Sombra threw wide the doors to his throne room—and saw, too late, that it was filled with blackness.
“What is the meaning—?” he barked.
But steel-gray magic grabbed him by the throat and dragged him forward. The doors slammed and locked behind him. The magic released him, and he hunched over, gasping.
“You know,” a voice called, echoing from the darkness, “It’s remarkable what a little time away can do for your mental health.”
Sombra swallowed nervously. That sounded like Philia—but he had not heard her speak like that before, not in… not in years. And there was a cold, hard edge that made him tremble to his core.
“Philia,” he called in return, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “I-is that you?” He lit his horn, but the inky darkness did not retreat.
“After a manner of speaking,” came the reply. A sudden woosh, and the voice came again—this time, from his left. “Close enough, anyways.”
“I don’t have time for games, Philia,” Sombra barked. “Make this darkness spell go away—I have things I need to do.”
Whoosh. “No, you really don’t,” she said. “Your schedule just cleared up—except for… hm, what’s this?” she asked, her tone suddenly mocking. “Nine o’clock—family time with sister dearest.”
He spun—he had felt something standing behind him. He watched the shadows for any sign of movement, but all was still.
“You know, Sombra,” Philia said, from yet a different corner of the room, “when my mind cleared, so did my memory.”
For a moment, Sombra did not react—but then, slowly, his eyes went wide, and he began to tremble.
“I thought as much,” she said. “I must admit, Sombrey—you did an excellent job of hiding your dark side.” Whoosh. “Even I thought your harem was the end of it.” Whoosh. “I knew you could be cruel to your enemies...” She cackled wickedly. “But, to your own family…?”
Sombra whipped his head back and forth, trying to track her voice. He was openly sweating now, eyes wide and unseeing.
“After all,” she said, “It was you that convinced me to murder Father. You said that, if I got all the strawberry jam out of him, that the battles would be over. That we could go home. And you tried that trick again, no less than… oh, four times, was it?... each time, with representatives of your enemies. After all—” Whoosh. “—you had the perfect fall mare at your hooves, as it were. You had nothing to do with it—it was all Philia, going off the deep end again. I took the blame—I gained the reputation—and you...” She snarled from the darkness. “You took the crown.”
Sombra let out a little strangled gasp, but did not move.
Philia chuckled darkly. “You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to see you sweating so, brother,” she said. She paused—and he could practically hear her grin. “Speaking of pleasure,” she said, “Did you force me before, or after I first bled? I forget… but I still remember the taste of the cotton sheets you stuffed in my mouth.” Whoosh. “I knew you were desperate for a child,” she said. “But I didn’t know you wanted it that badly. I mean, in the name of Tartarus, I was insane—if you had simply asked, I might have even given it to you.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You’re lucky I didn’t conceive,” she said, gravely. “Nothing good would have come of that union. It might have even spelled your doom.” Another pause. “Perhaps even before I got my chance.”
Sombra looked around again, eyes wide and mouth dry.
And suddenly, she was beside him.
He jumped back and cried aloud, but she simply stood there, looming over him, staring down with a haunting smile, her eyes cold and sharp.
After an agonizing moment of silence, Philia spoke.
“I learned something fascinating from the griffons the other day,” she said, almost casually. “Would you like to see it?”
Sombra bobbed his head. “Y-y-yes, Philia,” he said. “W-w-w-whatever you want.” He swallowed. “W-what is it?”
She grinned a little wider—and, with a flash of magic, she stabbed him deep, under the jaw. Sombra let out a gurgling scream.
“How to field-dress a horse,” Philia said, matter-of-factly.
* * *
It had been several minutes since the screaming had stopped. The crystal guards stood outside the door, blades and spears at the ready, waiting. They’d tried to breach the door to the throne room, but it electrocuted anyone who tried—two smoking corpses pushed to the side made that clear.
They shuffled nervously. One or two of them glanced at the others. And one tried to subtly wipe the sweat from his brow.
And then, the door unlocked. Instantly, all stood at attention, and held their weapons at the ready.
The door swung wide, and out billowed thick, smoky blackness. The circle of guards cried aloud.
“Stand down,” ordered a voice.
They looked up—and several of them gasped and dropped their weapons. A stone-gray alicorn was striding out of the black, walking with the measured grace of born nobility. Her hooves were bloody, and flecks of gore had sprayed across her chest. She wore the steel Crystal Crown, its points, too, dripping in blood. As she walked into the center of the room, the guards shrank back: on her flank had been burned an eight-pointed figure--eight arrows, pointing in all directions.
The Chaos Star. The sign of the servants of disharmony.
“I am Apoleia,” she roared into the stillness. “Empress of the Crystal Empire. You will obey me, as you obeyed my father before me, or I will slay you where you stand.”
No one moved. Apoleia looked between them, and nodded, satisfied.
“Good,” she said. “First things first—” she nodded to three guards, standing in the front row. “You, you, and you,” she said, with a nod back over her shoulder. “Clean up the throne room. Sombra left a little mess in there.”
Nervously, the three guards sheathed their weapons, then, heads bowed, filed into the throne room. As they entered, one of them gasped, and another started retching.
Apoleia turned to the rest of the soldiers, her eyes glittering. “As for the rest of you--”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of hooves in the hall. “Your Brilliance!” came the frantic cry. “Your Brill--!”
A great, black gelding skidded to a halt in the entryway, and saw all the soldiers--and, towering above them, a giant gray alicorn--staring back at him. He swallowed, then stepped back, his ears drooping.
“His Brilliance is indisposed,” Apoleia said imperiously. “Her Majesty will answer for him. What is it?”
He bowed his head. “There’s been a breakout in the harem,” he said to the floor. “Two of His Brilliance’s mares have disappeared.”
“Ah, yes,” Apoleia purred. “I’d almost forgotten about Sombra’s toys.” She thought for a moment, then looked up. “For those mares that are already with foal, continue to take care of them as you have. Perhaps Sombra’s seed will finally bear fruit. As for the others...” Her eyes glittered. “Put them to the axe.”
A gasp rippled through the room. “Silence!” she roared--and suddenly, all was still. She glared at the soldiers, daring any of them to speak. When no one ventured, she straightened up. “The Crystal Throne will be mine forever,” she hissed. “I will tolerate no claimants, false or otherwise. Is that understood?”
A murmur of reluctant agreement.
Apoleia nodded. “Then, I will say it again: kill the whores that are not with child. Kill any mare that Sombra so much as touched--them, and all their foals with them. Is that clear?”
Another murmur.
“As for the escapees,” she added, “Find them, and butcher them. Leave their bodies to rot in the streets, like the animals they are. I will not tolerate traitors, whether they carry an alicorn child or no.” She turned to the gelding. "You may take the fourth battalion to aid you." The black gelding bowed and murmured something, then backed out of the room.
Apoleia watched him go, then turned to the soldiers. “Officers,” Apoleia commanded, “Gather my generals and meet back here in a half-hour. We march South the day after tomorrow.” She smiled. “After all, this peace has gotten entirely too boring, hasn’t it?”
Heads bobbed, and a smattering of Yes, Your Majesty’s murmured through the room.
“The rest of you,” she said, “Say your goodbyes and prepare for the march. I will not wait a moment longer than I must.” She lifted her head a little. “Dismissed.”
For a moment, no one moved. Empress Apoleia glanced around at the staring soldiers, then snarled. “When I give an order,” she growled, “I expect it to be followed. GO,” she bellowed.
An electric shock rippled through the crowd; several turned and ran, though most managed the dignity of a faintly militaristic march. No one spoke; none of them were entirely certain just what had happened.
As they filed out, Apoleia watched them with a critical eye. “You, there,” she called suddenly. “Captain.”
A tall, blue stallion paused, then turned and bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
She tossed her head a little. “After my meeting with my generals,” she said, “You will report to my chambers. I require your services.”
Every soldier in the room froze. The very crystal itself seemed to suck in a breath.
The captain stared back at her, then bowed his head. “I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said, bewildered, “B-but, what are you asking?”
“I’m ordering you to report to my chambers,” she repeated.
“I understood,” he said. “But…” he glanced up nervously. “W-what sort of services do you require…?”
She sighed heavily. “Do I really need to spell it out for you? Fine.” She leaned closer. “Tonight, you will mate with me. Is that clear?”
He stiffened. “But, Your Majesty—” he choked out. “I’m—I’m already married—”
“Then your wife will surely be pleased that you are sacrificing your own comfort for the sake of the Empire,” she growled.
He stared back at her, eyes wide, and began to tremble. As Apoleia watched him, her gaze--well… softened wouldn’t be the right word. That sort of talk implied compassion. Perhaps cooled might fit; a little of the fury drained from her look, but none of the malice.
“I would have you know,” she said, “there is no love in this. I am no nymphomaniac like my brother. This coupling is purely practical in nature: you are tall, strong, and intelligent, all traits that will pass on to your offspring.” She smiled—a chilling smile that froze the hearts of all who saw it.
“After all,” she said, “it’s high time that I started contributing to the war effort.”