I… I’m afraid it’s /pauses, breath ragged and heavy/ It’s coming down to the last few days here.

I don’t have time to help anyone out or get anything done. My daughter… my daughter is taking care of me with the help of my wife and the rest of my herd. It’s probably going to be just… t-two or th-three more days until…

/pause. Coughing, followed by sniffing, as if he had been crying/

I’m sorry. This is the last journal entry I’m going to make. I don’t want anyone else crying over how crazy or insane I get. The hallucinations are maddening, and I haven’t slept in two solid weeks. There’s… there’s no time left. I just have to say this as one final word to you all before I go.

… I love you. And that’s all there is to it.

Goodbye, one last time my friends.

Sincerely, Goha, aka Black Scythe

So. Some shit happened two nights ago that I can’t tell anyone. No one’s going to read this journal entry anyways, since they won’t be able to access it until I die, so I guess it’s pretty safe to talk about it here (50/50 chance: pass).

I guess I just needed someone to vent to while I’m here alone.

Right. I was right- 100% right. Wajid and Karuba are back, and everyone should avoid them. Everyone- even myself. But I was a dumbfuck and went outside.

Two nights ago I was paranoid as all hell. Going completely fucking bonkers. I locked myself up in the basement of my house and stared at the walls for five hours straight until I told myself I needed to get out, that it’d clear my head. The city’s usually pretty okay at night, so long as you’re not female, so I figured I’d be safe.

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

He came out of nowhere. That measly weasel of a bastard Karuba. He thinks he owns the fucking place… came right up to me and began to talk some shit about how I’d be assassinating the president. I laughed at him, but then he broke my fucking nose.

I- I fought. I struggled. Ripped his arm and melted his face clean off. But…

/ragged breathing, as if he was panicking/

He’s not human. He’s not human. 

He’s not human. 

I knew the vibes I got from him were evil, but I didn’t know he was a demon - or some spiritual shit. I don’t- he. He regenerated his arm and face back right before me. I ran. What else could I do? You can’t fight something like that! I killed him, but he didn’t die! So I ran.

Big mistake.

He caught me… pulled me back into the alleys. Beat me unconscious and then I assume planted my body just like he said he would so his soldier buddies could find it. Those assholes… they took my form and framed me! They framed my friends!

I hope they get what’s coming to them, because if I fucking die in this hospital, all hell is going to break loose when I come back as a ghost or some shit.

Gotta go now. Nurses are coming for the usual checkup.

To anyone who does read this: stay out of Karuba’s sight. He will destroy you.

-Goha

I don’t fucking know how, and I can’t fucking explain it, but somehow Wajid has caught wind of my scent and is now after me.

I’m only writing this journal entry to let you all know that… to be honest, I’m split between being terrified and knowing I deserve this. My friends don’t, and that’s why I’m begging all of them - all of you - to stay away from him. Run if you see him. He’s dangerous, and he will do nothing but hunt you if you end up on his shit list.

I. I don’t know if this is the same Wajid that ran the Broken Hearts. The name is similar enough, but I never met the leader of that small gang, so I don’t honestly know if he’s the one I’ve wronged, but he’s the one who’s after me now, and with the small breadcrumbs I’m finding, it’s a good chance he is that same leader who…

/takes a moment to pause and breathe in deep/

Guess I better explain this shit to you so you all know what I’m talking about, right? … If anyone bothers to listen to this, that is.

Back when the Black Scythes were just beginning to come into power over the city - when I was younger, as was my wife. It was probably about… five years after we met? Must’ve been around that or ten, since my wife was, well, my wife and pregnant with our first child.

I told her. I fucking… /his voice becomes a bit teary and movement can be heard/ I fucking told her not to go out that night. I shouldn’t have…

/Another pause. Longer, filled with some heavy breathing./

Rose wanted t-to go out and patrol the territory. She used to do that back then, before this happened. Before she retired from anything outside of in-house work. I tried telling her to take the night off, but she wouldn’t have it. Three months into the pregnancy, she shouldn’t have been out at night. But, being the stupid stallion I was, I let her out anyways.

/He can be heard trying hard not to cry while telling this next part of the story./

She- she went out. Into an alleyway. Her mares had their backs turned, and th-that’s all he needed.

Broken Heart gang members came and they… They beat her. They beat Rose until she was almost dead, trying to send me a message and a threat. I found her body there when one of her girls came running back to me. 

I can never forgive myself for letting her out that night. Because of it, we lost our first child, and I almost lost my lead mare.

/taking a moment to calm himself, his breath rumbles for a moment before he gets everything back in order/

I was furious. Young, furious, naive, and stupid. Bad combinations, all of them. Taking the information I had previously heard out of my son - who was a part of this gang - I had my men go out and exterminate every single one of them. It was a family run, gang. In my rage, I killed everyone.

Men.

Women.

Children.

I made that bastard pay.

Newspaper titles read ‘Bloodiest Gang Massacre Ever,’ where the Black Scythes had ‘lived up to their name, punishing those who had gone against them just as the reaper punishes the living.’

Those men whom I sent out, most of them have passed on by now. It was so long ago… though that reputation still proceeds us, and I kept up with extreme violence like that well until my accident. Although, none of them ever matched the extent of that one. Everyone in that lineage died. I committed genocide against an entire family tree…

…

Though… there was… one survivor.

Wajid.

The only one who fucking mattered. And he fucking got away, like it was nothing.

He tried to regroup and form his little ‘mafia’ again, but it wasn’t the same. No one wanted to be a part of the massacre. No one wanted to join a man who now was on the top of the Black Scythe’s hit list. I heard he went fucking nuts, but then suddenly he disappeared off the map. He and the few he managed to recruit back into his gang. All gone. 

Without a trace.

Call it fucking speculation, but when a super soldier reappears with the same name of my famous enemy, I’d say something very fucking fishy is going on. Especially when his super solders are rumored to only be loyal to him, and there’s another rumor going around about how the human government is turning gangsters they find on the streets into super soldiers.

I can’t tell you what the super soldier program is completely, or why this guy’s name is Wajid, but I can tell you that if he is indeed the very same Wajid I wronged so many years ago…

/a pause/

I deserve everything he does to me. 

Here I am again, writing another journal for you all to read later on when I…

…. /goes silent for a time before continuing/

Some people seem to think I won’t pass. That I can’t, somehow that I’m an infallible being who needs to live forever. I used to think that.

Used to.

Now… ever since this whole thing started, I’ve realized that I actually deserve what’s happening to me. I deserve it. Deserve it. No one seems to understand this but me, and it only weighs my heart down further.

I’m not a good stallion. People seem to think I am, but they don’t know me as well. I kill people for a living. I sell females’ bodies for money. I pit intelligent and dumb animals against each other for money. I defame people, I black mail, I cheat, steal, lie, and otherwise destroy lives.

I’m responsible for an entire family’s name being wiped off the face of this planet, men, children, and wives. Some pregnant, some not.

I am not a good person. 

Sure, I have intentions I claim are righteous and just, but I haven’t followed those my whole life. In fact, the idea of helping kids off the streets and getting them into good, non-violent homes only came to me 20 years ago, after my accident. Before that? I used kids like Xion and my own young foals to peddle money from shop keepers and to kill other kids who worked for gangs I didn’t like. I still use them now that they’re older for that purpose.

I am not a saint. I am a bona-fied sinner, and I deserve to die.

….. /voice becomes a low whisper/ I deserve to die… 

To all those I’ve wronged, it’s too late to apologize, so I won’t even try. I can’t possibly understand the pain I’ve put any of you through, and only hope in my suffering it equals out to yours; gods fucking know I need and deserve a misery worse than death like I’m getting now.

And for those I’ve not wronged, to my allies, family… friends…

….

Don’t look up to me. I’m undeserving, and though the power I hold may be glistening, it’s not because it’s gold. It’s because my hands are still fresh from the blood of those I’ve sacrificed to get up here on this throne.

Don’t turn out to be me.

That’s my only wish. For every one of you.

Becomes something more with your lives, not a meaningless pedestal made of nothing but blood and guts.

-Goha

I met a man a few weeks ago that goes by the name of Aldous Haswell. He’s a doctor of some sort, wears a lot of RED shit. German, and I’m pretty sure has one wall eye, from what I could tell. Maybe it’s blind. I don’t know- all I know is that he’s a doctor, and we have a lot of things in common.

Especially when it comes to the government.

We bonded over some rather interesting talking. Mostly when I mentioned the government’s little “accident” they did to keep me from being the public leader of the Scythes. Sympathy is one thing I find bonds me to most of my friends at first nowadays; I consider it a bridge most of us as creatures and beings can crossover and reach out with - something we can find ourselves holding onto only to find other people of the same ideologies and philosophies are hanging below or above or beside you as well. It’s a grand thing, sympathy. Often compared to pity, but is so, so much higher on the grand scale of things.

Aldous, getting back on topic, listened to my plight about the minerals. He said that he wouldn’t mind helping me, using some sort of fucking “medigun” or other for healing. When he mentioned getting a second chip implanted, I was skeptical. I’m not going to have a second fucking chip put under my skin just to get healed; no offense to him or anything, but I don’t exactly trust those kinds of things anymore.

So, he brought up another solution. A pill. A substitute for the mineral. I gave him a cube of it, and he said he’d try his best to find out how to make a medicine close enough to it out of his “medigun” to help me out. 

And, to my amazement, it worked!

The pills aren’t as potent as I hoped; I have to take three a day in the morning, afternoon, and evening - but that shit doesn’t bother me. Hell, I’d take a hundred pills a day if it meant I could live to see seventy or even eighty.

I’m still a little skeptical on the whole permanent cure thing, but this… this pill has helped a lot. My leg has stopped turning black, there’s no more infection OR tenderness, and my mind has been cleared. I can finally sleep right, and I haven’t had an  angry spell in days. Thank Dovah for the little miracles, right?

I’ll keep all of you updated on this journal thing. Don’t get your hopes up, but the light IS looking a lot less bright at the end of the tunnel than it was a few days ago.

…. and, a word to the wise…

/Deep sigh/

It might be best to keep information like this to yourself after telling someone you’re dying. … I already put strain enough on my friendship with Vengeance’s leader, Bone Daddy. Going back and fourth between dying and living really doesn’t help.

Sincerely,

Goha, AKA Black Scythe

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but it can’t be good.

My leg is pretty much black up to the hip. It’s the only part of me that’s gone black so far, save for some slight darkening around the flesh connected to my torso, but it won’t stop there. 

The fur I had on my leg is gone. It’s completely smooth, and slightly leathery, how I’d imagine a Scythe’s body would feel. My leg has almost completely rejected the mechanical parts - to where I can’t get the casing of my leg back on. This means I have to walk around with a crutch. It’s the worst. Not to mention the fact I think the skin is healing OVER the plate inside my knee. It’s disgusting, but the doctors have been helpful in cleaning it out.

First signs of insomnia are showing up as well. I get short of breath sometimes at night and I can’t sleep. The other half of the night I have nightmares I can feel. It’s the scariest shit… I can literally feel these fingers crawling up from my leg onto my body, turning me black just in time for me to turn over and snap the face right off of Rose.

That’s the time I wake up in a cold sweat.

Slight fevers come and go due to my infection, but they’re nothing I can’t work through. Friends are becoming intolerable. It’s not to the degree it could be, but it’s… it’s worse than before. If you thought I was an old faggot before, you’d hate seeing me now. I can’t stand being around certain people for a long period of time, and I end up wandering out to some place I can sleep alone, fearing I might lash out on someone I love on accident.

I hope to god Aldous makes that pill soon. I can’t handle this.

Read More

I’ll be damned if I don’t make some sort of personal log or journal before I die. Granted, illiteracy keeps me from writing it myself, but that’s when technology becomes a stallion’s best friend. Audio logs are all I can handle at this point- but it’s at least something to leave to everyone before I go.

You know, I’ve been doing some thinking. Scary thinking, dangerous thinking. I’ve realized I’m 60 years old. 60! For a horse, that’s goddamned ancient. Most hoofers of my kind only live into their thirties, possible fourties. That’s probably around 80-90 in human years, right? So what does that make me, like almost 150 years old in human years?

Maybe… just it is my time to go. Looking back on the Legends, I’ve come to realize that the genetics of M’yrath allow prolonged living on top of all their positive benefits. Strength, stamina, health, wit, cunningness, a strong drive to laugh… all those are good. And, ironically, all those things are failing me at once. So I’m taking it as a sign.

Maybe it is my time to die. It is my time to return to him… to give back to nature what it’s given to me. I won’t get into some sort of spiritual nonsense, because anyone who reads this will think I’m fucking nuts, but I will say this: there’s always a time when you must give Mother Nature back what she has so blessedly given to you all of your life. Ebb and a flow, up and a down. And it’s my fucking time.

I’ll be planning my will shortly. Rose has been so good in helping me in my time of need. She’s sad, I can tell, but she knows what must be done is being done. Her own time is probably going to come soon- considering she’s in her thirties - but she says she think she’ll be able to see our kids off to their own before she passes. In fact, I don’t think her mind will let her die before then. She’s too stubborn for her own good, but it makes me love her even more than I can say.

I don’t have much else to talk about. Just blabbing my thoughts onto my ECC before I die. Also, I’m making a copy of this to go into a personal digital file which I’m putting in a holographic journal. It’ll keep those who want to read what I have to say updated, and those who don’t care off my back.

I won’t include any visual- I wouldn’t want that. I want you all to remember me how you knew me- strong, proud, warm blooded. I can’t bare to think of anyone else seeing me in such a state. 

Well… I guess I’ll shut this thing off now.

Goodbye, for now, my friends.

-Black Scythe, aka Goha