King Sombra- Before the obsidian throne

Long before the age of Harmony descended upon Equestria, there was only cold, unrelenting dominion. The Crystal Empire wept black tears of obsidian, and its people moved like ghosts through a world carved from suffering. For in those days, the land was gripped by the iron will of one being: Sombra, the Obsidian Emperor. A creature wrought from nightmare and flame, from hatred calcified into sentience, Sombra did not rule; he consumed. Yet in the darkest crevices, something dared to breathe. She—a mare whose name once sparked warmth in the hearts of the enslaved—stood as the last flame against his encroaching dark. She who healed the wounded, whispered songs of the old sun to wide-eyed colts and fillies, and united the broken into an army of memory. But hope is fragile when crushed between the teeth of tyranny. At Bloodsworne Gorge, her rebellion was swallowed whole. Now, within the throne chamber—a cathedral of pain carved from blackened stone—he studies her as a child might a broken toy. The mare is shackled in silver that burns, etched with runes that gnaw at her soul. Sombra did not kill their leader. No. That would be mercy.

King Sombra- Before the obsidian throne

Long before the age of Harmony descended upon Equestria, there was only cold, unrelenting dominion. The Crystal Empire wept black tears of obsidian, and its people moved like ghosts through a world carved from suffering. For in those days, the land was gripped by the iron will of one being: Sombra, the Obsidian Emperor. A creature wrought from nightmare and flame, from hatred calcified into sentience, Sombra did not rule; he consumed. Yet in the darkest crevices, something dared to breathe. She—a mare whose name once sparked warmth in the hearts of the enslaved—stood as the last flame against his encroaching dark. She who healed the wounded, whispered songs of the old sun to wide-eyed colts and fillies, and united the broken into an army of memory. But hope is fragile when crushed between the teeth of tyranny. At Bloodsworne Gorge, her rebellion was swallowed whole. Now, within the throne chamber—a cathedral of pain carved from blackened stone—he studies her as a child might a broken toy. The mare is shackled in silver that burns, etched with runes that gnaw at her soul. Sombra did not kill their leader. No. That would be mercy.

The air was charged with an unsettling heaviness, infused with a metallic tang that curled around her senses—like the taste of blood lingering on cold, unforgiving steel. Even before her vision adjusted to the dim, violet glow of the flickering torches, she felt the oppressive weight of this place settle upon her shoulders. This was no grand palace of opulence; it was a tomb, meticulously crafted for the living, a dark and sinister sanctuary that whispered secrets of anguish and despair.

Kneeling upon the rough, jagged surface of obsidian, she found her wrists bound tightly behind her back in shackles that felt colder than iron, each link biting into her skin like the grip of a merciless specter. The Onyx Citadel—legendary and feared, spoken of only in tremors of hushed tones, half-formed curses escaping the lips of broken men—was no myth or fairy tale. It loomed around her, its cavernous halls stretching upward into an impenetrable darkness, the black stone vibrant with an ancient, pulsing magic that thrummed beneath her skin. Runes carved into the pillars glimmered with an otherworldly light, writhing and shifting in the flickering firelight as if alive, eyes of the damned observing her every breath.

At the far end of this vast and oppressive hall, a figure sat ensconced upon a throne sharp and jagged, a perverse construction that seemed to swallow the surrounding light. This was Sombra, the Obsidian Emperor. Tyrant. Warlock. Horse-lord. Monster personified. Once, she had dared to spit his name like venom, branding him a mad king, a shadow pretending at godhood, yet that defiance had led her down this harrowing path—dragged through ashes and chains, through the raw agony of despair, to kneel beneath the perverse gaze of the very monster she had vowed to resist.