//------------------------------// // Part Two // Story: Dead Moon Rising // by Izzy G //------------------------------// Boards creaked in a sort of grotesque symphony as Silent made his way through what remained of the mansion's west wing to the study. Each step brought either a cloud of dust or the wet squishing of a puddle. Cobwebs were everywhere. Faded pictures still barely hung from crooked hooks on the walls. Glass dotted the floor from the occasional picture that had fallen, the frame shattered. Pieces of plaster had chipped away and revealed the rotting insulation beneath. Some rooms were inaccessible, the doorway collapsed after the wood had rotted too much and gave way; while others were burned to the point where the upper floor had collapsed on the lower. Silent tried his best to ignore the parallels his mind was drawing, tried to block the memories of a once magnificent fortress now reduced to corpses and rotting wood. He couldn't tell if it was the memories playing at the back of his mind or the state of the structure, but he found himself starting to slip into a slight depression. Silent tried his best to fight it back, telling himself this was nothing like the home he once had and that everything was going to be okay. He tried to shift his focus back to the image of a drowsy Ink smiling at him in the morning, her robes disheveled and messy. But almost against his will, his thoughts kept being pulled back to the fortress. Crows pecked at the remains. Burned buildings barely stood, creaking with each slight breeze. The ash-ridden soil. The tattered banners that hung from the main gates. The way Snow Star had looked at him as she drew her last breath. “Stop it!” He cried in frustration, freezing where he stood and shaking his head almost desperately in an effort to clear the images. “None of that matters now!” There was a soft laugh, almost inaudible, like somepony had whispered in his ear. He bristled at the sensation, a tingle running up his spine as he drew in a sharp breath. He allowed himself a sweep of the area, but found nothing- A shrouded figure of a pony stood in front of him, a slight smirk spreading across its face. The upper part of its face was obscured by what looked like the hood of a robe made of rags, like the figure had taken scraps of fabric and stitched them together. Silent took a cautious step back and braced himself as the figure's smile grew more pronounced. Such a deliciously ugly past... a disembodied voice almost whispered in his ear, sending the same shivers of dread down his spine. So heartbreakingly beautiful...No wonder she loves you... Stay calm, Silent, he thought, forcing himself to take deep breaths and calm down. Whatever this is can't hurt Ink. She's home. Safe. Even if something happens, she can- I'm not talking about your dear fiancée, the figure took several steps forward and tossed its head to reveal bloodshot eyes. I'm talking about a mare of white that was unsoiled by the bloodshed around her... Silent couldn't help it. His eyes widened slightly and he felt himself go numb for a second as a shock flooded through him. For a moment, the world slowed as he looked at the figure carefully, realizing he could see through it to the wall on the other side. The colors were vague, almost like light pastels. The figure's coat was something like a light brown, but he couldn't tell against the dark green of the faded wallpaper behind it. The details of the dossier flooded through his mind. Suddenly, it all clicked together. It wasn't the actual building that was making his mind slip back to images of the fortress, but this...thing that stood in front of him. He hesitated to call it a true spirit, because he had seen nothing like this. Plus, it lacked the tell tale smell that most spirits had. Something about this one had warped, made it obsessed with this place and unable to leave. It enjoyed tormenting those who dared to tread in its territory. In fact, he dared to even say that the figure that stood before him was not the owner of this once proud mansion at all. Although the details of the dossier would hint at that, he knew enough about the paranormal to know that many spirits who died in sudden ways, such as an assassination, remained at the location of their death and kept reacting it as a way to try and figure out why they had died in the first place. But the figure that stood in front of him had a free will. It thought. It learned. It could have at one time been the spirit of the owner for all he knew, but now it was something entirely different. It had latched on to the unrest associated with this place and used it to make itself stronger. Now it fed off of the mental suffering it caused others who dared come here. As much as Silent hated to admit it, he was prime real estate for psychological anguish. He immediately looked down, closing his eyes and trying to focus on just the feeling of the presence. He could feel his coat start to bristle, the hairs standing on end as it seemed that the figure stepped even closer. There was a slight rustling to its steps, as if the fabric of its tattered robe dragged on the ground but there were no hoofsteps to accompany it. The air was suddenly thick and had an almost haunting chill to it, fitting for the dark shadow that circled him. Although his eyes were gently closed, his ears stood at attention, listening for the slightest rustling of the tattered fabric the specter wore. And so began the waiting game. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. The ground beneath him was humming, vibrating under him as if a gentle quake was making its way through the area. His body was buzzing, the energy of the being flooding through him. His heart raced. He forced himself to take deep breaths and remain calm. Although his posture didn't show it, he was nervous, tense even. He had been standing like this for so long that any measure of time had escaped him. He was trembling slightly, not from fear, but exhaustion. He couldn't let his guard slip. The second Silent let down the barriers around his mind, there was no telling what kind of horrors would be unleashed on him. He had seen many things that would make even his seemingly fearless fiancée weep like a foal, things that still brought tears even to his own eyes. And he couldn't leave, he refused to fail at a contract. So it was a war of attrition, a battle of wills. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Silent had no idea how long he stood there nearly motionless, but he could feel his grip on reality starting to slip. A fog was creeping into his mind, starting to pull him under. He shook his head, focusing on the sound of the circling specter. No. Not good enough. He stumbled. His breathing calmed. His heartbeat slowed. No... was his only thought before he felt like he was falling. Blackness. The rustling was gone. The softly vibrating floor had fallen out from beneath him. The prickles from the being's energy vanished and left him with an uneasy calmness. Falling... Falling... Darkness. Gone.