//------------------------------// // The Soul Thief enters // Story: Princess Twilight Sparkle's School for Fantastic Foals: The Soul Thief // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// “Ye think it be Groogar’s slippery wench?” The heavy accent distorted every word said into something that was almost, but not quite, recognisable. Sumac listened, his ears straining, trying to hear everything around him. The sound of hooves striking the floor were far too loud—but the silence coming from elsewhere all around him was deafening. It was, however, somewhat amusing how Barnabus said Grogar’s name. “Bloody preposterous,” Livingstone said in response to Barnabus. “We’re above rumours and hearsay, Barnabus. She’s barely even a common unicorn, much less the all-powerful witch that the rumours make her out to be. A rumour is a powerful weapon when used against the feeble-minded.” “Soo, me sweet dear sister is done for, she is—” “Shut it, ye dingus!” Bertie snapped. “Awa' ‘n’ bile your heid, ye great wrinkled scrote!” Barnabus laughed, a raucous sound that echoed up and down the darkened hallways. Moon Rose, whimpering only a little, pressed herself against Pebble’s side. A moment later, Sumac noticed that the darkness somehow seemed a little darker, and that the light from the unicorns, including his own, somehow seemed a little dimmer. Weakened somehow. His observation left him with a powerful sense of unease. “I don’t much care for this darkness,” one of the unicorns escorting them muttered. “Feels like a witching darkness.” “Low grade fear spell of some sort,” another unicorn said in response. “Amateur work. Only effective on the feeble-minded. We’re not feebs.” Sumac allowed himself to be led along, uncertain of his destination. Something felt wrong, but it was impossible to say how it was wrong, or what was wrong. The magic felt far too strong for what it was, too powerful. This dread might feel low grade, but the magic behind it wasn’t. With this being a time of crisis, Sumac kept his thoughts to himself, rather than distract the adults, whom he trusted that they knew what they were doing. These were capable, rough and ready sorts; why else would he be sent here? “I sense dream magic.” Moon Rose’s whispered words were almost a nasal whine. “Dream magic?” Livingstone paused, distracted, but kept walking. “I wonder if Princess Luna is about.” “No.” Head shaking from side to side, Moon Rose pressed into Pebble. “This is bad.” It was at this moment that Sumac knew that Moon Rose’s magic sense was different than his own. More refined, perhaps, or more focused. He could feel magic, but couldn’t make out that it was dream magic. This terrified him, as the unknown tended to do, and he could feel a little more of his resolve slipping away. He wished that Octavia was here; she would know what to do, she would understand. She would lay a cold, wet cloth over his eyes and talk in a low, reassuring manner that brought much-needed comfort. Right now, what he needed was to be away from strangers and with ponies he knew—he needed the terror to end. But with Moon Rose sensing dream magic, it seemed that this nightmare was just beginning. Nothing worked. No elevators operated. The emergency lights did not power on. It was quiet, too quiet, and Sumac sensed odd bursts of magic just outside his range of perception. Something seemed to be happening, though nopony knew what, exactly. A small group had gathered, ready to go into the bunker, but this plan had been abandoned due to a barrier of impenetrable darkness. “The order was given to fall back and regroup,” a pegasus said in a low, gravelly voice. “Where is everypony?” “Not sure.” Livingstone’s voice lacked its usual smooth calm. “If there was fighting, you’d’ve thought we’d heard something. It’s too quiet. And that darkness…” “That’s dream magic,” Moon Rose said. “It’s not real. That’s why the light won’t work.” “What can do that?” a unicorn asked. “Not sure,” Livingstone replied, “but I’m worried that we’re about to find out.” “There’s no vibrations in the floor.” “Pebble, love, what do you mean by that?” Livingstone, now quite worried, gave the filly his full attention. “All the vibrations are gone. Gone still. Sound makes the floor vibrate. Just talking causes vibrations. I don’t think most ponies can feel them, but I can. And everything has gone still, with the silence. I don’t know what this means, but I don’t like it. This place is never still.” “Everypony, be on your guard.” Livingstone’s mustache quivered, suggesting that his upper lip was a little less stiff than it should be. “First Moon Rose, and now Pebble. Their odd senses are trying to tell us something.” An oppressive, almost smothering silence hung like a shroud over all who waited. Livingstone paced, while Barnabus and Bertie conserved their energy. A griffon, sitting at a table, opened and closed the cylinder on a revolver, endlessly, over and over, his talon-fingers moving with marvellous dexterity. This room had no windows, and only one door—which was like a bank vault. Now, even Sumac could feel the same unnatural stillness that Pebble spoke of. Not a sound could be heard, and nothing that was going on outside caused the slightest bit of disturbance. Surely terrible happenings continued outside, and those awful things should make some kind of noise. Explosions should cause the building to tremble, but there was nothing. The world had gone still—unnaturally so. “No one has come to join us,” the griffon muttered as the revolver clicked. “How many of my fellows shall I have to bury come morning?” Not a word was spoken. The griffon’s words were muted in some weird way, as if they too struggled to overcome the silence. Sumac attempted to discern the nature of magic at work here, but couldn’t concentrate well enough to make sense of anything. Pebble and Moon Rose were huddled together, with the earth pony filly trying to comfort the little, slender unicorn. It was then that something in Sumac’s brain clicked, and something felt familiar about this magic. Great droplets of sweat beaded along his hide in many places, his scalp went damp, and his mouth went dry as a cold, clammy terror froze his bones. He knew this magic; he’d felt it before, but he couldn’t recall when. With the memory of this magic came the memory of pain—no, agony. A profound feeling of helplessness caused his knees to wobble and an ever-growing circle of glistening yellow liquid spread outward around his hind hooves. “The poor lad has pissed ‘imself,” Bertie said as she hurried to Sumac’s side. “Easy, laddie. There’s no shame in it. Come ‘ere and let ol’ Bertie help sort you out.” But Sumac did not move. He could not move. As his paralysis took hold, worsened, a figure cloaked in swirling shadow appeared in the darkened corner of the room. The darkness lit up with green witchfire, and then a great many things happened all at once, so many things that Sumac lost track of them. The griffon was the first to react; moving with supernatural catlike speed, he pointed his revolver at the intruder—but never got a chance to fire. A thin green ray arced across the room, struck him, and then the smell of rotted meat grew strong. Pierced by the beam, the griffon’s body seized, twitched once, and the gun fell from his talons as a faint, silvery outline that was almost griffon-shaped rose from his body. In the span of an eyeblink, his corpse fell to the floor. Livingstone started to shout out an alarm, but a thin green band of magic wrapped around his throat, both silencing him and strangling him. His eyes bulged, his wings slapped and flapped against his sides, but the pegasus had no defense against the cruel, slow torture caused by the spell slowly killing him. Like rising steam, the griffon’s departing spectre dissipated into nothingness. A whole wall of bodies rose before Sumac, who was pulled and then shoved back into the far corner with Pebble and Moon Rose. Livingstone collapsed to the floor, still throttled by the spell, and his lolling tongue slapped against the tile. Barnabus and Bertie both launched themselves at the intruder, but Sumac was unable to see what was going on. Bertie was caught mid-air, and then crumpled up like a wad of newspaper. Her body contorted into unnatural, awful shapes, her limbs bent in ways that limbs should not bend, and her cries of furious agony were cut short when her neck was compressed like an accordion. Barnabus cried out, a seething howl of rage, but he too was silenced. A thin green ray burned through him, and like the griffon, his life force was torn free from his mortal flesh. Before the silvery outline vanished, it waved once, a sad goodbye to his sibling. “You’ve seen what I am capable of,” a cold feminine voice said. “Give me the foals and I’ll graciously allow you to live. Of course, the false-alicorns that roam the building will still probably kill you. They’re all quite mad. Raving lunatics, the entire lot of them.” “I think I speak for all of us when I say, we’d rather die,” a unicorn said in reply. “Really? Must it be that way? How annoyingly inconvenient. All these spells and maintaining this silence is really quite draining. It’s like… you don’t appreciate the lengths that I’ve gone through to pull this off. Those crazy false-alicorns are having to search room after room to find you. Have you no gratitude for all that I’ve done to hide you from them? Gah, how insulting.” Standing shoulder to shoulder, the ponies that formed the living wall did not move. They did not budge. Not one knee knocked, not one ear was pinned back in submission, and each upper lip remained stiff. There was no response, no negotiation, no backing down even in the face of oblivion. It was a lesson that Sumac would only be able to appreciate later, but he was unable to comprehend right now. “Very well, have it your way,” the shadow-clad mare said. “Die… all of you, die.” Tendrils of nauseating green haze reached out and one by one, the staunch defenders fell to the floor, seizing and convulsing, foaming at the mouth as blood gushed from their eyes, ears, and noses. Now, much to Sumac’s terror, it was just him, Pebble, Moon Rose… And his mother. Dozens had just died in mere seconds and the mare, the intruder, didn’t seem bothered by what had happened, not even in the slightest. She paused for a moment, drew in a deep breath, refreshed a few of her spells, recasting them as necessary, and then she turned her attention to the three foals that cowered in the corner. “They’re getting closer,” she said to no one in particular. “A moment if you please. Do be patient. I shall process you in a moment, but only after I determine how threatened I am.” Unable to sense anything at all, his magical senses all but smothered, Sumac felt utterly cut off from the world. There were a few things he was able to determine though, even with his bowel-clenching terror. His mother was powerful, she was smart, and she was clever. A sickly green glow danced along the length of her horn, which he was certain had been somehow lengthened. Black shadows swirled around her body and her hooves did not touch the floor. Somehow, as she moved, she remained a good inch or so above the tile, her hooves never striking, never making a sound. “Well, this certainly complicates things. I don’t think I’ll be able to leave here with my prizes. No matter, I can still do what’s needed.” Sumac’s mother let out a haughty sniff of contempt and one of her perfect eyebrows formed a contemptuous arch. “Those foolish ascension alicorns will rue the day they interfered with my plans.” With his mother distracted, no doubt focusing on the other threats, Sumac looked down at the gun on the floor. It was still loaded. The blued steel was almost hypnotic. Could he do it? What would his mother say? Not the mare before him, but his real mother. Would Trixie be proud of him? What about Lemon Hearts and Twinkleshine? He hesitated, uncertain, and knew that his window of opportunity was limited. His mother, the one just a few paces away, would only be distracted for so long. What would Tarnish do? This was the most important question that Sumac could think of. What would Tarnish do? He couldn’t ask himself what Big Mac would do, because Big Mac would frown at the very idea of hurting a mare—but Tarnish would most definitely do so without hesitation. Sumac had fillies to protect, and now, right now, was no time for Big Mac’s simple goodness. This situation was too complicated for simple goodness, and as such, called for Tarnished Teapot’s complicated goodness. Trixie too, practiced complicated goodness, and she had told him that there were times when rules did not matter; did not apply. There were times when one had to be a dirty, no good, double-crossing, two-bit, low-down, no good cheater if one wanted to survive—and Sumac was almost certain that right now was one of those times. With his mother still distracted, Sumac picked up the gun… and drew back the hammer. The resulting click got his mother’s baleful attention—all of it. For the first time, the colt noticed fear in his mother’s eyes, and it gave him courage. “And just what do you think you are doing?” he heard his mother say. The words caused such terror that Sumac almost dropped the gun. It was a struggle to hold it, to keep it pointed at his mother. He’d been taught to respect adults, to obey. Now, he was about to shoot one. And not just any adult, either, but the very mare that had birthed him. This conflict left him torn inside; the need to obey, to be a good colt, it was a powerful compulsion, and his current action, his current behaviour, he was pretty certain this was not what good colts did. But sometimes, bad colts survived when good colts did not. He’d survived Queen Chrysalis… “Well, it’s nice to see that you didn’t get your father’s natural cowardice.” His mother’s voice was thick, almost husky with resentment and rage. “I hated your father… hated him… but that silver tongue of his… he made me love him… then you came along and I hated you both… him forcing himself on me, and you… because you’re a reminder of what he did!” Sumac found that he had only one thing to say, and he did so while keeping the gun pointed at his mother. “I hate you more.” “I don’t think you have the stones,” he heard his mother reply, and her hateful words were punctuated with a soul-curdling cackle, the likes of which that Sumac had never heard before. Now, Sumac found himself in between a rock and a hard place—stuck between Pebble and his mother. His mother had just said that he didn’t have the stones, which infuriated Sumac in ways that he could not process, could not comprehend. Just where did his mother get off saying that he was a coward? Now he was stuck… he had no choice but to prove her wrong. It was a matter of principle; nopony called him a coward. His mother had to learn that lesson the hard way, the only way that mattered. With these careless words, Sumac’s mother had brought this on herself. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed the trigger with his telekinesis. The thunderous roar almost deafened Sumac, who had just shot his own mother to keep Pebble and Moon Rose safe. Blinded from the flash, he blinked several times to clear the dancing white spots from his vision. He could no longer feel the gun in his telekinesis; he’d dropped it, which left him disoriented and disappointed. Squinting, he tried to see what dreadful harm he’d done to his mother. Much to his dismay, she still stood. She was looking at him, and her expression was one of startled shakiness, though that was changing even as he watched. The bullet was held just in front of her nose. Pebble was breathing hard, and he found this a distraction. Moon Rose was whimpering. His mother, completely and utterly unharmed, seemed to transform as her rage overcame her. Her face lost all beauty, all sense of equinity, and she became… something else. Something alien and unrelatable. She was a monster, his mother. “You know, I’d beat your little ass like I used to when you were little, but I don’t think it’d do me any good… I do know one way to hurt you though, I think… yes… I think I know how to put you in your place!” Frozen with fear, it was all Sumac could do to give his mother a defiant glare. The gun had failed him. He had failed himself. Now, with whatever happened next, this rested on his back and he would live—or possibly die—with the consequences that were sure to follow. It stood to reason that if his mother was torturing him, she wasn’t torturing Pebble or Moon Rose. Having been tortured before, he prepared himself for the worst, not knowing what his mother was truly capable of, but the room full of dead bodies gave him some idea. “They’re raising you to be noble,” he heard his mother say as she advanced, her adult stature towering over him. “As your mother, I feel like it’s my duty to teach you the folly in being noble. Allow me to demonstrate and show you the consequences of your actions.” Pebble shrieked as she was hoisted into the air, held aloft by one hind hoof. Sumac, his blood frozen, remembered that Pebble was terrified of being lifted off the ground. Sometimes, her father forgot this during his more affectionate moments, and apologies would have to be given. Green flames surrounded Pebble, and then, a moment later, the screaming began in earnest. It was a sound that Sumac was unprepared for, the sheer volume of it, the sound of it. Pebble screamed as if her very soul was torn in twain. For Sumac, it was pretty much the worst sound that he’d ever heard, and he could do nothing. No matter how much he struggled, his muscles would not respond. It was as if his head was too far away from his body. This was his fault; this failure was his fault, and Pebble now suffered horrendously for it. Something broke within, and when it did, he felt his mother’s magical hold on him relax. She no longer feared him; and for good reason. He was now a compliant, obedient foal. With the magical paralysis gone, he crumpled into a sobbing heap on the floor, curled up into a fetal ball, and tried to endure the sensation of his soul being shredded with Pebble’s every scream. Eyes closed, his guts twisting, his bladder gave way for the second time. “Not so noble now, are you?” his mother asked while Pebble’s cruel torture continued unabated. “Look at how weak this has made you! Not so noble now!” Groaning, he covered his ears with his hooves, but it did him no good. His mother pumped the sound directly into his ears, and he could feel it echoing through his mind. It felt an awful lot like dream magic, a nightmare, only he was awake—wide awake. Pebble’s voice went wet and she almost gargled with every shriek, every howl, every squeal of torment. “See how fragile the noble spirit is?” his mother said, her voice both icy and imperious. “You scream and scream, but he does nothing! Nothing at all! Your screams mean nothing to him. Just like you mean nothing to him. If he actually cared, he’d still be fighting. Look at him, Pebble… just look at him! Just like his father! Weak, cowardly, and easily broken!” Bawling, burning with shame, Sumac waited for whatever end might come. “I need you to listen to me.” Sumac felt his head held in a crushing vice, and try as he might, he could not focus on the mare that had just stolen a portion of his soul. Weakness consumed him, his body ached, and it sounded as though a hive of bees had taken up residence inside of his head. “Those ascension alicorns are coming. They will take you. My efforts here tonight have been draining, and I can’t take you with me. It will be difficult for me to escape. Sumac, son of mine, I need you to stay alive. Use that silver tongue of yours… those false-alicorns are feeble-minded. Easy marks.” Woozy, Sumac struggled to remain conscious. “I just need a few hours. If you die, then all of this will be for naught. Your soul, all of it, including the part I just tore out, will go off to whatever afterlife there is. So I need you to stay alive until I can safely get this dumped into a phylactery and properly severed from the rest of your soul. Be a dear and don’t disappoint Mommy any more than you already have tonight, alright? Can you do that, you worthless, disgusting little foal of mine?” When he failed to respond, his mother got his attention with magic, and white-hot pain went lancing through the tenderest, most vulnerable parts of his body, with the worst of it coursing through his groin. He couldn’t even scream—there was just nothing left. “Worthless,” his mother spat as she flung him down to the floor. He heard a moan from Pebble, or maybe Moon Rose; it was impossible to tell. Without another word said, his mother vanished, collapsing into tenebrous shadow.