//------------------------------// // Coda // Story: Sunset in the Dark // by Harvest Moon //------------------------------// Coda In retrospect, she might even have won. Were she as well-rested as her opponent, weren't she dulled by rage, and desperation, and regret didn't tug at her reflexes, she might even have won. Strongest unicorn of her time, Celestia once deemed her. Little good amounted that praise now. But the memory of it, the memory of that praise, the memory of those eyes, keeps her going. One leg limp, panting, smoke coming from the dying fire, and the burning craters her diverted spells blew up, choking at her mouth, while her opponent stands with barely a dent in his armour. Enchanted armour. Reflective. Tied to fire magic and energy magic in general. Seven layers, self-repairing, linked to magical nodes. Immune to all attacks, and damn if she tried! Her mace is useless. She might be able to dispel the shields if she had, say, two hours. She doubts she's going to last two more minutes. And there's more. There's something else in the corners of his magic, something infective. Something that has augmented his already formidable defences, the touch of the Nightmare. Again, she might have been able to withstand it. On another day. He raises his head, and another wave of wards hits against her. They are usually still, keeping things on the outside. But weaponized use of wards was among the first tactics she devised. The irony stings as much as her sides as she stumbles against the wall, hard rocks hitting all the right places to make her scream. If only she could get past him. A layer of spheres around his body tells her she's not going to. "Look at you," he says mocking, as with another tug of his head a wave sends her up against the ceiling. Then she drops down with another cry of pain. Did... did those pegasi feel like that? "Look at you." His eyes like somepony looking at a particularly bad example of modern art, half disgusted, half uncomprehending. "You broke my mirror," she manages to choke out, and he snarls. "Always with the witty retort. How many of those did we have to go through working beneath you? How many times did we put our lives in danger for somepony as self-absorbed as you?" She blinks. She remembers a few times when his words might have struck true. But only a few times. She doesn't have the time to think of others. She has to think of ways to beat him. With only three legs out of four and her horn aching like it had been broken, but still. Strongest unicorn of her time. Useless to answer. Better let him talk. He tugs at her with his magic and she's encased in shining shackles; he throws her against the wall and again, and again, each time she discovers new degrees of pain. Maybe letting him talk isn't that good an idea. But still. Strongest unicorn of her time. "I believed your lies. I believed we were working together." "We were," she whispers. She treasured them all, still does. She put her pictures up, she lit them up to remember the dawn. She tried to find ways to overthrow the tyrant. She was so close to finding the Elements. She could then use them. "It was always about your plan, your choices, your directives. Student of Celestia," he spits out the name and titles as a wad of rotten apples, "prized pupil, strongest unicorn of her time." Right. The one capable of using the Elements. Celestia raised her for the task. It was her destiny. The memory of a smile burns beneath her opponent’s words. There's a small rock in front of her eyes. It's surprisingly symmetric, in a way her trained eyes can appreciate even in this predicament. Symmetric. Symmetric. She blinks, slow. That's it. She cups it with her hoof. "And look at you. The Princess might find uses for you, but I do wonder whether it won't be better to deal with you myself. For old times' sake." She grins, and strikes with an enchanted dart against his wards. It slides against the shields as leaves on a stream. He snorts. Good. A bait for a bait. "Before," she chokes, "before... you do that, please accept my apologies. I thought we were friends." His eyes turn to slithers. "You don't know the first thing about making friends." "That," she says with another cough, and to cover the blink of magic she puts inside the pebble, "is true. Again, accept my apologies. And please bring them to Fancy Pants. And Lyra. And Fleur. And Cadence." At the last one, his nostrils flares in rage, and the shackles at her legs tugs. It hurts, but it's the reactions she wants. A ruse for a ruse. "I'm sorry." Then she lets the pebble fall to the ground. And he comes closer and closer, his wards moving with him: and they slide past the pebble, because he's the one pushing them and the pebble has no harming magic in it. "And another thing," she says, voice straining. She's too cocky for him not to feel like something is going on, so with another flash of magic, she reinforces his wards. By now, not even a direct blast from all of her concentrated magic – on a good day – might be able to harm him. Perfect. "You are right. I may not be the strongest unicorn of my time. I may not even be the most clever." Something tinges his lips at the mention. He knows there's something going on, because he knows her too well, but he's so focused on her and her horn, that he doesn't even notices when the pebble slides past all of his wards and touches his left shoehorn. "But I'm clever enough." What happens next is both flashy and surprisingly simple. Reckoning dispelling wouldn't work with a gauntlet of wards like that, nor would a simple concentrated dispel. Wards would make any attempt at disrupting them bounce off. But not attempts at adding to them. Like, say, a simple magical node turning the direction and magical vectors of the wards inside out. Simple and symmetric. Celestia would be proud. He has barely the time to shout as his wards turn on their metaphorical head, and she has barely the time to jump away as the shackles disappear, before he's encased in a prison of his own making. It resembles a buzzing crystal of solidified magic. And given he's in the pivotal point of all the nodes, there's no force in Equestria, save for the Nightmare herself, to move him from this predicament. He's frozen in time, his face a motionless grimace between surprise and rage. At a quick glance, he would stay in this state until the wards wore off, which, considering the pony in question, might take the best part of a year. Behind him, the flames finish their job at destroying all signs of her past refuge. She grabs the charred remains of a few apples and a water jug and leaves this place. She feels dizzy, but she's just tired. Just tired. She's been tired for years, it's no matter. It's only when she's up on the surface that she lets go of the wards surrounding the entrance. No need for them anymore. She won't try the same trick once again and hide. The base of her horn buzzes as if it had been sawed off, and she still has a limp, which slowly, but with distressing confidence, is starting to make its pain known to her body. And there's the fact she still hasn't slept. Hasn't slept in years. The simplest tug of detecting magic now burns as coals against the back of her mind. She lets it drop. No use. She can probably be wiped out by a strong gale right now. The rush that allowed her to survive until now is dying. So she walks. She walks across empty streets and down broken squares, she climbs upon rubble mounds and turns back a few times, giving her last goodbye to the city that elevated to greatness. Up above, the Moon shines and keeps her unrelenting dance. Are those craters forming the profile of her mentor larger today? Is she proud? Is she proud of her limping, broken form? Before she leaves Canterlot, though, she comes back for the forms of the pegasi fallen from the sky. She gives the last drops of her magic as healing. Then she searches for any others, but finds none. At last she turns and doesn't look back anymore. She's not going to Ponyville. No use in losing herself in a crowd: the first time she closes her eyes, the Nightmare would snatch her. And no use in taking another nap. Years of habits beckons her to just let go for a moment, to let herself be drawn into the brief sleep. To Tartarus with sleep. She swoons on her legs, and it's not just due to the limp, but she keeps on going down the mountain. A part of her mind knows she's too weak to come up there again, but it doesn't matter. Not like she has anything else to lose. She follows the old road, and looks at the few ruined houses on the side. There might be something valuable inside them. It doesn't matter. And no sleep. She forgot her mace. No matter. All that matters is the Castle in the Everfree. The Nightmare wouldn't suspect this move. She's going to go directly into the timberwolf's den, and retrieve the long-lost weapon, the Elements. The weapon only she can wield. She looks up again, and stumbles and falls and she gets up and keeps on going. No sense in looking up for answers. Celestia is already proud of her. Praise the Sun. She will find the Elements – they looked like gems, so maybe they are in the treasure room? Is there even a treasure room? And make her mentor proud. A lopsided smile tugs at her lips. She will see the Sun again. The wind, the rose-tinted sky. She will eat honey again and lit up candles and there's going to be a lot of candles now. The road wriggles beneath her hooves and she falls. No matter. She can crawl. Strongest unicorn of her time. She can do it. She will do it. Even if it's getting darker. So tired. Sleepy. No, no sleep. How will she lift the Elements once she finds them? Darker and darker still. No matter. She will find a way, she always finds a way. She already sees Celestia smiling at her, she sees how proud she is. She remembers her scent, she remembers her warmth, and they will be together once again and she can say she's sorry, so sorry, she only tried to do what she did best, and why is it getting so dark but it's no matter she will find the Elements she's practically there already, she can see the Castle, she can see its blue light but it's a darker blue, and it's no matter Celestia is holding her and was her smile always so sharp and were her eyes always with those slitted pupils and her wings so coarse and why is she laughing is she laughing at her it's no matter she's home again at last and she can let go and she draws one long breath because everything is going to be just fine just fine as it has always been and there's one final thought taking shape in her mind, the amber light of those embers burning their last at the bottom of her soul, and she exhales their dying glow with one satisfied breath, a scent of honey and dawn. Celestia is going to be so proud. Praise the Sun.