The Night Sweep Hotel

by Sourberry

A Treatise on the Ritual of Deception

The Aspirant has arrived.

The Reflection shall be shattered.

Equestria must be preserved.

The roar of cannons and cries of battle played like a dark orchestra over the burning skies, and the collapsing city. The air was acrid and smothered with motes of ash and glowing embers. The streets of Canterlot were cracked, broken, and littered with the tumbled piles of debris from partially collapsed towers. Her entourage of cohorts and guardsponies marched towards the old hotel; the nexus of this mechanical incursion. Somewhere nearby, through one of the blasted frontages of an old home, a gramophone played a sombre tune, ripe with longing and despair.

A red shaft of light, like the beam of a warship's searchlight, swept over the street and held its position over the Aspirant and her amassed forces. A loud klaxon sounded from far above, as the source of the red light signalled others to come to its aid. The red light winked out as the first salvo of shells hit it. The hull of the squat flying machine broke apart, and the twin propellers that held it aloft ground slowly to a halt. The burning wreck listed and fell out of the air, striking an overhanging garden, and rolling down to the city level below, clearing most of the hedgerows and garden ornaments with it. A mighty cheer went out as the wreck vanished over the edge, and the Equestrian airship came into view; drifting towards the old hotel, and patrolling the perimeter of it.

The Aspirant came before a colossal gateway of warped iron and black smoke, fashioned by souls so twisted they dared not look upon their own visage, for fear it might kill them. It is these same sick spirits that had, no doubt, constructed this burgeoning empire of metal and fire, which stood out like a crooked claw against the orange, smog laden sky.

It is by her will alone that this terror will be undone, and that weight lies heavily on her shoulders. Though she is has a company of brave souls, the Aspirant listens to the whispered truths of her heart, and it tells her that she alone that shall strike down the foul quarry.

“This is crazy! Who'd build something that big?” The boisterous cohort shouted.

“The desperate an' the scared kind,” the reserved cohort answered.

“You two,” the Aspirant gestured to them both, “When we break through the gate, your task will be to go to the top of the tower and capture the Rogue. If she still has the royal crystal, then your priority should be getting it back at any cost”

Behind the Aspirant and her cohorts a large band of guardsponies hauled over a spiralled funnel, that was mounted upon a gunnery platform. They set the weapon down with a loud grunt, and clambered up onto the platform, bringing it to bear at at the gates ahead.

“Myself and the key here,” the Aspirant nodded to the eager cohort, who was prancing on the spot and psyching herself up, “Shall proceed directly to the Mechanists, and put an end to their devices.”

The spiralled funnel began to glow brightly, white and yellow light flowed down the spiral, meeting at the tip, and humming loudly with power. The guardspony at the rear gave a ready signal to the Aspirant.

“It's hard to imagine that it's come to this,” spoke the most graceful of the cohorts, “So much destruction, all to what end? The vulgarity of this is beyond reproach. I would love to speak to this Keeper of the tower, if you willed it. I'm sure she'd have many secrets to spill.”

“As would I,” the timid one spoke up, barely audible above the maelstrom of violence in the air. “I know it's not what you wanted, but I still believe she can be redeemed. Stray lambs can always be brought back to the herd.”

The Aspirant looked to one of the guardsponies at her side and cocked her head. The guardspony furrowed his brow in thought, looked to his assembled comrades, and then nodded at the Aspirant.

“The guard shall go with you then,” the Aspirant spoke firmly, “I trust your judgement,” she spread her wings and lifted herself off the ground. “I trust each and every one my prodigies; your talents are remarkable and your courage is unmatched. You are my best, and Equestria's best.” the Aspirant lit up her horn and illuminated the rotten gardens beyond the gate. “Tonight we shall remind them of that.”

With a swipe of her hoof the spiralled funnel exalted in a bright flash. The air prickled with heat, and the Aspirant's wings faltered for but a second under the intense heat. When the light faded, only the frames of the gate remained, the tips of the bars were left shorn and red hot. A rallying cry heralded the assault, as the Aspirant's forces stormed into the courtyard of the tower.

The skirmish was as thick as it was fast; with automatons deployed from the inlets dotted about the tower's structure. Each automaton was propelled by a set of whirling blades on their backs, that kept them afloat long enough to dive down on their opponents, latch on, and begin drilling. Holding a shield up over her forces was a good enough deterrent, as the simple machines came whirling in and smashed upon the magical surface.

Reaching the door with little harm was a grand triumph for her, as the guardsponies made short work of the barricaded front doors. The pair of gunpowder kegs left lasting damage on the interior of the grand, cathedral sized, chamber inside; blackening the white stone and flinging rock fragments and debris all across the floor.

“The Keeper should be somewhere on this floor! Find her!” The Aspirant barked, and took off towards the metal gates at the end, which housed the elevation platform. She and three of her cohorts boarded the device, while the rest of her forces stormed off through an oversized pair of doors. Just as the gates closed they heard shouting and discharging of weaponry.

The elevator ride granted them an excellent view over the battlefield, as the ride was interspersed with wide windows looking out over Canterlot. She could see the fires from the Palace of the Risen Sun, all the way down to the refugee quarters near the base of the mountain. From the epicentre she stood in she could see the extent of the damage it had caused.

“We ain't goin' to let this spread,” the reserved one spoke sullenly.

No reply could be mustered before the screech from above pulled her attention skyward. The Aspirant brought her shield up just in time to deflect and absorb the last of the rockets, but the first pair hit home and ripped open the protective cover of the elevator.

The wind blew hard at them, and the sounds of the chaos below were once again filling the group's ears. A propeller driven machine flew by close and latched itself onto the tower with a series of hooks and chains, detaching and reattaching themselves as it pulled itself closer to the elevator, bringing its array of superheated spears closer and closer to the group.

“You won't have us that easy!” The boisterous one shouted, aiming a forehoof mounted prong at the heated spears. The prong crackled with electrical currents and discharged towards the spears, linking them with arcs of lightning. The machine rippled with sparks and small explosions, before the heat dissipated from the spears.

In a change of tactics the flying machine disconnected itself from the wall of the tower, and began to fire its hooks directly into the elevator. The first missed, striking the side of the tower, but the second landed square in the elevator box, just missing the Aspirant by mere inches. The Aspirant spread her wings, but paused when she felt a hoof on her side.

“Ah' got this,” the reserved one gave the hook a firm buck, dislodging it from the wall, lifted it onto her back, and then bucked it right back at the flying device. The hook sailed straight into propeller blades, shredding the blades entirely, and collapsing the pole that held them up.

The flying machine fell from the air, sounding emergency klaxons all the way down to its doom; impaling itself on one of the Canterlot spires.

“We're getting good at this,” the boisterous one quipped, and shared a smirk with the reserved one.

The elevator came to a halt and its gates opened up. The floor was strangely unremarkable, given the grandeur of the rest of the building; a simple corridor with a handful of plain wooden doors running down it, all loosely decorated in hanging potted plants. The only striking feature of the floor was the wide window overlooking the courtyard.

“This is our stop,” the Aspirant and her mirthful cohort disembarked, trotting down the corridor. As they passed by the window they could make out the guards and her two other cohorts down there, through the tall windows of an extension built onto the tower. They looked to be surrounding something at the back wall, which wasn't visible from their view.

* * *

“What an effort,” exhaled the graceful one. The fighting had died down, with the last of the automatons being stamped underhoof by a pair of guards. “And to think she was once so peaceful.”

They stood before a large painting of the dull coloured mare standing before a large crowd, playing her ironic instrument. The majesty of the painting was marred only by the heretical addition of wings and a horn.

The actual Keeper lay on a stage that mimicked the one in the painting behind her. The group watched her chest rise and fall, the only part of her that still resembled an equine. They could tell her breath was shallow and weak, even from the distance they kept. The rest of her was a shattered mound of broken metal and dreams. Her single purple eye scanned the group assembled, with a metallic fold occasionally dropping down to cover it up.

“I'm sorry,” it rasped, “So sorry”.

“Knowing thy sin is the first step on the road to exaltation,” the timid one spoke as she approached, “Exaltation is earned by those of true integrity, and honesty is one of those tenants.”

“I just wanted to feel alive again,” the voice came from a small mechanical projector fixed under the purple lens box. “I didn't want to hurt anyone. Why did it have to end like this?”

“It could not have ended any other way,” snapped the graceful one.

“Sin is not inevitable,” the timid one replied swiftly.

“But destiny is,” she strode up to the stage, enveloping the mare in magic, and dragging her to the edge of the stage, against her weak protests. Keeping the mechanical eye level with her own two eyes, she gently reached out her hoof and placed it on the mare's chest. A moment passed, and her eyes softened, her tense expression receded, and her lips fell in sorrow. “Though I don't believe this was ever supposed to be your destiny.”

Worried murmurs broke out amongst the guard, and the timid cohort approached the stage.

“You've never said that before,” she whispered once she was close.

“I've never felt it before,” her voice trembled.

* * *

The Aspirant stood in what ought to have been a bedroom, surrounded by discarded crates of tonics, its floor covered in sawdust and marked with tiny scorch marks. The kitchen looked used, and the curtains were drawn across the window, but there was no other signs that anybody had been here for any length of time. The Aspirant levitated out one of the tonics and looked it over.

Stimulating and Refreshing!
Bold and Daring!
Dr Brightlance's Personal Tonic
It'll put a spring in your trot, and a salve on your aches!

Displayed on the back was an excited foal drinking the concoction, with a distribution address in small print on the bottom.

“What a waste of time.” Letting out a low growl, she tossed the salve at the wall, smashing the bottle to pieces. “Forget the Mechanists; they're gone. We're heading straight to the dark heart of this beast.”

“So soon? We're going to start the party without the others?”

“We may not have a lot of time available to spend, dear student. With every moment we wait, the beast comes closer to undoing our city, and possibly even the world. For this task, I only need you.”

The building shuddered, and more alarms sounded off, this time far further down, near the ground floor. The Aspirant and her eager cohort turned to the window, and parted the curtains. Below they could see the ground itself shifting and parting. The pair exchanged worried looks as they saw the giant hole that resided in what had once been the rotten garden. There came a second tremor, and a great roar from the pit, which elicited an array of orange lights to switch on, revealing the true depth of the pit. Nestled at the bottom of the pit they could see a bed of pipes and machinery, and at its nexus they saw a small tower, smoke billowing out from underneath it.

“Maybe the tower's falling apart-” the eager cohort swallowed her words and sagged her jaw, as the smoke turned into a bright fire, and the tower at the bottom of the pit surged upwards at an alarming speed.

“What!?” Shrieked the Aspirant as the metal tower soared past the window, blowing it out and showering them with glass and smoke as it passed by. The roar of its engines was deafening, and the pair, despite screaming at the top of their lungs, could not hear each other at all.

The tower steadily rose upwards into the orange skies, not slowing in the slightest, and pierced the cloud layer in a matter of minutes. They could make out its shadow passing up and up through the air.

The eager cohort could not hear the Aspirant, for her ears were still ringing, but the frantic gestures to move were sufficient enough for her to spur her legs into motion. They ran back down the elevator and called it, sending it to the ground floor, cursing and stamping their hooves as they impatiently watched the floor numbers tick down.

The second set of explosions were unexpected, as was the jingling of shattering glass. The pair leant out of the cavity at the front of the elevator and looked upwards. They watched in awe as the top of the tower was fell apart in a vicious explosion, showering the streets below in fragments of metal and shards of glass. From the explosion they saw a figure falling, twisting and turning as it flailed in the air. The figure dropped down in front of them, and for a fleeting moment the Aspirant's purple eyes locked with the Rogue's gold, and just like the gust of wind that followed her she was gone in an instant.

Storming through the lobby they galloped out over to the edge of the metal pit. The sheer drop down was terrifying, but this had to be where the heart dwelt, as they could see more platforms further down, linked up with doorways.

“I'm going to glide us down there, with a bit of magic, so hold on tight,” the Aspirant instructed.

“Should we check on the Rogue?” The eager cohort asked, clambering onto the Aspirant's back.

“If the fall didn't kill her, she certainly won't be going anywhere soon.”

“What about our friends upstairs?” Both of them took a glance up at the smoking top of the tower.

“I pray for their safety, but if their duty is fulfilled, then let their exaltation be complete, and their spirits soar. Righteousness can be praised later, after we have put away our claws,” the Aspirant leapt from the edge, spreading her wings and gliding down with her cohort to the bottom of the pit.

Her descent was awkward, and not without error; her landing more so, heavily hitting the ground and sending her companion tumbling off her back. She rolled in pain, clutching her side, and trying to right herself.

“This is why I didn't leap from the hotel room!” The Aspirant stammered, cantering over to her cohort. “I'm sorry! Can you move?” The eager cohort managed to stand and walk, but each step elicited a yelp and wince of pain.

“We can slow down‒ it's for the best now. I'm sorry I failed you. I should have worked more on my landing. I'm still not used to flying,” the Aspirant flustered, looking over to the brass archway leading into a dimly lit room filled with piping, and housing an old boiler at the back, “I must confess, I'm not sure what to expect from here on. But we'll pull through if we face it together,” with a confident smile she helped her friend along with a supportive wing.

Prickling heat ran across their hides, as the hot air tried to smother them. Breathing was difficult, but it didn't deter them from pressing on, right up to the boiler itself. The dials were non-functional, and inside they could hear the high pitched screaming of pressure. They followed the piping leading out and upwards into the star filled night above.

“What's happening here?” The Aspirant whispered, watching the night bleed over the ceiling and run down the walls.

From the cosmic depths of the ceiling, a large transparent hoof reached out, planting itself firmly atop the boiler. Its form was insubstantial, and the sight of it flickered, like it were projected from a tape reel.

“Pinkie, I know you can hear this,” the eager cohort spoke up, her voice loud and clear, “You need to come home. The others are waiting for you! They're super eager to talk to you again. They're wondering where their friend has gotten to. You're making them scared, Pinkie.”

The distorted mass of curled pink hair emerged from the starscape first, twitching and turning as it stretched out over the ceiling. Her forehooves hauling the rest of her distended upper body into quasi-existance, and with a crooked grimace she spat down at the pair.

“I don't talk to ghosts,” her voice was at once savage and ethereal; its echoes clawing at their skulls, “They're full of secrets and lies,” the grainy image of Pinkie replicated itself eight times over, covering most of the stars.

“We're very much alive,” scoffed the Aspirant, her lips abruptly moving and halting in fractions of seconds, partially fused together, “And we're here to make peace with you.”

“You've hurt a lot of ponies today, Pinkie,” the eager cohort struggled against the now viscous floor, as it melted and sloshed about.

“I have!?” The image cried, tears of bright teal welling up in her eyes, “I've been haunted since I left that village. My head's full of cotton, my insides are all mushy, and you don't even care! Nopony cares about me! What about Pinkie? It's all me-me-me-me with you ponies!”

The floor lapped up against the Aspirant and her cohort, tendrils of orange sludge coiled themselves around their legs, threatening to pull them under. The image above them tore into a fragmented mess of indiscernible array of lurid colours.

“I wanted to get better! I wanted to make friends!” The image's voice dropped a tone, “But all you ever wanted to do was to hurt me. You don't like what I am.”

“Because you're dangerous! You're not meant to be here!” The Aspirant shouted at her, pulling herself free of the tendrils below, which flickered and winked out of existence. “You destroy everything you touch!”

“Your judgement can't be trusted! You're just like all the others,” The mass of distortion began to spiral downwards in a tornado of disturbed faces, all gnashing and screaming in angst. The Aspiriant cautiously lit up her horn and kept herself aloft in the air, staring down the tornado in grim determination.

The voice of the image had deepened to a guttural bellow, shouting loudly. “Why should I trust you over my own eyes?” The tornado broke apart suddenly, and the screaming faces merged together to form one large ghostly visage of Pinkie. “When you can't even see what's right in front of you!”

The Aspirant's horn discharged a bolt of purple, striking the face cleanly across its brow. There was a great flash of light, and the image tore itself apart; the screaming faces dissipating and the cosmic skies bursting into supernovae. The Aspirant shielded herself from the bright explosions, and retreated from the boiler room.

The earth rumbled as the walls///________ __ _

* *******//__*************** **/////////

Pinkie fell deep into the water, struggling to paddle and gain momentum. Each swipe of her hooves felt heavier and heavier, until she could barely move at all. The shafts of light above dimmed, and the image of her true surface self walked away. Her heart thrashed in its cage, and a shroud of despair threatened to smother her. Each waking moment stretched out agonizingly, until she felt something brush up against her hind legs. Her gurgling scream blotted out her vision in a field of bubbles, and in a single tug she was pulled far beneath the surface world, where she would dwell forever more.