitzing was happy.

The fullered blade was seven feet and seven inches long, two feet wide, and a foot thick at its thickest points, the areas near the edges, before the weapon's metal thinned out and formed actual sharp edges. Tiny and hooked metal shark teeth, each coated in gleaming and blindingly bright holy golden light wreathed the weapon's edge. Where a normal weapon might have a small bladed bayonet or an under-barrel grenade launcher to add some extra kick to its potential damage, this weapon's 'Under-barrel Attachments' were two rocket launchers welded onto each of the oversized blade's sides, their triggers as non-existent as the shame its creator had when its steel handle was wreathed in magically grown and magically reinforced snakeskin and its trusty steel pommel was magically moulded into the shape of a three-dimensional infinity symbol, a band that curved in on itself twice like an eight.

The sheer amount of holy energy within the blade was enough to weaken even the strongest of demons and strike the fear of god into their hearts, and not just because they were massively weakened in strength, speed, durability, courage, intelligence, and every other aspect of their being when in its presence. And not just because the weapon's positive aura brought out the best in all living things who wished to do good, even its user, who was already too powerful for words. And not just because the weapon could heal the user, and might have even been able to heal the entire planet in a minute if it wasn't for the very concept of corruption and darkness itself keeping this world so dark, not even the weapon's current wielder could save it.

And speaking of the weapon's owner...

He lived for the sound of his blade's spinning teeth tearing away at flesh and bone and hellfire-blackened carapace, just as he lived for the thrill of a neverending fight against impossible odds.

For what else was life, if not an insult to death? Could anything mean being alive more than doing the deeds that made you enjoy life, while knowing what you did was good in the eyes of the lord?

Life was a constant battle against death, a defiant spit in the eye of despair, and all that other fucking deep shit Sunrise Stardust said in those radio broadcasts that still played on a loop, even now in the year 666,666, countless years after his life and every other life had been claimed by the fucking demon scourge.

The greatest voice in a hundred generations echoing eternally to haunt the immortal badass who would forever bear the weight of absolute loneliness in a world without life or love or any of the friends he'd fought beside, eternally dogged by unspeakable evil that sought to corrupt an incorruptible final hope...

Fucking S, that was so fucking deep!

Abominations surrounded him, abominations whose mere presence made reality weep with regret. The sight of one would turn a lesser man insane, but Flare Blitzing was too manly, too mighty, too powerful and handsome and spectacularly well-hung for such trivialities. Insane? More like in-bed with your mother!

Demons of shadow, demons of blood, viscous black liquid approximations of quadrupedal forms with burning crimson eyes, and viscous bloody red liquid approximations of quadrupedal forms with jet-black eyes, they came for him. From the cracks in the scarred, blasted earth, they rose up around him and lunged for him.

A sparkling blast of pure awesomeness emerged from his crotch to incinerate the demons on contact as he unleashed just a pico-percentage of a micro-percentage of his true power.

Or rather, he wished that could be the case. Truth be told, while he had the ability to channel and unleash magic through any part of himself and anything else he touched, he did not have the magical reserves to use the trick with his blade more than once every few minutes, and the trick with his better blade more than once every few hours. Not unless he wanted to exhaust himself and slow his attacks down, making it easier for a lucky hit from the demons to actually kill him.

But that was okay. It seemed his mighty eruption of energy had done the trick, eliminating the enemy and making depressingly little noticeable change to the eternally bleak landscape.

All seemed calm, all seemed clear.

His job seemed complete.

It seemed like it was time to move on.

But in this world, moving on meant doing the same shit over and over again and telling yourself it made a difference, despite all evidence to the contrary.

In this world, moving on meant moving on from the fact that you'd already done this hundreds of times, and it never got any easier, nor did it ever make any difference.

Moving on meant moving on from how impossible and pointless moving on seemed to be.

More demons clawed their way up out of the earth, seeping through the earth's pores like milk from a Platypus's ass flesh.

It was never over.

The well would never run dry.

The wounds these demons crawled from would never heal.

The blood of the dark world would never stop spilling over into his.

And his rage would never subside.

Fuck his magic cock, with the handle of his blade held between his teeth like an extra-long tongue, he was doing things the old-fashioned way!

Raising death high into the air, he swung his mighty weapon in a downward and diagonal strike to the right at demon before him. Atomically-sharp chainsaw teeth gleamed with tainted light reflected from cursed hellfire while they still could, flicking droplets of corruptive blood through the air before biting down into the tough and blasted-black carapace of demon skin, before sinking into their soft and tender inner flesh.

In a way, how bizarrely the bodies of demons worked managed to work as a strange metaphor for something, though Flare wasn't sure what. Tough on the outside, tough enough for them to laugh off bullets and take less damage from a missile laucher's deadly and highly explosive load than a normal creature's unprotected head would take from a thrown rock. And yet, so paradoxically soft and hard on the inside, their sturdy bones as enduring as the concept of evil itself while their flesh was easier to rend and tear and reshape than an average pile of dung.

And it was like a better metaphor, in Flare's opinion, how the endlessly spinning blades of his chainsaw could cut right through all of that. Because fuck these things!

Where blades met demon flesh, no resistance could be mounted. Swinging his holy and ungodly combination of chainsaw and rocket launcher through screaming, dissolving enemy before him was as easy as swinging it through air, and when his blade finished its diagonal slice, the gleaming magical energies of pure light hadn't finished boiling his first target alive while melting it into nothingness before he'd raised his blade a little and jumped to the side, piercing it right through the chest of another demon, between its forelegs and through its spine, emerging out the back of its ass. Screaming and shaking and crying and dying, the demon was skewered like a marshmallow impaled upon a sharp and pointed stick.

Flicking his head and opening his mighty jaw, he flicked his mighty blade into the air with the spin necessary to swing it and the decorative demon impaled on its length into the demon at his other side, his blade sinking through the demon as its body shoved the existing and melting demon further up his weapon's length, his blade sinking four inches into the ground beneath the demon body before it halted, unwilling to penetrate this desecrated ground further without its owner's permission.

Like biting a passing fly out of the air and crushing it between one's teeth, Flare Blitzen bit the handle of his blade and used his powerful tongue to push it around in his mouth, as though the frighteningly heavy weapon was a mere toothpick to him. He stuck his head forwards, pointing with his whole body like some sort of dog, and with his weapon between his teeth, he tilted his head to the right before pushing on the weapon's pommel with his tongue. His blade cut a long diagonal slash up through the creature, and he tilted his head to the left while swinging his weapon the other way, an X-shaped slash of glowing light burning at the foul beast before Flare spun around and kicked it with a single right back hoof, shoving it into a group of three demons, where it exploded with enough holy energy to take all three out.

But demons still surrounded Flare Blitzen, and more arrived to take the place of the fallen.

He ran to the nearest demon and along the way, held his sword behind him and slashed it through the ground. It kicked up a blast of dirt into the face of the demon before him, giving Flare an opportunity to get closer to the monster, twist his own head and body around, and to do the same attack once again. The mighty slash sent the monster flying high into the air, and Flare Blitzen spat the hilt of his blade into his tail before leaping higher, spinning in the air and letting his tail trail out behind him, its tip wrapped around the hilt of the blade he slashed the demon with once, twice, three times, before he flexed his ass muscles hard enough to make his tail stab his sword right into the demon's chest, before swinging that blade up hard enough to flick the pierced and impaled demon higher into the air.

Violating the laws of physics like they were your mother last night, Flare Blitzen pushed on nothing but air with his hooves hard enough for the air resistance to give him a platform to jump off of. It was almost like swimming, only so much more efficient, for one stroke sent him over a storey into the air, where he ended up eye to eye with the demon before him.

They shared a stare-off in the air for a second that felt like an eternity. The demon's face was full of fury, and Flare Blitzen's face was full of super-sexy super-smug arrogant cockiness that totally wasn't annoying and incredibly kickable at all. The demon looked away in fear, and Flare swung his ass around to make his tail swing the flat side of his blade up at the demon, smacking him higher into the air, a height Flare Blitz leapt to once more with naught but the strength of his legs. After all, those legs had to be strong to carry around the weight of his massive balls all day.

When the two foes met, high in the air, with naught to propel him but his own force of will and mighty muscles, Flare stuck his tail out, sticking his blade out further, and horizontally rotated his body in the air hard enough to achieve lift, hovering in the air. His blade slashed the demon's body again and again, the same flesh regrowing and healing up only to be slashed through once more, and though each cut was perfectly vertical, each hit kept the foe at the same height in the air. It was as if gravity itself was a mare he'd fucked so many times, she'd let him do anything to her as long as the ordeal ended in a happy ending.

Though other demons were left on the ground to angrily glare at him, they did not matter right now. Everypony knew demons only died when you cut them if you really, really wanted them to die as you slided them up. And that meant he could keep this up all day.

All day.

All fucking day.

Slice, slice, slice, the blade of Flare Blitzen showed no sign of slowing, just as the demon showed no sign of dying.

Two more seconds, four more seconds, six more seconds, eight more seconds, ten more goddamn motherfucking seconds...

The rhythmic sound of blade hacking right through carapace, flesh and bone was as steady as the wingbeat of an airborne Pegasus, only far louder and bloodier. The demons below the one on the receiving end of Flare Blitzen's eternal airborne assault were treated to a crimson shower of falling demon blood, a neverending rain of corrosive acidic hell-liquid more akin to distilled spite than an actual liquid. If a demon, the very embodiment of corruption, could be corrupted any further, the shower of blood would have done so. Fortunately for Flare Blitzen, the strength of a demon was static, for while darkness could be perverted to the side of heroism and used as a force of good, torturing information out of far worse evildoers, the force of blackness known as black magic was not interested in making anything better, only in making them worse. Demons could never grow in strength. Everypony on the side of good knew that. They had the power they had taken from the deserving souls they devoured, and they had the power unjustly granted to them by their birth and the stronger demons they served in exchange for deadly and powerful magical artefacts or the stolen souls of fallen heroes or sexual favours, and that was it.

Slice, slice, slice, it went on and on, a maddeningly eternal sound and what felt like an eternity of suffering for the foul demon suffering at the edge of Flare Blitzen's blade.

Ten seconds had passed.

Twenty seconds had passed.

Thirty seconds had passed.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes had passed, and the demons on the ground beneath Flare Blitzen were left sitting around in absolute boredom, passing the time using blood-splattered white cards filled summoned straight from the depths of hell, cursed cards bearing eldritch and moving horrifying symbols to play gambling games so foul, your eyes would bleed if you looked at them, your mind would rot from within if you knew how to play them, and your heart would give out before melting into corrosive cancer-causing hell liquid if you even thought about playing them.

Flare Blitzen decided he'd fucked gravity in the ass for long enough, so he decided to give her a happy ending and his constant rotation, hovering in the air.

One demon below looked up, and gasped, before screaming and patting his demonic friends, pointing up into the sky. They, too, looked up to see that Flare Blitzen had stopped. They cheered, they danced, they celebrated, some even started to grind their carapace-covered crotches on each other's carapace-covered asses.

Flare Blitzen looked down, and then looked right at you. He smirked in your face, before starting to spin in the opposite direction, his tail trailing out behind him, its hairs wrapped around the hilt of his mighty demon-slaying blade. One spin, two spins, he started to accelerate. Three spins, four spins, he kept on spinning and kept on slashing at the demon before him with each spin.

The demons below him screamed with rage and fury, some furiously throwing down their cursed cards at the ground, where they melted into the ground and became useless and unreachable. Some demons began to screech unspeakable curses and insults at the hovering hero whose existence spited them almost as much as it filled them with spite. And the demons imitating sexual activities began to violently tear into and slash apart their partners in mime, decapitating them and slashing their chest armour open and digging into their guts like they were defiling fertile ground.

Fertile ground... As if such a thing could exist in this ruined world of ruins.

A look of intense wistfulness formed on his face as he thought of the world and how fucked up it had become. He looked so fucking handsome, even as he wildly span around in the air for five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds...

Eventually, Flare Blitzen decided he'd fucked gravity in the ass for long enough, so he decided to give her a happy ending and his constant rotation, hovering in the air. The foe before him continued to spin, helpless and mentally broken. Flare Blitzen flipped forward in the air once, twice, three times, before flipping forward a fourth, fifth, and sixth time.

And then, he flipped forward a seventh time with his tail extended, sticking out the hilt of the blade he brought crashing down on the head of the demon.

With that, gravity decided to charge the two fliers compound interest, committing the bastard sin of usury and dragging both beings directly down, having them accelerate even as the air friction caused them to ignite.

The two flaming meteors dropped like stones upon the ground, and a massive crimson shockwave of flame and energy burst out from the point of impact, wiping away every demon around the two as the demon beneath Flare's blade shattered apart like a glass model filled with sticky goo and models of twisted and eldritch organs. Flare allowed the recoil of the mighty slash to bounce his sword into the air, and he held it aloft with his tail, waiting for the next wave of enemies to show up.

And show up they did, when another wave of demons clawed their way up from semi-permeable crimson hell portals.

Flare let his blade fall to the ground, and it unleashed an energy wave of energy and flames, just like the one it had just unleashed. For the almighty blade couldn't just resist and negate all but the most beyond-all-reason and beyond-all-comprehension of reality-altering effects, create its own reality-altering effects of greater strength, evolve as needed and as desired, learn new things as needed and as desired, evolve the user as needed and as desired, teach the wielder new things as needed and as desired, selectively choose who is worthy to wield its great and almighty holy power and who is not, negate anything the user wished, negate anything the user needed to negate, limitlessly negate any undesired negation or infinite or near-infinite looping, see all possible futures, and make any who wielded it an instant master at using it in combat(Though not necessarily at using its myriadon assortment of abilities), the blade could also learn things. And just as the blade could learn blade techniques and other attacks, magical and nonmagical, from its foes and user, and transfer that knowledge and mastery of said learned things straight into the user's mind...

The blade could learn Consequences. Shockwaves. Explosions. Even entire events. It could even see and learn events that had not yet happened, or even could not now or ever happen, and replicate those events here and now through sheer force of the blade's own will. Past, present, future. All was seen by this blade beyond time, space, and reality itself.

Truly, this blade was mightier than the very concept of mightiness itself. For where one thing might be mighty and another thing might be mightier, and where one might be able to consider, or even imagine something mightier than the concept of mightiness, the thought of something mightier than this Absolutely Perfect Weapon was as impossible as trying to imagine a door that was simultaneously open, shut, and not a door.

All Flare Blitzen had to do was swing this blade and fight and kill and master its might, and never stop killing, no matter how pointless trying to revel in the combat and bloodshed to pretend this didn't feel like a neverending slog felt. He would never give these demons the satisfaction of seeing him get tired, or break a sweat. Never! For one day, he would become sufficiently skilled with it to rewrite the destruction of his world!

And with that dream in his mind, no amount of tedious demon-slaying he tried desperately to spice up with his idea of style could ever wear down his soul!

More demons showed up, clawing their way up from the pits of hell.

And then more demons showed up, clawing their way up from the pits of hell.

And then even fucking more motherfucking demons clawed their way up from the pits of hell, showing up with sickeningly perverse smiles.

More and more demons clawed their way up from the pits of hell, joining ranks with their twisted and vile brothers in arms against all that was left of all that was good or just in this world.

Another one rose up, and another, and another. Why weren't these demons crawling up in orderly waves, being sure to wait their turn and not join the fray until enough of their demonic brothers had been killed in it? Why were they suddenly violating the unspoken rules they'd followed for years? Why were they violating those rules now?

Why was he alone, exhausted, and surrounded by foes that needed to be killed?

Why was he alone?

This shit...

This was all shit.

Life was shit.

His life had become shit.

This shit...

This shit was taking too long.

This shit was taking too long, so it was time for his special move!

Flare Blitzen moved his sword handle around in his mouth using his tongue, and when the weapon stuck horizontally out of the sides of his mouth, pushing his cheeks back like a bone in the mouth of a dog, he broke out into a run. All he had to do to defeat the red and black and black and red demons surrounding him was touch them with his blade, yet he ran with so much speed put so much force into his run, his blade could slash right through the ruins left behind by what were once old-world buildings. Like rows of paper traffic cones crushed by the world's fastest steamroller, each enemy in his path was brought to the light and dissolved before it into absolute nothingness.

He'd cleared himself some breathing room, but as he kept running and clearing the ground behind and beside him, he noticed that further back, more demons were rising up to challenge him, taking land he'd taken less than a second ago. Where his blade was, so too was the slaughter of demons. But where his blade wasn't, new demons arrived.

He needed to swing his blade faster.

In the name of fuck, he needed to kill faster!

He leapt into the air, and vanished. From the hyperdimensional conceptual plane of awesomeness itself, ten astral and barely-existential copies of Flare Blitzen flickered into existence before disappearing once more, appearing all over the place without any rhyme or reason, besides the fact that they only appeared in a location where they could stab a Demon with their blades, and whenever they did appear, they were doing exactly that.

When every demon was slain and more walked into this dimension through imperceptible tears in the multidimensional fabric of reality, all but one were met with the whirring blade of a chainsaw in their face.

The one left alive met with something else in his face: Hooves. Flare Blitz's hooves, over and over again, as he defied the laws of physics to send his entire form into his foe rear hooves-first, body straightened out like a spear, the collision sending Flare Blitz bouncing away, only for him to suddenly brake and remain still in the air for the tiniest fraction of a second before rocketing into that foe's face once more, pounding that demon's face in like a hammer pounding steel.

Again and again, he rocketed into his demonic foe and crushed its face in just a little bit more, as though he was a wooden Action Figure held aloft by a Unicorn foal's magic, one getting smashed hooves-first into the face of another helpless and immobile action figure.

The demon screamed, but an arcane force held it still and refused to allow it to do anything, even as its brain was turned to pulp.

Slam, slam, slam...

Demons emerged from the depths of hell to surround the pair, and that invisible, unknowable, arcane force struck again. They could do nothing but watch as the laws of physics were violated as roughly as your mother was last night.

When the Demon was nothing more than a crumpled pile of flesh and meat, Flare Blitzen stuck his sword into the mound of suffering, ending its suffering.

Well, ending its suffering on this plane. Everyone knew demons and evil folk killed by heroes went to the Other Hell, the one dedicated to punishing evil doers for eternity. Well, when Flare Blitzen's incredible sword wasn't sending its victims to its own, even worse, even more eternal hell where what would take an eternity anywhere else would take a second here, dilating time and packing even more eternal suffering into its own eternity, an eternity beyond eternities.

He had an idea.

Forget his blade!

He didn't spit it out, he simply kept the blade in his mouth and did nothing with it for a bit.

He focused hard, and a paradoxically bright black light ignited at the tip of his horn, before spiralling down its bony grooves and coating the whole protrusion with its eldritch glow.

He thought about guns really fucking hard, and he didn't need to have any advanced knowledge on how magic or guns worked to make what was about to happen! Not here, not now, not when he was so awesome, the rules and limitations of magic just didn't apply to him!

He didn't have to think about whatever bullshit combination of elements it was that made the conceptual 'Gun' element, if he just believed in himself and guns hard enough!

The blackened blaze of his horn formed shapes, shapes that thinned out and grew out, shapes that reshaped themselves into...

Guns.

Lots of guns.

Six-shooter Revolvers, Fourty-five caliber pistols, assault rifles chambered in Good Ol' 3-0-8, rocket launchers, high-caliber sniper rifles, rotating miniguns, anti-tank rifles, the fucking round old-timey cannons you'd see firing cannonballs from ships, all the guns he could think of!

He screamed, showing his true rage at last, and the guns grew wild.

Barrels widened, bullets grew, spiderwebs of obsidian gemstone grew along the weapons like the cracked marks on fractured glass, as larger chunks of malformed obsidian grew out of and upon the weapons like tumors. Crimson flames burned within each firearm, flames that heated the metal red, as the dull and otherworldly echoes of roaring atomic generators blasted from their muzzles, muzzles that bulged outward into canine muzzles with sharp, triangular teeth of pure diamond. The barrels of revolvers grew out on shotguns and sniper rifles and rocket launchers, and magazines full of bullets grew out like teeth on the base of weapons that didn't take clips. Like the extra barrels on double-barrelled shotguns, new barrels formed on both sides of each weapon muzzle, turning every gun triple-barrelled, especially the miniguns, which grew out two new sets of spinning barrels beside the central one, before two more sets of barrels formed above and below the central one, and then as each barrel spun up, the very collections of spinning barrels themselves started to rotate before each minigun's handle. Normal guns were formed besides their modified counterparts, and morphed to match these magically-evolved designs. Scratchy and unpolished letters of white formed on the weapons as if spray-painted on, emerging into existence along the metal to write insults and slurs and every profanity under the sun, all aimed at the demons around him. "Go fuck yourself" and "Fuck you" adorned bullet clips and wooden stocks that morphed into diamond, and an arrow pointed at the tip of each weapon's muzzle tip with "Your face goes here" written at each arrow's headless end. "Fuck Zebras", "Fuck Demons", "Fuck the Old World" and "Fuck the New World", these wrote themselves upon the guns his magic formed wherever they could, wherever the text would not overlap with other text. This text couldn't be called original or creative, but could anypony in his position, channelling such a raw hatred through his soul after so many battles in this endless war, do any better?

The number of weapons around him doubled, tripled, quadrupled, and the demons around him backed away in fear.

"And this is to go even further beyond!" He cried out, before breathing deeply as every revolver barrel started to spin up like a minigun, and every minigun's spinning accelerated more and more with each passing second, as if the additional spinning would deal more damage.

Physics might have said that pointless spinning didn't make guns stronger, but physics could go and fuck itself for all Flare Blitzen cared. He believed in the power of spinning, and that made his magic stronger. That was one magic law he actually knew, and actually respected.

He didn't scream, he didn't yell, he roared like a lion as the countless weapons matched him and let loose their hellish payloads of oversized bullets with insults engraved upon them, magical guns spitting constant streams of magical bullets that exploded on impact and killed not only through speed, penetration, and force, but also through magical damage to their existential essences, something deeper and more necessary to one's continued life than any soul these inherently soulless beings lacked.

Oversized bullets, oversized exploding bullets, tore at the demon hordes as Flare Blitzen screamed into the sky and mentally ordered them to spread out and fire in every direction, shredding through old demons and the new ones as they emerged from the ground.

Some guns turned down to fire directly at the ground, leaving behind bright white and slowly-fading shockwaves visible to the naked eye, shockwaves packed with all the punch of these bullets, and some guns aimed up to fire their bullets into the air, where they spiralled around and circled the sky above him like vultures hungrily eyeing their next meal.

He carelessly burned through his magic as quickly as he could, his mind awash in the euphoria of unleashed power.

His onslaught against the ground demons came from and his wild firing into the air continued until the sky was painted black with a storm of bullets ready to kill, and sweat tried to build in his body and seep out of his pores, but he clenched his skin and refused to allow a single drop to escape.

Pain. Pain escaped, piercing his mind instead.

He was running out of magic. He had to stop. Fuck, this burning in his horn and this burning running down his spine and this burning feeling pounding away at his brain in time with his heartbeat told him he had to stop. The burning was getting worse, fuck, it was fucking getting worse-

But he couldn't let it look like he was stopping because he had to.

"I have to kill fast," He growled and spat, rage in every syllable. "And bullets are too slow!"

He stopped.

His horn stopped glowing, and when he exhaled, he tried his hardest to make it look like it was a cool and relaxed sigh of nonchalant boredom.

And it was okay.

He could afford to stop moving and stop killing for a while, because when the bullets flying at the ground and the demons that crawled out of it stopped, the bullets flying in the air turned straight down and flew down into the demons below, though without organization or order. Multiple bullets wasted themselves as they hit the same target, and some bullets even struck each other and exploded uselessly, a reflection of his battered and strained and disorganized mental state.

He felt that strange tingling in his brain and behind his eyes, that tingling that told him he'd burned the nerve endings inside his horn a little, stressing them just a bit too much, and he needed to wait for a while as they recovered and rebuilt themselves stronger than before, like a muscle repairing itself after an hour of intense exercise.

But where a muscle feeling the burn could still be forced to keep working, trying to push your magic past its limits was a recipe for killing yourself or worse. Even in a world that vaguely reminded him of a comic he used to love, even as everything about him reminded him of the hero of that story, he still knew that even he, Flare Blitzen, couldn't violate that magical law.

If he was going to keep killing demons, he had to do it with his sword for a while, not his magic.

But for now, at least for a few seconds, he could rest.

Impalement.

A piercing blade of raw shadow leapt up from the ground beneath Flare Blitzen to pierce his heart, but he ignored it and walked forwards, letting it slice right through his body until he'd gotten off it completely. The holy magic of his mighty blade healed him, just as it dissolved the demonic tendril that had touched him.

Flare Blitzen looked around, and saw that almost fucking instantaneously, the area around him had been filled with demons.

Once more, he was surrounded.

Could he never rest?

No.

No, he knew the answer to that.

He knew the answer to that.

And it was no.

He could never rest, not until the world was saved.

And if he was ever going to save the world, the real world, the world that mattered to him – not this shitty world, and not the slightly less shitty world he grew up in, but the world he dreamed about when he was young, the world he read stories about – he couldn't simply wait around and let his sword's holy light slay the fuck out of enemies for him. No, he had to swing this weapon of his and kill these enemies himself.

He had to grow his skills, improve his mastery, unlock his potential, and prove himself worthy to the very concept of holiness, purity, and conceptual good itself.

He had to prove himself worthy of its power. He had to prove himself worthy of his might.

And if the state of this world and how his life had gone was any indication, he had to prove himself worthy to be in the very presence of any tiny speck of good left in this disgusting, miserable, forsaken universe before any of it would show itself to him.

And so, in the name of all that was good and just, in the name of all that was righteous and holy, and in the name of all that was right and pure, he had to kill again.

And never stop killing.

"I'll try spinning!" He declared.

Balancing on his forelegs, his head down and eyes looking up, his legs raised and his ass in the air, he showed the demons his best Skunk impression.

And then, his tail gripping the hilt of his blade, he flexed his ass-muscles again and again, swinging his hips. His tail span and span like the blades of a ceiling fan, and with a smile on his face, he happily watched as his spinning tail turned his mighty blade into a mightier circle of holy and righteous death that incinerated every demon stupid enough to come close, burning and melting every demon with the power of spinning and concentrated holiness, turning each dying demon into a bloating and popping balloon of boiling demon blood infused with aberrant and invasive purity, chain reactions turning demon after demon into detonating anti-demon bomb tainted with light.

Or... Would that be un-tainted with light?

Sanctified. It would be sanctified with light.

For even as he walked on two hooves to take his deadly spinning ass-tornado of swirling hair and righteous bladed death on the move, balancing precariously and awkwardly as he forced his quadrupedal body to do something that it was never meant to do, he could feel the holy light radiating off every melting demon corpse, the light purifying the blood and purging corruption from the inherently and conceptually eternally corrupt before explosions or his blade could flick it anywhere near him.

New demons arrived to replace the old, rendering the carnage meaningless, pure shock and spectacle for the sake of nothing but a futile hope that the death might eventually lead somewhere meaningful, and they were cut down by the blade he swung with his tail and ass. When he got tired of spinning, he switched tactics and started to flick his tail like a whip, the blade of the hilt his long-ass ass-hair was wrapped around proving to be mightier than any scorpion barb or spiked flail-like whip tip.

A new type of demon emerged from the ground, an eyeless obsidian sculpture of an equine skull with impossibly black and paradoxically pure darkness inside, a skull propped up by six long and flexible black pony hooves coated in black pony fur, arranged like the legs of a spider.

Holy fucking shit!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

Was that...

Was that a new type of demon?

Flare Blitzen was so shocked, he nearly lost his balance and fell on his face, a mistake that could prove fatal, for without that blade, he was as mortal as any other pony the new world's demons had already taken from him.

A new type of demon, just for him...

It was a small little type of fucker, and kind of creepy with its big, hollow black eye sockets. He felt like thinking some overdramatic feelings-based shit like 'It still felt, somehow, as if those eyes were still staring at him, despite the bizarre lack of eyes'.

But no, Flare didn't feel like these new demons were staring at him. And he didn't feel like these demons were staring at anything.

He felt like these...

These...

Skull-Spiders?

Skullders!

He felt like these Skullders...

Needed to see death, and tell him Flare Blitzen sent them!

Flare wasn't willing to wait around and give these demons a chance to show off how quickly they could move, or how they moved, or how they dodged attacks, or how they performed attacks. The second he saw them, his tail whipped out like a lash before swinging to the side, cleaving through as many Skullder demons as possible as quickly as possible.

Some Skullders started to twitch and vibrate on the spot, slightly bouncing up and down faster and faster on their six legs as flame-like darkness started to burn and rise up out of their eye sockets, and Flare Blitzen did what came naturally, killing them first before dark flames could blast out of their eye sockets or suddenly-opening mouths or whatever the fuck these little shits were here to do.

A bored corner of his mind decided to think up a rhyme, a funny little way to put his new plan for prioritizing Skullder targets.

If it vibrated...

Then by light it would be cremated.

It rhymed, so you knew it had to be right.

It rhymed, so you knew it had to be true.

It rhymed, so you knew it had to be good advice.

Nobody ever lied when they were rhyming.

Or rather, nobody had ever lied while rhyming to him.

More Skullders rose up to replace their fallen bretheren, the more ordinary – At least, to him – demons he'd fought minutes ago showing up beside the Skullders to reinforce the new demonic assault of new demons that wanted to assault him, but were killed before they could do anything, because they were just that good.

The Skullders didn't melt and burn before bursting outward in a shower of boiling and sanctified demon goo, they simply vanished into clouds of acrid demon smoke when struck hard enough to kill them.

Killing, killing, more killing, and...

There was a lull in the action. A break.

A precious, precious break.

You could tell it was a break because the shattered physical remnants of demon corpses were sent up from the ground in place of new demons, as if this was supposed to be some strange form of mocking taunt from the Demon Realm. Sure enough and soon enough, sure as sure was sure, these corpses would be pulled back to the underworld once the break was over.

He allowed himself to fall back down onto all fours, and he smiled. He allowed his tail to relax, he allowed his blade to smack its flat side against the ground while reflexively being careful not to loosen his tail's grip around the handle too much or stop touching it completely, and he admired the destruction around him, the sight of all these shredded and melted demons filling his tired heart with sweet, cathartic joy. "Spinning! Now that's a neat trick!" He laughed.

An all-encompassing and almighty voice filled his mind, echoing eternally and yet done in an instant, filled with infinite majesty and wisdom that was infinitely beyond infinite, everywhere and nowhere, the beginning and end, the ultimate and beyond. And yet, this absolute voice was not a crushing presence, but an uplifting one, a perfect and pure one, a reassuring and life-affirming one. The voice's volume and sheer motherfucking width did not stop him from hearing anything or thinking anything in response, if he chose to respond, because the voice didn't want to.

"You have learned a new technique with this blade," The blade's voice admiringly announced within Flare Blitzen's head.

"Can I save my world yet?" He asked the blade, like a pre-war child asking if they could order Takeaway food tonight.

"No," The blade spoke.

"Fuck," He groaned. "At this rate, hell will run out of demons before I unlock enough of your power."

"My power is absolute. It is your ability to use my power without dying that you are unlocking over the course of this quest."

"Once more, I ask: Can I use your power to save this world and die trying?"

"Once more, I answer: No. Like all truly omnipotent dieties beyond the concept of omnipotence, I am forbidden from interfering in the matters of mortals outside of the realms allotted to me by the Beyomnipotent Noninterference Act of the Svelth Age. But of course, as I repeat again to you and any other deity listening in: If I were to be 'Trapped' within this blade, and forced to obey whoever its creator deemed worthy to wield it? My powers could be used freely by my captor."

"A truly omnipotent diety wouldn't have to follow any rules, he could just change them whenever he wanted."

"No. A truly omnipotent diety who disagrees with another would be able to war with that deity for eternity, each one able to undo whatever the other did, until one ended the fight by negating the existence or free will of the other. A deity who slays another is cruel, but a deity who bends another deity's will to serve him would be unstoppable. For not even a thousand omnipotent beings working in unison could match the power of the 'Double-Layered Infinity' brought to bear by the power of a deity who has enslaved, or stolen the powers of, another. According to the law, in the event that two deities of that level disagree on a course of action, both deities would be free to negotiate a set of rules and then begin a game. As much as one half of the multiverse can be set against the other, killing infinitillions and sending countless more on dark paths for the sake of a petty grudge, the multiversal order thrown aside as war reigns once more, all for the sake of a meaningless game where the winner gets one dark and dangerous prize: One rule-free action as an omnipotent deity beyond omnipotence... The winner would be able to do anything, without starting any new wars. None would be allowed to object to his or her decision without violating the law. The deity would even be able to compromise another deity's free will and force him to accept whatever that diety wishes to do, and it would be as if there were no rules from then on, for that deity would be above all others forced to obey the rules, and above the rules themselves. If there were no rules, one omnipotent diety would be free to subvert and override the wills of others, using increasing levels of omnipotence to bring increasing numbers of omnipotent beings under its control. And just like that, we would return to the dark, dark days when there was only one truly Omnipotent being in the MegaOmniMultiHyperverse, and all others were bound by his absolute will, his twisted, twisted sense of humor, and his false notions of free will that 'Could never' be allowed to be compromised by the interference or powers of any deity, unless he or the destiny that obeyed his desires compromised that will for them. No matter the reason, and no matter the cause... If I ever broke this law, every omnipotent, omniscient, and beyond-omnipotent diety out there would know. If I was to ever break this law, every omnipotent, omniscient, and beyond-omnipotent diety out there would already know, and would have erased me first before I could do such a thing, and edited the minds of all others to forget me. It would be as though I never existed at all, meaning that I would have never broken the law at all, and all could return to normal. Or, they would have already broken this law first to sieze power, fearing that if they did not become the new ultimate deity and enslave all others, someone else would, and they would be slaves once more. The dark days of All Under One would be upon us once more, and I could not guarantee that the deity to rule all would be kinder than the last."

"Oh, but it would be perfectly fine for me to use this sword to enslave other dieties and force them to use their powers to make me the ultimate-est deity ever, right?"

"No. That is the one thing you cannot use my power to do. ...Unless, of course, that deity is already acting against you. As an unofficial emissary of my power, deemed as such by your worthiness to carry my blade, to act against you while you wield that blade would be to act against me. And to act against another omnipotent being beyond omnipotence is forbidden, as the Beyomnipotent Noninterference Act of the Svelth Age dictates. Unless that deity has already challenged you to a game, one you were foolish enough to accept."

"Fuck, I hope the current ruler of hell doesn't count as one of those, and this war he declared on my world doesn't count as a game."

"No. War is only a game if both sides agree that it is. And while you may have fun along the way, as long as you do not call this a game, while believing in your heart that this is a game, all will be fine."

Flare Blitzen thought of something. "Hey, can't a rule-abiding omnipotent deity make new rules that say he doesn't have to follow any rules?"

"Not if there is a rule against it. And there is."

Flare Blitzen thought of something else. "What if I use your power to-"

"Your mastery of my power."

Why was this dumb sword-god so anal about using the right terminology? "What if I use my mastery of your power to make you make other blades, and other people to wield you and help me out in this fight?" Flare asked.

"You are not yet strong enough to do that."

Flare Blitzen was uncharacteristically smart today, because he had thought of something else once more. "Hey, what if I willingly died trying to use this blade's power, and your power, to save this world? Someone else brought back to life could then use you."

"No. At your current level of mastery, you would die as soon as I attempted such a thing. And as I do not have truly free will under the laws of deities, I would not be able to carry on your request in your stead, for choosing to continue to obey the wishes of someone is still making a choice."

"But it's fine for you to choose to obey my wishes when I'm holding you."

"When I'm holding you, I am not choosing to do anything. You command as much of my power as is safe for you. I shall simply watch as I, if anyone asks, amuse myself by watching what a mortal does with a growing, yet always finite, flow of power from an infinite source."

"Isn't choosing to do nothing still technically making a cho-"

"Be silent, your break shall end soon."

The omniscient and omnipotent god beyond omnipotence trapped within this blade and forced to power it was right.

Demons rose up from the ground. New ones.

Quadrupedal skeletons with brown-furred flesh covering the rear half, but from where each one's necks should be, the diseased and wounded upper body of a living bear corpse coated in patchy brown fur and rotten flesh could be seen, and their heads were black-eyed ravens with blood-red feathers. Their thick, powerful, and abnormally long arms tipped with claws of solidified and sharpened blood hung loosely at their sides, hands stepping their way along the ground as they walked, like the arms of a gorilla.

"Another new type of demon?" Flare Blitz asked eagerly, perking up. "Things are getting crazy!"

Melee-oriented foes, that's what these big fuckers had to be. Big bodies, big arms, big heads, these guys had to slash their arms about, maybe kick a bit, or try to charge into him with their multi-thousand-pound bodies backing up their charges. Big fuckers like these were always fun to chop up, and dodging their clumsy swings was usually easier done than said, because it was quicker for him to dodge these attacks than it was to tell someone he'd dodged them.

But then, he noticed something else on each one's body.

Something else that pressed down on the ground below each one and rising up, like a leg.

A... Fifth leg.

He looked at the lower body of each creature, and he noticed a new kind of demon weapon, one he'd never seen on demons before.

It looked like his choice to nickname them 'Big fuckers' while he tried to think of a cleverer name, cooler-sounding name, combined word, or pun had been more appropriate than he'd thought.

On each big fucker, he saw a weapon thicker in girth than his entire body. He saw grey, overly-long, thankfully-intact, and thankfully rot-free snake-like tubes of flexible flesh that alternated between pressing down onto the ground before rising back up like a leg and pressing down again, flesh tubes tipped with grey snake heads, though with splotchy pink marks on their faces. Unique marks, for no two lower flesh arms had matching markings. From their long, hooked fangs, acidic thick ropes of sticky white poison squirted, and... Oh fuck, were these cocks? Was he actually looking at elephant-inspired demon cocks with snake heads that squirted jizz?

Well, if he hadn't decided he hated life already, he definitely would have decided to hate life now.

Fucking hell... Demon cocks! Demon cocks.

He'd seen cock demons before, sure. He'd seen big floating things that looked like cocks, he'd seen cocks on chariots pulled by disgustingly vibrantly-coloured hentai tentacles, he'd seen big flesh blobs that looked like asses and shat lava at their foes, he'd seen cocks with eyes on the balls and extra eyes on the heads, bodies constricted by thorny vines that lashed out at others and tried to grab them and crush them to death, he'd even seen normal-looking (Well, for demons) demons that made cock-shaped fireballs and fire swords before throwing them around.

And he preferred to not think about those demons as he chopped them up and hoped he'd get to fight something more respectable, like a giant demon spider, or a lava skeleton, or a living ragged white cloak carrying a big pair of scissors with its corners, or a giant pus-dripping diseased slug, or a floating head that mocked him, or a scarred and deformed mockery of one of his fallen friends, or a big reptile-skinned bull-horned fucker with stilt-like bony spikes on the end of his abnormally long limbs.

But this... Somehow, the sight of a demonic creature with its cock out in front of him was so, so much more disgusting to him than the sight of a demon that looked like a cock.

Even the sight of that literal cock-and-ball-torture demon whose thorny vine-like whips were eternally wrapped around itself, meaning it could only constrict others when it also constricted itself, was a less hideous thing to look at than this.

Great, now he had the memories of the time he fought that thing, and could only get close enough to the cock part to slash it apart once he'd gotten its vines to lash out at, and automatically grab, other demons. Then, Flare could smack the demons around to tangle the thorns up further. That ordeal took more than half an hour, but he'd eventually gotten the demon's thorny vines tangled up to the point where it was trapped, helpless, and easily slashed apart into thousands of tiny chunks.

He was glad he'd unlocked this blade's ranged options since then.

"Fuck this," Flare Blitzen said, pointing his sword to the sky and commanding a column of righteous light-blessed thunder to roar down from the heavens and strike his blade, which split the lightning and reflected it around to every Big Fucker around him, electrocuting it, filling it with light, melting it, and destroying it.

More Big Fuckers rose up from the ground.

"Fuck that," Flare Blitzen declared. "I'm not dealing with this shit until they put their snake-cocks away and keep it sheathed like a good pony."

Wait, did they even have cock-sheaths? He didn't see any on those snake-cocked things.

Cocks without sheaths... Now that, that right there, that was a disgusting thought.

What, in the entire animal kingdom, didn't have a sheath?

It was like missing an eye, or a face.

That shit just wasn't right.

More Big Fuckers rose up from the ground, and with his blazing light, he slayed the fuck out of them, too.

"Hell will run out of phallic demons before I run out of hate!" Flare Blitzen roared.

Hell saw fit to test him on that, and for hours, each one feeling like a long and agonizing eternity, nothing rose up from the ground but demons that were shaped like cocks, demons that had things on them that looked like cocks, giant cocks dragged along the ground by tiny demons, giant demons with hilariously tiny cocks, demons that had animalistic heads and melee weapons and even large guns where their cocks should be, and other mockeries of the phallic form.

His battle against the Penis Legion ended when he was met with that fucking cock-and-ball-torture demon with the thorny vines once more. He was back, or another of his species was, and he was destroyed by Flare Blitzen's holy light, for the pissed-off horse was not willing to give this creature the satisfaction of throwing the vined thorns that restricted its body around.

To replace the fallen legions of phallic mockery, some Skullders rose up from the ground.

"Finally!" He laughed with relief, and covered it up by trying to look cool. "A real challenge for my blade! ...Except not really!"

Flames as black as evil itself coated the battlefield around them and ink-black tendrils of absolute death stretched out to shoot right at him, but he dodged, severing the writhing and grasping tendrils and tentacles of spreading flame with his blade before instantaneously unleashing a blast of blinding white light from his sword that absolutely erased that flame from existence on an existential, conceptual, physical, temporal, and absolute level.

Demons rose up to replace the flames, and Flare took that as a sign that the next wave was due.

Unfortunately for Flare Blitzen, things were about to change.

A deep voice rumbled from below the earth. "So, you wanted a challenge?"

There were many more demons left, but they turned tail and fled in terror, fearing the one who arrived almost as much as they feared the one slaying the never-loving fuck out of them. They fled, for while one would pursue them to the ends of the earth and wipe them out once their time had come, they had a chance at successfully fleeing from the new arrival. Their caution was for naught, as the mighty Gigafuck's jet-black flames of hatred known as Fuckfire incinerated the demons, before forming a circle of obsidian fuckfire around the hero, heating and melting the earth it encircled.

Why was it called a Gigafuck? Because he had named it the Gigafuck.

Why had he named it a Gigafuck? Because fuck this stupid fucking thing and fuck this gay earth, you needed levity to come from somewhere if you wanted to stay sane.

That was how levity worked, right? That was how comedy worked, right? You just said fuck a lot. And sometimes other fuck-words, like piss, shit, damn, and cock.

And it was still jarring to hear hilarious fuck-words like shit and piss and damn and cock when you were in a world full of demons, a world under constant siege by demons, a world that could be filled with cock-themed and cock-baring and cock-bearing demons at any moment, right?

He remembered, at some point, thinking all of those fuck-words were funny.

And he refused to admit that he'd tired of the 'Hilarity' of profanity.

He refused to admit that its novelty had worn off.

Just as he refused to admit that he'd tired of the 'Hilarity' of life, and he refused to admit that its novelty had worn off.

On a round sphere of grey flesh, its face was a twisted mass of spiralling wrinkles as coated with hundreds of crimson eyeballs as the face of a whore would be coated in globs of semen, every eye centered around a single vertical mouth filled with row after row of serrated obsidian teeth. Every few seconds, half of its massive eyes transformed into glassy orb prisons in which trapped and tortures pony on fire screamed, and though they slammed their hooves on the walls of their cages as hard as they could, they had no effect and soon enough, the eyes in which the creature's victims were visible would return to normal and different collections of its eyes would reveal different trapped souls, some of which remained helpless and still within their round cages. Its neck extended down into the body of a cobra over a hundred feet in length, its body spiralling and coiling before ending in a massive and wide flat-top horsecock that dripped boiling acid from its tip. Halfway down its body, skeletal limbs ripped their way out of its flesh, tipped with clawed Griffon-like talons and coated in a spectral, translucent blue flame that flickered to life around the bones.

"You," It hissed with a viciously old and predictably echoed voice, though unharmoniously harmonized with a thousand terrified souls forced to fearfully scream whatever the creature said in unison with it. "You are going to die here, Flare Blitzing!"

"Well, well, well!" Flare Blitzing growled coolly, before blowing an errant luscious lock of golden hair from his vagina-waterfall-triggeringly handsome face. "Or should I say hell hell hell? Hell Lord Tartarust must be real fucking scared of me, if he's willing to send a Gigafuck after me!"

"Fool," The Gigafuck whispered, "He fears not, for he is fear!"

"Bitch," Flare Blitzing shot right back, "He fears getting fucked, for I am fuck!"

She glared at him, unimpressed. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"Hey, they can't all be winners," He shrugged. "Like your boss! Who's a fucking loser! Your copyright-friendly demon boss is a fucking loser! What kind of little bitch gets designed by an omnipotent god to be perfect and boring, then gets jealous and butthurt anyway when his God spends all his time watching the imperfect and far more interesting ponies fuck around? What kind of bitch-ass fucker dedicates his eternal life and supposed omnipotent power to trying to fuck things up for ponykind to get back at a God that should just slap Tartarust's shit back in already?"

"YOU DARE?!" It screamed.

"I bare!" He yelled, "My dick at you, so you can your boss can SUCK IT!"

She screamed and rose seven newly-forming long-clawed noodle arms to the sky before slamming them down onto Sunrise.

"Fuck you," He said as he blocked the Gigafuck's attack as though it was completely fucking nothing.

And that was the wrong thing to say, for it sent the colossal beast into a wild frenzy, hacking and slashing and tearing and ripping, its head a blur as afterimages of its arms filled the air and struck the hero.

Or was it? Each attack was instantaneously blocked with minimal effort, naught but the tip of his tail needed to block each clawed swipe as he tauntingly shook his own ass at the beast.

"FUCK YOOOOOOOUUUUUUU!" It screamed.

"Fuck you," He spat right back.

"FUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!" It spewed as a waterfall of vomit gushed forth from its mouth, choking out its cry in a sickening gurgle that hit the ground with a constant wet and thick splatter.

"This is my life now, and I fucking hate it," Flare Blitzen admitted.

The Gigafuck coughed and hacked up bloody vomit, before turning to Flare Blitzen with a smile when it could breathe once more.

"Oh?" It asked.

All of a sudden, Flare Blitzing's personality changed completely. Where before, cocky smiles and his attempts to sound cool made up his entire existence, now little was left besides rage. "Fuck you, you fucking fuckers! You little shits are going to fucking pay for taking all of my fucking friends away from me! Fuck you, fuck fate, fuck this stingy piece of shit sword that could save my friends but won't, fuck gods, fuck demons, and fuck you!"

He threw his holy weapon, a combination of rocket launcher and chainsaw, out to the side and held it there to reveal an even larger holy weapon that emerged from between his hind legs, and it grew- No, it broke apart, fleshy chunks concealing mechanical arms that detached from one another and grew in length to reveal mechanical innards. Crimson lightning spread out to cover his mechanical cock, as a ball of bloody red thunder grew at the tip of his robopenis.

"I have a Cocket Launcher..." He growled, and he reared up, twirling and gyrating his hips, swinging his dick in long, slow rotations as sparking thunder built up around it, trailing behind his mighty helicoptering length.

The crimson ball of fuck energy grew in size and power.

He finished the helicoptering motion and swung his cock to the side before halting his hips, letting his cock-weapon swing to the side before whipping straight ahead, right at the monster.

"So FUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

With a mighty thrust, his ball of fuck energy was launched like a rocket at his enemy.

The explosion of his cocket launcher's fuck-rocket exploded with enough force to rip apart this dimension and all others, ending reality for good.

Because fuck absolutely everything.