Their Variables

by Meta Four


I Am the Night ... Glider [Take 2]

Patchy clouds soared across the night sky. Every few minutes one of these patches would obscure the moon, leaving only the street lamps and lit windows to push back the darkness in Ponyville. Within those houses, ponies went about their evening routines—blissfully ignorant that the true darkness was not outside, but within their very midst.

A piece of the night sky fell. It landed on the roof of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s castle—not with a crash, but with a faint sigh, the wind itself giving voice to the frustration of wasted years of broken promises. This interloper—this fallen angel—was a pegasus mare, her coat a midnight blue, her mane cloudy-white. As beautiful as she was dangerous, she crouched low, crawling towards the roof edge.

A flawless approach to the castle, she thought. Nopony saw me. Nopony knows I’m here.

She stopped at the edge, pushing her ear as close as she could without letting any part of her battle-hardened body protrude over. Ground-bound ponies rarely thought to look up—and Princess Twilight, in spite of her wings, was still a ground-bound at heart—but this pony wasn’t taking any chances. Too many friends were depending on her.

She could remember their voices, like it was just yesterday, crying out for vengeance—saying, “You don’t really have to do this. In fact, we’d rather you didn’t. We’ve already forgiven her.”

The cry for vengeance was clear subtext. You had to be there.

I’m not here, she thought. I am a shadow, I am the night itself, I am—

“Hi, Night Glider!” Rainbow Dash called as she buzzed the castle.

Obstacle-flying: a form of athletics, itself merely a way for ponies to fritter away their time with pointless competition, and distract them from their true oppressors. Rainbow Dash was a child. Night Glider had nothing in common with her. But, reluctantly, she waved back anyway.

Her pulse quickened, and her muscles tensed, ready to leap into action at the slightest sign that she had been compromised. From this position, there were six different working strikes—but the odds of escaping unscathed afterwards were minimal. However, Lady Luck smiled on Night Glider this time, and the small talk in the room beneath continued unabated. Either they hadn’t heard Rainbow Dash, or they hadn’t recognized what that greeting signified—hadn’t realized that, for one of them, Night Glider was doom.

“You’re doing really well, Starlight!” That was Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship.

“If you say so.” That was Starlight Glimmer.

It made Night Glider want to vomit, hearing Twilight hold a conversation with that piece of equine filth. For all her accomplishments, Twilight was still a child. Granted, the world would be a far better place if everypony were a child like her. But instead, the world had ponies like Starlight Glimmer, monsters with hearts of black licorice rock candy, who made ponies like Night Glider necessary. Twilight Sparkle was a good pony—and Night Glider had nothing in common with her.

“So how do you feel?”

“Completely drained,” Starlight Glimmer replied. “Like I can barely manage even a simple telekinesis spell.”

And with those words, Starlight’s doom—which she had reserved for herself when she first corrupted that village to her twisted, self-destructive ideology—crystallized. There may never be another opportunity like this, Night Glider thought. I strike tonight.

“Great! That’s how you know you got a good workout.”

“If you say so …” The sound of hoofsteps followed, then grew fainter. Both ponies were walking away.

“Just be sure to get plenty of rest tonight.” Twilight yawned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.”

Her muscles honed by years of training, Night Glider leaned over the eaves, slowly sliding forward until she could peer through the window. And not a second too soon—the two ponies inside exited the room, Twilight turning right and Starlight turning left, towards her impending doom.

Then, with the grace of an Equestria Games gymnast, Night Glider lost her grip on the roof and slid into the air. Without even thinking, she executed an ancient Neighponese technique to halt her fall and right herself—a complicated maneuver which might look, to the untrained pony, like she was flailing her wings and hooves at random. In the same way, an ignorant observer might have mistaken her chi-channeling cry for an awkward squawk.

Once stabilized, Night Glider latched onto the outside of the castle, blending in seamlessly with the irregular wall’s shadows. The crystal castle was as cold as Starlight Glimmer’s heart, while the night air was hot and humid—with long-delayed justice hanging in the sky like the electric charge before a lightning strike.

Keeping to the shadows, Night Glider slid in the direction Starlight had walked, then peeked in the next window. Her quarry was still in sight. She continued along the wall, her mind constantly calculating and recalculating the perfect moment to strike.

I am invisible, she thought. I am the night. I am the left hoof of justice.

In the past, Night Glider had dreamed of this moment, constructing elaborate fantasies where she would corner Starlight Glimmer in some dark alley or desolate mountain pass. And in these daydreams, she would lecture Starlight—as if convincing the monster of her own culpability were necessary … or possible.

Forgiveness.” Night Glider would say to Starlight. “Everypony says it’s so good. But maybe it’s … not so good?”

“What you say?” Starlight Glimmer would answer, clearly stunned by Night Glider’s insight.

“You’re a bad pony, Starlight Glimmer, and you should feel bad!”

“I do!”

“Well, that’s not bad enough!

“Woe is me, for I am undone!”

That was just placeholder dialogue. Night Glider had never gotten around to finding something badass enough for her fantasy before she realized: It was a child’s fantasy. And she no longer had anything in common with the pony who had dreamed it.

It would be just as fitting a punishment to strike Starlight Glimmer without any warning or explanation—divine retribution, like a bolt from the clear night. And this had a far greater chance of succeeding.

I am vengeance. I am the shadow. I am Night Glider!

There was a balcony ahead. Starlight Glimmer stepped onto it, then looked around. Confused, she said, “How did I … ?” In that moment, she sealed her fate.

Pumping her battle-hardened wings, Night Glider shot forward. To Starlight, no doubt she was an apparition, materializing from the shadow itself as she perched on the balcony railing. Emotions flashed across Starlight’s face: first fear and surprise, quickly replaced by recognition, confusion, and lingering wariness.

But she wasn’t nearly wary enough. Like a cobra, Night Glider’s hoof shot forward, stopping an inch away from Starlight’s face.

Then, she pressed Starlight’s nose, just hard enough to smoosh her snout a bit.

“Boop! Hahaha!”

Night Glider withdrew her hoof, then waved it at Starlight, as if she held something. “Haha, I stole your nose!”

Starlight could only gape at her attacker in pain and confusion. Mostly confusion, but the pain would come later, doubtlessly.

Night Glider spun and flew away, laughing to herself as she disappeared into the night sky.

She could never give back to her friends what Starlight Glimmer had taken from them. But she had given them the next best thing: closure. They could all sleep a little more soundly, knowing that Starlight had been punished for her crimes. Justice had been dispensed, and Night Glider’s was the hoof that had carried it out.