Equestrylvania

by Brony_Fife

Demon Seed, Part III

Demon Seed, Part III

---

The graveyard hadn’t seen very much activity since its caretaker died. Every grave had been expunged the night of the attack, every row of graves decorated with broken coffins and messy holes left behind by the angry dead. There’s stillness in the air (some may call it “staleness” and wouldn’t be lying) and it clings to this graveyard, giving it an eerie and oppressive atmosphere. Along the sides of the cemetery's main path are candles set in lamps. For some curious reason, these candles remain lit, despite nopony entering or leaving the cemetery since the attack.

In a pop, the Chronomage and Aeon appear. The moment he feels himself become tangible again, Aeon slugs his enemy and forces his mouth open, wrenching his right hand free. The sight of it robs him of his breath: the sleeve has gone from white to red, the skin is becoming purple, and the bite has sheared his forearm. Every twitch of his fingers shoots bolts of pain throughout his entire arm. Aeon cradles it as he backs away from his foe.

The Chronomage laughs. The regeneration has left him in better health than even he expected. His Vorpal Blade has returned to being a mere umbrella, amply adding to his already-absurd appearance. He stands up, putting his dapper top hat back on his head while leaning forward on his umbrella. His posture is definitely smug, almost romantically aristocratic. “Oh, such a magnanivous deed! Such raw, destrimate courage!” His red eyes widen as his smile does likewise. “If only you posissted such spline before!” He sneers. "Janine could have certainly used it, don't you think?"

Aeon runs his left hand over his wound, attempting to focus, ignoring the anger bursting forth from deep inside him at the mention of Janine. Healing an open wound is a common act of magic in this land, but for time travelers, it’s a bit different. It’s more along the lines of “rewinding” the time of a wound back to the point before it happens: before the Chronomage bit his arm.

Of course, if he hadn’t been an idiot and just remembered to cast a regeneration point more often instead of recklessly playing with his life, he wouldn’t even be in this situation. You’ve been fighting this battle for close to fifty years now, thinks Aeon. And yet you have learned absolutely nothing.

The Chronomage walks around his quarry, slowly, calculatingly. “Anyway, you and I both know I’m just the distrivaction for something much gimbler than either of us, Aeon. There’s no way for you to brimp us now.”

His walk becomes more of a prance as he nears Aeon. The prance evolves into a jig as he squeals, his rabbit face contorting into a terrifying smile, a wheezing laugh blowing from between his long and jagged teeth.

Aeon, spent from trying to mend his wound, doubles over, breathing hard. With the last of his energy and concentration, Aeon sets his regeneration point, hoping the Chronomage doesn’t notice. With a gasp, he struggles just to stay awake. Just do it, Aeon thinks. I know you're going to, you miserable abomination! So DO IT!

And so, the Chronomage begins to sing:

It’s a jilly of a day
When demons come out to play
And when a white knight tromps along,
The demon sings his ducky song!

Up comes the umbrella, into Aeon’s stomach.

It’s a song of much harrumphing!
Of curly shoes and wuffle- grumphing!

Down comes the umbrella, onto Aeon’s back.

For when I sing another stanza,
It’s after a murd’rous bonanza

He swings the umbrella like a golf club, getting Aeon in the head with a thick sound. His monocle flies as he twirls over onto his back. The Chronomage takes this opportunity to begin stomping Aeon’s stomach in rhythm to his song.

For you see, you little gunch
I’ll eat all your friends for lunch
Starting with the pink paroo
Then the rest of her merry crew!
After the boss has had her way
And brought them all to their dismay
Their souls will be all shlack and shull
Dampened and dwippered and yupped and dull
The bestest taste for a soul to be
All to be gobbled up by little—old—ME!!!

In a sudden burst of anger, Aeon rolls out of the way before the Chronomage delivers the last kick, his clock-hand sword drawn. He swings it in an arc, cutting the very time around him, whisking away the ends of the Chronomage’s whiskers.

The Chronomage takes a leap or so back. It’s there for only a second—fear. His regeneration point has already been used up. He’d have to set a new one, and quick! Before…

…Before what, exactly? Aeon wobbles, his stance clumsy, his swings even less focused than before. A kick to the stomach, and Aeon falls. The Chronomage laughs. “What? Did you really think I’d kill you, Aeon? Even if you set another regeneration point, I wouldn’t kill you.”

Aeon struggles upward on his sword, trying to use it for a crutch. The Chronomage’s long, cold fingers draw his face upward. His chin is cupped in his enemy’s hand, dominated and humiliated. He is forced to look into the Chronomage’s round, red eyes as he laughs in his face.

“You’re too much fun!” he cackles. “Without you, there is no one to give aid to our enemies! No one to tell them who they’re up against!” A hard slap sends Aeon downward again. “No one to get their hopes up before they die!!!”

Suddenly, the Chronomage’s menacing behavior mellows as he straightens himself up and readjusts his tie. “Oh, and I already know where you set your regeneration point. Come on, Aeon, I’m not that shlubber.”

It makes sense. As much punishment as he’s dished out, the Chronomage seems careful to avoid hitting any vital areas, settling for bruising body blows instead.

The Chronomage checks his pocketwatch. He cocks his head, hums, and puts it away. “As always, Aeon, you’ve entermused me. But I’m afraid our playtime is over.” The Chronomage looks to Aeon as he tries his best to stand back up. He raises an eyebrow.

“Good grief! Still going?” he asks incredulously. He grunts, annoyed, and snaps his fingers.

A contingency plan, no doubt. Two mudmen form on either side of Aeon, with a few more behind him. He grimaces from their sudden stench, their bizarre shapes only vaguely resembling human beings. Empty sockets where eyes should be look to Aeon, jagged mouths attempting smiles but becoming snarls instead.

“Keep this one in place for a while, won’t you?” the Chronomage instructs. “At least until you get bored. And take care not to smothercate him, he warps.”

As the mudmen descend on Aeon, encasing him in their horrible bodies, the conniving carrot-cruncher cavorts to no-doubt cause more chaos. He skips across the graveyard to its entrance, humming his song, and once there, speeds away while making eerily-accurate car sound-effects with his mouth.

---

Those still awaiting further news on their children’s status haunt the hospital’s halls. They part as Marble is paraded by. Whispers fill the air, whispers of rumors and angry remarks.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

“What are they doing with her?”

“What’s going on here?”

Twilight, although her plan is formulated, awaits her opportunity. Rainbow Dash looks nervously to the crowds, taking in their livid and terrified reactions. “This isn’t what it looks like!” she says to the crowd. “We’ll explain later.”

Shatterstorm’s mind, however, is elsewhere, on edge and on-guard. He can still feel Marble’s ancient, wicked eyes, her hunger and her lust. It burns within her, hot enough that he feels scalded by it. That predatory side of her—a side Shatterstorm assumes all mares have—looking for a way to seduce, to possess, to control.

But he keeps his cool. His military training has helped him so far. Rigid stance, avoiding eye contact, staying in control, displaying authority (“You ARE the statue!” he remembers his drill sergeant yelling). Shatterstorm keeps himself in check. He can lose his temper after all this is over. He can smash whatever he wants later. Right now, his task is to get this bitch to the exit.

No. His task is to make sure this bitch doesn’t try anything funny on her way out. His job is to protect. Great job so far, he berates himself. Keep up the good work, Shatterstorm.

Shatterstorm nearly jumps out of his skin the moment he realizes Marble has sidled up next to him. Her red eyes dance merrily the moment she sees his split-second of panic. She smiles, once again with disarming pleasantry. “You know, Death has told me plenty about you.”

Shatterstorm swallows. He looks ahead, attempting to follow his own earlier advice to the others and merely ignore her. It’s… rather hard, he finds. As wicked as he knows she is, Shatterstorm finds himself oddly attracted to Marble. Her deep queenly voice almost lulls him into obedience.

“You see,” she continues, “whenever you look into the eyes of Death, not only are you made to see yourself for the weak, worthless fool you are, he peers also into you. He is actually witnessing every element of your past and person.”

She leans in closer. “So I know all about you, Shatterstorm.”

Shatterstorm shivers at this revelation. He feels sweat beginning to roll down his head. The hall they are entering now has no ponies in it, strangely. No nearby ponies to jump her should she try anything. Even with Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash nearby, he feels alarmingly helpless. In a desperate bid to remain in control, he grits his teeth, attempting to stifle his growing cowardice.

Marble’s ice cold, rank breath falls across his face. He looks aside to see her leaning dangerously close to his ear. “You were always good to Momma,” she coos. She brushes her side against his.

Shatterstorm, unable to contain his panic any longer, jumps. He thinks he says something, but it comes out as angered gibberish. Whatever it is, it makes Marble laugh, as if this was all just a hilarious joke. Rainbow Dash grits her teeth. “You leave him alone!” she bellows.

Marble looks to her with a cocked grin. “Didn’t you ever wonder, little hero? Were you never once curious about his issue with mares?” Her horn begins to glow a burning red. Almost as soon as it does, Shatterstorm gasps, then sits down, curling in his hind legs.

Twilight raises an eyebrow at Shatterstorm’s bizarre reaction. Marble continues, her horn still aglow. “Why he always seems to berate you? To butt heads with you?” Her smile grows as she looks aside to Shatterstorm. His sea foam white face begins to turn red as he crushes his eyes shut.

“What are you doing to him?!” asks Twilight, alarmed.

Marble laughs. “Mares make him feel worthless. Mares get what they want from him—and they only succeed because he allows them to.” She says, calmly, “Deep down, he knows he is helpless. Useless. Worthless. Weak. Like all males of every race, he merely tries to hide his inadequacy and expendability through a facade of power. An invented dominance, crafted specifically to elevate his fragile masculinity.”

She chuckles as she looks aside. The glowing on her horn intensifies and Shatterstorm fights a shriek building up in his gut. He could feel it. That familiar feeling of his body betraying him, giving in to the abuse. His breathing hastens. An ear twitches. A darker part of him he thought he’d succeeded in burying has missed this. It’s sick, it’s wrong, but part of him craves this. Hot tears well up in his eyes. No, he thinks, please, no. Not here! Not in front of everypony…

As Twilight is about to interrupt, Shatterstorm’s wings flare out, standing tall and long. All at once, Rainbow Dash realizes what’s going on. She glares at Marble, her disgust for this wicked child at its boiling point. “Let. Him. Go,” she growls.

Another sharp glow from Marble’s horn. Another strained gasp from Shatterstorm. Rainbow Dash feels a sudden surge of

it

run down her spine. Marble looks down at Shatterstorm, meeting his eyes. She leans down and runs a hoof through his mane, pressing her muzzle against his forehead, inhaling deeply his scent, kissing him, nuzzling him. She looks up to an angry Rainbow Dash with her horrid red eyes. “Make me,” she dares, hissing into Shatterstorm's mane.

A few seconds pass. The only sound in the hall, besides the beating of hearts, was Shatterstorm’s quiet whimpering. Finally, Rainbow Dash, with a look of reluctant defeat, gets down on her knees. She bows her head. “Please,” she begs quietly. “Please, Marble… just let him go.”

A few more seconds tick by. Marble looks to Twilight Sparkle, triumphant. She has defeated, disgraced, and terrified all of the little sorceress’ friends. Outsmarted both her and the time traveler. Terrified the little beast-mistress. Broke the heart of the big stallion. Shattered the little thief and that painted whore. Humiliated the little hero and her soldier boy, both.

Marble’s grin becomes too wide for her face. Her horn stops glowing as she backs away from her victim. She chuckles as Shatterstorm curls into a defensive ball, his wings slowly softening and lowering. Rainbow Dash, at a confused loss to do much else, looks to Shatterstorm with disheartened, sympathetic eyes.

Marble motions to Twilight. “Well, the daylight is waning,” she says. “Are you coming with, little sorceress?”

Burning with a tranquil anger, Twilight Sparkle walks by her remaining friends with a look of understanding. As Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm fall out of her sight, she glances to her side. Marble. Once again grinning.

The grin is no longer pleasant, not even deceptively so.

---

The cleanup work, Bon Bon finds, is being handled exceedingly well. For a while during the attack, she was afraid Ponyville and its citizens might never become whole again. Everypony snapping or panicking, monsters running amok, destruction everywhere. Today, it all feels like some bad dream, a nightmare she'd had when she was a foal. Everything is coming back together. Ponyville’s ruined patchwork is being mended with needles of teamwork and thread of hard labor.

But at the same time, Bon Bon can’t help but peek over her shoulder every now and again. Clear some debris, glance over the shoulder. Burn zombie corpses, glance over the shoulder. Take a break, glance over the shoulder. She’s constantly alert, and many of the ponies she is working with are the same way. Constantly watching, ready to flee the moment anything out of the ordinary happens.

At least she is no longer working near the Everfree Forest limits. She shudders as she recalls the strange noises coming from the already-dark-and-spooky woods. The monsters and rabid animals had fled there after the attack, like they were called there. Like rats scurrying from a light that suddenly turned on.

Bon Bon takes a deep breath. Pushing the memory out of her mind. It pushes back, reminding her of the danger she is in, the danger everypony is in. The growls and howls and glowing red eyes from deep within the forest. She would always head back to the Hospital an hour early before the usual curfew, just to be safe.

Safe. What a ridiculous word that is, now. As she pulls the building supplies down the road, Bon Bon shakes her head. Nowhere is safe anymore. Not safe in your own house. Not safe in your own bed. Not safe anywhere. She supposes the only reason it feels safer near the Hospital is that there are more ponies there. Safety in numbers, right?

And what of Lyra? Her best friend had been through Tartarus. Nearly burned alive while…

Bon Bon rubs her temples as she sits down for a second. Was… Was she a bad friend? She hated to think so, but there probably aren’t too many ponies out there who would jump out of a window to save themselves while their roomies cried for help. She should have stayed. Looked for Lyra. Lyra could have…

Bon Bon finds her hooves in front of her face now, her eyes and nostrils moist and hot. She sniffs back her tears. Lyra could have died. If it hadn’t been for Rainbow Dash, her best friend would have burned alive. Her best friend would have died while she ran away, leaving her to her fate instead of coming back for her.

I’m a bad friend. The realization strikes her heart like a battering ram.

She remembers how Lyra welcomed her into her hospital room just a little before Pinkie Pie and that Aeon character showed up. Some spots on her mint-green pelt had lost color thanks to the burns covering her body. Bandages covered her like they were the only things holding her together. The moment she saw Bon Bon, she lit up. She greeted her. Welcomed her in. Acted like… like nothing had happened. That Lyra would still think of a spineless coward like her as a friend breaks Bon Bon’s heart.

There are a lot of things Bon Bon realizes she has come to accept thanks to this attack. The world around her is no longer safe. She isn’t the tough girl she always thought she was. She is the first to abandon the friends she claims to care about. The monsters who attacked Ponyville are waiting just outside the gate, waiting for their chance to strike again the moment the Doctors Three forget to put up their forcefield. Humans actually exist. Most of all, Bon Bon accepts that Lyra is a saint—a lamb-hearted, gentle little saint, and that she has done nothing to deserve a friend like her.

The tears come out, crawling down Bon Bon’s face, becoming long fingers of liquid. She wipes them away, sniffling, forcing her emotions back into the closet of her mind. Now is no time for breakdowns or sniffles or any of that garbage. Bon Bon’s the tough girl. Bon Bon’s the dependable one. Bon Bon…

…is a coward. A filthy, false friend.

She wipes away her tears as she gets back up on all fours to pull her wagon of supplies. She takes a deep breath and once again pushes away her growing fear and anguish. Just as she looks forward, Bon Bon takes a sharp breath.

Walking down the road before it blinks out of existence is a white rabbit with a tailcoat and top hat. Its eyes glow red (Just like the monsters in Everfree), with a toothy sneer that makes Bon Bon shiver. It’s there and gone without a sound, ghosting away as if it never existed.

---

The Chronomage chuckles as he canters by the silly mare. His Stopwatch spins lazily next to him, its ominous ticks droning, marking each passing second. He stops to look over the building supplies. Hammers, nails, wood, stones, some cement. He can think of much funner ways to apply these items than building something, certainly, although now is hardly the time for any of that.

But he gets a fun idea either way. Humming another jaunty tune, he undoes the screws holding the wheels in place. He giggles to himself as he finishes, stands back up, fixes his hat and coat, and continues on his merry way.

---

Bon Bon purses her lips, certain that there was something there only a moment ago. Once again, she finds herself glancing around, making absolutely sure nothing was trying to quietly stalk her.

What’s the matter, Bon Bon? Scared?

She shakes her head, pushing her cowardice aside. Be the tough girl, she reminds herself. Be the tough girl. No more of that cut-and-run business.

The moment she takes a step, she feels her wagon sink with a sudden crash, its contents falling out of the back. She turns to look at the damage, unfastening the yoke she’s using. Walking around the pile of fallen supplies reveals that the wheels had been tampered with. She curses and runs a hoof through her mane.

She looks up at the sun and does a quick assessment of the current time. Bon Bon realizes she might not have enough daylight left to work with if she has to repair the wheels. She knows she’ll be hearing it later: “Why didn’t you deliver those materials like I asked?” How is she going to explain this?

She begins to put the wheels back on when she smells something rank. She once had the misfortune of coming across the corpse of one of the Apples’ cows after it had been lying in a field all day. This smelled worse than that. Bon Bon wrinkles her nose and gags. Looking in the direction the smell is coming from, she finds that she is near the graveyard.

Didn’t the zombies that attacked Ponyville smell bad? Were there stragglers?

Bon Bon rummages around the supplies on her now-broken cart, finding a lighter and some flammable material. Her equipment now in her saddlebags, she makes for the graveyard, intent on setting aflame whatever was there before night would fall and it would undoubtedly walk the earth.

Passing by the cemetery gates is more panic-inducing than Bon Bon expects. Before all this happened, Bon Bon would only arrive here to pay respect to the dearly departed like anypony else. (The fact that the resident gravekeeper was fun to pester helped matters.) But now, after everything else that’s happened, she feels like she’s walking through the waiting maw of a giant animal. The pungent odor is even stronger now than it was before. Rows of burst graves, broken tombstones, creepy lanterns…

Wait. Lanterns? Bon Bon raises an eyebrow as this detail strikes her. Who would have time to light these lanterns, especially since it isn’t even all that dark yet? Their fire casts an eerie glow all about the cemetery, coloring the tombstones an uninviting shade of sickly bright green.

Bon Bon hears sounds nearby. She lets out a short squeak as she turns around, ready to run if her fears turn out to be true. Strangely, she’s only half-right.

There, under a mound of writhing mud, is Aeon. His wide, terrified eyes pierce Bon Bon’s soul, leaving her petrified and scrambling for air.

---

He sits there, shivering, curled into a protective ball for what feels like half an hour. It’s likely less, but time just seems to drag on when something awful has happened and one is at a loss for actions to take. Rainbow Dash’s frown broadens as she slowly places a hoof on Shatterstorm. The moment contact is made, he pushes her away and stands up, growling as he does so.

Before she asks anything, Shatterstorm swats at his body as if brushing off spiders. He inhales sharply, then sits again and wraps his forelegs around himself. His head lowers. Rainbow Dash hears him gulp. Nothing is said for a few moments more.

“What happened here?” asks a soft voice.

Rainbow Dash looks aside to see Pinkie Pie, who looks as if she’d just run a mile and a half. She breathes heavily as her blue eyes go from Shatterstorm to Rainbow Dash, then back to Shatterstorm. Rainbow Dash clears her throat.

“Where’s Scootaloo?” asks Rainbow Dash.

“I left her with the Cakes for a bit,” says Pinkie Pie. “What happened?”

“Well, uh…” She looks to Shatterstorm, who seems off in his own world for now. It would hurt him terribly if anypony else were to know what happened. He was already humiliated in front of two other ponies. There’s no need to add to it. She shakes her head.

“Miss Sparkle,” murmurs Shatterstorm as he stands back up. His wings twitch and flutter. Rainbow Dash understands that bit of his body language now. Anger. “We need to protect her,” he says.

“I’ll go find her,” says Rainbow Dash. “I think you might need to see a doct—”

He shoots her a menacing, cold glare that shuts her mouth like a punch to the face. “I don’t need your sympathy,” he says coolly. “I don’t need your pity. I don’t need your advice. I’m thankful you put aside your pride to help me, but—but I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

Rainbow Dash grunts. “I’m not…”

He glares. “Don’t lie. It’s written all over your face.” He imitates Rainbow Dash’s voice—to her great shock, pitch-perfectly. “‘Oh, the poor soldier boy, he’s had a rough life, how dare that awful mare hurt him like that.’ I’m not having any of that bullshit, especially—not—from—you!” He compounds his point by poking Rainbow Dash’s chest at the last four words.

At the drop of the curse word, Pinkie Pie’s eyes widen. She clicks her tongue as silence descends. Shatterstorm turns and starts down the hallway, following the direction Twilight and Marble took. “What matters right now is that we do the right thing,” he says over his shoulder. “And the right thing, right now, is to do the job I was tasked to do and protect Miss Sparkle.”

He leaves the hallway. Pinkie’s eyes look to Rainbow Dash, then to the door Shatterstorm stomped through. “Did I… catch you two at a bad time?” she asks.

Rainbow Dash looks to her friend. Poor thing; she barely understands what’s going on. It’s good that she got Scootaloo to safety, but…

“No,” she sighs at last. “Come on, we ought to at least follow him.” As they begin to do just that, Rainbow Dash mutters something under her breath. The only words Pinkie Pie is able to catch are “stupid”, “thinks”, “macho”, “tough”, and a choked “why does he.”

---

“Do not scream.”

It takes a second for Bon Bon’s heart to start beating again, and another for her to realize Aeon is speaking to her. “Do not scream,” he repeats, his voice a smothered whisper. “Do not scream.”

She gulps, shivering. The mound of mud on top of Aeon writhes again. Wriggling as if it’s alive. A slow, high-pitched whine finds its way out of her mouth before Aeon shushes her again. She can see faces in the mud. They aren’t pony faces, and in fact more resemble Aeon’s facial construction—except that Aeon actually had eyes.

The black holes where the eyes should be scan Bon Bon. There are no eyes, nothing for Bon Bon’s gaze to meet, but they scan her nonetheless. Size her up. She hears them gurgle. She gulps.

“These creatures are mud men,” says Aeon quietly. “Their awareness stops at sound. They can hear you. So do not scream. Loud noises make them angry.”

Bon Bon nods, still fighting her inner coward, that overpowering instinct for self-preservation. “Are… are you trapped?” she asks as quietly as she can.

She is surprised Aeon can hear her at this distance. “To make a long story short, yes. I need your help, Bon Bon.”

The mud wriggles again. Bon Bon winces.

“Surely, you have noticed the lanterns?” Aeon asks.

Bon Bon nods.

“Those are ghost lanterns. They should not even be here. They are lit by wicked creatures in the service of Dr…” His eyes dart. Bon Bon cocks her head at Aeon’s odd pause. “...In the service of a dark power. I need you to destroy them.”

Her already-cocked head is cocked further. She’s afraid her head may twist off. Aeon breathes a sigh at Bon Bon’s confusion and elaborates further. “The innocent souls burning in the ghost lanterns provide magical support for beings of their construction. By destroying them, the innocent souls are freed, and you cut the animated beasts’ power.”

Bon Bon swallows Aeon’s instructions with a nod of her head. She nearly jumps as the mud mound wriggles again. She can make out arms and… hands. They aren’t as beautiful as Aeon’s are—more like long, gnarled claws than anything else. She can’t seem to count how many are on top of Aeon.

She breathes deep. He needs my help, she thinks. For the first time since all this nonsense started, I’m going to do what’s right. She looks to one of the suspicious lanterns from before, then walks over to it. She angles herself to it. Rears up.

Before she can deliver a kick, Aeon almost cries out for her to stop. She looks to him as the mound wriggles and shrieks. “Not-Not-Not that one, that one’s too close, it’ll make too much noise,” he says in a rushed tone she’s never heard from him before. “They will attack you. Start with the ones nearest to the graveyard’s entrance, then work your way over.”

Following Aeon’s advice, Bon Bon retraces her steps back to the entrance. There, almost right next to the gates, is a lantern. Deep breath. Angle correctly. Rear up. And… kick. With a sudden crash, the lantern is down. Once again, Bon Bon finds herself looking over her shoulder in panic.

When nothing comes, she gathers her courage and repeats on the next lantern. Then another. And another. Just as she becomes more confident, Bon Bon looks out a corner of her eye and spots movement among the tombstones.

The mud has begun to rise. They form shapes that remind Bon Bon of Aeon, only warped shadows of his general figure. The same empty holes in their heads, the screwed-up mouths, the clawed hands. Mud men are rising.

Bon Bon breathes in sharply. Don’t scream. Don’t. Scream. That sets them off. She tries to calm herself down as the mud men near her. Their movements are clumsy and graceless, almost tripping over themselves. They’re klutzier than that cross-eyed mailmare.

As the mud men slowly near her, Bon Bon looks to the next lantern. If what Aeon said is true, then their power is already weakening. Their maladroit movement implies that their grip on themselves is failing. Only one thing to do!

Down goes another lantern. The mud men look up at the noise, causing Bon Bon to hold her breath again. She’ll never get used to their uncanny terror, those blank-yet-thoughtful stares. Their movements have become even clunkier, with one simply falling over and another walking right into a tombstone and tumbling over it.

A smile spreads across Bon Bon’s face as she runs to the next lantern and destroys it. And the next one, and the next one, and the next one. The last one—which she tried to destroy first—goes down just as easily as the rest. The mud men are too uncoordinated to be much of a threat anymore. Many of them have simply taken to falling apart.

The mud men covering Aeon have melted into a single struggling pile of mud. With a punch, Aeon breaks free. Bon Bon raises an eyebrow as she notices that his suit is still pure, pearly white, mud and filth be damned.

He runs on his two legs, becoming a pony in the blink of an eye and running on four. He says something to Bon Bon that she can’t quite make out, but it sounds like an apology. Confused, she races after him as he runs further into the graveyard.

His watch becomes a giant clock hand. Bon Bon’s eyes widen as he tells her not to follow him. “Go to Miss Heartstrings,” he instructs. She pauses. His voice suddenly awash with frustration, he repeats his command in a bark. Bon Bon leaves without any argument.

Aeon pulls out of his coat pocket a small red jewel, looking it over as if to make sure it is still with him. He puts it back. Once more, he looks about to make sure nopony is watching. Remembering his regeneration point, and keeping it in his heart and mind, Aeon’s unicorn horn glows as he raises his clock hand sword and decapitates himself with it. His mortally-wounded body dissipates…

Comments

[Brony_Fife]

2340747

Don't worry. This is the end of the FIRST book.

Of a planned EIGHT.

[Exgallion]

Dun, dun, duuuun.

Thinking back on our earlier conversation Fife, Shanoa is probably the weakest among the Castlevania heroes.

[Brony_Fife]

2343140

I wouldn't say so. Carrie Fernandez is likely the weakest since she has limited magic use. Shanoa has a variety of magical powers, its system similar to Soma Cruz's soul-absorbing.

[Exgallion]

2344987
If I'm remembering correctly, Shanoa's powers (her glyphs) are based off of Dracula's power to absorb souls.
I looked up Carrie, and yeah, she is probably weaker than Shanoa, but are you really planning to make children fight?

[Razalon The Lizardman]

MOAR!!!

And make it snappy, if it's alright with you, that is.

[Zekromic]

2346043 only the dominus glyphs arebased on dracula's powers

[Zekromic]

2178238 many ideas to choose from, but it's your story, I can't decide for you, but you must be confident on your choces. Just make sure you don't overcrowd the fic, it's better to have few characters and get enough screentime for each, instead of overcrowd it and not have enough screentime for anyone

[Zekromic]

darn it, can wait no longer to see Marble get hers

[Brony_Fife]

2431048

The waiting is always the hardest part, isn't it?

Don't worry, it's getting written. I'm just waiting on my proofreader to get back to me.

[Zekromic]

2431979 sure is, it's hard to wait

[Zekromic]

2431979 you seen Nightmare Rarity from the comics? definitely could use some of that in my fan-secuel

[Brony_Fife]

2476876

Nightmarity was pretty cool.

Except for the name. I would have named her something like Diamond Nightmare. I mean, it's not like Luna was "Nightmare Luna." Then again, "Shadowfright"'s real name is Larry, so it isn't like these guys are all that great at naming things.

For a point of reference, however, it should be noted that the events of the comics, unless otherwise indicated, are set in separate continuity. Second, my fic is also set in a separate continuity in which Twi doesn't become an alicorn--at least, not until much later on in her life. So there might be a few cute nods to the comics every here and there, but I don't consider them canon to the show (Much like how the Sonic comics shouldn't be considered canon to the games).