//------------------------------// // Prologue: A Voice // Story: Going Under // by Velkan Nobody //------------------------------// "'areyouinorareyouout? youcan'twineitherway,' he said. 'butthefallwillbefantasticandwhat'sleftisnothinglessthanperfection'" —AFI Going Under Prologue—A Voice Stop. Rewind. Play. Time was the only staid truth he believed in. He couldn't remember when, or if ever, he had felt differently in that respect. He did not abide by Its laws, but his nature compelled him to enforce them. Years lengthened into decades, decades into centuries, centuries into millennia. Before his eyes, though, they rushed like a violent gale. They brushed past every living thing, every inanimate body; grabbed snatches of life and matter in silence; gradually carried away the old voices and deeds; provided space for the new ones; blew perpetually along a winding path with no purpose or sense of direction, bound to an involuntary existence. He could no more manipulate Time to his advantage than he could escape his destiny. He observed and nudged It back on track whenever It strayed from the predetermined road, suppressing the consequent ripples. He held no Control; he merely exerted his Influence over It. Time had become his cutie mark—a golden pocket watch bereft of its fob. His trade. Everything he knew and a substantial part of his being. And Time was running out. Rewind. Play. Pause. Clock Wise squinted down at the stone font, searched, and, having failed, moved on to the next location. The clean waters formed a small eddy, then settled. The few remaining bubbles merged into what appeared to be the image of a huge city upon the surface, the apartments, streets, and alleys of which bustled with life and curious interactions. Some of its inhabitants galloped frantically in suits and laden with hefty saddlebags to the cubicles in which they spent most of their days. Some called in sick. Some bought a variety of victuals in big rooms with tall shelves. Some waited in lines that progressed at a glacial pace. Some lay fast asleep in white beds surrounded by complex sets of equipment. Some were stripped of their belongings and shoved into cells. Not one of them interested him in the least. He proceeded to another location. A familiar scent wafted into his nostrils. It was the heavy smell of humidity which usually sticks around after a storm, the one he fancied would cause his nose to drip with blood if he actually had any of it to lose. He deigned to toss a glimpse back over his shoulder but quickly refocused on his current mission. He could now see a cyan pegasus soaring through the sky of that distant land which differed tremendously from his. Her eyes were fiercely narrowed, and an even fiercer glint beamed from her pupils. "Is it done?" he asked. "Almost." The soft rustle of wings drew his pensive glare backwards once more. This time, he didn't return it to his former point of interest. Not far behind, a mare stared at him impassively. Although her cutie mark was out of his sight, he knew it to be a flawless, white snowflake; he had come to memorize every detail in the architecture of that brittle emblem fate had bestowed upon her. Her silver armor, like his, gleamed under the white light that rained down on them from an unknown source above, shielding every part of her turquoise body except the forelegs and flanks. Her helmet hid part of her mane, too. Only a fringe of trim white locks fell into view over her forehead. She lowered her gaze but instantly picked it back up, its icy quality never diminishing. "The barrier remains to be sealed. There is but one approach that will ensure success. You are aware of it." The stallion acknowledged the last of her statements with a curt nod. "As you are aware," she continued with her monotonous voice, "that it is not the approach you have opted to follow." He wheeled round and resumed his pursuit. "I am," he responded, watching intently as the same young pegasus shot through a row of cloud wreaths at a speed he would've thought impossible. He didn't understand what the waters wanted to show him or why they would give him such a hard time when he tried to shift to another location, but understanding wasn't what he concerned himself with. He worried exclusively about maintaining his Influence. "Our paradigm is flawed. It clearly calls for adjustments and re-evaluations. My approach may be regarded as unorthodox, but I have complete faith in its effectiveness." The mare headed to his side and peeked into the font as well. The waters revealed nothing other than an unbroken transparency to her. "Faith, you say?" "Faith." "Faith is an abstract notion, inextricably linked to pony emotions and, therefore, unreliable. Princess Celestia established our paradigm, and it allowed us to confine the Hollows. The Influence to alter it is not in our possession. The protocol is sufficiently clear with respect to that matter." "Our paradigm has failed," he declared shortly, but with a slight flutter of his wings that conveyed a hint of annoyance. "If it had been valid, as you claim it to be, the barrier would've held, and she would not have escaped." His body language, rather than his manner of expression, seemed to have affected her in quite an unusual way. The vivid shimmer in her blue irises, the second before she turned away, was something Clock Wise had only seen on the faces the font presented to him. Even as she walked back in the direction she'd come from, and the squishing sound of her hooves against the cloud flooring petered out, and her figure dissolved into Eternity, her odd glower hovered in his mind, pulsating like the heart of a newborn foal. The pegasus kept spilling rainbows across the vast blueness as he looked on. She reminded him of somepony who'd wandered away from Eternity. Somepony he had no Influence on and, thus, could not save from trial. The fall would take its inevitable course; he could not change that. Redemption, however, was always a potential outcome, and would certainly be favored by his approach. The success or failure of his endeavor depended entirely upon three interdependent factors: the subject's exposure and susceptibility to pony emotions, his level of adaptability, and his resistance to her temptation. Stop. At this moment, an unpleasant feeling washed over him. It began with light vibrations in the back of his head, like a poisonous signal ready to be relayed to the rest of his body. Soon, the tickling rose to a harsh, disordered beating. Cold shivers electrified his spine; his limbs, as well as his wings, broke into a fit of trembling. The unforgiving hammer fell over and over again, imprinting a picture on the core of his mind. It was a bright crescent moon with its sharp ends pointed upwards, poising between a pair of pale cheeks. On aiming his gaze at the liquid screen, he noticed the pegasus had quit careering across the blue sky; she now lay fast asleep on a cloud, her rainbow-streaked tail curled around her huddled form. A warm sensation overtook his nostrils as his eyes started itching. He managed to restrain the load beneath his lids from leaking out for almost a full minute. At length, drops of some clear substance that reminded him very much of water beaded at the edges and cut their way down through the red of his face, hanging loose close to his chin before plunging into the font. The resulting ripples distorted the pegasus' figure, but only for a fleeting moment. The colt recognized the acrid taste of brimstone lingering in his mouth. He could hear a voice inside him, soft and suggestive, like the whisper of an insidious wind. Its essence emanated from the pores under his fur and through his feathers. It reeked of Control. He had let her in. Play. Time was running out. * * * AN: Special thanks to Arbarano for editing this story.