> Project Renaissance
>  by Out of Service
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance


By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic


Prologue 



Endless dunes surrounded Prince Blueblood. What was a scorching sun gave no heat, and nothing of interest was in sight. He cantered at a moderate pace through the sand, a light-blue and checkered headscarf flowing in a soundless gust. While his face was concealed and goggles covered his eyes, the two tell-tale signs of identity clung to his being; a compass rose decorated both sides of his flank and a sheathed sword bobbed up and down across his back with each step. Yet, the further he moved from his unknown origin, the more hostile the environment became. Despite the lack of sound, the young prince could feel the whipping of higher force winds making their way closer. The closing distance meant lesser visibility and although he could still see roughly ten meters in front of him, there wasn't a visible source of the environmental disarray. But there was a yearning inside him, some sense of necessity pulled at him, perhaps coaxed him and he continued on. 

After clearing what seemed to be the hundredth dune, Blueblood came across the heaviest pull he had ever felt. The crest of the sandy hill began to shift as he stepped upon it. A second later, a ripple of energy tore across sand, pulling away the shifty ground beneath him and yanking the scarf in front of his face. His hooves began sliding forward and his face, although hidden, morphed into a grimace. Gritting his teeth and bracing himself, Blueblood squinted and made out the form of a sandstorm before him. Not knowing what that truly meant, the stallion began to feel firsthand what the force of nature intended to do. He sunk his hooves into what remained of the dune and held his ground.

Steeling himself, the prince braved the coming storm.





Blueblood awoke with a jolt. Sweat covered his body and dampened the luxurious bedding beneath him. The sheets had been tossed from his body, presumably from his own doing and the contents covering his bedside table had been flung across the floor. After turning on the nearby lamp and looking around his room, the prince placed his hooves together and shut his eyes. His breathing slowed back to it's normal pace and after relaxing, he cleared his head. Whatever reason the nightmare continued to burden him remained elusive, but the recurrence of it  seemed to create a clearer and clearer picture with every experience. In the beginning, when the visions had first started to take true form, Blueblood could vaguely make out his own body, but now there was true definition, and hopefully an actual message. What it could be wasn't clear, but he was sure that someone would know what to make of it. 

Prince Blueblood wrestled himself from sleep and got out of bed. His room was well-decorated, not simply from the amazing craftsmanship that went into it as a whole, but from all of the items collected from his travels that reminded him of exploits all across Equestria and beyond. Though his reputation never showed it and was simply an artificial aspect of his life, the prince had a deep love of traveling and exploring where ponies dared to set hoof in front of hoof. The dreams seemed to play off of that and the relative he had in mind could not only decipher its meaning, but was definitely awake at this very moment.

Blueblood trotted to his dresser mirror and scanned his face. It seemed fine, not that anyone would actually see it. His mane was given its volume back with a quick brush-through. The signature dickie that he never went into public without was gently set in place and tied. He nodded to himself and grabbed a bag of bits as he trotted out of his room, through a hallway, down the double stairs, out the mansion door. It was night out, but the many streetlights Canterlot was famous for were alight and burning brightly. Few citizens were out and about, and mostly patrol guards seemed to populate the streets. All the better for him to move around. Prince Blueblood, without a single reason for fear, made his way to the palace at a relaxed pace. As expected, no problems arose, considering he lived in one of the most aristocrat-populated areas in the entire country. Security was tight here, thankfully.

The prince arrived within minutes to the castle grounds. The guards stationed at the gates saluted as he passed, already having grown used to seeing the noble quite a long time ago. Though he was incredibly unpopular with Shining Armor and his closest colleagues, the regular guards that moved about the city and palace seemed to keep neutral to him. That wasn't to say that one didn't at least smile every now and then, or perhaps nod, but the royal guard typically upheld the greatest amount of passiveness he ever witnessed. 

"If only that arrogant brat wasn't their captain," he thought to himself out loud. "He caused that whole mess with the Changelings in the first place..."

Lost in his own thoughts, Blueblood barely noticed a hoof hook itself around his neck, bringing him close to another body, "You're still talking to yourself these days, Big Blue?"

Said stallion froze before quickly withdrawing away from the pony he loathed the most in the entire city. Captain Shining Armor, or rather Prince Shining Armor now, flashed a grin before walking up to his old rival.

Blueblood narrowed his eyes, "What are you doing here? Don't you have something to do that isn't a waste of somepony's time?"

"You need to calm down a bit there. I'm only trying to be friendly with you. After all, nobles are supposed to be close."

The prince ground his teeth in frustration. That annoying voice and accent were intolerable. Why his sister had chosen such a waste of genetic material as a husband was a mystery upon itself, and also something he didn't want to trouble himself with. Bringing his horn to a mild glow, Blueblood teleported out of sight and to the doors of the court. That proved mostly effective, with the exception that he now had several spears directed as his neck. They were immediately pulled away once he was recognized by the two guards he seemed to see just about everywhere. He didn't know the stallion's name, but didn't care anyway.

The lankier guard, a brown unicorn stallion, bowed his head slightly, "Sorry about that, sir. We thought you were an intruder."

"We? Speak for yourself." A batpony mare turned to Blueblood and smiled with playful mirth, "Popping in all of a sudden, are we? That's not like you at all, Blueblood."

The prince readjusted his dickie and returned with a playful smile, "Ah, I didn't expect to see you here, Mettle. "

She laughed, "Work to live and live to work, you know?"

"Of course." Blueblood let the smile seep off his face and turned serious for a moment, "I might need to speak to you a little later. Nothing is set in stone right now, but keep your schedule clear for now."

"Absolutely," she said, standing aside as the door opened. "Well, you probably came here to see the Princess. Drop by later when I finish my shift?"

"To another diner, I suppose?" he asked, heading into the court.

Mettle rolled her eyes, "You know me too well."

Blueblood laughed before finally entering, the door closing behind him. He had always enjoyed the company of Mettle, and their friendship was quite tolerable in most cases. The same could be said in regards to his relationship with his aunts. Though they had to keep appearances by coming off as strict in public towards him, the reality was far different. His short stint as an Equestrian agent for the crown had put him in good waters with his beloved aunties, especially when he had prevented a Changeling spy from ruining the Grand Galloping Gala. However, this visit had nothing to do with business or royal matters. As far as he was concerned, Blueblood simply wanted some explanation, perhaps a few answers, in regards to his nightmares and nothing more.

Moving in a brisk trot, the young prince traveled the long red carpet and straight to Princess Luna. The bored royal lifted her head from her hooves and smiled at her nephew warmly. 

"It seems you've finally become motivated enough to come by," she teased, the loudness of her voice long since tamed.

Blueblood headed up the stairs and sat next to her, "Oh, auntie, being motivated to do something is SO last year. I'm determined, these days."

Luna's face went concerned, "This is about your nightmares, I presume?"

"If you knew, why didn't you prevent them? I thought you guided ponies when their dreams turned sour," he responded in an equally sour tone.

The Princess twirled a hoof in the air nonchalantly, "Everypony assumes it's so easy to get into dreams and nightmares and assist them. I haven't attempted to do anything past giving nightmares for the last thousand years, so my linguistic skills aren't the only things that are going to be rusty." She paused for a short moment, "It is also much harder to assist the more developed minds of adults as opposed to foals. Too many things going on in one's life can become excellent blockage for mind links."

Blueblood frowned, "I see. So you won't be able to stop them, then?"

"No, but it is possible to help determine the cause or message the nightmares are trying to convey."

Sometimes, he was glad he had such talented family members. Them being in very high-ranking positions didn't hurt either.

"That'd help me quite a bit, auntie."

"Explain the nightmare to me."

Needless to say, the conversation was sufficiently interesting and informational for it's duration. Each time he pointed out some obscurity within his dream, it was some reasoning that tied back to his own experiences. Seeing his aunt truly use her vast stores of knowledge on the area of dreams was astounding, leaving him to wonder if Princess Celestia had similar talents. The information he gained, in the most watered down and basic form, was that he was likely being plagued by his Cutie Mark's desire to fulfill itself.

"Now, young Blueblood, I am just as courageous as the next pony, but even I have to recommend taking caution with something such as this," She explained as seriously as possible, "I'm not a fool, and I've seen you wandering off on weekends and going on escapades. Your mother and my sister seem oblivious to this, but take heed, the world is a dangerous, untamed place and there are creatures within it that you should pray you never cross."

He nodded confidently, "I know, I've recently spent some time in the Everfree... But Froud Valley? Isn't that quite a ways away? Why would my Cutie Mark tell me to go somewhere so desolate?"

Luna put a hoof to her mouth in thought before looking back at her nephew, "I can't say with certainty what your Cutie Mark wants you to do and why it burns, but the answers obviously lie in Froud Valley. It's rare for an adult pony to experience a second revelation in such a way, but I'd tread lightly regardless. Perhaps hire some helping hooves to check the area beforehand?"

Blueblood looked back at the door, considering the idea of hiring his winged friend. He was reluctant to use outside help to remove some of the mystery of exploration, but if the Valley was as bad as his nightmares made it out to be, then he could accept whatever losses in experience would come as a result. After all, it was mostly an arid desert without much in terms of landmarks. Surely there was something of interest hidden beneath all that warm sand.

The prince hugged his aunt and said his thanks before exiting. He said his goodbyes to Mettle Petal and resolved to ask her later on if she wanted to earn some extra bits. As he left the palace, he plotted and thought. This would be his greatest escapade yet.

> Chapter One: Remnants 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------
















PART ONE
AWAKENING

“AND IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS DARKNESS, THEN WE CAME BEARING TORCHES. AND THE HEATHEN FOLLOWED THE SHADOWS.”

KING EQUINOX BIBLE, SOLARIS 1:3






























Project Renaissance

Chapter One: Remnants

By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic


One hour and twenty-two minutes. That's how long the prisoner had been sitting in the room. Outside, the left shoulder of a man could barely be seen through the small window embedded in the door. There was a small tuft of lint sneaking out from under his shoulder patch and every so often it would twitch with the movement of the guard. The little details were everything. The prisoner considered this as he looked over the room again. Pristine walls, probably coated cinderblock judging by the patterns. The floor, composed of bare concrete, had a plethora of scratches that shone dimly when the prisoner tilted his head at the proper angle and above, the ceiling tiles had yet to be yellowed by age. Everything about the room screamed silently about itself, its age, its use, its purpose. It screamed about everything, right down to the metal table bolted into the concrete and the man handcuffed to the steel cleat on the tabletop itself.

His name was Ulysses Tennyson Beck and the psychotherapist sitting across from him was Dr. Linda Kirke. From the moment she had stepped into the room, he had looked her over routinely, to see if he had missed anything. He did this every two minutes. Her hair had been dyed a dark auburn, as opposed to the natural hazel that her exposed roots suggested, and the indifferent application of her powder suggested a certain apathy in regards to appearance, but that theoretic was offset by the fact that the suit she wore was that off a designer line. Which designer, Ulysses didn't know, but what he did know was that her watch was a fake Rolex and she had unsteady hands, judging by the thickness of her mascara. 

If the room screamed about itself, this woman had a definite shrieking about her. She reminded Ulysses of a vulture. She had the nose of one, at least, and her eyes had a dull, exasperated hue to them, their edges starting to redden. Obviously the decaf coffee, not gourmet and most certainly not anything better than what one would expect to find in the break room of an accounting firm, hadn't worked quite as well as she had hoped, but Ulysses could smell it radiating off of her tongue. She fairly reeked of stagnating professionalism; professionalism that had probably ruined her marriage if the tan line of her left ring finger was of any indication. Wondering, Ulysses watched as Dr. Kirke's mouth moved silently. He tilted his head a degree to impose the idea he was listening. 

"Mr. Beck, do you understand what I've been telling you?"

Ulysses looked down at the folds of his orange jumpsuit, "No. Start again, please."

Dr. Kirke let out a shard of a frustrated sigh, but composed herself and forced her thin, grey lips into a toothless smile, "Do you mind if I call you Ulysses, Mr. Beck?"

"That's fine, doctor." 

"Fantastic. Be comfortable, please. Now, Ulysses, I am here to evaluate your mental well-being because the state of Colorado has asked me to. I should also inform you that you still have the same rights as anyone else, specifically confidentiality." Dr. Kirke took a breath, "Are you still with me, Ulysses?" 

Folding his fingers together, Ulysses ignored his handcuffs, "I am curious, doctor, as to why the state of Colorado has paid you to examine my, 'mental well-being', and why they care."

Dr. Kirke felt her smile falter for a brief instant as she looked at the man in front of her. Ulysses Tennyson Beck sat with a straight back, he did not slouch, nor did he shift anything besides his hands and his head. His hair had been roughly shaved, leaving him looking slightly emaciated, his eyes sunken to a degree with a frightfully alluring quality of lambency. Even his skin had an ascetic look to it; pale and spotless. Dr. Kirke felt a slight stir of nervousness in her stomach. Stay calm, she told herself, he can't hurt you. He can't even move. But as she glanced back at his face which looked as if it had been chiseled from marble, she failed to quell the uneasiness and Ulysses saw.

He grinned disturbingly, "Nervous, doctor?"





Ulysses awoke with a start. His head jerked upwards and there was a dull, vibrating thud as his forehead connected with a hardened sheet of plastic-like material. Disoriented and finding himself claustrophobic, Ulysses felt around with his hands. There was some type of casement around him, a dense plastic, possibly a polymer of sorts. It left a small gap of room between him and it, roughly a foot or two. The encasement wasn't what bothered Ulysses, however, but rather the lack of the presence of a light source. He felt his breath quicken and a trickle of fear crept into his veins. Ulysses lashed out in a blind panic and slammed his open palms against the container, choking back a yell. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. 

Forcing himself to calm down, Ulysses took several long deep breaths and began to clench and unclench his fists. Letting out a long exhale, he pressed his hands flat against the material above him. He couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t a single spec of light to be found, not even the blinking of some small electronic device; total and complete blackness. Feeling his way along the surface, Ulysses made out a seam cutting across the center of the polymer. He forced his fingers into the tiny line and pulled in opposite directions. At first nothing happened, but Ulysses could feel the first tiny particles of dust settling on his cheeks. He pulled harder and let out a guttural sound as the seam cracked apart a few centimeters. 

A sudden bout of exhaustion struck Ulysses and he fought to push his right hand through, stopping at the wrist. The container didn’t exert much pressure, but the throbbing, warm feeling in his hand suggested that circulation had been cut off. Normally, that wouldn’t have been much of an issue, especially to Ulysses, a man who maintained his body constantly, but he had never felt so weak before. His lungs felt like they belonged to a fifty year old and the burning in his arms made Ulysses’ face contort with confused pain.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stand another minute in the dark. Ulysses took a deep breath, held it, and thrust upwards with his arm, widening the gap even more, just enough to shove his left arm through as well. His breathing came in ragged, sharp gasps and, summoning his final reserve of strength, Ulysses fought to force his arms to open like a butterfly’s wings. Sweat beaded upon his face and just as he was about to give, there was a loud snap and the polymer case slid open lazily.

Ulysses coughed and sat up, resting his arms on his lap. Every muscle in his body felt as if they had been torn and with the motion of sitting up, Ulysses felt a wave of fire wash over him. Suddenly, an orange light bloomed in the murk and the weakened Ulysses shielded his eyes from the sudden appearance of photons. Something rough brushed against Ulysses’ forearm as he pressed it against his face and he slowly ran his hand down the side of his cheek. A fully grown, untrimmed beard presented itself. Ulysses dropped his hands weakly and felt his stomach do a flip.

He turned his head sideways and vomited a stream of milky liquid onto the floor. He coughed and dry heaved several more times, spittle trickling from his lips, before attempting to step off what he discerned to be some type of sealed sleeping cot. With his newfound light, Ulysses could make out what he had been laying on. It looked similar to a mattress, although cut to form his figure, and seemed composed of a type of layered, thick gel. There was something strange about it, however. It seemed dried out along the edges, cracked like an old air freshener and there were several quarter-sized perforations lining the edges.

Something was very wrong. Ulysses could sense it. It was as if he had fallen asleep and someone had wound the clocks back, moved him to a different room, and changed the furniture. It just felt wrong. The light began to flash and for the first time, Ulysses took a good look at it. It was an emergency light mounted near the top of the wall facing the end of the cot. The cot itself was mounted on the opposite wall via several steel bars underneath. The strange part about it was that the polymer casing that surrounded the top of the cot actually slid down via two metal tracks and disappeared into some type of large metal apparatus attached to the bottom of the cot itself.

It was meant for more than sleeping, obviously, but what purpose it served besides that was unknown to Ulysses. He slowly slid his legs down until he felt the pads of his feet touch the floor. He inhaled sharply at the chilliness of it and raised his feet a little before pressing them down again, like someone testing the temperature of a hot bath. Again, Ulysses was forced to retract his bare foot due to the temperature shock. It was as if he was trying to stand on a block of dry ice. It took several more tries, but eventually he could rest his feet comfortably on the floor.

His skin felt overly sensitive and delicate, reacting to mundane temperatures far more severely than normal. He didn’t feel as he should. It was as if his body had aged a thousand years in a single night. Ulysses stood up slowly, feeling his legs shake with effort, and leaned against the wall for support. It was then that he noticed the three inch steel bars four feet in front of him. He was in a prison cell. Ulysses’ heart dropped like a stone and he felt like he was going to vomit again. He gripped the bars and looked left, then right, seeing nothing; no other light, no person, nothing. Just varying degrees of darkness as the dim orange light dissipated. 

Ulysses pressed his face against the metal, “Hello? Hello?”

For whatever reason, supernatural or otherwise, Ulysses stopped yelling. It sent shivers of unease up his spine and he felt nervous trying to disturb the pitch black. There was something uncomfortable about raising his voice, especially when it seemed to echo for an eternity down halls that replied with only distant mockeries of a man alone in the dark. Ulysses began to feel sweat roll down his face, sticking to facial hair that shouldn’t even be there.  He felt at the bars until he reach the leftmost section which was obviously designed to slide open, much like the door on a minivan. 

Giving it a hard tug to the right, Ulysses slipped backwards and tumbled to the ground in excruciating pain, his fingers clawing at the air as he fought to yell out. If his body had been afire before, it was now being absorbed into the fiery depths of hell. As he lay struggling to control his breathing, his mind raced with adrenaline.  Where was everyone? Why were the lights off? Was this some kind of game being played on his mind? Ulysses felt his thoughts begin to wander and then the exhaustion took over. Fabulous colors began to form in the dark canvas above and he saw green fields, stretching for miles, a red barn on a hill, sheep grazing in a pasture with a small lagoon in the distance.

The images continued to blur and change without pattern nor order. Ulysses lay upon the floor for what seemed like decades, his mind rushing through memories, creating sensory illusions in the murk. There was a brilliant blast of colors and mosaics. Faces passed him by, people he perhaps knew, but they were strangers, their features cloaked in the ethereal unknown. They smiled and vanished into the black, some snickering, others crying with grotesque masquerades of grins. Ulysses awoke with a small gasp. His eyes fluttered before locking onto the light. He must have dozed off for a few minutes. Ulysses turned his head and looked at the metal toilet in the corner next to his cot. He stared at it for some time, watching it reflect the orange light.

And then it struck him. He crawled over to the toilet and looked down into the bowl. Whatever liquid had once been there was long dried up, leaving a white crust behind. Ulysses took note of that as he examined the toilet itself. The steel seemed tarnished with age, almost as if it had been bought secondhand. Ulysses felt another clue being stored away in his brain as he felt at the toilet seat, following it back to where it was bolted to pivot up and down.

He quickly unscrewed the nut, which had rusted considerably, and removed the metal seat, weighing it in his hands. Ignoring the throbbing he felt, Ulysses crawled back towards the cell door and felt feverishly at where it met with the wall. His breath quickened excitedly at finding it slightly ajar, though stiff from not being maintained. Ulysses pushed the side of the toilet in between the gap as far as it would go and took a long breath, steeling himself. Then he pushed.

His muscles strained from the exertion. He found himself grunting and cursing, but his job was done and the cell door jumped once and rolled out of the way. A long and painful hour dragged by and still no one came to the cell. No lights came one. No noise could be heard besides Ulysses’ fragmented breaths. When he finally found the will to move, Ulysses took extra care to be gentle with his movements. There was no sense in charging out into the darkness, possibly straight into a guard's stun baton. Another few minutes passed and Ulysses began to slide along the hallway’s wall, but slowed himself as he realized that cell bars made up the majority of the wall itself.

Ulysses squinted into each cell, but found nothing except darkness and the smell of decay. He paused to nurse his aching feet. Where his shoes had gone, he didn’t know, but there was an eerie sense of familiarity to his surroundings despite not being able to see them. It was as if he had walked here before and felt the same surfaces, smelt the same air, but somehow, and this perplexed Ulysses, it seemed as if this was a place from his past, not his present. He felt like time had moved on without him. 

The cell bars abruptly stopped and Ulysses felt his hand cross onto a smoother surface, perhaps drywall. He caressed the wall gently and found it to be in disrepair with something peeling away from it. Ulysses continued to slide along until his shoulder pushed tenderly against a door frame. He breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he had broken from the repetitious mediocrity and he made a blind grab, connecting with a doorknob. There was a stiff ‘click’ and the door swung open with a slow, elongated creak.

Ulysses swallowed. He was out of his element here. Ulysses resolved himself. He couldn’t stop. Whatever was going on, whatever had happened, had left him an opportunity. Why he was in a prison cell, he didn't know, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out, especially when it seemed that no one was around. There was no telling when help would arrive, if it arrived at all. Ulysses took another long breath, pushed aside his bodily pain, and shut his eyes. It was easier to navigate in pitch blackness with his eyes. His other senses would have to make due for now.

With his mind, he tried to gauge the size of the room. It was fairly large as his the sound of his feet sliding slowly responded to the acoustics of the space. Ulysses followed the wall to his left, lifting his arms as high as they would go, looking like a child pretending to be an airplane. He did this for every wall, following them around the entire room, eventually stopping when he bumped into a tall metal structure. Or, rather, several in seriatim. It took a moment of thought and stroking before Ulysses realized they were lockers. Four aligned in a row, pressed against the wall.

He tried to stem his excitement and slowly opened the first one, plunging his hands inside. Cloth greeted him. Someone’s shirt, maybe. Ulysses knelt slowly and touched at the bottom of the locker. More fabric there, too. There was some type of Velcro strap attached to it and he pulled on it gently. Ulysses realized it was some type of satchel and he reached inside. Puzzled, he removed several plastic tubules from what he now discerned to a nylon pouch of sorts. He squeezed the tube and found it unrelenting in its sturdiness. Dejected, Ulysses shifted and sat back against the lockers.

He felt a sudden spurt of anger at the hopelessness of his situation and grabbed the tube with both hands, deciding to bend it. There was a loud crack and an explosion of yellow light followed. Ulysses dropped the tube in surprise and shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness. He had broken a glow-stick. As the chemicals mixed and produced light through the process of chemiluminescence, Ulysses found himself surprised that he remembered that little tidbit from high school chemistry class. He slowly uncovered his eyes and looked around the room.

Four metal benches stood bolted into the center of the room, arranged in a two-by-two manner, spread several feet apart from one another. Ulysses raised the glow-stick and glanced about, finding the rest of the room unfurnished apart from the set of lockers he currently lay against. The light was bright enough to send slim shadows dancing across the walls, hiding behind peeling paint and fallen ceiling tiles. Ulysses turned his attention to the lockers once again, his heart hammering with excitement. He could do this. He knew he could.

The previously opened locker held nothing more than the satchel of glow-sticks, twelve in all, including the one Ulysses had already broken, and some type of uniform shirt with a crest on the shoulder. Ulysses removed it and peered at the illuminated crest, reading it aloud.

“Catskills Research and Development Institute.”

Ulysses wondered at that, but gave it little thought. He needed to get out of the catacombs he was currently in and find some source of natural light. After all, he only had so many glow-sticks. Moving on, Ulysses opened the next locker, but found it empty besides a few boxes of staples scattered across the top shelf. He left the door opened and searched the next one. It turned out to be far more hopeful than the last. Ulysses removed a pair of sturdy service boots and, after feeling at the material of the pants that hung above them, matching them to the shirt, he discerned that he had the makings of some type of uniform.

There was also a small mirror glued to the inside of the locker door and Ulysses took a look at his reflection. He didn’t recognize himself. A motley beard had grown out of his usually pristine skin and hair, once shaved head now harbored hair long enough to graze the tops of his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot, the bags beneath them sagged terribly, and his skin seemed paler than usual, almost ghostly in appearance. He couldn't recall the last time he'd experienced sunlight. At that point, Ulysses noticed what he was wearing.

His orange jumpsuit was faded and patchy and as Ulysses went to feel at it, a small plume of dust trickled down from his hair. In fact, every single one of his orifices seemed coated in a fine dust. Ulysses began to itch all over and he shuddered as he stripped off his tattered jumpsuit and pulled on the uniform. It fit well enough and the clothing seemed to have been dipped in some type of chemical which shone in the chemical light. Immediately, Ulysses felt his body begin to warm up and he breathed a sigh of relief as he tucked the shirt into the trousers and knelt to lace his boots, which fit a little too tightly for his liking, though they would have to do for now.

He shrugged the satchel over his shoulder and stepped out into the hallway.





When the hunger struck Ulysses, he doubled over and fought to keep holding onto the glow-stick as the pangs in his stomach exploded. They felt more like atom bombs than the normal pain that came with not eating. This was something else entirely and Ulysses nearly blacked out as he attempted to straighten out his back. He had been walking for over an hour, peering into one room or another. The cell block was long behind him and as far as he could tell, no one had been around for a while. That was made obvious by the lack of overall repair. The floor tiles were coated in layer after layer of dust and every so often, Ulysses would come across a collapsed section of ceiling or wall and was forced to take gentle steps over the debris lest he injury his weakened body even further.

Where he was and why he was there was still a mystery. Ulysses had spent the last hour trying to figure out where he was and he still had no other clue other than the possible name of the building he was in, “Catskills Research and Development Institute” and the fact that there was no natural light whatsoever. That was possibly the most disturbing realization Ulysses had uncovered since his awakening. There was literally no natural light. Not a window, a crack in the wall, even the ceilings, collapsed as they were in sections, offered no relief from the darkness, suggesting to Ulysses that he was underground and there were more floors above him. So, by common logic, if he wanted to escape, he had to go up and so far, his quest for stairs had been unsuccessful. 

And now his stomach was tearing itself to shreds trying to find nutrition and protein. Ulysses visibly swallowed and felt, for the first time, the dryness in his throat. It had been kept down by fear and excitement, but now it was out in full force and if he didn't find some sustenance soon, dire consequences would result. Ulysses knew thirst would kill him faster than starvation, but thirst coupled with exhaustion, disorientation, and vicious hunger would kill him in hours, maybe less. To make things worse, Ulysses knew he could only keep walking for so long before he would be forced to rest and he knew that when he did, he wouldn't be able to get up.

Setting out again, Ulysses scanned the many rooms, some offices, others simply empty spaces with faded carpet, trying to find something, anything to help his current situation, but he came up empty handed time and time again. He passed under the slender hanging bodies of fluorescent lights that hung from their wire entrails and watched as a small collection of dust slipped from a ceiling pipe and trickled downwards, caught in the sickly yellow light. Ulysses hurried onwards, his beaten body crying out for a break, but he couldn't stop; not yet, not now. His eyes feverishly examined the walls for any sign of something that would help him.

His mind couldn't make out any sensible layout of the floor he was on. It seemed a mess of scattered offices, janitorial closets, unfurnished rooms, and long, stretching tiled halls that seemingly went on forever. It couldn't be Hell, Ulysses thought, it was much too cold. He hooked a left around a corner and felt something strike him in the face. Ulysses let out a grunt and took a moment to look at what he had run into. It was a large engraved sign, hanging down by its last screw, swinging useless in disrepair. Ulysses cursed and read it.

“Intake office, utilities, cafeteria.” He read it again, “Cafeteria.”

Cafeteria. Ulysses let his spirit soar and he adjusted the sign to its original position in order to determine the proper direction to go. Straight ahead, apparently. In a painful light jog now, Ulysses felt his stomach tighten and cramp, his throat rubbing raw inside. But he was nearly there. He could see the swinging double doors just ahead. They flew open and Ulysses pushed his shoulder into them and forced his way inside. Holding his light source above his head, the lone man examined the room. It seemed like any other cafeteria: long tables arranged row by row, a counter with menus attached, sinks, ovens, dishwashers. 

Ulysses made his behind the glass-shielded counter and rifled through the cabinets nearby. He spotted the white figure of a Styrofoam container in the far back and he grabbed at it. Microwavable noodles. Normally, Ulysses would have turned his nose up at such a meal, but he was ravenous. He stopped himself as he began to tear the packaging off. Water came first. He needed water first. The noodles could wait. 

Ulysses went straight for the sink, finding it built up with lime scale and dust. He turned the cold water knob and watched as a small trickle of cloudy water streamed from the faucet. Ulysses positioned his head under the tap and drank. The water had a bitterly metallic taste as if it had sat too long, but Ulysses couldn’t have cared less and continued to drink for several more minutes before he felt his thirst beginning to be quenched. Fresh sweat dribbled down his forehead and he found it easier to breathe. Even his worn muscles seemed to have receded into the background.

Finally, Ulysses felt satisfied and he stopped the flow of water before turning his attention to his hunger which had only been sharpened by the liquid. The noodles had a yellowish tint to them, but then again, so did everything Ulysses looked at. Tearing the packet of spice, Ulysses sprinkled it heartily over the chunk of solid noodles before crushing them into the Styrofoam cup. He scarfed the meal down and felt the monster in his stomach begin to weaken and then finally disappear. Ulysses knew he would need more food soon and with his water supply secured, he looked around for anything else to eat.

There was a can of long overdue tomato paste, a jar of what might have been pickled eggs, but the growth inside the glass left much up to interpretation, and two packs of freeze-dried plums. Ulysses removed the plums and set them on the counter. He noticed the glow-stick beginning to dim and tossed it into the center of the room, casting some level of light around the entirety of the space, before cracking another and letting a bright blue light wash over the area, too.

With new illumination, Ulysses noticed a large door off left of the counter and he approached it. It was probably the pantry. He gave the door a push and felt it budge, but shut immediately. Something was leaning against it. Ulysses swore in adrenaline-fueled fear and gave the door a mighty shove, ignoring his complaining body. It jumped and swung open, a skeleton clattering sideways, empty eye sockets and toothy grin looking Ulysses directly in the face.

He jumped in visible fear, “Fuck!”

It took a long minute for Ulysses to calm his hammering heart. It felt like it was about to explode out of his chest. He stared at the skeleton for a long moment. There was a small hole just above its temple and on the opposite side, there was a large chunk of skull missing. Ulysses stepped over the corpse and looked it over from the opposite angle. The floor was stained with a rusty color, presumably blood, and what looked like dried worms were stuck to the wall right of the door: brain matter. 

Ulysses shivered and reached down to pick up the gun from the floor, wrestling it away from the skeleton’s grasp. It was a semi-automatic Beretta 92FS. Ulysses racked the slide and let a frown cross his face as the exposed barrel revealed a dangerous crack across its surface. It would probably explode if fired and Ulysses unloaded the magazine instead, tucking it away in the satchel before setting the inoperable firearm down. Skeleton aside, the pantry was a good find and he surveyed the sheer amount of dry and canned goods in stock. 

Bags of pasta, rice, flour, sugar, salt, corn. There were other staples, too, but what caught Ulysses’ eye was the back shelving unit. It held several large jugs of filtered water and he breathed a long sigh of relief. As far as sustenance went, he would survive for now. His thoughts turned macabrely back to the skeleton behind him. Ulysses turned slowly, half expecting the skeleton to have changed positions, but it lay where it had fallen, limp and shadowy.

Who locked themselves in a pantry and promptly shot themselves in the head? More importantly, why did they do it? Ulysses found himself with more questions and still no answers. There was something desperately wrong with the entire situation, but Ulysses knew he couldn’t do anything unless he got topside. And he needed to fast. First he needed to prepare. There was no telling how long it would take it get up and out and Ulysses couldn’t take the chance of losing his way and not being able to backtrack to where he was now.

Ulysses searched the pantry for another minute, but turned his attention to the counter, looking through the drawers and cabinets at ground level. He found what he was looking for and removed three large plastic bags from a box and went back into the pantry. Ulysses searched around the jugs of water and eventually found a crate filled with bottles of mineral water. He took four and then moved onto the freeze-dried food. After a few minutes, Ulysses tripled bagged his supplies to ensure the bags didn’t rip under the weight of several packs of plums, chicken breasts, buttered asparagus, and the bottles of water.

There was nothing left to do except continue on. Ulysses was in the midst of a mystery, one that would prove to shake the very foundations of his reality, but, as with all mysteries, it was one that he would not solve alone.





Elsewhere in the facility, an old rail system which ran through separate tunnels, creaked unsteadily. Certain rodents, rats and mice alike, had taken a liking to using the tunnels as dens, and passageways, and over the long course of time, the facility had been out of operation, heavy damage had been done to the metal rails holding captivity shells that stored test subjects, men and women who, because of certain traits, had been detained and imprisoned, if not already prior to their detainment. One rail in particular had been hit the hardest, and it screeched from the constant pressure of a swarm of rats lying upon it generation after generation, further creating a nest composed of wires, feces, and insulation.

Suddenly, the rod snapped, and the remaining pod groaned as its rusted wheels turned and turned, rolling down the snapped rail. It eventually ran against the break and fell to the tiles below. With a loud clanging and crash, the pod hit the floor with enough force it to break apart the hardened glass shell, sending shards flying away into the dark. The rough jostling and explosion of the shell threw the occupant out, followed by a flow of unknown fluid. Everything, other than the massive family of rats above, settled and silence reigned once more.

Fourteen minutes had passed before the person on the ground finally came to. It was possibly the chilly air that brought him back to a long-awaited consciousness, or perhaps the slimy liquid that had been containing him for who knew how long. The sharp biting of glass in his face might have been another form of a wake-up call as well, given the case. Regardless, the dark skinned man was starting to stir from his place on the cold floor.

The first thing he did with his new-found wakefulness was to vomit. A mix of his own fluids, milky and foul smelling, and that of which had kept his body preserved for so long were discharged with loud retching. After it had died down, the man groaned loudly and attempted to force his heavy eyes open. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see himself lying face first in the dimly sparkling form of shattered glass. His arms jerkily resumed normal functions and attempted to push himself away. Of course, given that he had been asleep for so long, he was unable to do much past slide his hands along the floor and getting shards in them.

The growing pain was just barely enough to stimulate his body. The prisoner let out a groan as he forced himself over and onto his back. Between labored breaths and intense feeling of nausea, he was in no mood to move. His thoughts were foggy, and memories were hard to remember so far. So he lied there as long as he could tolerate. Feeling returned to only parts of his body, but most importantly, he was now able to open his eyes. 

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't in his cell anymore. Looking up, all he could see were the endless rails and enormous nests of rats bustling about. Disgust didn't register yet. One happened to fall, landing right on his chest. It attempted to squirm away quickly but readily slapped into a wall. Regaining his senses slowly, he focused on the fact that he was now in the dreaded Temporary Volunteer Storage, a place where the most rowdy subjects were forcefully kept until they simmered down. He rarely left this place. Now that he realized he was actually free and alone, the man whose jumpsuit featured a "W. Fairbanks" tag took a grip on his opportunity to escape and pushed himself upwards.

Said man fell onto his back after his legs refused to respond to his commands. "W" growled in frustration and pressed his right arm against the floor once again. His left arm remained numb as well, but the prospect of freedom was too much for him to simply let himself lie there. Grunting loudly, the dark-skinned research subject reached for his container and pushed up. The exertion caused his tired body to pant as he raised a foot over the floor. Higher and higher he went until his balance gave out and brought him onto the floor. 

"... God damn this bullshit..." 

Though his voice was as hoarse as a chain-smoker on his deathbed, exercising his vocal muscles was soothing. The feeling that he hadn't heard his own voice in quite some time nagged at his mind temporarily. How long was he in captivity for? Couldn't have been longer than maybe a few weeks, though the decayed storage space he was given seemed to disagree with that theory. No other pods seemed to be around, the room was both dusty and empty, and worst of all, he was damn hungry. "W" felt his stomach screaming out at his lack of movement towards a food source and resolved to continue his escape.

Using what little control there was over his body, "W" extended his right arm out and dragged himself away from the debris. His orange jumpsuit thankfully protected him from the shards of glass while he crawled towards the door. The growing taste of metal on his tongue didn't so much as make him second guess what he was doing. With an agitated stubbornness and nothing in his way, "W" reached up and opened the door into the facility he had come to dread. 

The cheap office door was shoved open, letting the few vestiges of dim light outside in. Yet, for his weakened eyes, the lights were painfully bright. The man hissed and covered his face with his right hand. A few seconds later, his left arm seemed to catch up and sluggishly copy its twin. The prisoner let out a sigh before grabbing the door frame and easing his way through and into a dirty hallway. Despite the sparse lightning, he could see through the darkness easily, for whatever reason. "W" glanced up and saw a sign pointing towards the cafeteria. Putting one hand in front of the other, he made a slow trek in the direction of the one place he could sate his hunger.

The fact that there were only skeletons and decrepit surroundings in this part of the facility didn't seem so important once you've realized you're close to starving to death. Even later, he couldn't find a single reason to blame himself for that.





The elevator shaft was silent. Even the cables, hung limply, some snapped, others frayed, did not creak or sway. Far, far above, a thin sliver of light could be seen, barely visible past the silhouette of the elevator jammed between floors. Ulysses took another long sip of mineral water as he leaned heavily against the door frame and looked up. A rusted yellow set of ladder rungs trailed up the wall and behind the elevator, presumably leading up to the very top of the shaft for the purpose of maintenance.

From the floor Ulysses was on, to the very top, it was probably a length of two hundred feet or more. Below, there were several more floors, and Ulysses took a long moment to decide whether or not it was in his interest to drop a glow-stick down into the depths. After a moment of deliberation, he cracked a green one and let it fall. 

“One, two, three, four, five…”

The small object of illumination spun and spun before striking the end of the elevator shaft, barely visible so far below. There must have been another twenty or so floors below, not considering the fact that there were several more above where Ulysses stood. He let out an audible sigh and judged the distance between the elevator doorway and the rungs on the opposite side. Just then, a small scraping noise could be heard, echoing down the hallway to the right.

Ulysses jerked his head in the direction of the sound and felt his stomach knot in fear. It’s a rat, he told himself, just a rat. Quiet returned until another faint brushing sound could be heard. It was as if something was being dragged along the corridor. Ulysses felt his throat tighten slightly and he raised his glow-stick.

“Hello?”

"Are you a fucking ghost."

Ulysses' eyes widened, "Who's there?"

"No, who the hell are you? Answer before I shoot your face off!"

"Shit!" Ulysses hissed and pressed himself against the half open elevator door, "Don't shoot!"

The scraping slowly became closer, "I won't ask again, nigga!"

A sudden memory hit Ulysses; he knew that voice, "Westin is that you? Westin Fairbanks?"

"... Shit. You're Beck. Not the singer, the creep."

Ulysses peeked down the hall and spotted a dark mass lying against the opposing wall, "Why are you pointing a gun at me?"

Westin tossed a gnarled bone towards the other prisoner, "Watch out, it might go off on its own!"

"Jesus Christ, Fairbanks." Ulysses said as he stepped out from the doorway, "What the hell are you doing? Why are you laying on the floor?"

"Let me put it this way," he began, "I fell ten feet from the floor, landed in glass, am bleeding, and can't feel the lower half of my body."

Cautiously, Ulysses approached Westin, who was slumped against the wall, supported by his shoulder, face bloodied, "Good God, man." He knelt down next to the ebony man, "Let me help you."

Ulysses managed to get Westin into a sitting position, his back against the wall. Even from the pale blue light of the glow-stick, Ulysses could see the damage was bad. Westin's face had been lacerated severely, even with some small pieces of glass embedded in his cheek and forehead. To make matters worse, Westin restated the fact that he couldn't move his legs and Ulysses wondered if he was paralyzed by the apparent fall he had been in. There was a thick sheet of blood covering Westin's face, causing him to blink rapidly to clear away the dribbles that trickled from his cut forehead.

Reaching into the bags of food, Ulysses removed an opened bottle of water and managed to rip a strip of cloth from Westin's jumpsuit to use as a bandage. He tried to clear away as much of the dirt and blood as he could from Westin's face and was glad to see several of the cuts had clotted, but it was still a mess. Ulysses turned his attention to the pieces of glass protruding from Westin's face.

"Do you want me to pull those out? Or do you want to do it yourself?"

"Toss me a mirror. I'll take care of this shit myself."

Westin got to work and carefully began pulling out the pieces of glass. It was a painful and grueling process, but each bit was eventually removed and discarded in a paper cup. A clean, wet rag provided by Ulysses was used to wipe away the excess blood, and another strip of his clothing on his forehead for preventing more from blocking his view. 

"Fresh and clean. Now we just need to fix whatever's wrong with these broken ass legs."

Sitting down himself, Ulysses thought back, "I saw a sign for an infirmary a way back. Are you paralyzed? I mean, if you are, it won't do much good to go to an infirmary other than to fix your face."

"You got any better ideas?" Westin replied irritably. "I don't know what went wrong in this crusty fuckin' place, but there's probably something to wake up my legs."

‎"Something to wake up your legs? You realize if you damaged your spine, you're fucked, right?" When Westin glared, Ulysses raised his hands in surrender, "Alright, fine. I suppose you'll need some help to get there."

"Just get me there."

Ulysses nodded and, after a little jostling, managed to get Westin's arms around his shoulders, dragging him slowly back the way he had come. Westin's hands were locked together near the base of Ulysses' throat, restricting the pale man's airflow a small bit, but Ulysses was more concerned about getting Westin to the infirmary than anything else. They were in this together now and Ulysses knew that Westin may very well die if he was left without aid, especially considering the fact he might be paralyzed.

It was a long several minutes as Ulysses' body sweated and cried out for relief, Westin cursing quietly as his face bumped accidentally against Ulysses' back, his own legs trailing limp behind him, deadweight for the long walk. Examination rooms, accounting offices, computers, door after door after door. It all blurred into a blue-tinged mosaic as Ulysses trudged onward, leaning forward to accommodate for Westin's added weight.

The two-man team ended its trek as they entered through a pair of double doors. The rusty, decayed sign above was barely legible, but a few key letters from "Infirmary" could be made out. Inside, there were dozens upon dozens of beds with advanced medical equipment nearby. Operating tables were in separated rooms to the far back, with a large closet of medical and pharmaceutical supplies a few meters away. Ulysses persevered a little while longer, just enough so that Westin could be placed in a bed. 

Wiping the sweat from his face, Ulysses hobbled slowly over towards what looked like a file cabinet. His only medical background was what he had learned during school and that wasn’t much. So, if he was to help Westin, he would first need to figure exactly what, “help” meant in his current predicament. Opening the large metal cabinet, Ulysses was greeted by sheaf after sheaf of yellowed, wilted paper, lined row after row. He groaned silently and pressed his forehead against the cabinet door, finding it like ice.

After a few brief seconds, Ulysses pulled himself together and sorted through several file folders, each with a different subject. Mutagens, experiments, genotypic enhancements. Finally, many papers later, he pulled out a thick binder entitled, “Chemical-Induced Experimental Sleep Patterns” Ulysses read as fast as he could, beads of sweat getting caught in the partitions of his eyelashes. Paragraphs detailing chemical formulas, aqueous and gas, flew over Ulysses’ head and he skipped past them, desperately trying to find some type of explanation for the physical hindrances he and Westin were experiencing.

A sudden thought hit Ulysses and he scolded himself, setting the folder down on a nearby table. He looked around the room before walking back to Westin and setting the glow-stick on his chest, telling him to hold it. Ulysses cracked and shook another one, reaching deep into the satchel, and orange light filled the room alongside the blue. A medical kit could be seen attached to the side of yet another gunmetal gray cabinet and Ulysses snatched it up before returning to Westin and placing the kit at the end of the gurney, opening it up and rifling through the supplies.

“This is going to hurt.” Ulysses said.

Westin didn’t reply. He simply nodded and clasped the glow-stick harder. Ulysses once again ran the cool water over Westin’s face before grabbing a small jar of antiseptic cream and smearing it over the cuts. Westin inhaled sharply as it was applied and Ulysses hurried to spread it evenly over the open wounds. Most would heal by themselves, but they were open cuts and there was no telling what type of bacteria was already festering below the skin. Finished with the cream, Ulysses applied several patches of gauze according to the severity of the cuts and then bandaged Westin’s face tightly. In the end, only Westin’s eyes, a portion of his left cheek, and his mouth and chin were visible.

Drinking the last of the water in the bottle, Ulysses made sure Westin was still conscious before going back to the file he had previously been reading. Focused now, Ulysses soon found what he was looking for and read aloud:

“Subjects in chemically enhanced sleep are, theoretically, in no danger of immediate physical ailments. However, it should be noted that subjects who were exposed to extended periods of chemically induced sleep suffered from minor to severe side effects. These effects and symptoms can range from enhanced enamel growth, hair growth or hair loss, bleeding of the gums, muscle atrophy, temporary paralysis of extremities, increased sensitivity to temperature, pain, or touch and several others. To clarify, these symptoms became only readily apparent after a subject had been asleep for over forty years (See S. Bridger file).”

Ulysses slowly set the file down. Both he and Westin exhibited the symptoms described in the file. That meant they had been in some type of stasis for forty-some years. But why had no one awaken them? What had happened to their surroundings? Where was everyone? There was no answer in the dark. They had to get outside, but with Westin’s legs and Ulysses’ physical state, they stood no chance without recuperation. Flipping through the last few pages, Ulysses’ eyes widened and he glanced quickly at the back of the room, towards a refrigerated door, presumably for medicine.

He made his way over and hurriedly rummaged through, heart pounding with newfound hope. Finding it still refrigerated, Ulysses felt the bite of the cold, but ignored it, taking pleasure in the knowledge that some electricity still existed, although sparse. From the other side of the room, Westin watched with lidded eyes. He felt exhausted and wonder at how his newly acquired partner was still standing.

With great difficulty, Ulysses stumbled to the gurney Westin lay on and held up two small glass bottles and two syringes.

“Let’s hope this works.”









> Chapter Two: A Day at the End of the World
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance

Chapter Two: A Day at the End of the World

By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic

 
Canterlot’s Royal Palace was quiet. Out in the gardens, a skunk rummaged through the undergrowth and an owl hooted to the bare face of the moon so far above. Corridors lay silent, torches burning throughout the night, their flickering orange fingers casting an eerie feel about the carpeted marble and granite floors. Prince Blueblood had long since fallen asleep in his own chamber and was content in his rest, finding that particular night to be without questionable nightmares. The serenity was not to last, however, and a loud banging echoed from his bedroom door.
 
Groggily, Blueblood arose and checked the clock on the far wall. It was three in the morning. What could anypony want of him at this hour? Opening the door, Blueblood was greeted by a young and anxious guard, probably on his first night alone.

Hiding his annoyance behind a tone filled with lethargy, Blueblood raised the obvious question, “What is it, recruit?”
 
Shuffling on the spot, the guard tried to compose himself, but ultimately failed, “Sir, I-uh, well, it’s about those sonar reports you ordered delivered to you.”
 
“What about them?” Blueblood felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.
 
“Well, um…” The guard took a deep breath, “It looks like someone stole them in transit.”

Blueblood let out a long, defeated sigh and closed the door before rummaging through his wardrobe for some travel clothes. It was going to be a long trip.
 



 
The barkeep watched the stallion at the end of the bar. He had been sitting there for over an hour, features hidden under a thick brown cloak, its heavy hood pulled up over his head, soaking him in the shadows of dim lanterns. He carried a simple steel short sword on his hip and his chest was protected by a weathered leather vest. The barkeep would have thought of him as just another traveler if not for two subtle yet defining features: the stallion in question had two small daggers concealed under his cloak and he had yet to finish his pint. The barkeep had seen that particular trick done, in large, by those who wished to appear as anypony else, but without the hindrance of alcohol on the brain.
 
It wasn’t a difficult thing to do. The stallion made it appear as if he was taking a large swig of the beverage, but in reality, he swallowed very little. Of course, the true integrity of the illusion was based solely on the inebriation of every other patron in the room, and the barkeep was a far cry from being drunk. She continued polishing the tarnished mug in her hooves before setting it below the counter with all the others. The stranger had intrigued her. Of course, it was not unusual to see strangers in Camp Barrier, as the camp itself was the only major waypoint for further expeditions into the Deep South.
 
Camp Barrier lay roughly file miles south of the Appaloosan Mountain Range and, seeing the conditions there, most rookie explorers never went much further, deciding that the risk was not worth the reward. Explorers, robbers, trespassers, thieves, fugitives, murderers, treasure hunters, roamed about the Deep South and there were few honest folk to balance out the sheer amount of degeneracy. There had been no lawful presence in Equestria’s Deep South for over two decades. There simply wasn’t any point in patrolling the lands. Not only because they were vast and the majority were uninhabited, but because the Deep South was cordoned off by the Appaloosan Mountains, keeping the crime contained and - more or less - unnoticed by the rest of Equestria.
 
Furthermore, if any criminals wished to pass back through the mountains, they would have to avoid military patrols and checkpoints in order to fence any goods at border villages. Those particular patrols were conducted by mountain guards, swarthy veterans from their constant encounters with smugglers and bandits alike , but besides them, the only actual sign of law enforcement in the Deep South was that of the Royal Guard Watchtower which had been abandoned since the Zebrisian War and the Battle of the Gulf of Stripes. Why it had been abandoned, nobody really knew, but it was likely with the war ongoing and resources stretched, the troops from the watchtower would have been a breath of fresh air for weary soldiers at the front. Those troops had never come back to their old post and so the forest grew back around it. Some veteran explorers claimed that a pack of timber wolves had taken up residence there, but the claims were unfounded and nopony dared to go close to wolf territory, anyway.
 
But the stranger at the bar, a unicorn of white, seemed out of place. He was a seasoned fighter, obviously, but his presence in Camp Barrier threw the barkeep, an older mare, into a feeling of unease. The only ponies who carried hidden weapons were those on unsavory business and those who did not want to draw undue attention to business that had the potential to be unsavory. It was quite possible he was a drifter, a pony who roamed Equestria’s lawless regions in search of work, bloody or otherwise. They were a highly feared group of assassins and thieves, rumored to be without morals and conscience.
 
Unbeknownst to the barkeep, the hooded stallion was, in fact, a noble himself. Prince Blueblood took another sip of his now warm pint and studied a mare across the room. She was of average make and height, colored a deep gold, her black mane streaked with the same golden color. A faded red bandana tied around her forehead kept her bangs from falling into her eyes and her forelegs were protected by sturdy leather bracers. She seemed experienced enough to hold her own and Blueblood estimated the mare had been in the bar before.
 
“Are you done with that?”
 
Blueblood looked back, face still a mask of shadows, and realized the bartender was talking to him, pointing at the half full mug in front of him. He used his regular voice, contradicting the idea he always carried a posh tone about him, “No.”
 
The barkeep leaned forward, “Her name’s Pyrite Dreams. An archaeologist of sorts. Rumor has it she has a university education.”
 
Looking over his shoulder, he realized she was talking about the mare he had been watching, “What does she do around here?”
 
“Finds things, I would guess. She’s an archaeologist, after all.” The bartender shrugged and looked down at the hooded Blueblood, “What’s your name, mister?”
 
“I need somepony to do a job for me.” Blueblood ignored the question.
 
“What kind of job?”
 
“Recovery of a lost item.”
 
Smiling, the barkeep waved her hoof in the direction of Pyrite who was in a scuffle with what could have been a bandit judging by the piercings and scars, “Looks like you’ve found the right pony. There’s a tent ‘round back. I’ll tell her there’s a job offering.”
 
Blueblood remained silent and casually slipped off the barstool and exited the large pavilion to find the sun setting. Most of Camp Barrier was just that: pavilions and tents. It was an entire town made of waterproofed canvas. The bar was the largest structure, a thick brown and red pavilion located in the center of the camp. In fact, Camp Barrier reminded Blueblood more of a shantytown than anything and it had the crime rate of one, too. It wasn’t uncommon to come across a hastily buried body on the outskirts of town, courtesy of a robbery gone wrong. Blueblood had been here once before, several years ago, when he had first begun work as an agent of for the crown.
 
He shivered at the brutality back then and stepped into the storage tent that backed onto the pavilion. Shaky wooden shelves held barrels of alcoholic cider, beer, whiskey. Foodstuffs like corn, rice, and flour lay stacked haphazardly near the back of the tent. Blueblood watched as a cockroach skittered quickly across the sand and dirt floor before vanishing into a half opened bag of sugar. Hearing soft hoofsteps outside, Blueblood dimmed the small kerosene lamp in the corner and turned to face the entrance, his face hidden by the dim light.
 
Pyrite Dreams, maverick archaeologist pushed the tent flap aside and stepped into the tent. She examined Blueblood with a steady eye of ocean blue before speaking, “Maregarita said you have a job. She's my handler.”
 
Blueblood nodded slowly, noticing a very fine shimmer around Pyrite’s horn, “I need a set of documents returned to me. I've tracked them this far, but I have other priorities to attend to. I'll pay you two thousand bits.”
 
Pyrite was not a rookie adventurer. She had done jobs for questionable ponies before, but this stallion, cloaked and face hidden, gave her the creeps, “What kind of documents?”
 
“It doesn’t matter. Your job is to find the documents and bring them to me.”
 
A long silence followed the statement before Pyrite bobbed her head in agreement, “Okay. Two thousands bits, half now, half after I get you your papers.”
 
Blueblood removed a small, ripe pouch from under his cloak and handed it to Pyrite, “Twenty pieces of fifty. How long?”
 
Weighing the money in her hoof, Pyrite delicately balanced a stiletto behind her neck, her horn barely glowing, hiding the fact that she was ready to strike at any time, “Three days, maybe four if things are unfavorable." She paused again, "You know I could have just killed you and taken your money, right?
 
Smiling in the shadows, Blueblood felt the rush of adrenaline begin to flow, “I could have done the same.”
 
And with that, he brushed past her and vanished into the sea of tents. Pyrite watched him go and slowly placed the pouch of coins in her saddlebag. Paying in pieces of fifty was a rare occurrence. One piece of fifty was worth fifty bits and were usually carried by richer ponies. Two thousand bits for a simple snatch and grab wasn’t too bad, Pyrite thought to herself. Whoever the stranger was, he paid well and wanted results. But, there was an underlying feeling of mystery plaguing Pyrite. She shrugged broadly and left the tent, intent on discovering the fate of her employer’s lost documents.
 



 
Two days had passed since Pyrite had accepted her mission. Two days of searching, asking around, and general eavesdropping and Pyrite had found nothing. Not even a whisper of stolen papers or records or anything like that. It was like they didn’t exist. Pyrite was renowned for her ability to find artifacts, so a few sheets of paper should not have been that tricky to track down, but they had eluded her this far and it was infuriating to say the least. Ever since she had been a filly, Pyrite Dreams had proven incredibly adept with her ability to locate things underground and the specificity of that skill had translated into her special ability and her cutie mark: a vase being dusted by a small brush. It wasn’t long before she had been accepted into Canterlot’s Royal Archaeological University. From there, it had been a rather long and grueling path up the ladder of fame and fortune in the archaeological field and, despite Pyrite’s best efforts, she found herself nowhere near the riches and fame she had once hoped for.

Sitting in the bar, she scowled at her drink. What a bunch of cronies. They had no respect for the ability of youth and Pyrite had been known to butt heads with quite a few of the professors and dig site overseers. Where Pyrite was now, she was sure her parents would be disappointed, but there wasn’t much the young unicorn could do. She was under investigation by the university after being accused for stealing from dig sites and selling any valuables she recovered. Pyrite wasn’t about to lie to herself. She had stolen and had sold a fair amount of semi-valuable artifacts, but she didn’t have to admit to it. It wasn't as if she had stolen Princess Celestia's throne.
 
Besides, she wasn’t even sure if the investigation was open or ongoing at this point. She hadn’t been back to the university in over a year. For a year she had been prowling around the Deep South and she had found herself making a decent living. It wasn’t glamorous by any means, but she had enough saved to live comfortably and, secretly, she preferred this type of lifestyle, even if it was dangerous and potentially lethal in some aspects. Pyrite herself had never done anything extremely immoral, but she had ended up stabbing and killing a pony during one of her escapades.
 
Pyrite was surprised at how little she felt at the stabbing during the time. A year in the pits of the underworld of Equestria would desensitize anypony, regardless of background or walk of life. Finishing her drink, Pyrite readied herself to leave when two ponies entered the bar, beaten and exhausted. It was obvious they had just come back from an expedition or probably a raid, judging by the apparel of them. It wasn’t difficult to spot a bandit and the two who had just entered, a stallion and a mare, fairly reeked of criminality. More so than anyone else in the room, anyway. Examining them from across the room, Pyrite feigned drunkenness while casting a small spell to focus her hearing on the two who were now sitting at the bar. Letting her head droop unceremoniously, Pyrite angled her ear towards the bandits.
 
“You idiot! How could you have forgotten our water rations?” The mare hissed to her partner.
 
Snarling back, the stallion defended himself, “You said to focus on the maps. Well, I focused on them. I made sure we had them. Without them, we won’t even make it halfway into Froud Valley. I risked my neck to get them! You think knocking over a caravan is an easy feat?”
 
Now they had Pyrite’s attention and it took all of the archaeologist’s power to keep from jerking her head up in excitement. The conversation continued on with more talk about maps and an anomalous radius somewhere in the center of Froud Valley. Pyrite had found her marks. But they were probably murderers and, if their array of weapons was any indication, they were skilled murderers, too.
 
“We shouldn’t talk here. We’ll rest a night, get our supplies right this time and head back out.”
 
The two left quickly, pushing past several patrons and vanishing outside. Pyrite leapt out of her seat and dashed outside. She watched as a coat fluttered briefly as one of them turned a corner and disappeared behind a tent. Pyrite followed them at a cautious pace, ducking behind lean-tos, crates and the many tents along the way. There were literally hundreds of accidental alleyways in Camp Barrier, created by the partitions between small groupings of tents, which made it far more difficult to follow the bandits than Pyrite had expected. It was made even worse by the fact that if they turned and saw Pyrite, they would undoubtedly come to the conclusion that she was following them and, in the middle of night, in the back alleys of Camp Barrier, a lot could happen, and none of it would be good.
 
Luckily, their tent was not far and soon Pyrite was watching safely from behind a large cart loaded with rotting fruit. She gagged at the smell, but cast another spell, this one allowing her to see through the already thin cloth which made up the tent walls. It was filthy inside despite being a temporary residence. A lopsided wooden table stood to the side and a pile of garbage composed mainly of empty tins and bottles was stacked near the back of the tent while two simple cots rested against the wall. The bandits, however, were not inside and as Pyrite squinted in surprise, something slammed against the back of her head and her vision exploded into an array of whites and blacks. Pyrite hit the ground hard and stared confusedly up at the two bandits who were now leaning and leering over her, knives drawn.
 
“You lost, little girl?”
 
The mare grinned sadistically, “It isn’t polite to follow ponies, you know.”
 
Pyrite was still reeling from the blow, but she could see the tip of a scroll protruding from the stallion’s saddlebag. Those were the maps, the documents she needed, but if she didn’t act fast, they would probably be the last thing she saw. Pyrite’s vision went in and out of focus and she found her hearing fuzzy and distant as if there was a cloud of flies hovering nearby. The stallion was saying something, still brandishing a tarnished dagger, waving it near Pyrite’s face. Neither of them noticed the hooded figure rapidly approaching from behind them.
 
Pyrite watched dazedly as the stallion arched his back, head pulled up and to the side, as if he was attempting to stare over the back of his shoulder. The hilt of a dagger could be seen sticking out from the base of his neck. The bandit's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed forward and into the sand. The mare was fast to react and had turned to face the attacker, but she, too, was quickly dispatched and went down in a spray of red as something silver flashed across her exposed throat. Pyrite shut her eyes as a warm liquid sprinkled down on her and she kicked out instinctively. Her hoof caught on something soft and malleable and there was an audible grunt. The figure fell backwards in surprise. Rolling, Pyrite snatched the loose scrolls from the bloodied sand and took to her hooves. Blueblood nursed his most sensitive of spots which was now afire with pain and watched as Pyrite sprinted and vanished from view. Climbing back up, he wiped the blood from his dagger on the cloak of the fallen mare and sheathed the weapon. It was time to enlist help from an old Canterlot friend.
 



 
Black and white checker tiles were the equivalent to a yellow-brick road to any "volunteers" within the facility. Typically speaking, they led to the much less intensive areas of testing or research, which was well preferred over the sections with concrete floors occasionally stained with an unknown substance. Another known fact was that the cleaner the tiles got, the more likely one was closer to the surface. The upper parts of the facility would occasionally have guests from the upper echelons of society and so janitorial staff kept better care of the most seen places as opposed to the dank dungeons below. So, when two surviving humans somehow managed to get to slightly less grimy tiles, they knew they were slowly making progress.
 
Soon, the gaping maw of the open elevator shaft loomed ahead in the darkness and both men took a moment to poke their heads in. Westin spied a glowing point of light near the bottom of the shaft, but said nothing, already connecting the puzzle pieces together in his head. Ulysses must have tossed it down there. As if sensing Westin’s thoughts, Ulysses silently pointed at the ladder rungs embedded in the far wall, opposite where they stood. Noticing a concrete ledge that ran right of the door and across to the opposite side, Westin began to shimmy onto it, Ulysses following him.
 
Thankfully, there was a decent grip for their footing on the concrete. Clamps welded into the sides of the shaft proved useful in keeping them close to the wall and away from the all-consuming blackness below. The two humans slowly edged their way to the ladder, with Westin grabbing on first and hoisting himself upwards. His shaky, still-recovering legs somehow went with his movements, Ulysses not too far behind, trying to climb and hold onto the bag of scavenged supplies at the same time. He knew if he dropped them, their chances of survival would plummet with them. Putting that aside, Ulysses wondered if Westin knew how much farther they needed to climb. That was answered shortly and both of them found themselves climbing onto another ledge, with a large "1"  painted with a stencil near the elevator door.
 
Ulysses slowly climbed off the ledge and through the small gap between the metal doors only to find himself face to face with what looked like a cave-in. There was barely enough room for Westin to climb in behind and both men felt their hearts sink. So close to freedom and the outside world, they now found themselves at a dead end. The beam of light that Ulysses had seen earlier was actually a small hole in the mixture of concrete, rock, and dirt, presumably originating from the sun outside.
 
"What do we do now?" Ulysses asked
 
Westin shouldered away the doors into their fully open position, "I don't know."
 
He grabbed a section rebar poking out of the rubble and, while attempting to pull it out, had it crumble in his hand. The force of pulling back on nothing nearly threw him down the shaft, if it weren't for his other hand grabbing onto the doorway. Ulysses looked back for a moment before repeating what Westin had did, with the exception of nearly plummeting to his death. His fingers wrapped around a chunk of dusty concrete and sunk through entirely, turning the object into a loose array of crumbly debris. Westin saw Ulysses scrutinizing the remains of the substance on his hands before pulling his boot back and delivering a kick straight into a mound of rubble.
 
"What the hell?"
 
An explosion of concrete dust followed the hard kick and Ulysses waved his hand in front of his face, "How long have we been asleep, Westin? Concrete doesn't just crumble."
 
“I didn't see anyone around. No scientists, janitors, security..." He finally noticed Ulysses' uniform, "You one of them now?"
 
"What?" Ulysses looked down and realized he was still wearing his scavenged uniform, "I found it in a security locker with the glow-sticks. I don't get it. People don't just up and leave out of the blue. This whole place is falling apart."
 
Westin reached further into the rubble and pulled something out, "You think?" He handed Ulysses a fragile skull.
 
Setting the rapidly disintegrating yellowed cranium and plastic bag aside with an itchy hand, Ulysses kicked hard into the collapsed concrete and gravel, “I don’t like our chances here. Let’s start digging.”
 
The two humans steadily dug their way through the massive cave-in. What should have taken hours upon hours of heavy power tool use required only a few minutes of chipping away large pieces of rubble and dropping the residual matter down the elevator shaft. The process took a mere fifteen minutes or so before they were caked in dirt and the hallway was mostly open. As the last bit of barrier broke away, sunlight exploded inwards in its full glory. Westin let out a grunt as his eyes attempted to adjust to the invading light. The other man found it easier to blink it away and look with widened eyes at the destruction in front of him.
 
Between destroyed infrastructure and copious amounts of sand and dirt flooding the interior, the one place that everyone who had ever entered the facility was forced to see was well beyond an absolute mess. It looked as though several tornadoes, earthquakes and other natural disasters had torn the area apart before nature itself had claimed it as its territory. Chairs were rusted into flimsy caricatures of their former selves, the center desk was nearly torn apart, and the light fixtures meant for the ceiling above were all littering the ground. The remaining walls were little more than studs sticking out sharply from the dunes of sand. Nothing salvageable remained and both men took it in with open mouths and expressions of disbelief.
 
What lay in front of them had once been sparkling clean, tiled floor, neatly organized desks and filing cabinets. But gone was that cleanliness now. Ulysses began to absently sort through the nearby reception desk while Westin pushed over the rusted skeleton of a chair, watching as it broke and lay engulfed in sand. Finally, the survivors noticed the heat of the sun above. It was early evening, perhaps four or five o'clock, but that didn't seem to have an effect on the blistering orb that floated far above their heads.
 
"My God..." Whispered Ulysses as he surveyed the rolling dunes all around him
 
Westin remained silent and continued to stare at a human femur protruding from the ground. Ulysses began to climb up a nearby hill of sand, sinking his fingers and feet into it as he struggled to reach the top. The sun seemed brighter now and the heat more intense, but soon both men were above the dip where the reception area lay and took in their surroundings. They were nowhere. They were no roads, no buildings, no one else in sight. Mountains could be seen in the distance and off to the left, a large waterfall could be seen roughly a mile away.
 
Westin sat down at the base of a dune, chin resting on his right fist, "I don't remember sand. I don't remember any of this."
 
Collapsing nearby, Ulysses ran a hand through his overgrown hair, "Where the hell is everybody?"

"Here's someone." The dark-skinned man grabbed a nearby skull and propped it against a flat rock. "I wanted to escape this place and now there's nowhere to escape to."
 
Ulysses ignored the macabre set-up, "We're out. All we have to do is get back to civilization, Westin." He pointed towards the distant mountains, "There might be a town there.”
 
"Climbing mountains without food or water? That's a great idea. How about we just head to that waterfall instead and lay low there?"
 
"I didn't say we had to go right away. But we should rest for a few days and get our strength back. It's a long walk."
 
Westin grunted, "Let's get going then."

> Chapter Three: The Ghosts of Nevermore
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance


Chapter Three: The Ghosts of Nevermore


By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic




Pyrite slid down the trunk of the tree. She ran a hoof down her face and rummaged through her saddlebag, scooping up the roll of parchment documents. Crickets chirped in the grass of a nearby meadow and Pyrite glanced over her shoulder at the twinkling lights of Camp Barrier. Canter Creek and about half a mile separated her from the settlement and for once she was glad to be in the wilderness. Catching her breath, Pyrite unraveled the sheets of parchment and illuminated her horn, casting a soft light upon them. Her eyes squinted at the drawings and calculations before her. Topographical charts, elevation levels, humidity, sand density. It took a long minute of analyzing the several sheets before Pyrite found what she was looking for.

There was a highlighted area of Froud Valley, circled in red with several sonar readings noted beside it. Apparently there was some type of anomalous mass beneath the sand, something that showed up only on sonar. Finally Pyrite understood the importance of the documents in front of her. Anything could be below the layers of sand and with Froud Valley, the most hostile and unexplored place in the Deep South, it could very well be a burial site not yet found or the remains of some type of ancient pony civilization. No wonder there were so many ponies after what she had before her and if ponies were willing to rob, even kill for them, Pyrite knew she had to keep a level head.

Far, far away, adventure called. Unfortunately, it was toll-free from somewhere rarely anyone ever went the direction of, and the way there itself was dangerous as well. Pyrite knew she could handle it. She had been in messy situations before and always managed to survive somehow despite having odds usually stacked against her. Froud Valley couldn't be very different from the Everfree or the Gloomglades north of it. Those places were completely chaotic in their own ways, but there was little to know about the Valley other than it tended to never return explorers or criminals that went in. For what reasons, she didn't know, nor did she care. Pyrite Dreams was too prideful to let herself worry over some petty weather or sand.

She glanced back at the distant camp once again. There was no going back now, and if she was going to finally make a name for herself at Canterlot Royal University or even Equestria, the clever mare would have to stick it out and remain resolute in finding whatever it was that was somewhere buried beneath all that sand. The maps would be a great help, if she could keep them in her possession. Oh, she would she sure of that. No one was going to land on what was going to make famous. Not a single soul. 

Pyrite tightened her bandana and took a step towards Froud Valley. The journey would be long, but hopefully rewarding. Somehow, she knew it would.





The fish thrashed as Ulysses yanked on the vine and pulled it out of the water, dangling the slimy form of a catfish above the sand, avoiding the small droplets of water that flew from its scales. It was a fair size, perhaps three or four pounds and Ulysses grabbed it tightly around the midsection before grabbing a nearby stone and striking the fish across the skull several times. It flopped once and went limp. Wiping his hands on his pant legs, Ulysses set the catfish down next to the smaller, malnourished one he had caught only minutes before.

The sun had begun to fall and, with its fading light, marked the end of the second day that both he and Westin had escaped from their cells. The first night had been hard, especially without any shelter. The cold that the desert brought during the night was chilling to say the least, but the heat during the day was even worse. Westin watched as Ulysses tossed the simple line and sinker back into the lake. The ebony man lay quietly under a basic lean-to which stood where the sand of the lake met a spotty patch of crabgrass. The shelter itself was propped up with wood that the companions had scavenged from the shore and the roof was thatched lily pads, recovered from the murky lake itself.

Westin watched the waterfall nearby, wanting to swim in its vicinity to cool off from the intense heat of the day. If it weren't for the alligators that dipped between rocks and lilies, he would finally be able to enjoy something more relaxing than hiding away from the sun under a ragtag shelter. The waterfall continued its deafening roar uninterrupted, except with the occasional fish that plopped out of the side of it. Westin thought on that as a small trout was launched off and into the massive pool of water below. There was an eerie darkness of color at the center of the waterfall, as if light had become nonexistent there. He silently wondered if there was a cave behind that magnificent formation. 

The darker man yawned. As much as he loved still being alive and his escape, living life on the lam was beginning to get boring. He was in the middle of nowhere, specifically a desert, with the only company he had with him being some person he really didn't like. Ulysses was propping the fish on a makeshift spit as a frog passed behind him, leaping into a mess of cattails. For the most part, the immediate area was serene and mostly untouched. Any sandstorms in the distance never got close, almost as if they were avoiding the small lake and waterfall. 

But still, the constant sight of sand was beginning to become annoying. The only problem was that there were no prospects to move towards in sight, so if they even so much as dare stray from the little oasis in the desert, they'd likely die without proper maps. There wasn't really a way to carry food or water either, so until they could find a way to move about without putting their lives in too much jeopardy, they would stay put and eat away at catfish meat. He could only hope that wouldn't be for too long.

Westin stretched and sat up, "How much longer till sundown?"

Ulysses looked up at the sun which had begun its descent behind the sandy dunes, “Less than an hour. Let’s cook these fish up soon.”

"... Where is everyone? I still want to cut off their heads for the shit they were pulling."

Washing the sand from the fish, Ulysses placed the makeshift spit over a small campfire, "I don't know." He scowled at the freeze-dried meals. He had opened them the night before and found them completely inedible, "That place was staffed by hundreds of people, maybe thousands. And they just got up and left?"

Westin took a sip of water from the hollowed shell of a turtle he had found underneath sand, "Skeletons all over that place. Maybe something happened and they didn't make it out."

"Maybe. But when I was in the cafeteria, there was a skeleton inside. Looked like he had shot himself in the head." Ulysses reached into the nearby bag and tossed Westin the magazine from the pistol, "You think something went wrong?"

He put down the shell and discharged a bullet, looking it over before putting it back in, "Hell yeah. You know how much they spent on that place? I broke into the records office before they tazed me. That whole fucking place is worth thirty billion cash."

Ulysses caught the magazine as Westin tossed it back and promptly threw it into the lake, "Those bullets are never going to fire. Is there anybody left, you think? I mean, we made it out. I woke up in my bunk."

"Who cares? I'm not going back there to get tied down and experimented on again. If you wanna, go right ahead. But I'm not gonna follow your try-hard benevolent ass self."

"Whatever. How are the bandages holding up?” Ulysses asked.

“Red.”

Ulysses nodded and began to toss some kindling into the fire, "Well, keep them on as long as possible. You probably need stitches, but I don't have any materials for that kind of thing. We have to prevent infection, you know?"

"Say that to the entire world."

Ulysses fell silent and stared at the fish before a realization hit him and he removed them from the growing flames, "Damn. I forgot to get rid of the skin. Otherwise they'll taste like shit."

Westin laid back fully and rested his head on his hands, "Funny how you know all this shit. You know, for a serial killer."

"I spent a lot of time in the scouts." Ulysses finished using a piece of sharpened flint recovered from the nearby cliff face to skin the fish, "How's the robbery scene these days?"

"Don't know," he shrugged, "I don't fuck with that stuff."

The sun finally fell behind the dunes and both men placed themselves closer to the fire as Ulysses responded, "Right. The system was out to get you."

"Only time it got shit right was when your ass was caught, locked away, and stabbed with needles." Westin pointed to himself, "Me? I'm just another black man caught up into the mix that deals with more bullshit than he needs."

Ulysses watched as the fish crackled atop the fire. "You know, I noticed something the first time I killed a person. There was this weird feeling in my stomach, like after someone knocks the wind out of you. That kind of aching breathlessness? But after you get your breath back, you feel relieved, relieved that you can breathe again. I felt so relieved after I killed that man. Because I knew that I was better than him. I was stronger. And that was all that mattered."

Westin gave a disapproving look, "Nigga, you need a role model, or a hug, or something."

Ulysses laughed, "Are you gonna give me a hug?'

"Get the fuck outta here."

"I bet you hug like a grandma on oxycodone."

"Your ass probably sticks knives in backs when you hug."

"Probably!" Ulysses laughed again and removed the fish from the spit, emptying them into the empty turtle shell Westin held, "Give them a bit to cool down."





Firelight could be seen in the distance. Pyrite watched the faraway ghosts of flickering orange from her place atop a boulder. The sun had fallen fully and the moon had begun its eerie rise over the desolation of the Valley. Pyrite had spent three days hiking into Froud Valley and she was, by all standards, exhausted. Her rations had dwindled down to a few crackers and the last couple millimeters of water left in her canteen. It hadn't been easy to get this far, Pyrite knew, but it would only get harder with no supplies. She was used to living off the land and knew of many edible plants and how to filter water, but there was a strange lack of wildlife in Froud Valley, let alone open water sources or edible plants. Sighing, Pyrite considered the possibility she had overestimated herself.

She was close now, however, and, if the maps indicated correctly, her target was roughly half a mile away. But Pyrite could do nothing until she investigated the nearby fire. Moving to her left, Pyrite crawled stealthily up a sandy incline which coasted a Cliffside overlook populated by a few trees and a carpet of dying grass. Beginning to map out the terrain subconsciously, Pyrite realized that there must be a grotto or cavern for such steep cliffs to form. Reaching the trees, the intrepid explorer lay belly-down and reached for her binoculars, intent on inching forward and towards the edge of the cliff.

The light of Ulysses' and Westin's campfire caused the water of the oasis to shimmer with strange serenity and, far below Pyrite's hiding place, an alligator could be seen silently slipping to the water from the far bank, focused on a small water bird that bobbed up and down on the surface. Pyrite wondered who would make a camp so far from civilization. Bandits, perhaps. Maybe omega wolves who had been exiled from their pack, but as Pyrite put the binoculars to her eyes, she saw something she never would have expected.

They weren't wolves, nor were they ponies or any other species she had ever seen before. Given her background, that was saying something. The dimming light was just enough for her to make out two large beings hunched over a fire and eating away at what Pyrite could only guess to be fish. They almost came off with certain Diamond Dog-esque feeling, or maybe some oddly colored Minotaurs. One was significantly darker than its far paler counterpart. The one thing that tipped the archeologist off to their capability past crude cooking techniques were the bandages wrapped around the dark one's head. Only something with a higher sense of intelligence could do something like that.

Pyrite pulled away her binoculars, "... What the..."

A small twinge of fear burrowed into the usually brave adventurer's stomach. She knew that she couldn't possibly be seen from her hiding place, but even as Pyrite attempted to retake her confidence, the pale creature looked up and directly at her. Pyrite froze, her binoculars halfway to her face. It can't see you, she hissed in her mind, it's not possible. Far below, Ulysses felt a strange sensation, one that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Westin began to pick up on Ulysses' body language and was about to question it when Ulysses spoke in a near whisper.

"We're being watched Westin."

Westin waved him away, "There isn't shit there. It's a desert."

Pyrite could barely hear the voices below. The amplification spell from earlier was out of the question due to the brightness it would cause. But she needed to get closer without those creatures knowing. Her binoculars went up again, and the mare carefully watched as the two below seemed to settle down enough that they were finally able to go to sleep. That in itself took at least half an hour of observation and waiting, but it appeared worth it as she shuffled back a few feet and silently crept towards the bend downwards.

Pyrite knew she couldn't go all the way around the grotto. The two creatures were camped on the rightmost shore, several feet back from the waterline and practically next to where the cliffs began. Sighing internally, Pyrite began to formulate another action plan. She lowered herself over the ledge and pressed her body against the smooth cliff face. The waterfall to her right wasn't as big as she had previously thought and instead of the roar of falling water, it sounded more like weakened rapids in a river. Using the thick, sticky green vines common in swamps in the region, Pyrite slithered further downwards, avoiding a dormant hornets’ nest to her left, eventually feeling her back hooves touch against a thin ledge she had been aiming for.

Laying flush against the smooth surface of the cliff, Pyrite looked over her shoulder and found herself captured by the moonlight reflecting off the lagoon's surface. Silver rays flashed and danced like fish before vanishing and reappearing, mixing with the dimmed light of the nearby campfire. For a moment Pyrite forget where she was. Everything seemed so serene, so majestic and, in the far distance, shadowy and mysterious, Knight's Peak could be seen, standing tall over the desert. Pyrite smiled and forgot about the sandy taste in her mouth as she looked over the unseen beauty of Froud Valley. There was a loud crack and the scene shifted, spinning, as the ledge under Pyrite's hooves crumbled, dragging her down with it. She opened her mouth to scream, but found water instead of air as she slammed into the lagoon and vanished.

Pyrite gagged on the water flooding her throat. Though ponies could usually swim above water quite well, they definitely lacked skill underwater. As she struggled to steady herself upright, Pyrite met the eyes of some murky water dweller. What little air she had bubbled away from her throat at the sight of a grizzled alligator readying its mouth for a large bite. Pyrite retaliated by sheer instinct and sent a scattershot of magic forward. The result launched her backwards while forcing the massive reptile's entire front end to burst.

There was a certain horror to the archeologist's face. If it wasn’t the fact she was a terrible swimmer who was admittedly less than keen on deep water, it was likely the disembodied bits of alligator floating towards her. Backing away from a particularly disturbing eyeball, Pyrite scrambled her way back to shore and coughed over the sand. Water was dislodged and she dry heaved for a good few moments before wiping away the mucus on her muzzle.

"The fuck is that thing?"

Westin and Ulysses had awoken when they heard the loud splash and had been fully awakened by the sudden bolt of lightning that lit up the water mere seconds afterwards. Both men stared at the coughing Pyrite, and took a step back in surprise when she turned her head and looked at them, her mouth hanging open slightly, bandana around her neck. Ulysses spied the horn protruding from Pyrite's head and as she opened her mouth to speak, fear in her eyes, he lashed out instinctively with his foot, the heel of his boot catching Pyrite on the temple. The unconscious pony fell sideways limply and absolute silence reigned for several minutes before Ulysses spoke.

"What should we do?"

Westin pulled off the bandana and set it on his head, "Cook it."

"It has a horn coming out of its head, Westin."

"So kebabs, then?"

Despite the strangeness of the situation, Ulysses let out a choked giggle, "Kebabs are good."

"You," Westin frowned at the titter, "are fucking losing it." He gave a light kick to whatever was at his feet, "What is this shit?"

Ulysses shrugged, "Looks like a miniature horse. Maybe it was swimming?"

"Horses swimming at night, when lightning hits without any clouds, right next to us." Westin yawned loudly, "I don’t wanna deal with this right now."

"So tie it up. We can deal with it tomorrow morning." Ulysses said as he sat back down.

Westin grunted and grabbed some spare vines near their shelter. He quickly wrapped and restrained the odd equine into place. The horn made him a bit wary, but he simply tied it off in a neat little bundle. Westin shrugged at his own work and lay back down. Ulysses prodded absentmindedly into the embers of the dying fire as he examined the creature across from him, Westin already snoring nearby. It was a pony of sorts, but the coat on it was a vibrant gold, sparkling in the firelight and the horn seemed to reflect the orange light with a proud glow.

What kind of horse had a horn coming out of its head? Ulysses pondered that as a strong gust of wind blew across the lagoon, sending some chunky debris bobbing along the surface. Ulysses wondered briefly at that before standing up and approaching the unconscious creature. It had a disturbingly sentient look about it. Long eyelashes, a short snout, and, as Ulysses lifted its upper lip, surprisingly refined teeth. He took a moment to examine the horn and considered the possibility it was some type of mutation. 

Ulysses noticed something bobbing upon the water’s surface, skirting the shore and he looked over intently, seeing what looked like a backpack of sorts beginning to sink. He waded out a few feet and retrieved it, hauling it over his shoulder as he went to sit next to the strange specimen once more. Before he had time to examine the contents of the pack, another strong wind skirted the shore and sent sand upwards. Ulysses shielded his eyes and looked out into the desert and let fear overtake him. He scrambled to secure the pack to the back of horse, not wanting something on his back to restrict his movement.

“Westin!”

Groggily, said man sat upwards, only to be pelted on the head by the skull he previously placed nearby, "What!" He flipped around and scrambled back at what he saw, "What is that shit!"

Ulysses ducked his head against a blast of sand, "It's a sandstorm!"

Westin grabbed what little supplies they had and stood up, "Every nigga for himself!"

"We need to get to shelter!" Ulysses squinted against the wall of sand rapidly approaching them before grabbing the unconscious pony, "It's half a mile to the facility!"

Time slowed as the men looked on, their eyes, green and glinting in the fractured moonlight, widened with fear at the sight of the impending storm. The winds screamed and howled, sand whipping up around the shore, adding the cacophony of the natural world. Westin quickly snapped out of his amazement and turned to run. Ulysses quickly followed, the weight of their new conquest weighing him down significantly and preventing a full-out sprint. Behind the waterfall, the roaring cascade of water amplified by the shrieks of wind, there was a cavern.

Westin had discovered it the day before while scavenging from the plant life that grew out of the rocky walls of the grotto. Both men ducked as the lean-to disintegrated and flew past their heads, embedding Ulysses’ face with a shower of splinters sent flying at high speeds. Their feet slipping over the slick rock ledge that bordered the water and ran along the bottom of the grotto wall, the two prisoners stumbled past a spray of water and threw themselves into the darkness as the world behind them vanished in a spray of mist and sand.

Westin was wheezing loudly, and settled against the wall of the cave to try and calm himself, "What just happened?”

Ulysses was lying face down on the cavern floor, "Are we alive?"

"You brought the horse with you."

"You got anything else to eat?" Ulysses asked as he sat up.

Westin carefully unwrapped a cloth and wrinkled his nose at the scent of a slightly charred chunk of catfish, "Tastes weird as hell, but catfish is all we got."

"It's so dark." Ulysses reached out blindly with his hand and felt his fingers touch against a mossy stalagmite, "Not again."

Westin began reaching out as well, trying to maneuver himself around the cave. How he even managed to get near the wall in the first place was a miracle in itself, but he didn't bother himself with that at the moment. Between the fierce winds and the sprays of water that hit them near constantly, it was hard to know where he going exactly or what the other person was saying. The pungent aroma of recently cooked catfish was distracting for those few moments where one foot was off the ground. The intensity of the weather increased as he felt his boot contact Ulysses' shoulder. He lifted his boot up to remove it from the surprised Ulysses, but was suddenly caught off guard.

Westin felt himself slipping from both the force of the wind and the now slick cave floor, "Shit!" His single utterance didn't go unheard as he felt himself tumbling backwards and hitting a slimy decline.

Ulysses heard his partner fall and called out as he finally located Pyrite's leg, "Are you alright, Westin?”

There was a short minute of silence before loud curses could be heard from the very back of the cave, "MAN, WHAT THE FUCK."

"What happened?" Ulysses raised his voice as he stood up and dragged the unconscious pony behind him towards where Westin had slipped, "Where the hell are-"

The question was interrupted as Ulysses felt his foot slip out from under him. He yelled out in surprise and slammed hard into the ground, sliding down a steep dip in the cavern's floor. After a few seconds of total blackness and hissing wind, Ulysses' boots hit the bottom and he toppled forward, Pyrite's limp form ramming into Westin's legs as he attempted to rise.

The body of the pony slammed into Westin's shins as he was finally managing to get up, sending his face-forward once more. Contact with the ground seemed to be his brand new past-time. Westin lifted his head, not realizing the bandaging prevented it from being damaged further. He sputtered and spat a few times, getting rid of a disgusting taste in his mouth the cave floor gave him. Ulysses was up by the time Westin got to his knees and reached a hand out to help him onto his feet. The paler man gave a flustered sigh of irritation at their luck.

Westin was quite aggravated himself, "I'm covered in this now. It's disgusting."

Both men, although basically blind in the darkness of the cave, could feel a slimy sheen upon their clothes and skin. The cave algae stuck to them like glue and gave off a moldy, undesirable scent. Ulysses shuddered as he wiped tried to wipe some off his face. Westin swore under his breath and felt around behind him. His face, although unseen, contorted into a look of confusion and curiosity. Ulysses noticed the sudden silence and lowered his voice.

"What is it?"

Westin's hand was bracing itself against something behind him, something abnormally cold that quickly stole away the heat from his touch. Intrigued, he extended his boot forward before launching it back. A resounding echo of metal being struck went through the cave, despite the howling winds above. The two humans would have shared a look if there was any sort of lightning to be had. Westin checked the small bundle of items he had. No, the glow sticks were lost by now. Ulysses' hand brushed past his shoulder and grabbed a circular ring. A pull seemed to do nothing. Westin gripped it as well and firmly placed a foot against the rocky wall near the door. 

"On three," Ulysses called, getting an unseen nod, "One. Two. Three!"

They yanked back together with whatever strength they had left from the tiring day. That paid off well as the flaky door, likely terribly rusted from its spot in the moist cave, literally came off of its hinges and knocked them both to the ground. Whatever it was made from, the door was heavy, enough so that they both needed to push up to even so much as worm their way out from underneath it. It clanged against the cave floor before finally resting. Ulysses tiredly grabbed Pyrite and turned, noticing a distinctive tinge of green light on Westin. He was holding a glowing mushroom.

For a moment Ulysses stared at the small, domed piece of fungi, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him in the dim light. The mushroom held a vibrant bluish-green color that illuminated Westin’s face and sent shadows dashing across his visage. Ulysses turned slowly to look into the doorway. Blues, greens, and yellows cascaded over him like the waterfall nearby and Ulysses was taken in awe by the scene in front of him. It looked like a true hallway had never been formed, but rather the rocks had been chiseled away into a basic tunnel. Mushrooms, moss, and a slimy algae that shone with a bitter orange coated the walls, sending light blasting out into the cavern behind the shocked men.

Westin tossed the mushroom over his shoulder, "Looks like an American Glowcap."

Before Ulysses could question that, Westin edged his way into the crude hallway. The limited rainbow of colors unnerved his eyes, but what really interested him, as he pointed to it, was the door situated at the far end. There was no path backwards with the slippery incline behind them, so they would be forced to go through the mushroom cave. Ulysses idly watched a mushroom bend slightly, as if his presence was upsetting it. The two men looked at each other, then the door. Westin grabbed his collar and lifted it over his nose before heading through first.

Prodding a mushroom cap with his finger, Ulysses spoke in a whisper, "What the fuck is going on?"

Westin didn't respond. He didn't like the look of this hallway, let alone all of the fungi dotting it. Still, he couldn't complain all that much. They were hopefully going to end up back in the facility, where it was, as much as he hated to admit it, safer and less windy. The man paused for a second, feeling like something was about to go wrong. Ulysses passed by, and Westin shook it off.

"Stop touching my shoulders, Westin."

Westin was about to give an overly harsh comment in response, before he found himself staring into the massive eyes of Pyrite. Her mouth gaped open for a second, closed, and then opened wide for a scream. Ulysses, caught off guard by the sudden sound, let go of her as Westin gave himself sufficient room away from her. Ulysses did the same and watched in fascination as she backed herself against a wall, snarling all the way.

"What the buck are you?!”

Both humans stopped in their tracks and stared.

Ulysses nearly slipped on a patch of algae, "Christ!"

Pyrite’s horn glowed and tried to come off as menacing as possible, “I won’t ask again!” 

Westin kept his eyes trained on her as he grabbed the door knob. It wouldn’t budge.

“What are you doing?! Stay still or I’ll make sure you regret it!”

He ignored her threat and shouldered back to create an escape route from the freakish monstrosity in front of the humans. The door, much like the other, was terribly rusted and broke apart into brown fragments from the force of his weight. Pyrite hissed from the beaming light, her eyes not used to the sudden intrusion of it. Even with her watery eyes, she was just barely able to make out what was before her. Her jaw dropped. Ulysses looked over Westin’s shoulder and blinked.

A massive, spacious area was behind the door. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity, with dull, grey concrete running all along its length. Hundreds of sleek train cars and rails all twisted about like an intricate spider’s web of metal and new-age design. Sensors went off as Westin reached a hand through, and the entirety of the rail station came to life. Fluorescent lights once long dead reawakened. Trains began to move autonomously. A computerized voice droned over speakers, mentioning shipments and schedules and safety standards. 

Wherever they were, it kept all three silent. There was nothing to say about something so remarkable. After a long minute, both men turned to face what would turn out to be their guide into a new world. All three spoke at the same time, their voices echoing down the hall, sealing the memory into the chiseled rock, the face of the earth.

“What are you?”

> Chapter Four: Solace for Our Forefathers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance

Chapter Four: Solace for Our Forefathers

By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic



Westin had a grip on the door frame. The pony that Ulysses had been carrying on his shoulder had awoken and had its back against the wall opposite the two men, a bright light emitting from the horn atop its head, wavering with the light of the tunnel. The facial features of the equine were somewhat obscure, but it was clear to see that it had a feeling of anxiety, even fear, perhaps inner turmoil. It turned its head between the two humans, as if it were planning on attacking one of them at any moment. 

Nobody moved for a long, long second. The creature had spoken words and Ulysses and Westin knew that they hadn’t imagined it. At the same time, mere feet away, the exact same thoughts were racing through the mind of Pyrite. Her heart hammered in her chest as if it was about to burst out and roll about at her hooves. What was she doing here? What were these things in front of her? What had happened above the grotto? As Pyrite struggled to keep her spell up and her mind deciphering the occurrence of events, Ulysses gave a sharp tug on Westin’s shoulder and they turned before sprinting through the door, a bolt of kinetic energy slamming into the wall behind them.

Westin tumbled and bumped into a rusty oil drum, nearly knocking it over in his haste. Another arc of energy flew overhead, making his arm hair stand up momentarily. Pointing towards a nearby staircase, Ulysses gave a quick nudge to Westin, who grabbed a demolished toolbox and launched it back at their pursuer. The humans made their way up the stairs and barely got out of the way of the toolbox being hurled back at them. Wrenches and hammers rained from above, but they managed to avoid any serious damage. 

"Man, fuck this shit!" Westin shouted over the crackling of concrete melting from a missed shot.

Ulysses tripped over the decayed remains of a skeleton and felt his forehead smack against the stairs as he fell, "Fuck!"

Climbing to his feet, Ulysses followed Westin, leaping up the last few steps as Pyrite chased them with haste, now asserted in the delusional idea that they would kill her if she let them get away. Sprinting faster than he had before, Westin dodged past a decrepit vending machine and threw himself through the door of what looked like an office. Ulysses was close behind, but a strong shockwave sent him hurdling through the plate glass window of the same office and into a set of lockers, knocking several down in his confused and shell-shocked state. Ulysses’ ears rang with a high pitched squealing and he struggled to regain his senses. Another explosion of sparks caused the nearby vending machine to topple over, blocking the door from the outside.

An explosion of white light caused both men to duck as Pyrite launched some type of concussive spell through the window, damaging the wall and setting several stacks of paper alight. Westin scrabbled to find some type of weapon or protection against the creature that was trying to kill him and Ulysses, his hands turning over and tossing miscellaneous items on the floor with superhuman speed. Ulysses spotted what looked like a hard plastic case several feet away and crawled along the floor as the vending machine rocked from the impacts, the wall beginning to crack and smolder around it. Prying the case open, Ulysses grabbed at the contents and, after a few seconds, slid the container towards Westin who grabbed at it with equal hurriedness.

Pyrite gritted her teeth at the exertion of using so many spells in such a short period and as she attempted to cast another bolt of energy, her head throbbed painfully in response. Realizing she bit off more than she could probably chew, the mare decided it would be best to make an escape as soon as possible and get some distance from whatever it was she attempted to attack. Pyrite turned fast and let her hooves carry her as fast as possible. Unfortunately for her, Westin had leaned out of the window as she did so, and the result was a pinch on her flank followed by a debilitating shock. She fell to the floor like a stone, convulsing and twitching as the electricity ran through her body. But that didn't stop her for long, and the innate magic within her quelled the shock abruptly. Pyrite forced her sore body to get back up, muscles aching as well now. She attempted to gather the energy for one last blast to confuse her enemies, but her horn wouldn't respond. Dread instantly overcame her.

Ulysses slammed his body into the vending machine and easily shouldered past the remains of the door, aiming his own taser at the confused, fearful Pyrite as she tried to summon her inner strength, "Don't fucking try it!"

Pyrite froze, unspeaking as she clenched her eyes tightly for a moment. 

"What kind of fucking horse shoots shit like that?" Westin questioned, eager to blast her with the taser again.

"Get on the ground!" Ulysses yelled, "Now!"

Pyrite begrudgingly laid on her stomach and raised her hooves above her head. This was not going at all like she expected. Ulysses circled her, motioning for Westin to keep aim as he began to pull equipment off of her body. He kicked away the bag she was carrying and began searching for anything that might be of use. Coming out with nothing else, he backed up and raised his taser again.

Westin motioned his head towards her, scowling in irritation, "What the fuck are you supposed to be?" There was no response, "Start talking!"

Pyrite released a breath and clenched her eyes again, "An Equestrian."

Ulysses had a crazed look in his eye and some of his hair had been burnt near the back of his skull, “Horses don’t talk! Horses don’t have horns in their heads!” His eyes had taken on a crazed look, “You’re not real!”

Westin rebuked that instantly, "Then how can I see it too? Shit doesn't make sense."

On the floor, Pyrite gave up trying to cast any type of spell, and tried to appeal to her captors' merciful sides, "Please, don't kill me!"

"This shit cannot be happening. This thing is demonic as fuck, we gotta kill it now before it eats our souls and shit."

"No! No, wait! Please!" Pyrite was screaming now, her heart hammering harder than ever before, her eyes wide with fear.

Ulysses backed up. Her pleas sounded genuinely fearful, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up or I'll gut you right here!"

"Sweet Celestia, sweet Celestia, sweet Celestia!" Pyrite muttered, ears flattening back.

Westin placed his boot on the back of her next, "Stop that talking and shit! You aren't supposed to be doing that!"

Off to the side, Ulysses’ eyes had changed. There was a fire in them. His expressions relaxed into a type of half smile. Feeling something click in his brain, Ulysses shoved past Westin, lowering himself to his knees. Pyrite screamed in pain as fists began to pummel her face and chest, causing a spray of blood to burst from her nose. Ulysses paid no attention to the warm mist of blood that coated his face. His eyes had taken on a look of innate, sadistic joy as he made contact again and again, splitting his knuckles, soaking his hands in blood. Thrashing and trying to escape, Pyrite felt tears flowing freely down her face as fists continued to rain down upon her. There were fabulous bursts of light and Pyrite realized she could no longer feel the blows that were being inflicted upon her. Her head rolled under the strikes and she found herself staring vacantly at a perturbed Westin who watched the beating in a type of shocked dismay.

Westin cringed. Much to his credit and despite what the staff of the facility thought, he most definitely had a heart to him. There was always a difference between necessary and senseless violence, and experiencing both within his life left him with an intimate knowledge of when to not intervene. In this case, he would do the opposite. The large, pain-stricken and tear-filled eyes of the equine on the ground tickled at his sense of pity like nothing else. What he was seeing went beyond just inhumane and even though he know he had just been attacked by Pyrite, he had already secured her surrender. That should have been enough. He found himself both glaring at Ulysses and tightening his hand against the taser.

Westin lunged and wrestled Ulysses off the bleeding Pyrite, throwing the man across the floor before jumping on top of him. Ulysses grabbed Westin by the back of the neck and pulled his face nose-to-nose with the ebony man. Westin started at the realization that his partner had retained a hysteric, blood lusting look in his eyes. Thinking quickly, Westin pressed his own taser against Ulysses’ neck and held it there.

"You don't go psycho when you're near me, motherfucker. I don't have the time for your bullshit."

Westin pushed himself off Ulysses and turned to Pyrite. Behind him, Ulysses laid back on the tiles and laughed loudly, cackling innately as he tried to wipe the blood from his face with his already blood covered hands, smearing the red substance across his pale visage. His laughter turned from quiet giggling to full blown mirth which forced Ulysses to roll around as he felt his sides cramp.

"Your ass is really starting to aggravate me," Westin spat at Ulysses. He looked at Pyrite, assessing the damage, "Shit."

The darker human grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. Shallow, raspy breaths strained out past his ear, making him regret not having stopped Ulysses sooner. It was obvious that the supposed serial murderer was bound to crack again, but Westin had at least hoped it wouldn't have come so soon after they realized the graveness of their situation. Still, he felt that he was obligated to at least do something to make things right. There wasn't much time to ever get any thorough knowledge on treating wounds in his end of Chicago, but thankfully his father, an EMT, had taught him a few things here and there. He only hoped that it would be enough to prevent any permanent damage.

Pushing past the door carefully, Westin set his patient down on a metal table situated by several chairs in the corner. A quick rummage through the lockers produced several, likely dated, medical kits. Better than nothing, he figured. It was definitely going to be an uphill battle to fix her up. Westin clicked his tongue and got to work.





Neither man spoke. Ulysses sat contently in a nearby chair, his head hung backwards as he stared idly at the ceiling. Westin stood a few feet away and hummed quietly to himself as he finished aiding the barely conscious Pyrite. She was in a state. Her eyes were blackened and swollen, her right cheek had swelled up badly. Judging by the lump that was now her nose, Ulysses had probably broken that, too. Occasionally, Pyrite would let out a soft moan as Westin patched her up, but other than that, she seemed far too disoriented to bother with expressing her pain. 

Finally done, Westin looked over at his partner and asked the inevitable question: “Why’d you do it?”

Ulysses shrugged with indifference, “Because you let me.”

Westin raised a brow, "Too pussy to take responsibility, huh? They probably should've lobotomized your ass when they had a chance."

"It was fun." Ulysses cocked an eyebrow at Westin, "Lighten up, doc."

"Seeing shit like this happen," he pointed to Pyrite, "says a whole lot about how fucked up a person can be. Like Rodney King all over again."

Ulysses nodded in consideration, "Except Rodney King was drunk, human, and wasn't shooting some type of kinetic energy around."

"But the concept of accepting surrender is somehow some sort of fucking alien thing that has never even been heard of in that black hole of a head you got. That's some seriously classy shit."

Ulysses ignored Westin. The other man scoffed and took another look at Pyrite before sighing at the damage done. Suddenly, the lights above began to flicker, casting shadows and silhouettes across the tiled room. Ulysses leapt to his feet as a serious tremor rocked the room, causing the broken glass to jump and crack even more. Both men backed up against the nearest wall as they waited to see what would happen. There was another tremor, this one causing Westin to nearly slip and fall and then darkness filled the space. Silence reigned supreme for a long moment until Ulysses spoke up.

"What the hell was that?"

As if sensing their plight, red emergency lights began twirling about on the ceiling like circular ballerinas. Any trams and trains outside of the security office screeched to a halt and went dormant as the entirety of the station seemed to simply go offline from the tremor. The many consoles before the window crackled to life and displayed various warnings. Pyrite shifted around in her unconscious state, but remained where she was. 

A computerized voice seemed to take over the intercom and blared, "Catskills Reactor offline. Conduct maintenance immediately. Backup generators require maintenance. Emergency reserve remaining: two hours and twenty-six minutes. Dispatch engineering crews as soon as possible."

It repeated itself from then on, never missing a single syllable. Westin looked back at Ulysses and then at the lockers. They hadn't actually looked through all of them just yet. The other human appeared to be thinking the same thing and they both foraged through the rusty containers for anything usable. If one thing was going to be necessary, it was going to be adequate light sources and any other supplies they could get their hands on. Neither of them felt it was necessary to look for the generators, let alone even attempt to fix whatever problems they were experiencing, so it was in their best interest to simply take what was available and leave the facility entirely.

Westin recovered a complete uniform, discarding his tattered jumpsuit and slipping into the fresh clothing. Behind him, Pyrite stirred, but neither man noticed. Ulysses recovered a large Mag-Lite flashlight and accompanying batteries that were nothing like he had ever seen before. They resembled tightened springs, condensed and wrapped snugly around some type of core. Ulysses slipped them into the flashlight and the room lit up with a bright bluish-white light. Westin handed his partner a holster for both the flashlight and the taser. Taking several seconds, the two escapees affixed some type of utility belt to themselves that fit comfortably around their waists. 

Westin recovered a large Velcro pouch filled with glow-sticks and immediately attached it on the thigh of his pants, where a thick strip of Velcro loops had been integrated into the strange fabric. Finally, Ulysses uncovered a box of taser cartridges and passed several to Westin before keeping the rest. They too had a strange type of coil appearance. Behind the scavenging men, Pyrite had awoken and was watching with fear as she realized the beating she had received and everything leading up to it had been real and not a dream, as she had so hoped for.

Both of her captors had their backs turned and Pyrite figured she might have a chance to slip away undetected. After all, the only light was dim and weak judging by the flickering of it. Pyrite seized the opportunity and rolled to her left. It was only once she hit the ground that she realized she had been laying on a table. There was a loud smacking noise as she connected with the tiles and Ulysses turned instantly, noticing that Pyrite was now trying to get away. Of course, with her injuries and disorientation, she barely managed a crawl and the pale man took four long strides before grabbing her by the mane and dragging her back towards the locker.

"Oh goddess, oh goddess!" Pyrite whined, feebly trying to kick herself away from the human.

Westin's hands fiddled towards his taser, "You better stop this shit right now. I will tase your ass again and again if you keep pulling this sort of shit."

Ulysses gave Pyrite one last sharp tug before letting her go, “Fuck you. You can deal with whatever that is, then. Don’t forget it tried to kill us.”

"And you killed people that didn't even fuck with you. You're not any better." Westin kneeled down as Pyrite inched her way back, "Start talking."

"W-what?" Pyrite stuttered.

Ulysses leaned over Westin and fairly screamed, "Start fucking talking or I'll carve you up!"

"I-I-" Her ears splayed down as her tone became desperate, "Listen, I'm just a treasure hunter! I thought you two were bandits!"

Westin was a bit confused, "Nah, what I wanted to know is how the fuck you can even talk right now."

Pyrite mirrored the confused look, "Talk? What do you mean? All Equestrians can talk!"

Westin shuffled slightly, "What the hell's an Equestrian? That's sort of nerdy ass video game, right?"

Ulysses chimed in from the background, "Equestrians are equines, Westin." When Westin turned and exhibited a look of misunderstanding, Ulysses clarified, "Horses."

Pyrite meekly raised a hoof to correct him, "Ponies, actually. Horses are extinct because they couldn't adapt to the Ice Age."

"Ice Age was the shit," Westin added. "Mad good movie."

Ulysses nodded to agree, "That was top notch."

Westin got back to the matter at hand, "But I still don't understand how this Aquarian thing is talking to us. Shit doesn't make sense."

"It's Equestrian! What the hay are you two anyway?" Pyrite asked, her voice regaining some confidence.

"I'm black, he's a cracker," Westin replied with confidence.

Ulysses looked disgusted, "Let's go. We have everything we need. This cretin isn't worth our time."

"Nah, we need to figure this shit out."

Pyrite sat on her haunches, cringing at the pain, "Mind if I ask a question?" She did so regardless before they respond, "How long has this place existed under Froud Valley?"

Dumfounded by the question, Ulysses stared at Pyrite as if she was mentally deficient, "What?"

"If I had my map, I'd show you we're in a desert called Froud Valley. It's in the Deep South."

"What the fuck is it talking about?" Ulysses asked Westin.

Westin shrugged, "I think it's trying to tell us we're in Georgia or something." 

"That's not what I'm saying at all, wherever that is! We're to the Deep South end of Equestria, the home country of ponies. This place is called Froud Valley and almost nopony goes here. Understand?"

"Mind your damn tongue." Ulysses hissed, "This is the United States."

Pyrite shook her head, "I've never heard of it. We're definitely in Equestria right now."

‎"If that shit is true, how come this place is still here?" Westin questioned, "Doesn't add up."

Ulysses felt his temper rising, "Just what the hell is going on? None of this makes sense!"

"Listen, I know this can't be easy for you," she paused as they glared at her, "-but! I'm sure that this is one big misunderstanding! I don't know how long you two have been here, but there's no place in the known world named the 'United States'. I should know, I've been around a lot."

"Okay." Ulysses looked like he was about to snap again, but he turned and pointed at an American flag pinned to the wall, faded with age, "That is the flag of the United States of America. That is where we are now. Whatever the fuck you're talking about is complete shit."

"Damn straight," Westin added.

Pyrite shook her head, “I don’t think you know where you are!”

"We're in a damn desert. Shit, what if we're in Saudi Arabia?"

"Saddle Arabia, you mean?"

Ulysses sighed impatiently, "We're not in Saudi Arabia. Let's go already."

Westin shrugged, "Got nothing else to get from here."

"Wait! I can-"

But Pyrite's word were for naught. The two humans passed her and exited the security office without as much as a glance. Stepping outside, they fished out their flashlights and walked through the mostly dark terminals and back towards the entrance they came through. Roving emergency lights creaked and spun slowly, giving a red illumination to the already disturbing environment that only an abandoned transit station could achieve. Eventually, Ulysses' light shined on a thick, burlap rucksack laying casually on the concrete floor.

He recognized it as the one he had strapped to the talking pony. And, with all things considered, it was entirely possible that it belonged to her. Westin crouched down and dug through it, retrieving a sheaf of charts and papers along with an empty canteen, several rusted cans, a bottle of what could have been whiskey, and clumps of damp sand. Ulysses kicked the empty bag away and knelt down to examine the map that Westin had spread out over the floor. Pyrite peeked out from the office and watched, too scared to bother telling them to get away from her stuff. She was in enough pain already.

Ulysses pointed at a section of the map, "Froud Valley? What the hell is that?”

Westin grabbed the whiskey and took a swig, "Where we are apparently. This shit looks too well-made to be fake."
"What do we do?" Ulysses pondered as he traced his finger across the waterlogged paper, "Camp Barrier."

Pyrite teetered her way over, wincing with each step, "I wouldn't go there. You're likely to get killed if you aren't an Equestrian."

"Yeah, I'd like to see those niggas try," grunted Westin, who took another drink. "Turn their brains into liquid before they can even lift their heads."

Staring daggers at Pyrite, Ulysses spoke, “What the hell are you, anyway? What was the deal with those blasts or whatever they were?”

Pyrite shrunk at the glare, "I-I'm a unicorn, from Canterlot. Those were concussion shots made through magic."

"Magic?" Ulysses pulled his taser out and brandished it at her, "I'll show you some fucking magic."

Westin pushed the taser down, "Yeah, that's some smart shit. Tasing the only other thing we've seen in the Middle East."

"But it is magic!" Pyrite retorted. "All unicorns can use magic, with some specialization depending on their talent. I just know some basic stuff, some combat spells, and other ones to help me search for things."

"Coming from the guy who tased it originally." Ulysses snapped. 

Pyrite became visibly nervous. She wasn't worried so much about the darker colored one as she was of the pale creature, "Please! I swear it's true!"

"Whatever. I just wanna get the fuck out of here A.S.A.P. This place is creepy as hell," Westin replied, eyes looking around warily.

Pyrite recognized the opportunity, "I can take you two to Camp Barrier. There are...others like you!"

"Other what?"

"You know, uh, like you." Pyrite realized she still had no idea what creature was standing in front of her.

Ulysses gestured disbelievingly with his hands, "Humans? Stop stuttering, god damn it."

Westin sighed, "Let's dip then. Wherever this other place is, it's better than this damn graveyard."

"Are you serious? We don't even know what the fuck this thing is? How can we trust it?" Ulysses questioned.

Shrugging, Westin met Pyrite's eyes with coldness, "We can't."

Ulysses nodded and grabbed the pack, holding onto it just in case the equine near them might try anything with an item from inside. Pyrite meekly followed behind them and watched as Westin continued to empty her last bottle of whiskey. That was a severe disappointment, but she didn't want to create friction with the one being that actually prevented her from being beaten to death. She trailed them slowly out into a fungi-covered hallway and cursed herself over having gotten into this mess. Why couldn't life just be easier, at least once? Was that so much to ask of Celestia, or Luna, or whoever decided to make it so insufferable at times? Pyrite took a calming breath and set her straight. 

It didn't matter. Regardless of what had already happened, she was going to make this work out in her benefit. She would make sure of that.














> Chapter Five: Phobos and Deimos 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance

Chapter Five: Phobos and Deimos

By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic




The fiery sun above Equestria had passed over twice in the time it took for three unlikely and unwilling acquaintances to finally reach what Pyrite’s maps described as Hatchaway Falls, a bubbling current of water nestled between swamps and dark splotches of forests that inhaled all sunlight. Even the ground itself seemed to shift color as they maneuvered through the region, turning from the dusty and bright sands of Froud to the bluish and depressive grass notable of Southern Leota. The further north they journeyed, the more normal the setting became, other than the obscure landmarks dotting the clearings. The small group would run into encounters with the wildlife every now and again, but whatever it was that resided in the forest kept their distance eagerly, never revealing themselves past their eyes in the darkness. That came less and less as they got closer to Hatchaway Falls, a placid clearing surrounded by a thick underbrush. Soon, they’d finally be able to rest in the relative safety of the waterfall and forage for more supplies for their trip. 

But despite the forced cooperation of the three, there was still a growing hostility and distrust between them. There was no conversation unless it was to point out a specific source of edible food, a local fauna, or certain times they should rest and plot their next move. Pyrite found herself waking up in sweats, never truly feeling safe when in the vicinity of the humans. Though that was mostly the work of the forest’s magic, it worked well to keep her distanced from them. Westin and Ulysses would sometimes speak to each other, though just enough to get information they needed or wanted to know. At times, the darker skinned human would be forced to carry the injured Pyrite on his back. Ulysses would make mention of them not needing a guide when they had the maps, but Westin continued doing so. A little physical exertion would likely pay off in having someone to prevent a knife ending up in his back later on.

Hatchaway Falls roared nearby and the trio came to stop across from it, resting on a grassy plateau that overlooked the mossy crags and battered rocks. It seemed that the Deep South was riddled with waterfalls and, as Westin looked down at the shapes of alligators resting in the small culverts of slow flowing water, it appeared as if the local fauna never strayed far. Behind him, Ulysses kicked a small pebble off into the shaded underbrush and watched as it disappeared into a mess of leaves, vines, and tree branches. Above, a hawk screamed a hunting song before vanishing into the canopy. The distant drumming of water on rocks had a calming effect and all three travelers settled wearily on the lush carpet of Bermuda grass. The sun cast deep shadows as it made it's away along it's ever continuing path, twisting and merging silhouette with shadow, creating lurking figures and invisible fears.

Pyrite absently set about finding materials for the fire that would no doubt be set as the cool temperatures began to set in across the south. She piled together a circle of irregular stones in some resemblance of a fire pit before gathering the dead leaves and twigs that lay scattered near the forest's edge. Ulysses and Westin followed suit as they created a small pyramid of sticks above the kindling to catch the flames. They watched with bleary eyes as Pyrite's horn lit up and the collection of dead tree limbs exploded into a blaze of orange and red, crackling as sap melted and popped. Neither asked about the magic anymore. They had silently agreed that there would be a solution somewhere. Perhaps in the camp that Pyrite was leading them to. At least, they hoped so.

No one said anything and began what was slowly becoming routine for them. Pyrite would use dowsing spells to find berries and nuts, Westin would stock up their water and set up rough sleeping quarters, while Ulysses, the only one skilled in such an area, fished for whatever would bite from the small lake produced underneath the waterfall. Two trout and one particularly energetic sturgeon were caught, a small sack of assorted edibles were gathered, and several canteens filled to brim with cool water were amassed two meters from the campfire. Their shelter was a flimsy construct, made from the large leaves of a massive flower and propped-up sticks from the underbrush. Though the entirety of their effort was mediocre at best, it was still something that had managed to keep them alive through the harsh environments they hiked through.

Ulysses began to absently clean and fillet the three fish with a sharpened piece of flint. Pyrite and Westin watched tiredly as the scales caught in the light of the fire. It was not yet evening, but the sun fell fast in the desert and Ulysses knew the fish would take longer to cook the way he was preparing them. He spread the recovered edibles along each fillet. Potatoes, a few carrots, and a single stock of celery was evenly distributed and, with deft skill, he wrapped each fish with a tight layer of overlapping ferns. He set the covered fish along the inside of the fire pit so that they bordered the rocks, but were far enough from the flames that little burning occurred. He sat back with Pyrite and Westin and waited.

Each of them was left to their own individual thoughts. Ulysses sat back on the grass and rested his arms upon his knees. He pondered about just what the hell he had gotten himself into, how it would turn out, and just what exactly had happened. Pyrite found herself thinking about her parents and what they were doing at the moment. She knew she wasn’t exactly the pride of the family since she had started living her less-than-legal life, but maybe with this, she would finally be able to return with more than just her parents' respect for her choices. Likewise, Westin wondered what happened to his own family. He had been detained months before everything seemed to collapse, so what became of them was likely to remain a mystery. Then he recalled Ulysses, and the many families he likely tore apart or ended at his hands.

So, being the inquisitive person he was, Westin naturally asked the question on his mind, "So nigga, how many people did you kill before they finally caught you?"

Ulysses looked upwards as he thought, “Well, I killed one in Dallas, and another in Cheyenne. Then there was that women in Guaymas and two men in Nogales. Why?”

"Man, you're disgusting, you know that? I don't even know how the hell the world made you the way you are. Inconceivable."

Ulysses laid back, his feet facing the fire, "They're gonna hang me in the morning, before the night is done. They're gonna hang me in the morning, I'll never see the sun."

"Good. Creep." 

Pyrite, who had been silently eating some berries, decided to chime in, "Don't you two ever stop arguing?"

Ulysses sat up instantly, "Why don't you just be quiet for the rest of this trip."

Pyrite raised her hooves, horn lighting slightly, "And then how would you even get out of the wilderness? This place can be worse than the Everfree, so without an actual guide with actual experience and actual maps, you aren't going to get far at all."

"If Westin wasn't so sentimental, you'd be bled out in a ditch right now and we'd have the maps and be out of this cesspool."

Westin gave a barking laugh, "Hah! It's called using your brain! You don't screw up your chances before you even get them!"

Ulysses snickered, “People like you always manage to mess up your chances.”

"That's racist."

“Yeah.”

"You better watch your manners, wonder bread."

Ulysses just laughed and laid back down, "Something is watching us."

Pyrite's ears shot up, her body stiffening, "You hear that too?"

"They've been watching us for a while now." Ulysses stated blandly.

"And neither of you said shit about it?" Westin angrily thumbed towards the direction of some rustling bushes.

Ulysses shrugged, “You've been too busy running your mouth and asking questions you shouldn't. You talk too much, Westin.”

From the tree line burst three beings, two of which neither human had ever seen before. These new creatures, some incredible mix reminiscent of a bird and feline, stepped forward tentatively. Each of the newcomers dressed in differing sets of armor of varying materials, but one thing specifically stuck out enough for Westin, Ulysses and Pyrite to notice instantly. For reasons unknown, these strangers bore a golden representation of a hand as their emblem. The third member happened to be a silvery unicorn, horn glowing and ready to strike against them should they try anything. Both humans instinctively reached for their tasers.

Pyrite scrambled backwards in fear and her horn glowed distinctively in the process. Ulysses and Westin held their tasers at their sides, ready to raise and fire in a moment’s notice. The newcomers were dressed roughly. The two larger, feathered creatures wore simple chainmail across their chest with leather bracers and gauntlets, all scarred and pockmarked from use. Even their chainmail had a splotch of rust here and there. The unicorn had a look of total amazement across his face, eyes wide with disbelief. He wore a tightened leather chest guard and a crossbow hovered nearby, apparently held by his telekinesis or magic, as Pyrite called it. The forest fell silent at the sudden arrival of the strangers and both sides faced off for a long moment as the sun began to fall behind the thick canopy.

Westin lowered his voice to where only Pyrite could hear him, "You know these freaks?"

"No!" She hissed, "These are just some Leota zealots who always attack guard patrols! I didn't even know they recruited griffons!"

The unnamed unicorn heard the vagrant whispers and stepped forward, mouth open to shout something back at them. Whatever it was going to say was never heard. Pyrite, already jumpy, anxious and ready to defend herself from nearly anything that even so much as got close to her, was sweating heavily. Her situation wasn't any better as the other pony was interrupted by a small rabbit jumping into the clearing, a curious look in its eyes for the brief second it was still alive. The archaeologist's horn reacted on instinct, and she used what was started to become her favorite spell. Letting loose a scattershot, her tightly shut eyes weren't able to witness the small vermin explode into a fine, red mist with the occasional tuft of fur. Both humans covered their eyes with their forearms to protect themselves from the light from the spell, the bits of dead rabbit, and the turned-up dust from the impact. Everything settled, but now they were being stared at with surprised looks from the newcomers.

Ulysses wiped a piece of rabbit from his face, "What the fuck!"

One of the "Griffons", as Pyrite called them, stepped forward, "You... Those are hands, aren't they? Where did you get those?"

Still wiping bits of gore from his visage, Ulysses felt his anger rising, "I was born with them."

Pyrite stamped her hoof, "Don't talk to them! They're crazies!"

"I believe that," Westin commented, not minding the blood just yet, "Coming in, ruining dinner, all that. I don't know what you things are, but you need to not be here. Or alive. Either one."

The female griffon let out a type of snarl glaring at Pyrite, "Watch your mouth, heretic." She looked back at Westin and Ulysses, "You were born with those hands?"

Westin closed his hands together and opened them as mockingly as possible, "Why yes, I do believe I was born with the hands that are attached to my body! But I get how you wouldn't understand that!"

Pyrite, realizing neither of the humans were backing away, bolstered her courage and stepped forward, "You have no right to attack us. We're not trespassing."

The male griffon nearly spat at her, "Leota belongs to us. You and your kin pollute it."

"Last time I checked, you zealots were just considered a bunch of aimless rebels. No wonder the Royal Guard doesn't even bother trying to stamp you out. You're not worth their time!"

Lunging at Pyrite, the griffon let out a choked cough as Ulysses stiff-armed him across the throat, knocking the warrior to ground, "Back up, brother!"

Westin forced back a smile, not wanting to admit his excitement at the prospect of fighting someone getting a bit too close to his personal space with weapons, "These guys wanna start, huh?" He pulled off a long stick from what was meant to be a part of their shelter, "Then let's start some shit."

The unicorn who had remained silent thus far spoke up, “Wait!” He looked at his own companions who were drawing weapons, “If they truly are what we’ve been looking for, LeBlake is going to want to see them.”

"Sweet Celestia, you guys still listen to that monster?" Pyrite lashed out disgustedly. "She's a Monitor, for Luna's sake! A Monitor!"

Westin looked at Ulysses, "They worship a computer monitor, man. Some things never change. I bet she's white."

Ulysses lowered his taser slowly, "What are you talking about? Who's LeBlake?"

The male griffon huffed and rose to his feet, "Grand Foreseer LeBlake is the head of our factional group. I don't think she'd be interested in some riff-raff bandits from the North."

"We're not bandits." Ulysses stated with a concrete tone, "We're humans."

The unicorn froze before grasping around his companion's necks and pulling them close. There were harsh whispers going back and forth, with him occasionally looking back to check on them. The three broke up and turned back to the two humans and equine.

"If what you're saying is true, then we may have some use of you. Come with us, and we'll provide you with food, drink, and lodgings. Or if that doesn't please you, you could stay in Leota and hope that a head-splitter doesn't sneak up on you in your sleep."

Now it was the eclectic trios’ turn to discuss their options. Westin, Pyrite, and Ulysses spoke quietly amongst themselves. Pyrite spoke vehemently and glanced cautiously back at the so-called zealots, protesting the decision the Ulysses and Westin were slowly coming to an agreement on. Several more minutes passed with Pyrite punctuating her words with her hooves as she tried to discourage her walking rewards, but, in the end, she failed.

Ulysses and Westin turned to face the opposite group, “After you.”

And so they went, following the strangers to what they called home in an ancient land.





"And that is why we've been safeguarding the pass into Old Leota. There's still some things under the surface here that we've been trying to uncover for years."

Westin nodded, not really paying attention. The walk they were experiencing was absurdly tedious and downright unenjoyable in every way he considered possible. What he assumed to be the female griffon talked to him endlessly about how her group operated and were in search of some very specific things in the Forest and Froud Valley. Pyrite fared no better, and trailed at the back of the group with a disgruntled look on her face. Her preference of distance from what she considered a group of untrustworthy fanatics would have been understandable to anyone, even bandits and thieves. The clandestine organization that operated within Leota was regarded as something to avoid, a cancerous and wrathful tumor made up of well-trained individuals.

Ulysses chatted casually with the male griffon and the unicorn. His mind had finally given into the idea that he was not dreaming, that this was not some hallucination, that everything around him was real. It was overwhelming, scary even, but it had a slight touch of excitement, something that made Ulysses innately giddy to discover what had replaced the world he had once known. The male griffon had introduced himself as Akakois. He was easily six feet in height and his armor made his feathers poke through in some places. A sword swung from his hip and he walked with a long, confident stride. The unicorn, young and relatively polite, had said his name was Teal or something similar; his voice was unusually quiet. Ulysses had been focused more on getting ready to defend himself from an ambush, but it seemed that the group was happy to have him and Westin with them, even if they treated Pyrite coldly. 

"I was born into the Order, actually. My father and mother served all their lives. Our lineage goes back hundreds of years, you know." Akakois said proudly as the group trudged through thick jungle.

Ulysses swatted a mosquito from his face, "That's impressive. What about you?"

Looking up, Teal realized Ulysses was addressing him, "Me? Oh, the Order rescued me."

Lysandra, the other Griffon, cut in before Ulysses could pry for more information, “Yes, Teal has been with the Order for a few years now. We three have only been patrolling together since July.”

“So, what month is it now?’ Westin asked.

“It’s August of course,” Lysandra gave the two men peculiar looks, “Are you truly humans?”

Westin shrugged, "I was the King of the United States before shit went downhill. Had some decent dental too."

"You were a king?" Pyrite questioned. "Where's your royal regalia, then?"

Before Westin could make a crude gesture towards somewhere on his lower body, the group abruptly stopped, with Lysandra turning towards them fully. 

"Listen up. We're going to head past this bush, then you're going to stay really close. Try not to stick out too much."

Ulysses spoke up, "Where are you taking us, anyway? We've been walking for hours."

The griffon placed a claw on a part of the thicket and pulled back, "A tidy little place called home."

Before the archaeologist and the two criminals was something spectacular, though entirely unfitting of a deadly forest, admittedly. It was as if a small settlement had been built within the clearing, highly fortified and ready to repel any attacks. Tall palisades bordered the area in front of them, with archers hidden in watchtowers that overlooked both the village and the wilds beyond. A sturdy, bolted wooden gate allowed entrance into the village and armed guards patrolled the walkway above. Westin, Pyrite and Ulysses let out collective breaths at the small settlement. If the facility they had left behind was their reminder of their lost world, this was the introduction to a new one. 

The gate swung open as the group approached, Lysandra and Akakois in the lead followed by Teal and the rest. Westin looked around in amazement at the colonial-style houses, all painted bright whites and reds with golden trims. A cobblestone pathway led forward and into a town square where a large sculpted fountain stood. A schoolhouse could been seen along with a church, a soccer field, and a variety of different stores. The village seemed completely free from the forest mere feet away.

The group continued through, passing by faces unseen by humans before. What appeared to be children of all sorts ran out of the school, with parents ready to greet them at the nearby homes. But as the two humans received more and more attention, the more silence began to reign over the tight-knit community. Whispers broke out as the group made their way by, with many of the adults doing their best to shush their children, lest they do something rash. Westin, much like Pyrite, was uncomfortable with being watched with such amazement, whereas Ulysses seemed indifferent. 

"This is weird." Westin muttered.

Teal turned his head slightly as they continued to walk, "Quiet! You'll have time enough to talk later. Save your breath for when you meet LeBlake."

More villagers began to crowd around the advancing group, whispering amongst their ranks at the strange new creatures. It seemed like a scene out of some movie, thought the two men as they began to pass by the fountain in the square, the path behind them closed off behind a wall of villagers. The fountain itself looked to be sculpted rock with a glassy sheen, chiseled and worked to its final form: a strange, faceless two legged figure standing amongst the spurts of water. It had a quiet solace to it and Westin stopped a moment to admire the crude recreation of himself and his partner. It seemed as if they were passing by the shadow of an older age.

Beyond the square, the cobblestone pathways broke into a single road, one which appeared to be marble slabs laid out and correlated, forming tiny seams between them where not even the most persistent of brooms could eke out the dirt there. And then the group saw it; a structure formed completely from stone, the marble pathway ending at its steps. Pillars, inscribed with archaic characters, stood like sentries above the stairs and beyond them, a lone hallway could be seen beneath the triangular roof, lit by the light of torches that seemed to carry on forever.

Akakois halted and faced the humans and their unicorn counterpart, “You two must carry on alone. LeBlake and the other elders await you and, if you are truly what you say you are, they will be eager to meet you.

Ulysses nodded at Pyrite, “What about this?” 

“We will wait here for you. No harm will befall her.” Akakois stated solemnly. 

Westin and Ulysses looked briefly at each other without exchanging words. Both sensed a fire in each other and, in synchronization, they began to walk forward, matching each other's strides, their uniforms rippling in the slight breeze. Behind them, the village of palisades, awed creatures, and golden decorations, watched in silence as the two men who had only been born days ago approached the temple. Pyrite knew her charade would be extinguished soon. Somepony was bound to tell those two that there was nothing else like them on the face of Equestria. They would come back out enlightened and with the full obedience of the cultists around her. As if sensing Pyrite’s fear, Lysandra inched closer, her claw on the sword at her hip.

Pyrite saw the subtle action and slackened her body slightly. She knew how to manipulate how others could perceive her stance, so it was best not to draw unwanted or aggressive attention to herself. Instead, her mind was racing, calculating away and desperately thinking up some means of getting through this with the most minimal damage possible. So Lysandra warily pulled away from her sword, eying the unicorn carefully for further movement. Pyrite would have smiled if it wouldn't have broken her facade. 

She was going to get through this, somehow. This archaeologist had come too far not to get what she so rightfully deserved. Not even an entire village of zealots would stop her. 





Blueblood had been toiling away at his work for the past few days. He had rented out a small cabin situated closely to a river, between both the Appaloosan Mountains and the Forest of Leota. It was easy enough to trick the old mare who had left an ad in the Canterlot Times that he was trying to get away from the city to spend time with his marefriend. She seemed hesitant at first, but even her old heart sprung back to life once her eyes glimpsed a bundle of gold pieces. Money truly could buy you most things in life, he had learned.

Now, the noble spent most of his time awake constructing a series of connections and theories against one of the cabin walls. Documents, charts, and all sorts of testimonies covered it, with strings and tacks linking possible connections and points of interest. Photos of various places within Equestria dotted the wall as well, showing odd geographical occurrences in the most dangerous of locations. One in particular, a set of dunes with a waterfall in the background, piqued his interest the most. It was Froud Valley, the place he had died dozens of times in his dreams. Just seeing the still-life shot of one of the wilder and untamed areas in Equestria teased his innate curiosity. Regardless of what country or continent, there was a definite connection between these perilous zones. Standard Equestrian physics no longer applied at them, and life itself was far more ferocious and harsh.

Blueblood tacked the photo up and stared at it. The thought that his mind attacked him with nightmares of the place made him uneasy, but they were finally winding down to a halt as he came closer and closer to the answers he wanted. Now, all he needed to do was wait for his reconnaissance to return with new information.

And thankfully for his patience, that was a just a few seconds later. A thud came outside the door and it was then opened by a tired batpony mare, who threw off her metal pony-shoes and tiredly trotted to Blueblood. He smiled once he noticed the sealed folder in her mouth. 

"Mettle, it's good to see you."

"Hrmhrg..."

"You sound tired. Get some rest."

She tossed the folder his way and flapped her way to the bed. Yet, instead of getting under the covers, she lied back against the headboard and watched him pensively. After all, she was a mostly honest mare who was prideful about her work, so knowing that she retrieved good results meant a great deal to her. 

The stallion used his magic to open the folder and pull free some journal entries, photos, and most importantly, a map. He went to the map first and noticed the markings leading from deep within Froud Valley, all the way to just a bit south of their safe house in the Forest of Leota. A deep frown set itself on his face once he noticed the last known position of his quarry. Mettle had been following them for days, from desert to forest, and even managed to list the places Pyrite had rested at. The final spot was dangerously close to a village of heretics that had once been the bane of Canterlot's elite.

"You didn't have to get so close there, you know. The Valley isn't safe, but they would be willing to kill you on site."

Mettle yawned and brushed his fears away, "Who cares, the info that I got made it worth it. Besides, the canopy was so thick that I could spy on them without them even noticing."

Blueblood frowned at the thought of the cultists living deep in the forest, "They're dangerous." He placed his hoof on a sheaf of journal papers and began to read aloud, "Day one: Spotted the mark moving into Froud Valley. I decided to pull back and make sure my supplies were adequate enough to follow her. With such open terrain, it was easy to catch up with her. Dusk falls quickly in Froud Valley and I made cold camp about a mile back. Last I saw, the mark was moving towards a large waterfall and lake. I'll look for tracks tomorrow. Most likely is that she'll camp there overnight."

Stirring uncomfortably on the bunk, Mettle spoke up, "You'll want to see the photographs after the next one."

Nodding, Blueblood turned to the next page, "Day two: I lost the mark for several hours. A sandstorm hit in the night and I was forced to retreat several miles. When I returned, she was gone. Any tracks had been erased by the storm itself, but the lake provided some clues. I found an alligator carcass washed up on shore. A definite victim of a magic blast. There was also some remains of a primitive type of camp which I first assumed to be the mark's, but as I prepared to leave, I noticed movement behind the waterfall. Apparently there is a large cavern behind it. The mark reappeared in bad shape. I assumed it was due to the storm, but she looked to have been brutally attacked. I made cover behind a large sand dune and waited. She was tailed by what I can only describe as some type of tall, two-legged creature. There were two of them, both dressed in a strange type of garb that seemed unfitting for the desert. One was of much darker color than the other and they seemed to use their arms much as griffons do. I will follow them and write more tonight."

Blueblood levitated the two adjoining photos and hummed to himself. Mettle's description was correct in that they were bi-pedal creatures, but their clothing was strangely familiar. It came off as very blue-collar, like that of a street cleaner or some similar occupation. Alas, the photos themselves were grainy, not very well lit, and easy to scrutinize. The first one reminded him specifically of the famed Big Hoof, who he had the pleasure to once meet. But despite the minor shortcomings, the new information made him almost ecstatic. It was a step in the right direction that would cement his reasons for even being in the region. His aunt of the night would be quite interested in his findings as well, perhaps enough that she might consider giving a certain guard of hers a raise.

He moved onto the next entry and read it aloud, "Day three: The marks entered Leota. Now this is where I can work well. Instead of being high in the sky, I can now keep close contact by hiding in the canopy. It makes me wonder how non-batponies can even do stuff like this without night eyes. Moving on, they set up camp at dusk and did what was becoming their routine. The original searched for berries, one fished around in the nearby water, and the last set up crude sleeping areas. They were almost done when some patrol came by. I've only heard stories about these guys from the older guards, but I backed up a bit when I saw them. 'The Holy Hand' didn't like anypony in their Forest. I overheard them offering the marks a place to stay for the night. I followed them a bit more until I ran out of canopy and sat back. They're likely in the village by now."

Blueblood sat down exhaustedly while Mettle watched him uncomfortably, speaking with a quiet, unsure voice that was unusual for her, “What are those things?”

“I…I don’t know.” Blueblood knew he had just stumbled onto something incredible, “They could be an entirely new species. Froud Valley would be the perfect place for some kind of new species to live in hiding.”

Mettle tapped her hooves together delicately, “So what do we do? The Princesses will want to hear about this.”

Blueblood remained silent and stared at the ominous photos while miles away, behind the walls of a cultist village, two men were about to completely change the history of Equestria. 

> Chapter Six: We Captured a Legend
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance 

Chapter Six: We Captured a Legend

By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic






"Quick! Quick! Why haven't you finished the decorations yet? Can you not see the urgency of this situation? Stop laughing! Just go and prepare everything before they-"

"The hell is that thing?"

Westin grimaced as everything within the large temple ceased to move. Griffons, ponies, and strangely enough, zebras paused what they were doing to stare at two humans that had just walked through the darkened arch behind them and into a chamber fit enough to be considered a grand palace of a king. Ulysses and Westin looked just as ragged as they had the day before, appearing more like filthy vagabonds than anyone actually important. Still, the eclectic mix of animals failed to continue in their duties and simply stared at the two humans in stunned silence, eyes widened and glimmering in the light of the torches of the room. In a moment of quick thinking in order to disarm the tense situation, Westin did the single most non-threatening thing he knew.

He nodded his head to them, "Yo."

Near the back of the oval-shaped space, three large thrones stood situated, seemingly carved out of the stone of the room itself. With their eyes still adjusting to the dim light, the two men had not yet noticed the three figures sitting rigidly in the seats. In fact, they could barely see anything. Dim torches lit the space sparsely and flickered ominously, watching with orange eyes from their embedded places along the wall. A primitive pathway had been chiseled into the floor, looking more like an extended divot that led towards the thrones and stopped short several feet. Cryptic pictographs covered the ceiling and seemed to have been painted on, some faded with age. It was as if Ulysses and Westin had stepped into a sacrificial tomb.

The centermost figure hissed something in a foreign tongue and the workers who had been putting up strange, alien decorations took their leave hastily, rushing past the humans and into the light outside. The clacking of hooves eventually faded and the silhouette spoke once again, this time in English:

“Greetings! We have been awaiting your visit for many years now!” Standing and stepping down from the throne, the shadowy figure made a distinctive swishing sound as it walked towards the men, “I am LeBlake, the leader of these pilgrims.”

LeBlake, as they soon figured out, was not human; the complete opposite of what the name implied. Golden silk flowed together to make an elegant robe of exquisite craftsmanship, and contained one very bizarre looking head at the shoulders. Sagging, leathery scales drooped off of a long neck and met at the narrow head. Eyes looked them over carefully and as the reptilian moved closer. They could make out a large, spaded tail hovering slightly behind. Despite the appearance of the supposed leader, there was an unquestionable grace to each movement. 

"My, you truly are what we foresaw you would be."

Ulysses' eyes widened at the sight and he felt his stomach give a horrible, sweat-inducing kick and he turned his head, vomit collecting in his mouth. He fought for a few seconds and choked it back, nearly failing. LeBlake noticed and tilted her head inquisitively:

"Are you healthy? We have medicine here to aid you."

"No, no, I'm good. I'm fine." Ulysses wiped the sweat from his face, "It's probably something I ate."

LeBlake's expression turned from concern to that of anger, "Have you ingested anything while you have been here? I can have the cook excommunicated if you wish."

Westin elbowed Ulysses and whispered, "Chill the hell out. What is this thing anyway?"

"I am a Monitor. A reptilian gifted with the power of foresight." LeBlake stared intently at her two guests, "And you...you are the ones we have been waiting for." 

Pulling his head back in confusion, Ulysses questioned the lizard in front of him, "What do you mean? You've been waiting for us?"

The Monitor pointed upwards at several depictions of vaguely human caricatures, "You see, we've long awaited the return of the masters of this world. Where we tread is not simply ours for the taking, so we've pulled ourselves away from those that believe so until the time would come that the previous owners would return. So we've waited until this very moment, preparing every single day of our existence for it."

Westin shrugged, "Ight. So we own this place then?"

LeBlake nodded happily and a toothy grin split her face, "Indeed you do. We have merely protected it for you over the years, and now that you two are here, we can begin."

"Begin what?" Ulysses felt as if he was going to be sick again.

"The inevitable reclamation, of course. Further exploitation of this world cannot be allowed unless it is under true hands, and not the meager imitations used by other species. No being has such things, with the exception of you two. So it is with great honor that I offer our services in what is now our holy war."

"Holy war? I'm not getting involved with some shit like that," Westin commented. "Waterboarding isn't cool, yo."

Ulysses smiled thinly, "Could you give us a moment, please?"

LeBlake nodded and Ulysses pulled Westin away before breaking into a whispered conversation, "Listen, man, we're in this now. We can't just tell these...things to go to hell and leave, they'll kill us."

"We never do such a thing, for you are our exalted guests."

Westin turned slowly, brought a finger up to his mouth, and shushed her loudly before turning back, "Nigga, how is any of this shit even happening? Think about it! How the hell did the Catskills fall apart, how did we end up in a desert, where did everyone go, why are all of these animals talking?"

"Just relax! We can't leave! We don't even know where we are. Hell, we don't even know what's going on, much less what to do. Our best bet, right now, Westin, is to stay and figure it out. If these guys have been here as long as they say, they must know something. We have to find out what happened."

LeBlake spoke up again, "I sense that you two are wary of us. Would a banquet relax your nerves? I'm sure the entire village is curious to see their new leaders."

"Don't call us that shit!" Westin gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down. With obvious stress, he continued, "Whatever, we'll play along with this shit for now. I just wanna get the hell out of this King-Tut's-Tomb-lookin'-place."

Ulysses voice had grown strained from the continued susurration, "Shut up! You're making it worse!" 

"So, you will join us, then?" LeBlake asked.

Both men stared at each other for another drawn out second before speaking in unison, "Yes."





The village was alive with light. Fiddles and violins sang with loud, perfected voices as creatures danced about in the light of torches, lanterns, and large fires. Singing and laughter soaked into the soil and the air. Marquees and pavilions stood, bursting with activity as griffons, ponies, wolves, and zebras paraded about, feasting on the foodstuffs put out for the celebration, and while guards still patrolled the perimeter, a joyous time was being had for all. Decorations had been put up to appease the two human visitors and fireworks exploded amongst the clouds, littering the sky with fiery colors and the revelation that a new age was being born amongst the trees of Leota. 

Westin and Ulysses found themselves to be the center of attention wherever they went. They could not find a secluded spot to relax and discuss just what to do without being greeted by their apparent new servants who offered this and that, never content to leave the two men alone. So, after much annoyance, they settled near one of the many ale barrels that had been rolled out for more merriment, pouring each other drinks as they attempted to find the answer to their problems within the frothy mugs before them. It wasn’t long before two familiar faces appeared amongst the crowd.

“Hey, Lysandra.” Ulysses looked bored as he addressed the other, “Pyrite.”

Lysandra administered a hearty slap on Westin and Ulysses’ back in greeting, “Enjoying yourselves, commandants? I made sure that your friend here didn’t slip away, as you requested.” 

Ulysses looked up from his drink, “Commandants?”

Pyrite chimed in, “Your position, apparently. It’s all I’ve heard the past hour or so.”

Westin frowned, "I don't like to hear this sorta shit without being drunk." He looked at his mug, "Weak..."

"Well," Lysandra sniffed the mug, "I don't drink, so I wouldn't know. But I can probably pull a few strings and get them to change the recipe. Anyway, I won't trouble you two with any of this formal business for now. After all, we're supposed to be celebrating."

Ulysses refilled his mug, “Celebration? Alright, let’s celebrate!”

He stood shakily and grabbed ahold of Lysandra who, in her surprise, instinctively reached for her sword, but stopped as she realized Ulysses was merely inviting her to dance. She laughed boisterously and the two spun and moved their feet in time to the bluegrass music. And although Ulysses was fairly inebriated, he still managed to keep a steady rhythm despite bumping into several other dancers. Breaking off from Lysandra, Ulysses clutched Westin’s collar and pulled him upwards, pushing him into the sea of dancers where he inevitably ended paired up with a heavily pierced zebra. 

Watching in disgusted fascination, Pyrite felt her jaw drop as Ulysses planted a warm, alcoholic kiss onto a shocked Lysandra. The griffon soldier jerked back in surprised, but softened after a quick moment. It seemed that even the last two humans in the world were having fun amongst what they would have considered impossibilities mere days ago when they had first awoken and taken their paramount steps into a hostile world.

Or rather, only one of them did. Westin was uncomfortable with his situation entirely, and the alcohol in his system didn't make things any better. The zebra, a female who apparently had a fascination with metal being embedded into her, was honestly a good conversation partner despite how uneasy even looking at her made him. While Ulysses was content with pushing away the problems they were facing, Westin found his mind extremely troubled at all times. He didn't know why the only other human he knew of now was able to so easily let himself fall for a party. Could it have been the insanity spiking up again? Was he really the only sane human around altogether?

Westin excused himself and retreated behind the barrels of liquor. He was tired, so very tired. There was no enjoyment to what was happening. That didn't change, even as Pyrite trotted up to him, fully sober.

She sat on her haunches and spoke over the music, "Looks like you aren't really having fun, unlike your friend."

Westin grunted, "Forget that nigga. He's completely out of it. He kissed one of those goddamn turkeys!" He spat, slamming his fist against a barrel. I can't stand how everything is getting so messed up."

"I'll admit, what he did was really weird. But at least he's having fun, you know? Sure, I hate him with everything in me, but he isn't moping around."

Westin stared past her, watching as Lysandra towed away an unsteady Ulysses into a tent he knew for a fact wasn't be used any longer for festivities. With a deep sigh, Westin could only imagine what kind of situation he was sitting on now.

Across from Westin and Pyrite, hidden by a thin layer of fabric and cloaked in candlelight, Ulysses struggled to get a grip, both physically and mentally, on the anatomy of griffons.  Lysandra let out several endearing yelps as Ulysses, drunk and manic from the atmosphere of an entirely new world, tried his best in a subject he had not had experience in for a blatantly long time.

Outside the tent, the celebration commenced for several more hours before quieting down, the villagers retreating to their homes, the guards back to the barracks and their posts, full of fine food, ale, and wine. With the rising of an early sun, a fine, creeping mist laid it’s tendrils across the morning dew, mingling with muddy hoof prints and the small, delicate droplets of water. An eerie quiet had befallen the settlement and the sun cast dull, gray morning light across the vines of Leota. 

Westin and Pyrite had long retired. The last of the partygoers had vanquished and the many tables and tents had been dissembled and stored away, but the welcoming banners and celebratory emblems still remained, although limp in the morning air. Ulysses stirred achingly amongst the pelt covers and eventually slid out from underneath their weight, standing nude. Lysandra stirred, but did not awaken, her sword and scabbard tossed aside. Ulysses winced at the pounding in his head and wondered perhaps if the drums he had heard last night had not been real after all. He yawned and reached for his clothing, pulling it on silently.

The morning air was cold against his skin, but Ulysses ignored the goosebumps that erupted across his exposed forearms as he rolled his sleeves up. The camp had been cleaned sometime during the night. Ulysses laced up his boots with bleary eyes and felt something press against his chest. Reaching inside his jacket, he felt at the glassy surface of a bottle of whiskey. Drinking it as he walked, Ulysses felt his stomach recoil against him and he vomited into the grass, tossing the bottle where it exploded against the edge of the fountain.

Wiping his mouth, Ulysses continued on in a kind of haze. He was purposeless, free to roam full abandon. Well, as long as he didn’t go past the palisades. LeBlake had been clear about that. He wondered briefly where Westin was or the meddling golden horse whose face had not yet healed. Ulysses jogged up the steps of the palisade, passing by small stores and carts that stood waiting for their owners. A guard greeted the lone human, offering a hoof as Ulysses struggled with the last steps.

The stallion nodded and smiled, “My commandant.” 

Ulysses waved his hand, “Thanks. That was a good time last night.”

“We had hoped you would appreciate it. We can’t offer much here. It’s a small village.” The guard stated as he returned to his post, Ulysses leaning on the palisade edge.

Staring at the oppressive tangle of vines and leaves, Ulysses yawned, “Where’s Westin? I haven’t seen him since last night.”

The guard turned and pointing towards the barracks, a squat, ugly building, “I believe your companion spent the night there. Grand Foreseer LeBlake will want to have a word with you two later today. I’m willing to bet she’s eager to speak with you both in depth.”

Ulysses nodded, “What about the pony that came with us?”

“She’s being detained right now. As you requested.”

“I didn’t request anything.” Ulysses could hear footsteps coming up the stairs behind him.

Westin groggily rubbed his head and climbed the stairs, "Have fun basting the turkey last night?" He became thoughtful for a moment, "I'm getting some Deja vu about that."

"I don't want to talk about it." Ulysses looked paler than usual, "God, I was so drunk last night."

"White boys don't know how to handle liquor. What else is new?" Westin sat on a crate and looked out into the forest as something flittered across the dark tree line, "We gotta sort this shit out."

Ulysses looked at the guard, "Give us some privacy." The stallion sauntered off to another section of the walkway as Ulysses slid down and sat with his back against the top of the wall, "I mean, I thought nothing like this was possible. And how can it be? Shouldn't we be more disturbed? You know what I mean?"

"Maybe. I seriously don't like what's going on, and I'm starting to think we're just being experimented on in the Catskills again. They're probably doing some crazy sci-fi type experiment where we think this really happening."

"They never did that with us before. It was all blood samples and testing. What purpose would this even serve?"

Westin shrugged, "You think this other shit is more believable?"

Ulysses ran his hand through his hair, "I don't think any of it is believable. But let's assume that all this is real, actually happening. If it is, we need to talk to that lizard lady. She must know something."

"Got nothing better to do in this place. Boring up in here."

"Would you rather be out there?" Ulysses hiked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Nothing happened out there until these crazies showed up," Westin pointed out. "Only reason I'm here is for food."

"Where's LeBlake?" Ulysses called out to the guard. The pony pointed back towards the structure where Westin and Ulysses had originally met the strange leader.

The two humans sat up and headed down the wooden stairs. Due to the relatively small size of the village, the walk to the ritual palace of the Holy Hand was fairly short. The citizens of the town waved and bowed as the men passed, showing a great deal of respect, though it unnerved Westin quite a bit. Still, there weren't many other options other than to hear out the eccentric she-lizard and hope that this wasn't actually happening. His stomach turned at the thought that this was all real, despite what he had went through the past few days. But before he could further consider those thoughts, Westin found himself already heading up the stairs beside Ulysses.

They passed through the hallway and into the atrium itself. After a night of drinking and general excitement, it now seemed familiar, as if the two men had dreamed of it before. LeBlake sat cross-legged at the foot of her cathedra, eyes shut as a ring of wax candles burned around her. Incense was heavy in the air and her companions, who had not yet introduced themselves, lay slumped in their respective seats, apparently in some sort of trance. 

The quiet echoing of boots on stone caused LeBlake to raise her head in greeting and she stood up, cloak flowing, “Forgive me, we usually meditate during the early morning. There is…peace at such times, I have found.”

Westin yawned, "I bet. What's on today's agenda?"

LeBlake smiled as she relit a stick of incense with her claw-like fingers, "I believe you two have already decided that. What would you like to know?"

"Wait." Ulysses looked confused, "You knew we would come to talk to you?"

"Of course I did. Foresight is a very useful trait, Ulysses."  LeBlake said as Ulysses looked on in reluctance. He had not told her his name.

"Then you can see I want you to get the point." Westin replied irritably.

LeBlake let her smile fade and pointed to the ceiling, “This building is over a thousand years old. It was built by our ancestors to honor yours. Our order was created not long after King Equinox took power over what we now call Equestria. You see, we honored humans, we honored you, but after you and your kind disappeared from Equestria, we were left to fend for ourselves, declared a cult by the rulers who claimed humans had never existed.” 

"And there ain't some sort of documentation of any of that even happening, if it even really did?" Westin looked at a depiction of Orion above, "Cause none of this actually persuades me."

Ulysses looked annoyed, "Why don't you just let her finish the damn story, man?"

"She paused. That means she expected an answer back!"

LeBlake continued despite the bickering, "In time, we've managed to attract other groups towards our own and grow in number, however slowly that has been. My race, the Monitors, aren't of this continent. Our ancestors migrated from somewhere far, though no others have ever come. Zebras find their way here as well, alongside Griffons and Equestrians. Over the course of history, each race has played a specific part in keeping this group alive. And now, our work has borne fruits for us."

“What are you talking about? What fruits? What the hell do you things want from us?” Ulysses’ voice rose in frustration.

“With both of you returned to us, we can prove to the world that you exist and you can reclaim the power that you have lost. Equestria is co-ruled by the Royal Princess Sisters, Celestia and Luna. They sit on the throne that rightfully belongs to you and with our forces, we can retake Equestria! With both you and Westin as our commandants, we will follow you until our deaths.”

"That shit is creepy," Westin responded. "And neither of us got any military experience. We can't lead armies."

LeBlake stood up slowly, her tail sliding across the floor as she put her hand on Westin's face as if to comfort him, "We have military advisors who can aid you. In fact, we have an entire excommunicated paratrooper company ready and able to fight."

Ulysses piped up, "Paratroopers?"

"Yes. A griffon company that was exiled due to war crimes during the Invasion of the Gulf of Stripes." LeBlake replied, "Are you ready to lead?"

Looking at Westin, Ulysses weighed his words, "Westin?"

"I don't like this shit, be we gotta do something to sort it out. I'm in, for now."

Ulysses looked back at LeBlake, “If you have proof that what you said is true, we’ll lead.”

A faint smile crept across LeBlake's face, "Very well, then. Such information is not easy to come by, especially outside of this country. Though, there is one place I believe where some sort of documentation exists. The Royal Archives have hidden areas that contain information only nobility and royals can view. The Archives are all the way in Canterlot, however, and could create some problems in getting to it."

"Canterlot? Is that a city?" Ulysses asked.

"Indeed it is. The most lavish of Equestrian cities. It is where the Princesses reside and rule. The Royal Archives may have records that date back to the Equinox era. That is your best bet."

"We're in the middle of nowhere, with not a damn thing in sight. How do get to Camelot?" asked Westin.

"Simple. We've foreseen an Equestrian keeping an eye on you since you've escaped your tombs. Surrender to him, and the rest shall happen on its own."

Ulysses was critical of the suggestion, "Just let ourselves be captured? Why would we do that? If what you say is true, won't these princesses just kill us to avoid acknowledging our existence?"

LeBlake raised a scaly finger, already having prepared a rebuttal, "The Princesses are not their parents. They are far more liberal, and likely more willing to accommodate you. That, and both Equestrian and international law declares that you are both an endangered species and applicable for political asylum. Your deaths would likely cause an incident that would cause a backlash far too negative for them to consider."

"Ok, so assuming we aren't killed and dumped in the forest, and we make it to this Canterlot, how do we get the records? And more importantly, how do we get out without making a scene?" Ulysses asked.

Westin nodded, "Word, I'm not down to take a lot of risks with this shit."

"I have agents in the city that can assist your escape." LeBlake stated, "It should not be hard to steal the records. Equestria has not seen a conflict for many years and peace time has made security weak."

"What about all the everyone in the city? What happens when they see us?" Westin clicked his tongue, "I don't wanna be around for that sorta publicity."

Ulysses nodded, "And what about this equestrian? How do we let him capture us without suspicion? What then?"

Holding up her hands, LeBlake began to explain, "The cities inhabitants will undoubtedly learn of your existence. There are no secrets in the circles of nobility, but it will hardly matter. Once the public becomes aware, the spotlight is on you and the princesses. This is your insurance that you will not be harmed. They cannot do anything with the world watching. It is also an advantage for our entire order. We can, I suppose, at that point, simply say, 'We told you so.' but it will also attract new followers and give publicity to our cause."

"So, we're gonna be used by both you to further some causes and shit?" Westin shrugged, "Screw it, I just wanna get to the bottom of all of this. Some breakfast too."

LeBlake narrowed her eyes, "This is a mutually beneficial plan, commandant. We shall have breakfast prepared for both of you and you can meet our advisors during your meal. I shall see you afterwards."

Ulysses and Westin glanced at each other. They had been dismissed and, as they left an ossuary of history, they wondered what would be for breakfast.





"What's this place called?"

Lysandra stopped halfway from putting a piece of trout in mouth and put her fork down. Sitting across from her was Westin, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy his breakfast. The contentment made way for curiosity, and his brashness returned after consuming some food. Lysandra found their few conversations to be amusing, but the numerous questions that anyone with a pulse should've known was getting tedious. Though, the humans hadn't been around for a few thousand years, so it was understandable.

The Griffon cleared her throat, "Polis."

The man nodded and returned to his meal, content at the moment with his questionings. Two tables away, Ulysses dined next to Teal, the unicorn, and across from Akakois, the griffon soldier they had encountered in the forest. Teal chattered on about how he had once battled a Minotaur and had somehow survived the encounter. Ulysses nodded with glazed eyes and took another bite of the sausage in front of him. It was actually quite tasteful and he found himself savoring the bites as Akakois explained, amidst Teal’s newfound storytelling abilities, that he was able to fight three combatants at a time with merely his talons.

Ulysses turned to look over his shoulder at Westin and instead caught Lysandra staring lovingly at him. The human gave her a polite, acknowledging smile and turned back to his meal as his head began to throb with newfound persistence. The entire brunch was outside in a large partition of well-trimmed grass, tables set out with delicate precision and painfully white tablecloths. Ulysses sighed and pushed a few raspberries into his mouth as he was forced to greet yet another advisor, this one a tall mare who claimed to have a degree in economics. Ulysses nodded and thanked her and promised that he would most definitely stop by to see her later.

All of them were instantly pulled away from their current distractions by a familiar voice, "Friends, enjoying your breakfast?" LeBlake's tall stature created a natural elegance as she moved into sight, "I would make a toast, though I don't think champagne is very fitting in the morning."

There were several groans at the mention of alcohol, particularly from Ulysses. All in all, the long night of celebration had taken its toll on both the humans and the residents. Westin thought on how exactly the day-to-day operations would even be able to resume, but dismissed it when he saw several zebras packing up tents and the like. It seemed as though the recoveries from these parties was quick enough to keep everything running smoothly, if the fact that the ever-present guards by the palisades wasn't proof enough.

"Now, I've been informed of some recent developments and devised several way to proceed through the next few steps of this new situation." She looked the darker human from bottom to top up, "How do you feel about tattooing metal into yourself, Sir Fairbanks?"

Said man nearly choked on his eggs, "Get outta here with that. Are any of you things even licensed?"

"Your reaction was just as we saw it would be." LeBlake's warm smile turned to Ulysses, "And what of you? Surely you would be interested in such a proposal?"

Ulysses finished his orange juice, "Alright."

LeBlake clapped her hands together, "Excellent! Now, Sir Fairbanks, as we assumed you would greet the previous proposal with a certain amount of disdain, we have come up with a healthy alternative and one that we think you might appreciate." The Monitor smiled brightly, flashing her sharpened teeth, "Would a golden tooth suffice?"

Westin's face went flat, "That is the most racist and ignorant shit I've ever heard. I want it in platinum."

"Unfortunately, it only comes off with the appearance of gold due to its properties. Sidium, the metal we'd like use, produces a vibration that directly interacts with the user's own mind." LeBlake pressed her claws together, "It isn't a light decision to make, but an important one. Shall I go on?"

When silence greeted LeBlake, she continued on, "While Sidium will work fully on you, Commandant Westin, we were required to adapt the implantation for you, Commandant Ulysses. Please understand that I mean no offense by what I am about to say, but my seers tell me that your mind suffers from a relative level of instability that can decrease and increase at times. The tattoo we propose is composed of Sidium-saturated ink and is a spell incantation. Simply utter the final words and you will be able to communicate with me at any time regardless of distance."

Ulysses nodded, "But why would we need any of this? What's the catch here?"

Another one of the leaders, and elderly male Monitor, seemed to arrive from not very far behind the group. Westin nearly jumped at the raspy sound of his voice, with it also grating against Ulysses' ears. They were introduced to him last night, and even then the old lizard had caught them off-guard. To everyone with in the village, he was known as Seer Presstel.

"Oh, there are quite a few developments these days. I'm sure you were told about that one Equestrian Prince, were you not?"

Westin cringed at the sight of the saggy Monitor, "Can't even remember. Let her tell us again."

“Yes, the Equestrian who had you followed is of noble descent. A famous prince, as it were, called Blueblood. He is directly related to the Royal Pony Sisters, their nephew in fact. It would seem that he has a knack for adventuring far beyond his regular duties.” LeBlake explained. 

"In fact," Presstel continued for her, "this isn't the first time we've had to deal with his actions. I don't believe he realizes that, but I do believe it's time to turn this thorn in our side into the perfect ploy to get you two into the Archives." 

Westin didn't look convinced, "So we gotta get this done to us before we can sort out everything else?"

“I’m not following.” Ulysses stated. “You want us to kill the guy or what?”

LeBlake grinned, "No, surrender to him! Remember? Do so and you'll have multiple chances to get the documentation we need. I apologize for sending you on this, but you two are only ones capable of getting to that information the most easily."

"And you can get us out after we get in?" Asked Ulysses.

"Yes, as I mentioned earlier, we have agents that could return you here without making too much noise. You would need only to communicate with me so I may contact them."

Next to Ulysses, Teal leaned in and whispered, “Akakois and I would be most happy to assist you. Lysandra as well, I would think.” 

Ulysses waved his hand at Teal impatiently, “Quiet for a minute, Teal.” He circled his finger in the air, “Should all these…individuals be listening to this? Shouldn’t it be confidential?”

LeBlake laughed warmly, “Nothing is secret here. And these are your trusted advisors, don’t you remember?” 

"I didn't appoint them," Westin remarked. "Let's just get this over with already. Need to burn off this breakfast."

"Very well! I shall meet you in the grand chamber and we can begin!" LeBlake said with an excited tone as the guests began to leave their tables.

Ulysses and Westin looked across at each other and silently wondered just what the hell they had gotten themselves into.

 

> Chapter Seven: The Knight Moves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance


Chapter Seven: The Knight Moves


By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic





The stone was cold. Green eyes stared, unwavering, at the scrawled images of stick figures drawn feet above, etched into the stone. A bead of sweat crawled slowly down Ulysses’ cheek and dribbled silently onto the table he lay upon before disappearing down a small crack in the wood. Nearby, Westin watched, one of his molars now golden and enriched with Sidium. He stared intently at LeBlake and the third foreseer, Ares. Ulysses didn’t have to ask to know that Westin was communicating with them mentally. It seemed the tooth was working.

Ulysses had yet to receive his own implantation of Sidium. The idea of a tattoo was appealing, as he had never found the time to consider getting one before, when the world had still been whole. LeBlake’s tail made a distinctive swishing, a quiet whispering, on the rock as she approached the  paler man, his bare chest exposed, long hair splayed out underneath him, the beard still not gone from his face. Westin’s bandages had been removed and light scarring could be seen upon his visage. It had been strange that both men had forgotten to tend to the putrid bandages, even more unusual was that their hosts had not mentioned it until now, asking if it was a norm for humans to wear such things.

"I'm surprised that you didn't develop an infection," Ares commented. "The scarring should take care of itself with an application of willberan jelly. Just be careful for now."

Westin nodded, "Don't worry about me. Take care of this nigga, and give him a haircut while you're at it."

Ares chuckled at the glare directed Westin's way as she handed Ulysses a decorated flask. Her intent was obvious, but even he was wary of the bitter smell wafting into his nose. The human pinched his nostrils and downed the warm drink quickly so as to not savor it. His gag reflex nearly forced it back out. It managed its way down into his core and the warmth grew in intensity to the point that it felt as if flames were gently dancing in his stomach. A distinct numbness crept its way outwards and soon his entire body tingled with every movement. Even breathing seemed to make his stomach flutter with euphoria.

Ares pushed him onto his back, "There, there. Just lie down and I'll get to work."

Ulysses felt the tingling associated with magic and the hairs on his chest and arms rose, accompanied by a strong shivering, as if a cold gust of air had blown across his exposed flesh. There were flashes of bright, colored lights and Ulysses felt, distantly, as if he was miles and miles away, someone chopping away at his greasy hair. There was a warm sensation spreading across his pectoral muscles and then his stomach and back. It was akin to being wrapped in warm bandages or cloth. Nearly comatose, Ulysses gave a startled kick as a small burning feeling enveloped his left row column of ribs.

The burning exploded into full-fledged, incendiary pain. In his startled and drugged state, Ulysses let out a strangled cry as his body reacted to the Sidium. Behind him, LeBlake looked startled and Ares had a look of horror across her face.

“What is happening?” LeBlake asked in a fearful tone.

Ares struggled with the spell, “I…I don’t know! He shouldn’t be conscious! His body is fighting the implantation!”

"Man, just force that shit," Westin prodded. "Probably deserves it anyway."

“I can’t!” Ares yelled as Ulysses thrashed on the table, “Something’s wrong! His mind is resisting the ether, too! The Sidium isn’t attaching!”

LeBlake stepped in to aid Ares, her own claws moving in rapid succession, “He’ll die if we don’t stabilize him! We cannot have him die!”

Ulysses arched his back and let out a scream that froze the blood of everyone in attendance. It rose in volume as his hands clutched and his fingers curled. Even Westin looked disturbed at the sight. The two monitors struggled to finish their incantations as Ulysses screamed and shook upon the table, his legs kicking and twitching as runic characters, blackened and edged, cut across his torso, wrapping around and around. LeBlake and Ares uttered the final syllables and Ulysses gave one last heave, a guttural, fear-inducing scream following it before he fell still, blood running from his nose.

Before Westin could speak, LeBlake rushed him from the room, pushing him as she ejected the him from the area, slamming two oaken doors behind him, her tail making wild swings as she hurried back to Ulysses. Ares was bent over the table, her claws grasping the side of it, as she fought for breath. Obviously the incantation had not gone as expected and had taken a fair toll on not only Ulysses, but on her as well.

Outside, Westin shook off the uneasy feelings in his chest and found himself coming to the strong realization that he would be without a partner for the upcoming trials. Though he had a thorough dislike of the only other human he knew to possibly be alive, the man would rather have at least someone to have his back in case things got out of control. Unfortunately, Ulysses seemed to be his only real option for a partner. Semi-fortunately, said human was likely in shock as of that moment and wouldn’t be up before Westin departed. Still, he felt as though it would be highly dangerous to go through with this crazed mission without help. 

Westin’s tongue slid across the Sidium-enriched tooth, tasting its metallic smoothness. Communication with the freaks he was now associating with was good and all, but what good would it do him when some monster was attempting to gouge out his throat? The forest beyond the settlement was far more than simply eerie. What dangers it held, he didn’t know. Why he was even participating, he didn’t know. Where had it all gone wrong? He would have to save that for some time later to answer.

The only conscious human left on the face of planet, Westin trekked through the village tiredly. Heads were lowered in his wake, each step making more and more of the seemingly detached citizens bow themselves in reverence. In some way, it sickened, annoyed, and particularly bugged him that this was even happening. The pain was far too real to state otherwise, so he simply ignored them as best as he could and continued his stroll. Maybe there would be a place to get some lunch at the end of the road.





The dark-colored man sipped at some coffee. Fledgling thoughts on how sour things were going to get soon skittered around in his head, pausing briefly every few seconds to take a bite out of a turkey sandwich. It was an odd site, given that the primary meat-eaters were the partial avians. Even more so was the milk he so eagerly declined. When he questioned the owner of the deli as to where it came from, despite the fact that no cows were present in the village, the only answer he received was a hoof pointed at a mare bussing tables. It took a few moments for the connection to be made, but the gagging spared no time in its arrival. To sum up his entire experience of the quaint home of the fanatics, it was terrible. 

The deli owner noticed the human click his tongue at the taste of the coffee, “Something the matter, sir? I can make another cup if this one isn’t to your liking.”

“Bitter as hell.”

“Would you like milk with it?”

Westin’s retort was only half considered when a voice gently prodded its way into his head.

‘We’ve stabilized Ulysses.’

The owner shied away once the human appeared to stare intently at a wall, his face unwavering.

‘Damn, not dead?’

‘Thankfully. Are you ready to play your part? I’ve already organized the plan and map to provide the safest route towards the ambush, if you’re still willing to participate, that is.’

‘Safe? You’re tellin’ me that there’s some shit in that forest that’s dangerous?’

‘We won’t be able to provide some form of weaponry. It would jeopardize your chances of getting through this unharmed if the prince discovered you with something such as that.’

Westin took one last bite and sip, and then left the shop, ‘So what, I just lie down and let them take me?’

‘Of course not, you simply have to struggle a bit to add realism to your abduction,’ LeBlake added carefully. ‘Playing your part well is key here.’

'Sure, you’re right.' He hoped LeBlake understood the concept of sarcasm.

Westin’s short trip through the village ended as he slowed his walk when the ossuary came into sight. Now that he looked at it with much better lighting, it became eerily relatable to one of the few things he remembered from a high school history class: an Aztecan temple. The irony was biting like a rabid dog. Uneasily, and clearly not ready, Westin progressed up the steps and pushed his way through the large, mahogany doors.





“Will there be any other questions?”

LeBlake couldn’t help but ask such a thing to the clearly troubled human sitting on a marble bench. While she definitely had faith in the abilities of humans as a whole, just having two of them meant that each was absurdly precious to their cause. So despite Westin’s assumptions, the Monitor was not very keen on letting him go off and be captured by an Equestrian normally so furtive to her eyes. Maybe there was reason in that, but it would only take so long now for information detailing the humans’ arrival to land right in the hooves, claws, and paws of every important political figure in the known world. 

This ultimately meant that if they didn’t act fast enough to establish at least one human as physical proof of their existence, the entire village plus humans might likely never get the chance again to do so again internationally. Foresight in an entirely dynamic game of chess the size of a world could only do so much, especially when the more ambitious beings were usually cloaked in their own detachment from the world. With so many different dangers and risks burgeoning all over at any single moment, the Monitor felt it readily agreeable to give Westin as much information as they possibly could in the quest.

“Shit, what if I get jumped or something?”

“As much as we’d like to give you some sort of weapon, you’re likely to be teleported somewhere heavily guarded,” LeBlake pointed out. “And given the zeal the Royal Guard has frequently displayed in dispatching threats, I advised against doing so.”

Westin’s left leg was jumping slightly, a sign of his increased irritation, “Yeah, cool, but what about before any of that even happens? I’m gonna be in a forest filled with all sorts of crazy ass shit.”

There was silence in the small circle around the middle statue. The marble benches surrounding it were largely left to foreseers for their own inspiration or to discuss the various topics of governance for the community. Today, that changed. Westin was the fifth amongst them, and though they prodded for him to use the mind-links, he flatly refused. In truth, it was grating to hear them all talk in his head in deliberation. He had enough of that from one of his ex-girlfriend for three life-times. Thankfully, none of the Monitors were near his ears and yelling about his lack of priorities in life.

No one had said a word until Ares had stepped through from behind several standing curtains to the far off side of the chamber. She took note of Westin’s presence and headed over eagerly. While he was unique from nearly everything in the village, the Monitors, Griffons, and Equestrians all looked the same to him. So as she came, he only regarded her as one of the many similar faces that he was forced to be exposed to. 

While Westin helped himself to a bowl of nearby cashews, LeBlake spoke, “How goes Ulysses’ recovery?”

“Faster than I expected,” admitted Ares. There were both hints of concern and excitement in her voice, “I can’t say that this was a good experience for his health, but we were able to isolate the cause of that-“

“Meltdown?”

The younger Monitor nodded, “Yes, that’s one way of putting it. As it turns out, his body was going into shock from magic intoxication. Ulysses’ resistance to it was severely hampered by the sidium.” She noticed the look on Westin’s face, “I wouldn’t be too worried about yourself, though. All of the material coating your tooth was re-coated with gold, which has inherent magic-nullifying properties.”

“Keep in mind that that won’t help against a direct magic attack, let alone anything other than the mild forms of magical radiation one would receive during the day,” LeBlake added. “Though the fact Ulysses would succumb so quickly is rather peculiar…”

Westin poked at his tooth with his tongue. It had a distinct metallic taste that was unnatural to his mouth. Then again, he never bothered to taste gold before, so it was likely just that. 

“How does that shit happen?”

LeBlake snapped from her musings, brow furrowing, “Hmm… To put it simply, if a being with a natural tolerance for background magic, like most living things, spends enough time underground, far at sea, or at a high enough altitude, they may lose some of that resistance as their body weakens from the original disconnection. Likewise, if a being with no inherent tolerance is being exposed to it, the magic will likely cling to their blood cells and cause a level of toxicity dependent on the exposure.”

“Unfortunately, it’s true.” Ares looked back at the curtain for a moment, “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of someone being exposed to sidium and getting sick as a result though.”

“So why didn’t it happen to me?” Westin himself didn’t feel at all sick, if not apprehensive, “I feel pretty damn good, so am I immune to that shit like I was that whole virus or whatever the hell it was?”

At the mention of “virus”, each of the Monitors seemed to cringe lightly. It would have been hardly noticeable to most people, but his view of all of them simultaneously twitching gave off an easily recognizable clue. What the man said didn’t seem all that pleasant to them.

“Yes, that plague…” Ares ran a claw down her robe idly, “We don’t know as much as we’d like about what it truly did or how it occurred, but that it was an event cataclysmic enough to create everything before us today.”

“We’ll have to ask more on that from Ulysses. I’m afraid our time is up.” LeBlake stood and extended a clawed hand towards the human, “Are you ready to journey through Leota again, Sir Fairbanks?”

Westin snorted at the formality but took what was given regardless. He got onto his feet and took one last look towards the curtains at the other end of the vast temple. Not a single drop of empathy was in his body as he nodded his head towards the exit to quicken the whole experience he was about to go through. Alone, in fact. That thought quickly reminded him of one last matter to settle.

“That horse. It’s coming with me.”

The statement caught the Monitors off guard. The established plan had literally revolved around his solitary quest through the various regions of Equestria, as well as the political channels. Another body could possibly compromise that, making all of their effort in vain. Each of the lizards shared looks between themselves in silent contemplation of his request.

The oldest looking Monitor was gazing upwards, eyes a milky white, “I can’t quite say I foresaw that addition.”

LeBlake removed herself from her present thoughts and nodded, “So be it. We’ll arrange for her immediate release into your custody.” 

The human’s grunt of approval didn’t do much to stem her interest in what had just happened. While Monitors were one of the very few races capable of seeing into the future should they pursue it as a skill, lesser events lacked clarity while larger ones were well-defined. The advent of a new piece to the chessboard should’ve been notable enough for them to have picked up on it, yet, with Westin and possibly Ulysses, their foresight had repeatedly shown to go only so far with their lives. As everyone except for Ares shuffled out of the room, LeBlake found her own curiosity taking root once again. 

Outside, two figures looked on silently as the large wooden gate swung slowly open, creaking and crying for them to stay, to be safe. Pyrite and Westin steeled themselves against the coming storm. The game of chess was about to begin.
> Chapter Eight: Back Through Tharsis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Project Renaissance


Chapter Eight: Back Through Tharsis


By Lucius Seneca & Stillmatic





Breathe.
That's it. Slowly, carefully. Quiet, steadily.
Deep breath. In and out. You can go. No one saw. No one heard.


Ulysses let out a shaky breath, filled with relief and excitement. Hands quivering, he did his best to wipe the thick smears of blood onto his jeans which were already stained and damp. The woman laying on the ground had a glassy look in her eyes and she seemed to stare straight through Ulysses as he looked down upon her lifeless figure. He prodded her with the toe of his sneaker and a lock of her hair, matted and clumped, fell limply across her bloodied face.

Streetlights shone with dim orange smiles and somewhere down the rural street, a cat meowed loudly, followed by the clattering of a garbage can. In the distance, a train rumbled across the tracks and crawled into the countryside, groaning and crying all the while. Ulysses took a moment to stare up at the clouds above. The night sky seemed infinitely more lonesome without a wisp of one or two, and tonight was no exception. Behind the lone man, a scared yelp reached his ears and he turned slowly, visage caked with rapidly drying blood.

A homeless man, ragged and emaciated, covered with blankets and a patchy jacket looked on with wide eyes, hands at his bearded lips. His eyes met briefly with Ulysses' and he turned and ran. A desperate and rage-filled scream followed him.

"You don't know what fear is!"





Akakois grabbed Ulysses by the shoulders as he jerked upright on the bed. He let out a guttural cry and swatted weakly at the talons restraining him, ignoring the yells from LeBlake and Akakois. Ares was quickly in the room, hastily setting down a tray that held a large pitcher of discolored water and a small selection of crackers. Ares, too, soon joined the fray and grabbed Ulysses' thrashing legs.

The human shook his head rapidly, "Christ, help me! Help me!"

LeBlake struggled to calm the thrashing man, "Commandant! Please stop! We are trying to help you!"

"Fuck you!" Ulysses screamed, "Let me go!"

And then, as if all the strength had left his body, Ulysses slumped back down into the mess of covers and sheets, unconscious once again. Ares let out a long sigh and sat back exhaustedly in a nearby chair while Akakois ran his claw down his face in resignation. LeBlake muttered quietly to herself and slowly stroked Ulysses' cheek. Beads of sweat dribbled down his face and she did her best to wipe them away. Something about the vulnerability of the man in front of her made her heart sink and she excused herself from the room.

Ulysses had been transferred to a small room above the soldier's barracks. It had once been an office and then an attic shortly thereafter, but a quick cleanup had turned it into a temporary resting place. A table off to the right of the stairs held an array of medicines and other herbs, while Ares sat next to it, fiddling with what appeared to be a sprig of dill. Akakois was ashen faced and left. He had a shift on the north wall, and while he would have preferred to watch over the Commandant himself, he had a duty to attend to. 

Johannes, a zebra, would be taking his place beside the Commandant soon enough. Ares flicked the smelly plant away and gathered up her robe as she stood. An hour dragged by, the clock on the wall ticking with an antiquated patience. Ares shifted from her seat, pacing around, and then returned. She muttered incoherently to herself about what had gone wrong, about how she might have sentenced one of her deities to death. A quiet gasp for air caught her attention and her eyes shot towards Ulysses' still figure. He shifted slightly and after a rattling exhale of air, his eyes opened, showing their brilliant green.

In an instant, she was next to him, trying to make herself as comforting as possible, "Commandant? Are you awake?"

Ulysses' eyes fluttered, "Who is there?"

"It is me," Ares replied, relieved at the fact that her leader was not thrashing about, "Ares. How are you feeling?"

As if blinded, Ulysses looked up at the warped ceiling supports numbly, "I had a terrible nightmare, Ares. Where is Westin?"

"He is gone to Canterlot. Pyrite Dreams is with him. Grand Foreseer LeBlake is communicating with him daily." Ares replied.

Ulysses' face took on a look of absolute terror, "Are they hanging me tonight? Are they going to kill me?"

Ares was taken aback by the questions, "No. No! Absolutely not! No one is hanging you, Commandant."

In a sudden bout of strength, Ulysses grabbed Ares by her robe's epaulets, "I had a terrible nightmare, Ares."

Hoofsteps could be heard coming up the stairs and Ulysses' hands began to fall from Ares' shoulders as he struggled to speak, but failed to utter another syllable. He fell back onto the pillows as Johannes arrived. Ares stared worriedly down at Ulysses before up at Johannes. Neither spoke. 

And outside, the sun began to set once more.





“… and nopony questioned it?”

Westin wiped away the thick layer of grime and sweat accumulating on his forehead. Their journey had taken them straight through the Forest of Leota, which was supposedly the safest route. It was a long and tiring trip that demanded two days’ worth of effort with little to show for it. Pyrite didn’t find herself fairing any better, though her wounds were healing quite well despite the raw humidity present throughout the groves of the forest. Luckily, the increased humidity meant that most of the precipitation in the region was concentrated here, thanks to the large mountains roughly to the northeast. Beyond them laid another desert, though the human and pony wouldn’t get that far anyway. 

The idea of willingly walking into an ambush was displeasing on several levels for both of them and for their own reasons, too. In Westin’s mind, there would be too many risks and chances to get attacked somewhere along the line. Pyrite had a few specific fears as well; her murky reputation as an archaeologist would undoubtedly be called into question. It wasn't hard to imagine that she would be questioned upon her arrival in Canterlot. Summarily, It was only going to be a matter of time until they gathered enough evidence to conduct an investigation, but waltzing into Canterlot with a supposedly extinct species was likely to raise a few questions as to why she hadn't informed the Royal Archeology Department on her discovery weeks earlier.

She used her magic to swat away branches with one of her own, “Because I seriously doubt that you just got away with that.”

Westin drank down some water before replying, “I did, and not a single cop ever came to my house. Gave me enough money to pay the rest of my tuition.”

“So you do have an education then?”

“Nope.” They continued walking through the grove, avoiding the spindly tree roots  that tried trapping them, “Could’ve lost my scholarship to U of C, didn’t even need it cause everything else went down before I could even get enrolled.” 

“Then what?”

“Nothing. Two years later, I get dragged into that place with the psycho and get tested on. It was ass.”

The mare quieted down after that, having learned enough for the time being. She briefly wondered if she was going to get any credit for her discovery, or if it was going to be covered up like the Equestrian government tended to do with anything significant enough to spark questionable international interest. Despite what other countries may have thought, Equestria went to great lengths to prevent certain things from reaching the public's eyes and ears. Pyrite knew that well enough. The time she reported her study on extinct horses in Saddle Arabia was proof of that. Apparently, the progenitor species of the common pony was a state secret deemed "culturally controversial." At least they compensated her well, Pyrite figured.

They remained silent as they snaked their way through loose vegetation which was eager to ensnare their legs. The sunlight was nearly blotted out through a combination of the thick canopies above and the setting sun flinging what little of the day's energy it had left down upon the forest. It made for an eerie, if not serene setting. Westin had stubbornly grown used to the quietness of Leota, where the wildlife seemingly went out of its way to avoid his ancient and toxic presence to their home. The easy meal trotting near him wasn't worth the risk of raising an old god's wrath, no matter how scrambled or inaccurate their thoughts were on the subject. Unthinking life dared not confront the undead, with the exception of one abomination set on defending its territory.

Pyrite stopped dead in her tracks. The man watched her ears twitch violently, along with her eyes glancing nervously in random directions. Though she didn't have the magical capacity necessary to perform arduous feats, the stubborn archaeologist had learned early in her schooling to detect only minor shifts in the magical resonance fields in her vicinity. It was a common ability amongst unicorns, with most simply realizing they could feel a disturbing alteration around them during some point in their lives. But at that very moment, that specific break in the field was far more enigmatic than she had ever felt before.

"Something's wrong! We need to get moving as quick as poss-"

Pyrite replaced the rest of her sentence with a yelp of fear as a mesh of tubular objects crashed down from the branches above and nearly crushed her into fertilizer. Westin raised his arms defensively, backing several steps away from the cloud of dust now polluting the air. A shrill cry, akin to that of several thousand crickets, forced the human and pony to cover their ears as it pierced through their senses and began disorientating them. 

Westin's droned out "the fuck?!" didn't stop him from shaking away the steady headache creeping into him. But the sound stopped as soon as it had begun, and as the dust finally settled to the forest floor, it was upturned once again as the stalwart and revolting defender of Leota landed with a resounding "thud" that nearly dropped the two to the ground. Pyrite gasped, and stared into the face of one of Equestria's mythical horrors.

The clattering of bony mandibles tricked Westin into assuming their attacker was some sort of insect, but with each approaching step, he soon realized that he was dealing with something far, far beyond a simple bug. A mottled, equine body shook in place, jumping around in oddly entrancing movements. A bulbous, almost spherical head bobbed on a thick neck with coils of veins jutting out and up in support. And behind that head were the instruments used to nearly kill Pyrite; roughly two dozen suctioned tentacles were sprouting out from the back and swaying in air as if a chilling breeze were passing by.

Fitting, given their blood ran cold from the sight of it.

"Headsplitter!" the unicorn shouted out.

Pyrite retreated a few steps, focusing together an offensive spell to either give them some breathing room or a chance to escape. The archaeologist gathered the magical momentum to send a fat bolt of energy straight at the monster, which was clicking to itself in curiosity as it teetered around without balance. Of course, its already jumpy nature let it quickly hop out of harm’s way and the bolt flew past, straight into the side of a now-shattered boulder. Before she could react, Pyrite was smacked by a group of tentacles and sent flying into the trunk of a tree. Westin gritted his teeth. Pyrite failed to get up from the blow.

Taking things into his own hands, the man grabbed hold of the nearest object, a very blunt looking rock, and hurled it at the Headsplitter. It turned its head just in time to receive a hit across what might have been the face at some previous point in time. Hooves stomped angrily on the ground and the incessant chirping was directed at Westin, who was now readying another stone to throw. It tumbled across the back of the Headsplitter as it tackled Westin and brought him to the ground. He reacted instantly and grabbed what he could, barely avoiding having his face caved in by the mandibles he was now holding tightly. It took an absurd amount of strength he thought he would never have again just to keep the cutters away from himself. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. So, he did what he would always eagerly do if it became necessary: he played dirty.

Westin delivered a kick to the Headsplitter’s crotch region with one of his mighty boots. The thing recoiled and then found its legs knocked out from under it, with its head now in a very vulnerable position for Westin to take advantage of. Westin jumped and brought his feet down on its head as hard as he could muster, feeling some of the tissue soften and allow just a fraction of a way inwards. It wasn’t enough to kill his attacker, but it would, ironically, be enough to give it a headache. Before he could do so again, Westin found two tubes wrapping themselves around his neck.

He was hoisted into the air and held a small height from the ground. His throat was tightly wrapped and no air neither escaped nor entered as rough hands desperately tried to dig under the swarming tentacles. The sight of an unconscious Pyrite didn’t waver his determination, and he knew he couldn’t resign himself to death yet. Westin kicked his thick boots outwards and swung them at the Headsplitter as his vision became more and more hard to focus properly. The sound of his own choking, however, didn’t drown out the sound of a large metal plate dropping from somewhere behind the monstrosity. 

It tilted its head back and looked away from him, jaws smacking together to taste the air for disturbances. And only a meager second later, a burst of light bathed it in a magnificent blue that tore straight through its head and out the other side. The man could barely make out the sight of a glowing, partially opaque sword, which he figured was magic from Pyrite. It fizzled out of existence a moment later. With the Headsplitter teetering uneasily, but still very much alive, Westin swung himself back and forth again now that the grip around his neck allowed him more room to breathe. Balance became nonexistent, and both fell to the ground hard. 

A pungent aroma of lilacs spilled forth from the purplish blood leaking out of the engorged orb that made up the creature’s head. Westin gagged at the sheer intensity of the smell and pushed himself back and against a nearby tree with his shirt collar firmly over his nose. It didn’t allay the stink, but it at least forced him to focus on what would happen next. 

A figure, he didn’t know who, galloped quickly onto the scene, and stood firmly before the wounded Headsplitter. The second Equestrian was wearing a sandy cloak that covered most of its body, with a thoroughly dangerous-looking sword held in a blue magical field. Westin caught sight of a few strands of blond hair gleaming in the vagrant light of the sword above the darkened face. 

A black silhouette flew past Westin at high speeds and tackled the back of the Headsplitter with metallic hooves, shoving the thing off balance and forward. Yet, instead of meeting the ground as it did last time, it found its head landing right into the upturned sword, piercing through and doing what the magic couldn’t. The noisy mandibles ceased their clattering, and the shrilly and garbled mess of sounds coming from it died off as well. Westin could only stare in silent wonder as one of most fearsome things he had ever witnessed living collapsed entirely. 

Unluckily for the single human, his ordeal wasn’t over yet. The dark form hovered for a moment before landing, letting large, bat-like wings recede somewhere in its back. Somewhere between flabbergasted and cautious, Westin’s focus faltered and went to them as opposed to what was dropped earlier. The unicorn’s horn glowed its signature blue once more, and just as he was about to ready himself to dodge an attack, a glob of magical energy shot far off what he assumed was its mark. It hit the metal plate that had distracted the Headsplitter, and the air grew unnaturally heavy. 

Everything felt as though it was being sucked towards that plate, which now had a steady flow of magic ebbing around the intricate designs ingrained into its surface. Westin’s fingers dug into the roots of a nearby tree. His ears popped as the sense of pressure turned utterly chaotic alongside a massive surge of energy yanking all present towards it. The two abductors, Pyrite, the dead myth, and the living myth were dragged into the epicenter of the swirling maw. Westin felt his hands lose their grip, and everything soon became dark and disorientating. His consciousness wavered, but his body underwent what human scientists could only dream of. 

There was a final, brilliant explosion of white, a strong sucking pressure and suddenly there was no trace of a human or archaeologist in Leota anymore. They had cut through reality itself and Westin would remember it as one of the most unpleasant experiences he had ever had throughout his entire existence.





A motley colored toucan screeched as it flew from the canopy. It flapped it's wings, turned gracefully in the purgatorial sky, and vanished with a loud cawing back into the forest. A butterfly danced from leaf to leaf nearby and felt delicately with its small antennae, prodding at leaves and flowers. An ant scurried by and the butterfly shook its fragile wings in annoyance. Ulysses watched all this from his chair in the garden. A wool blanket lay over his legs and a small porcelain mug steamed nearby, filled with what Ares had dubbed, "An age old remedy for relieving someone of itchiness." It tasted of burnt tree bark and expired molasses, but Ulysses took little notice of it as he sipped silently on the mixture. Four days had passed since his delirium and, although weak and out of breath constantly, Ulysses found himself clearheaded and able to walk without much assistance. Of course, none of the Grand Foreseers would heed his constant reassurance that he would be fine by himself.

And so they had dispatched a guard to serve him day in and day out, a type of aide or squire, Ulysses had thought. The aide in question was a 'Diamond Dog' called Lithi. She was of average height and build, perhaps slightly lankier than the few other canines around the village and had deep caramel eyes. Ulysses let a look of contemplation cross his face behind the lip of his mug as he considered whether or not Lithi was even female at all. She had no cleavage he could see, but he assumed that was normal. The contemplative visage turned to a small grimace as Ulysses went over the fact that these creatures would have barely qualified as intelligent when he had been imprisoned. Waving his hand absently, Ulysses dismissed the ideas and slumped in his chair as the noon sun broke over Leota. 

"Yes, Commandant?"

Ulysses looked over to find Lithi standing next to him, a machete of sorts strapped across her chest in a leather sheath. She must have thought he was waving to her.

"I was just stretching. Shouldn't you be praying or having lunch or something?"

Lithi smiled, showing razor sharp teeth, "I pray before I sleep and when I awaken every morning. Some do pray during the afternoon, but it is of their own accord. As for lunch, I am not hungry."

Ulysses rolled his eyes slightly, "I see. Listen, I don't know what LeBlake and the other two told you, but I'll be fine by myself. You really don't need to babysit me."

"As much as I yearn to follow your orders, Commandant, Grand Foreseer LeBlake gave me explicit instructions to ensure that you came to no harm." Lithi's smile had turned to small quirk in the corners of her mouth.

The butterfly danced through the air and landed silently on the arm of the chair. Ulysses pointed at it, "Watch out! Assassins! They have come!" When Lithi failed to laugh, Ulysses scowled, "What could possibly hurt me here? I mean really."

Before Lithi could produce a rebuttal, a familiar figure appeared at the far end of the garden and began making its way towards Ulysses. It didn't take long for him to recognize Lysandra's gait and Ulysses dismissed Lithi, telling her to patrol the perimeter of the garden. Lysandra smiled widely as she arrived in front of the sitting Commandant. She was dressed head to toe in a strange series of weaved leaves and mosses. It reminded Ulysses of Halloween costume.

"Don't tell me!" Ulysses stared hard at Lysandra, "You're playing a misunderstood environmentalist who decides to forgo her inheritance and live amongst the wolves."

Lysandra laughed at the comment and shook her head, "No, no. Camouflage training."

Ulysses nodded and waved for her to sit in the vacant chair opposite him, "I never would have guessed. How was it?"

"Oh, you know how training drills are. It gets quite routine after a while. Although, Valka ended up laying in a fire ant nest!"

"Poor bastard." Ulysses made sure Lithi wasn't looking and tossed the remaining tea into a patch of tulips, "So, what brings you to the most dangerous place of all?"

Removing the camouflage, Lysandra folded it beside the chair, "I just came to see how you are holding up. A few days ago we didn't know if you were going to pull through or not."

Ulysses folded his hands together and yawned, "There would have been some benefits to dying. I mean, I have to spend most of my day being watched by that one over there," Ulysses forked a thumb over his shoulder at Lithi who was busy poking the bushes with a dagger, "I can't even go to the bathroom without being escorted."

Lysandra's complexion took on a strange look, "She's not bad looking, is she?"

"I don't even know if she is actually a she, let alone attractive." Ulysses shuddered, "Her teeth..."

"So, you don't think she is attractive?"

Ulysses was confused for a moment before realizing just what was going through Lysandra's mind, "Oh. Oh! I see how it is!"

"How what is?" Lysandra asked defensively. 

Pointing a finger, Ulysses' face took on a look of smugness, "You're jealous!"

Lysandra looked flustered and stood up, a vain attempt to scold Ulysses, "How dare you assume that! I am not jealous!"

The grin remained, "Jealous!"

Throwing up her hands in resignation, Lysandra stormed off to hide her blushing face. Ulysses chuckled and pressed tenderly against his chest. His scavenged uniform had been forgone and the Grand Foreseers had supplied him with a thin, tailored shirt made of some type of supple, white fabric. The trousers were of the same make and material and below those, a pair of bamboo sandals kept Ulysses' feet from the ground. The chuckling soon turned to a quiet sigh as he unbuttoned the shirt, and looked at the runic markings that ran across his chest. They were glossy, dark like obsidian, and shone dimly in the light. The skin around the characters was inflamed and reddened, but would soon return to normal, if what Ulysses had been told was to be believed. He hated the lack of mobility, the chance to run free, but the warm sun helped to sooth the itching and Ulysses turned his mind to Lysandra.

He no longer shuddered at the remembrance of what had happened between them. There was a certain level of absurdity that still remained; after all, he had participated in fornication with, in all respects, a bird. Ulysses chewed on his lip and tried to rationalize it, but he found no logical explanation apart from the fact he had been thoroughly inebriated. Still, that did not sit well with him and he let out a tired breath and then laughed to himself: he had never been overly rational. In fact, the doctors had said he displayed a tendency for impulsiveness and lack of reasoning. Ulysses was still snickering when Jericho Williams made his presence known.

"Good day, Commandant."

Ulysses looked over to his left to find the muscular Griffon standing over him. Jericho Williams was a tall, well built, crimson-hued avian and his very presence demanded attention. His eyes were deep set and the plume of feathers atop his head had been half shaved, leaving him looking like some strange science fiction Viking. The weaponry he carried only amplified his natural born level of intimidation. A broadsword was slung tightly between his wings and a long, curved dagger swung freely from his hip. Jericho wore no armor apart from a very minimalistic shoulder guard and Ulysses felt as if he was looking both back in time and forward when he took in the Griffon next to him.

Ulysses smiled, "I'm certainly popular today! Jericho, right?"

"Yes. I have a proposal for you." Jericho stated and sat down in the nearby chair.

"Always business, I see." Ulysses muttered as he noticed the papers clutched in Jericho's claw, "What is it?"

Jericho cleared his throat and set the papers down on his lap, "I will be frank with you, Commandant. With Commandant Westin gone and you nearly healthy once again, it is time that you took an active role in our daily operations. A mission, in all respects."

"That seems fair. What is the mission?" Ulysses asked.

"A scouting trip to this prison you say you came from." Jericho paused, "And, if possible, the establishment of an outpost there."

Ulysses raised an eyebrow, "You want me to lead some soldiers through that forest and across miles of scorching sand and sun? I barely made it here and I only managed to because of dumb luck. There's no way I can find my way back there. I don't even know what happened to the maps."

Jericho held up the papers, "We have our own copies of those maps. Our library stretches back many, many years. As for losing your way, we have expert trackers and pathfinders. It would be a small detachment. Perhaps fifteen at the most."

"You're not telling me everything." Ulysses watched as Jericho's eyes became shifty, "Spill it."

"You have to understand that humans, you and Commandant Westin, still being alive is completely unprecedented." Jericho picked nervously at the corner of a map, "Your existence supports the idea that human technology, records, medicine, and a myriad of other things may have survived all these years. Even your own description of where you came from means that there is at least some recoverable information and machinery. All of these things would give us insurmountable proof that humans once ruled. Not only that, they would be extremely helpful in our day to day lives."

Ulysses looked down at his aching chest for a long moment, "Alright. Assemble this squad or whatever. Give me a few days."

Jericho thanked him and left, leaving the maps and charts behind for Ulysses to study. The lone man watched as Lithi examined something, probably rabbit tracks, at the far end of the garden. Ulysses felt a shard of sadness come alive inside his chest and he slowly buttoned his shirt back up. He hadn't had the heart to tell Jericho that most of the technology he wanted would not work without electricity. It was saddening to know that the greatness of mankind had been reduced to the remnants of old, defunct technology. Gone were the words of inspiring leaders, the deeds of willing revolutionaries, the bravery of entire nations. Humanity now existed solely in two criminals and it was a sobering realization.

Ulysses sat back in his chair and watched as a butterfly landed gently on his shoulder.





Hands pushed back against granite slowly, heaving up a large human who was close to losing his last meal. Westin’s disorientation was strong, but short-lived enough that he was beginning to be able to piece together several conversations going on around him.  He flipped over in a cautious manner and looked around himself as he rose to his full height. What he saw was a bit more disturbing than the village he was previously at. 

Dozens of ponies were all around, dressed in what he saw as excessively gaudy and antique clothing. With that aside, he took the room in quickly. It was likely the largest he had ever seen, with far-off walls and a ceiling hanging high above. Several crystal chandeliers were perched and let the incoming sunlight refract through them into some appreciable shades. A massive, mahogany door was behind him that was emblazoned by celestial symbols, with said symbols also residing over the white and blue thrones opposite the door and up a large, carpeted staircase. Lastly, for whatever reason, there were many windows perpendicular to the door, made of stained glass and created to mirror what appeared to be certain events in an almost cartoonish and mocking way. Only the size of the room impressed the human.

Westin righted himself and prevented any wobbling from his aching legs. A majority of the conversations were hushed, with the exception of one persistent female whose voice was vaguely familiar. But as the haze of a brief unconsciousness wore off, the activity around him became clearer.

"But I didn't have the time to send a message! I was being attacked by wildlife and chased by gigantic tornadoes!"

"Princess, we've suspected this miscreant of a number of federal crimes, and this will only tie it all together!"

"Is this true, Pyrite Dreams? Have you been lining your own pockets through the black market?"

"No! I've never and the University doesn't even have the proof to back-"

"Lies! Your bank account tells otherwise! And I suspect this-this THING isn't even a human, let alone anything close! Why, it looks like nothing more than a filthy ape creature-"

The Head Provost of the Royal Archeology Department was silenced before that sentenced had finished. A very agitated Westin, mostly due to the unintendedly racist (in his eyes) comment, rammed one of his boots directly at the side of the academic's head. The hushed silence came to a halt with a few gasps, from origins he didn't bother noticing yet. The human dropped to his haunches and tapped at his lips in as judgmental a way as possible.

"Filthy ape. That's some seriously ignorant ass shit." With the crassness of a person who sought retribution, Westin committed the one act no one expected.

He spat at the Provost and stood back up, stretching himself in the process. The first being he noticed was Pyrite, who, for what it was worth, was forcing herself not to begin laughing. Surrounding them were more Equestrians, some dressed in shiny armor, others in utterly out-dated outfits, and the two that had saved them back in Leota, still cloaked. The last things that came into view were larger in comparison to the other ponies. Two Equestrians decorated in regalia stood off to the side, observing him intently with trained eyes. His attention was quickly pulled away as he heard the clacking of metal on marble. What he assumed to be the guards were closing in, spears ready to pierce him in case he attacked another civilian. 

Pyrite was frantically pantomiming something towards him. She licked at her molars repeatedly, silently hoping he would understand.

Somehow, he did.

'LeBlake! They got weapons!'

She responded immediately, 'Don't show any fear! Stand your ground, but remain in one place. This is the first impression of humans to Equestrians. Remain proud, tall, and do not bow to the Princesses for any reason, even if you are threatened.'

Finding her advice oddly specific, Westin listened nonetheless. He stood a little straighter and tried playing off his recent action as coolly as he could. It had worked, and most of the Equestrians concluded that he had gotten over his attack. Unfortunately, the Princesses, as he learned they were called, didn't find themselves immediately convinced.

They trotted towards him. By that point, the human cleared his head and was now calm, looking remarkably bored. The guards surrounding Westin moved away as the taller ponies stood only a few feet away from him. With a disapproving grunt that was heard all around the throne room, and remembered in the history books, Westin crossed his arms.

"Who the hell are you?"

They were all thrown off guard. This went doubly so for the Princesses. Westin's face held no emotion as to give the signal he was joking, and for the first time in quite a while, the white pony had laughed. She laughed hard. His tooth was tingling, almost vibrating with the amount of magical energy it detected by being in their proximity. He hid his uneasiness and continued staring at them. 

The Princess's laughing ended in a dying chuckle, "Oh my... Such robustness. I haven't heard something such as that since Discord's insurrection all those years ago." Her eyes met his, "I am Princess Celestia, and welcome to Equestria."

Westin stared at her a few moments more, ignoring the Sidium-enriched tooth's wariness. In another act that would forever be remembered, Westin pushed a hand forward, his face entirely serious.

"Nice to meet you."

The future of the world would forever be changed from that point on.





'It's an odd sensation.'

'It does take some time to get used to. Keep in mind that while our minds are tethered, we will share the same emotions, feelings, thoughts. If you need a moment of privacy, simply request it and I will terminate the link'

Ulysses stood, his back straight and proper, eyes unfocused as he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked clean and healthy, considering his brush with death mere days ago. His uniform was lint free and he bent down and laced up his boots which shone bright, candlelight dancing off their polished surface. Akakios had given the Commandant his possessions back several minutes ago, telling him that he had kept them prim and proper the past week or so. Ulysses stood up and turned to face the ragtag team he was meant to lead and although his face was as stoic as ever, his insides turned frightfully at the realization that he could not back out now, 

Sure, he had been in his share of sticky situations, but with only himself to look after. Now he had the lives of thirteen others to be aware. Two had come down with a stomach flu the day before and were in the infirmary resting, leaving Ulysses with the remaining cultists. Akakios was there of course, along with Lysandra who hid her barely contained excitement behind a sand mask, a type of garment worn in harsh, dry climates and protected against sunburn and exposure. There was an expert Griffon pathfinder known as Lukas who carried a longbow slung across his wings as well as a thin, wiry Equestrian called Anelles, who was in charge of artifacts and documentation. Johannes the Zebra was in charge of medicinal supplies. 

Hearing her name in Ulysses' thoughts, LeBlake tuned into the silent communication once again, 'Westin has reached Canterlot. Are you ready to begin your mission?'

Ulysses ran a hand through his now short hair, 'Yes.'

He coughed pointedly and LeBlake's voice vanished from his head. Ulysses smiled thinly and took a deep breath, addressing the squadron, "Alright, I'll be frank. You all know the mission and the dangers. I won't lie. I've never done anything like this before, but I promise that all of us will come back together. I will be the first one to face any danger and I will be the last one to leave it. While we are out there," Ulysses forked a finger over his shoulder, "I will not be your Commandant. I will be your comrade, your friend, and your brother. We have an eclectic mix here. Griffons, Zebras, Equestrians, Canines. While we are together, we are family and family does not abandon each other. Understood?"

There was a unified, strongly pronounced, "Understood!", from all present in the room.

Ulysses nodded slowly, his nervousness beginning to settle down, "Well, let's get going."





Ulysses crouched down and stared tiredly through the binoculars, "Anything?"

Akakios, who stood nearby shook his head, "Nothing I can see, Commandant."

Rubbing his sore chest, Ulysses let out a long sigh and glanced up with squinted eyes at the glaring sun, "Goddamn heat. goddamn sand, goddamn country."

"Should we break for the day?" Lukas asked.

Ulysses shook his head, "No. It's still early. There'll be plenty of light for a while yet. We can make the facility by sundown. Is every-"

The Commandant's voice fell silent as a high pitched scream came from behind him. Ulysses whirled and watched as Kilgore, an attentive young canine, fell shrieking as a snake sunk it's fangs into his ankle. Lysandra let out a yell and grabbed the thick, rust-colored reptile by the back of it's head, flinging it into the tree line mere meters away. Immediately, the rest of the group surrounded the fallen Kilgore as his eyes began to water, a quiet whimper escaping his lips as Lysandra cut into the bite with her dagger and sucked strongly at the open wound, spitting blood over her shoulder as she attempted to draw out as much venom as she could. 

Akakios watched as the snake hissed angrily from it's new resting spot, a tree branch it had coiled around, "It's a Sand Slicer. Poisonous."

Ulysses placed his backpack under Kilgore's head and turned back to Akakios, "Lethal?"

The Griffon shrugged doubtfully, "We'll see in the morning. We can't carry him far."

Cursing under his breath, Ulysses watched as Lysandra sat back and wiped her beak clean, "We camp for the night. Spread the word and make a perimeter. One hour shifts once the sun sets. I'll take first watch."

Soon, an array of thick canvas tents were erected amongst the sand. It was strange to see trees so close to a sandy environment. Especially that of a desert. It seemed to be a strange harmony of brutality and mystery. The forest whispered quietly in the breeze and the desert of Froud Valley cried out in loneliness as night fell, bringing a sweeping, complete blackness across the land that threatened to swallow the light of the campfires and torches amongst the tents. The watchful eye of the moon, white and unwavering, stared as the night carried on, bringing the rounded sounds of crickets and the distant howls of some fearful animal.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, shimmering, lambent eyes appeared at the forest's edge. Quiet growls crawled out from the underbrush and every so often a twig could be heard snapping under some creature's paw. And then, ever so silently, as if they were desert phantoms, shadows began to creep into camp. The watchman, Johannes, yawned exhaustedly at the flickering flames of the campfire, his eyelids beginning to droop. There was a quiet swishing of sand behind the lone Zebra and as he turned, mouth half open to question whoever was behind him, there was a glint of steel and Johannes toppled sideways, a long gash across his throat.

He fell limply into the sand, eyes wide with terror as his attacker loomed over him, revealed by the firelight. Johannes felt the metallic taste of blood enter his mouth and, fighting the choking sensation, cried out with his last breath.

"Jackals!"

Whooping screams filled the air as Jackals, lean and the color of muddy sand, with eyes feral and rabid, rushed the camp, entering the tents and pavilions, rusted machetes and swords held high, clutched in scarred paws. Ulysses leapt from his bedroll and grabbed at the dagger under his pillow as a marauder entered the tent. The Jackal grinned maliciously, showing rotted fangs, and ran at the human, perhaps taking him to be some type of plagued Griffon or canine. Ulysses dodged the broad swing of a tarnished longsword and lashed out with his own weapon, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Ulysses brought his arm back in a thrusting motion and wrapped his arm around the attacker's back, stepping inside his guard.

There was a series of meaty, organic sounds as the dagger was swung again and again, Ulysses' arm working in rapid succession as he pushed the Jackal towards the tent flaps. The two exploded through the exit and landed heavily in the sand, the Jackal screaming and squirming as blood hit Ulysses' face. The human brought his weapon down in a final, heavy stroke and rolled away, picking himself up to survey the scene. Heart hammering and short of breath, Ulysses looked frantically about, eyes wide with fear and excitement.

A tent had caught on fire and was now engulfed with flames. Two Jackals lay still outside it's entrance, the sand around them stained and dark. To Ulysses' right, Lukas was grappling with a tall and muscular Jackal. Off to his left, Lysandra was crawling out from under the limp form of yet another bandit. As Ulysses turned to look behind him, he felt a weight strike him and he flew backwards, the wind knocked out of him as a masked intruder tackled him. Ulysses grunted and raised his arms in time to grab the Jackal's wrists, dagger firmly between his paws. 

Behind the bandana, Ulysses could see the raider's eyes widen in surprise. He had clearly not anticipated that he would be trying to kill one of the only humans left in Equestria. The hesitation cost the bandit his life as Ulysses brought his knee up sharply, striking the exposed genitalia. The Jackal jerked his head up in pain and Ulysses made a grab for his own dagger, snatching it from the sand before driving it into the neck of his opponent. The Jackal managed one last look at his killer before slumping down and going quiet.

Yells could be heard clearly now, echoing across the landscape, "The Commandant! Where is the Commandant?"

Ulysses thrashed under the sweaty, grotesque covering, but found himself pinned by the weight, "Here! I'm here!"

Someone dragged the body off Ulysses and helped him to his feet. Ulysses noticed it was Akakios and, seeing that he was alive and well, slapped him on the back. The human took a quick headcount of the survivors, seeing Lysandra, Lukas, Anelles, and several others still standing, breathed a sigh of relief.

"How many casualties?" Ulysses asked.

Lysandra spoke up, "Two. Titan and Johannes."

Ulysses nodded and wiped at the blood caked on his face, "What about Kilgore? Has anyone seen him?"

Anelles ran off, his spectacles cracked, to check on the snakebite victim. Lukas prodded at a body with his hoof, "Jackals."

"What are they?" Ulysses stared down at the one he had just dispatched, "Some kind of dog?"

Lukas nodded his head slightly, "In a way. They are a distant cousin of the canines, more prone to violence. They are often responsible for the murder of travelers. Bandits, rapists, murderers. Brutal creatures."

There was a quiet murmur of agreement as Anelles returned, shaking his head at the curious eyes of his comrades, "He died during the night. They left him untouched."

Ulysses began to recount the survivors, "Anelles, Lysandra, Akakios, Lukas, Argus, Savvas, Soloman, Eva, Teal, Anna. Ten in total. Eleven, including me."

Argus, a stout, robust Equestrian who wielded a broadsword spoke up, his voice gravelly, "Should we bury the dead, Commandant?"

"Yes. Burn the rest. We march through the night."

The group quickly scattered to deal with the corpses, leaving the lone Commandant to his own devices. He reached for the familiar figure of his canteen, knocked loose in the struggle, and splashed the cool water over his face, watching as the liquid turned red and ran down his skin. Ulysses watched absently and let the water run over his knuckles and palms. The smile faded as LeBlake's voice entered his head, causing Ulysses to wince slightly at the clearness of it.

'My Commandant, I sense there is trouble. Is everyone well?'

Ulysses wiped the moisture from his skin and ducked back inside his tent, 'We were ambushed. Three dead. Johannes and Titan were killed. Kilgore succumbed to a snake bite sometime during his sleep.'

There was a long, uneasy pause before LeBlake replied, 'This is...unprecedented. I did not foresee such an event. Are you uninjured?'

'I'm fine.' Ulysses sat heavily down on his bedroll, 'We'll be at our destination by morning. I'll contact you then. I want to hear how Westin is doing.'

'As you wish. We send you our prayers, Commandant.'

Ulysses' mind fell quiet at the termination of the mind link. He dragged the tip of his boot through the mix of sand and soil and watched as it clumped together, sticking to the blood and sweat. His stomach tightened suddenly and Ulysses stood up, hand going to his mouth. There was a brief second of silence and then he was sick. Heaving again and again, eyes watering, into the sand of his tent. Ulysses lowered himself to his knees and spat up the bitter substances in his stomach, coughing and retching. His body shook uncontrollably and, after the sickness had passed, he took a moment to examine his hand.

It shuddered and Ulysses brought it closer to his face. He could see the blackened blood dried under his fingernails, a hair or two caught on the jagged edges. He shut his eyes tightly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before standing and kicking fresh sand over the mess he had made, covering it as well as he could in his sudden weakness.

"Oh, god. Oh, my god."

Ulysses lowered himself to his bedroll, glad for the coolness of it. Staring up through a small rip in the tent, he could see the thousands of stars, distant galaxies, solar systems. And in that moment, he felt terribly alone. His entire world was gone, his only true companion miles and miles away, and yet it felt as if the world was no more changed than it had ever been. Perhaps he had not changed either. The stars were still masked in shadow, the universe unexplored; life had gone on without him. He might as well have been on Tharsis, that weathered, distant region of Mars, populated by craters and harsh winds, volcanic and rough, the skies cold and unrelenting. 

There was something fantastically saddening in the fact that Ulysses was one of the last of his kind and yet, despite all the proposed importance, the scientific amazement that would follow his discovery, he was as insignificant as he had been all those years ago. And there was nothing, no man or god, no book or quote, that would ever change that. 

Outside, Lysandra watched silently as Ulysses lowered his head and began to cry.