And that was that. The summoning was done.
Paint closed his eyes as he spat the final syllable out, sinking into a sea of vertigo. Cruel shadows whirled and spun. Dark whispers mocked him, just past the edge of hearing. He felt cold breath on the back of his neck, and went rigid — and then the wind stirred again, and he squeezed his eyes tighter shut and hovered at the knife's edge of tension, waiting.
What was it going to feel like, to have his love eaten? Would she drain it the way one drained energy from a spell, leaving him hollow and writhing in the agony of incompleteness? Would she sink her fangs into his throat, causing the rest of him to bleed out into the final darkness of oblivion? Would she be merciful, and make that sharpened love just vanish as if it had never been? Or would she be cruel, and taunt him over his naivete as he begged for release?
… Why was she holding back?
Paint took a shuddering breath, vomit rising as the possibilities grew darker and darker. This was just torture, now. And the worst part was that regardless of everything he had done to reinvent himself, he was going to meet his end while waiting. In the end, that was the true horror of the dark: there was no way to escape himself.
Well, not if he could help it.
Paint clenched his teeth so hard his jaw trembled. He lit his horn, drawing from that cold and bitter spiky place, letting everything else dissolve away.
The shadows had fangs.
He should have been afraid of that. But two could play at that game.
Sombra drew in a deep breath, then let out a defiant roar, eyes snapping open.
He glanced wildly around. His roar died away. The energy dissipated from his horn.
He was alone in a chilly schoolyard.
When Sombra yanked the trap door open and stalked down the stairs, The Loveless was empty in more ways than one.
Instead of the ghost-blue magelights that shone in a part of the spectrum which eyes couldn't see, the wall sconces had been filled with normal lights, warmer and brighter. The paint on the walls was a dull and dingy black rather than the shadow of infinite space, and the skulls on the wall were yellowed and cracked rather than a bleached shining white. Without the exotic lighting, the furniture was faded — and even stained with old spilled drinks. The bar to one side of the room was a dark-stained brown wood, and the stone floor was a muted grey matching Sombra's new coat.
It felt so strange to see colors here.
Sombra glanced around the room. A wet mop was propped against one of the tables, next to a bucket of dingy grey water, and a section of the floor gleamed with moisture. And the room wasn't wholly empty: near the bucket, a black-coated earth pony sat calmly on a lumpy sofa, blending in with its dark upholstery, watching him with piercing eyes and a flat expression.
He shoved a table out of the way and took some slow steps straight toward her. "Bring me Loveless," he growled.
"You speak to her," the pony said in a subdued voice matching the decor.
Sombra advanced, towering over the pony. "Don't test me. I know what I saw when we met."
The pony closed her eyes for a moment — and then space distorted around her with a sickly green glow, and she grew insectile and hard-edged, with a bleached-grey faceplate.
"If you prefer," she purred in a familiar tone now out of place.
Sombra was still for a moment, then his face curled with rage. "You. Lied."
Loveless stared into his eyes before answering, calm and even. "Of course I did, child. I am a performer. It is my life and livelihood to lie so that ponies feel good about themselves."
"Do I look like I feel good?"
"Would you be here if you did?" Loveless countered. She leaned back into the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. "I can help, child, but not when your emotions are such a tempest. Let us speak of what happened to poison your love."
Sombra's rage simmered over. He lit his horn to seize a stool from the floor near the bar, whipping it to the floor with a sudden crack that left him brandishing a jagged length of wood. "You lied," he growled, "is what happened."
Loveless shot to her hooves and scrambled back frantically, hinds slamming into the wall behind her and sliding down to the floor. Sombra stalked forward, watching her eyes track the point of the makeshift spear.
For the first time, fear edged into her voice, and her words quickened. "Yes, Drying Paint. I lied about your link to the alicorn. Every being wishes to hear that their love is unique — the substance of legends. But it was never about her — for either of us. I told you what you needed to hear to become the pony you wished to be."
He lifted the spear. Loveless flinched. Then, faintly: "Please, Paint."
"Unbelievable," Sombra snarled. "This is just a game to you. Maybe I shouldn't have expected any better from a princess who's never had to care about anyone not on her level — but you? Do you think you can put on the darkness like a cloak and take it off when the sun rises?"
Loveless raised a trembling hoof. "But that's what the darkness is. Many ponies can't embrace their pain without permission to explore it. The lie of the shadows provides that permission, and a safe place to connect with others similarly incomplete." She turned pleading eyes up to him. "But there's no reason to cling to a lie that rips you apart. I can feel your hurt, Paint; it nourishes me not at all and you even less. Set the lie aside and let me help you."
He was still for a moment. The spear trembled in his horngrip.
Then, softly:
"You had that chance," Sombra said. "You broke your oath."
Storm clouds were casting the Empire into shadow as Sombra walked back up the stairs and out of The Loveless.
He paused in the doorway, feeling the wind nip at his skin. He glanced down at the glow spilling out over the threshold. In front of him, darkness and ice. Behind, light and warmth.
He snorted at the symbolism. Useless. As if there was some sort of choice to be made. As if there was a reason to go back.
He did, however, pause for a moment to look back down the stairs. The flames were cheerfully growing now, their red glow dancing madly into the hallway. Acrid black smoke billowed out from the trapdoor, filling the ground-floor room and beginning to escape into the world outside.
He smiled, shouldered his cloak, and stepped outside.
"Well," Sombra whispered as he left, "everyone walks into the darkness alone."