//------------------------------// // Chapter 9 // Story: Popcorn // by Popcorn Pony //------------------------------// Absolute darkness everywhere. Pocornia could not see the Dark Pony, but she felt him holding her as they zipped along the void. “Where is he taking me?” She thought. A white light appeared in the distance, growing larger with each passing second. Pocornia frantically struggled against the Dark Pony. “What's happening? Did he kill me?” Pocornia thought. Pocornia’s terrified eyes had centered on the light, watching it grow larger and larger. A dreadful, sorrowful wail pushed passed her lips and escaped into the void. Every moment she had experienced and everypony she had known, everything that made her the pony she is was about to meet a terrible end. Pocornia passed through the light, appearing in a forest with the Dark Pony. She curled into a ball and mumbled incoherently, trembling from the trauma she had just endured. The Dark Pony observed Pocornia, realizing that he may have used too much force. He needed to calm her down or risk losing her naive obedience to him. “Popcorn, you’re dreaming.” Pocornia kept trembling, pulling her back legs closer to her. She was too afraid to look around, looking down at the grass. “Hmm...Hrmmm!” She hummed, counting each blade of glass she saw. Anxious and disapproving thoughts stabbed at the Dark Pony’s ego. He needed to think quickly. He sat down, putting a hoof to his chin. An idea came to him, but his manipulative instincts kicked in, cautioning him from what he was about to do as it may not lead to the response he wanted from Pocornia. Despite the perceived risks, he concluded it best to act now. As the Dark Pony put his hoof forward, a small tendril slithered outward. It snapped off his hoof, making a watery splush sound upon landing. Pocornia was not looking at the Dark Pony, she had pressed her face into her knees moments prior to the Dark Pony taking action. “Popcorn…” cooed a soft voice “Sapphire?” Pocornia asked, looking up apprehensively. The Dark Forest around Pocornia had changed, the backdrop of the blackened trees and deceased thorny plants had been replaced with a lively valley, a beautiful yellow sun hovering amongst bright blue skies. Sapphire, the kindest mare she knew stood over her, greeting her with a content smile. Pocornia wanted to hug her, embracing her so tightly that she would never leave or be taken from her grasp. But...how could she reach out to Sapphire after what she had done to her? Sapphire extended her arm, gently stroking one side of Pocornia’s face. “Don’t feel bad...” Pocornia latched onto Sapphire, planting her face into Sapphire’s shoulder. “I’m sorry!’ She cried, her voice cracking under the emotion pressure from her guilty conscious. “I love you, I’ve always loved you!” Pocornia lifted her head, gasping. Her eyes hardened when they focused, as what she saw devastated her. She had repappaerd in the forest, The Dark Pony standing over her. “Don’t say a word…” the Dark Pony commanded, his authoritarian tone demanding Poconria’s attention. Pocornia attentively adjusted her posture, sitting upright. “My master has allowed you to proceed...with your quest!” “I’m getting a second chance?” Pocornia asked, her body tensing at the thought. “Yes.” The Dark Pony answered. “What do I do?” Pocornia asked. “Look there.” The Dark Pony pointed in a general direction. “What do you see?” Pocornia looked, seeing nothing except the forest’s depressing scenery. “Plants and trees...scary plants and trees.” “Look harder!” the Dark Pony commanded. Pocornia squinted her eyes, peering. It took her a moment to see the small, white, stringy floaters hovering in the air. She saw hundreds of them, forming what she interpreted as a magical wall. “What is that for?” Pocornia asked, feeling bewildered.   “A gateway to the spirit world…” The Dark Pony answered, adding. “Well, a part of it…” “You must cross the barrier, endure the nightmares beyond it, find an orb hidden within a mausoleum...and finally...bring it to me” the Dark Pony explained, offering his hoof to Pocornia. “This is the only way for you to change what you did to Sapphire...” Pocornia offered her hoof to the Dark Pony, allowing him to pull her onto her upright. “I want to save Sapphire, even if i’m saving her from me.” Pocornia said, having come to terms with her situation. “Your coming with me, right?” “I can’t come with you.” The Dark Pony replied, laboring to breathe. “I must warn you…the spirit world is nothing like the dream world…” The Dark Pony paused, giving Pocornia a moment to focus on him. “Your mortal soul is vulnerable in the spirit world...you could die.” He paused for a moment. “And you do, you will die screaming…” Pocornia closed her eyes, exhaling. Pocornia’s nightmares could kill her, she could die and nopony would know what had happened to her if she did. If enough time passed, her friends would stop looking for her. Maybe they would think she was hiding somewhere and hope that she was surviving, but she would actually be a corpse laying somewhere unfamiliar to her. Nopony would ever know the truth… “When you return to the barrier, you will awaken within your log cabin.” The Dark Pony said. Pocornia nodded, making her way to the barrier. She could see the magical lines more clearly, the speed at which they danced hastened as if they were taunting her. She halted just before the tip of her nose touched the barrier. “I’m doing this for Sapphire!” Pocornia thought, reminding herself of her goal. She inhaled, holding her breath while she stepped through, stepping into a world that was not meant for her… Pocornia felt a slight prickling sensation, a pleasant warmth caressed her body. She appeared on a dirt trail, rows of pink prickly stemmed flowers growing along the trail ahead of her. She looked around, seeing tall orange, pink, yellow and purple leafed trees. She also saw a stream, but the water was not the blue color she expected it to be...instead it was a light green color,. Her eyes continued to pan, seeing all kinds of plant life she could only describe as exotic. Her mouth fell agape at the sight of the massive mountain range many miles away from her, complemented by the rose red colored sky. “This place is awfully pretty.” Pocornia turned around and saw the Werewolf, leaning against a tree a short distance away. “Looks can be deceiving,” he commented. “Are you here to help me?” Pocornia asked. “Or...or hurt me?” The Werewolf gave Pocornia a dog like smile. “I’m here to help you.” “You know something I don’t...otherwise you would not be here. Tell me what that is!” Pocornia shot off, immediately running up to the Werewolf. “Tell me!” The Werewolf pointed at the path, growling “Start walking...we’ll discuss it as we go.” Pocornia moved onto the path, the Werewolf walking alongside her. “This place isn’t like the forests I've dreamed about.” “No it isn’t. That is because your not dreaming,” the Werewolf replied. “Are all of the spirit worlds like this?” Pocornia asked. “Pay attention to what I’m going to tell you,” the Werewolf stated, dodging Pocornia’s question. “My mind wanders sometimes…” Pocornia defended. The Werewolf flicked his fingers against the back of Pocornia’s head. “Ow!” She replied. “That's annoying, don’t do that!” “Popcorn, I will follow you for now, but you will inevitably end up on your own,” the Werewolf stated. Pocornia watched the Werewolf look around while they walked, sensing an uneasiness about him. “Predators live here, nothing else…” the Werewolf said, looking down at Pocornia. “Remind yourself that predators survive here and nothing else!” “Hrrrrm…” Pocornia hummed, mowing over the Werewolf’s message in her head. “What else are you going to tell me?” “Remember these colors in the order I tell you.” The Werewolf pointed at the pink flowers along the path they’re walking along. “Pink, yellow, red, green then purple. In total, you will travel down four paths,” the Werewolf explained. “But you told me five colors.” Pocornia quickly pointed out. “Yes, the fourth path will start with green flowers and the color will change to purple when you get close to the mausoleum. “Oh…” Pocornia responded, realizing the significance of the flowers. “Once you have the orb, reverse the order of the colors then return here,” the Werewolf explained. Pocornia tilted her head, suspiciously looking up at the Werewolf out the corner of her eye. “Why are you helping me?” “I have my reasons,” the Werewolf answered. “Tell me why, please,” Pocornia pressured. “Stay on the main trail as much as possible and don’t go down any side paths unless your forced to,” was the Werewolf’s only reply. He then darted off the main path, quickly disappearing behind a dense group of bushes and trees. “Hey, don’t leave me out here!” Pocornia squealed, knowing she could not follow let alone keep up with the Werewolf. Pocornia found herself alone, hearing the heavy tread of her own hooves. She widened her eyes, ensuring she could see every little detail. The flora around her perplexed her, particularly the flowers highlighting her path. The pedals were a lively pink color and the prickly stems were a ghastly dark green color. Her sight honed in on the stem’s texture, noting it was dry and shriveled. Her inquisitive mind posed the question, why do the stems of the pretty pink flowers look so malnourished? Pocornia disliked admitting it to herself, but she knew nothing about the world she was in other than it was a very dangerous place for a headstrong pony like her. She pondered her observation of the flowers, wondering if their appearance hinted at any information about the world around her. Pocornia’s ears twitched, then disregarded whatever had stimulated them. Pocornia started theorizing a plausible answer to her question, thinking of and considering varied possibilities. She wondered, could the flower pedals look pretty because the stems don’t and what would the reason be? Pocorina’s ears again twitched, but she disregarded whatever had stimulated them. She was lost within her head, too far into her own thoughts out of desperation to understand everything around her. Pocornia’s ears twitched a third time, but she did not catch whatever sound had stimulated them. “Huh?” “Popcorn, get out of the way!” The Werewolf yelled. Pocornia turned toward the voice and saw something so disturbing to her that she immediately began to retch violently. The Werewolf ran up to Pocornia, forcefully pushing her aside while a set of limbs wrapped around him. “Run!” He yelled. Pocornia was only half aware of the scuffle between the Werewolf and what could only be described as a Corpse Bear, focusing rather on the beast rotted body. Chunks of flesh had peeled backward long ago and had succumbed to an infestation of hungry maggots that actively tunneled in and out of the Bear’s wounds. They were chewing away at the Bear’s remains while it fought with the Werewolf. Pocornia collected herself, reaching for a long stick to use as a weapon. She ran up to the two competing goliaths, stabbing the Corpse Bear in the hip. The Corpse Bear retaliated by back-handing Pocornia across the face. She tumbled over with enough force to throw her off of the path. Although it was at her own expense, Pocornia gave the Werewolf the perfect opening to strike. He took it, slashing his claws against the Bear’s throat. He thought such a serious wound from his attack would force the Corpse Bear onto the ground, but it instead seemed unphased by the damage. It returned its dead gaze to the Werewolf, a terrible and vicious frown evident on its face as it pushed him backward. The Corpse Bear felt something dull hit the back of his skull, causing his decaying brain encased within it to move around. Although it felt no pain, the vibrating sensation across it’s head annoyed him. He turned, facing Pocornia, who was throwing rocks at him. As it advanced towards her, it felt itself being shoved followed by its body hitting the ground. The Werewolf jumped on top of the Bear, wrapping his arms around the Bear throat. “Lay down and Die!” The Werewolf bellowed, trying to choke the Bear. “I’ll help you!” Pocornia hollered. “Go, get out of here!” The Werewolf shouted back. “But...!” Pocornia cried, contemplating her next move. She stood for a moment, watching the two beast, one dead one alive, fighting as the predators they were. Again she wanted to help the Werewolf, but a sudden realization caused her to pause again. The Werewolf was fighting to provide her time. Time to get away. Witnessing the ferocity of the fight she decided it was time to do just that. Pocornia turned and ran, returning to the path highlighted by the pink flowers. “Pink, yellow, red, green, purple,” she said to herself, repeating the phrase a number of times as she ran along the path. The sound of battle began to recede behind her, but that fact provided little comfort. She was certain there would be another. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The day was hot, the humidity high, and the sun beat down upon them mercilessly. She was sweating terribly under her armor, yet the Senior Instructor took no pity. He drilled them ever harder, urged them to ever more precision and violence with every assault rotation. Step, slash, thrust. Step, slash, thrust. Block, parry, rebound. Over and over again. The instructor barked commands repeatedly, intent on perfection from her and, indeed, all of the trainees around her. The formation advanced, stepped, slashed, thrust as one, any unable to maintain pace immediately chastised. She watched the tip of her spear as it flowed through the motions, desperately seeking a target which wasn't there but perhaps some day would be. Sweat poured down her face, down her body, leaking out from where her armor hugged her skin. She felt her exhaustion building, countered only by the tension inherent in the orchestrated dance of death they all engaged in. The Senior Instructor, she knew, would never let up. And therefore neither could she.   Step, slash, thrust. Step, slash, thrust. Block, parry, rebound. Over and over again. She watched the tip of her spear again as she thrust it forward. Only...suddenly it was no longer a spear. She stopped and stared, dumbfounded. Her spear had been replaced with the bow from her Cello. Octavia was dreaming again, she felt it in that moment. She looked about her, expecting to see the Toad from somewhere staring back. But he wasn't there, just the solid formation of warrior trainees continuing to practice the art of destruction at spear-point. Only she was no longer part of the formation, and the Senior Instructor no longer paid her any mind. She looked herself over, the bow and her armor now absent from sight. For some reason she was still sweating, but knew that was not worth worrying about. She was in a dream, where something was supposed to happen. She wouldn't wake until it did. There was a rise in the terrain behind her, the summit adorned by a single tree. Propped against the tree she saw her Cello. Come to me, it seemed to say. Octavia climbed the rise and stood next to the tree, looking down on the field below. The Senior Instructor continued to command, pushing the trainees to ever more intense efforts. She watched them step as one, slash as one, thrust and yell as one. It made no sense. This was Equestria, but not her Equestria. These were ponies, but not her ponies. There could be only one explanation. And so she waited. Her visitor in this dream, she thought, would be an honor, but not a surprise. Octavia turned her head to her left. “Princess Luna,” she said, her voice laced with the appropriate level of respect she thought due. “You honor me.” Luna stood next to her, looking out over the field below. She remained silent for a moment, and then replied. “I do what must be done.” Her voice was free of emotion, Octavia thought, dispassionate. She wondered if she were dreaming that, or if it were meant to be so. Princess Luna turned her head, an elegant motion, and looked at Octavia. “Do you know why you are here?” Octavia bore Luna's regal gaze for a moment, and then looked again out over the field below. “I suppose I am here for them,” she said. “Although I am not sure why.” “That is the question, my child,” Luna stated flatly, yet with authority. “The only question of matter you have yet to be able to answer.” Octavia again looked up at the Princess. As expected, Luna seemed to glow in the rays of the sun which, a few moments ago, had to her been so ruthless. “Why me?” She said. She supposed an answer would be offered soon. Luna again turned to survey the warrior-ponies below. She watched them for what seemed to Octavia an eternity. Slowly, sadness encroached into Princess Luna's eyes. “You are in Equestria,” she said, “but as you surmised, not your Equestria. The ponies you see...are long dead. Their Equestria is long dead. Time and war took them all. But I needed you to see them.” She paused, and Octavia thought it best she remain quiet. At least for the moment. “Octavia,” Luna said, “have you wondered why your instinct, your seemingly natural response, to the challenges presented in your dreams was to fight? Why, when you saw...him...in Baltimare, your natural response was to fight?” Octavia nodded at the assemblage below. “I suppose it is because of them.” Octavia turned her gaze upon the warriors below. They were still training, grunting, slashing, thrusting, as before. Only now they resembled automatrons more than ponies, a by-product of the fact she was aware of her dream state, she supposed. “They are of you,” Luna said, “and you of them.” Ancestors. She could see it now. Her true lineage. She was not of the artisan class, but rather descended from these, the warrior class. This was her true ancestry, her true heraldry, her true heritage. She had often wondered why her being had been punctuated and expressed by excessive pride. Now she knew. Her ancestors had known the true meaning of courage, bravery, and thus pride. They had sacrificed all for it, to build an Equestria free of such necessity. And she was born of them. A voice whispered to her, one she had heard prior but never listened to. Now she did. “Anyone can play a Cello,” it told her, “a toy meant for children. Only a warrior can play the spear, an instrument of death.” It was a dark thought, she knew. But it was hers. She did not turn to look at Princess Luna, for the Princess was no longer there. “I am going to have to fight him, aren't I?” She asked the wind, the sun, the air, the warriors. She stood alone, yet received an answer. “Yes,” she heard, in the voice of the Princess borne upon the wind. “And when your time comes, you will remember.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fluttershy heaved, her stomach aching from breathing so hard. “This way, hurry!” Songbird followed Fluttershy, sweat dripping down from her forehead. She and her security guards were in much better shape than Fluttershy, but they too ached from their lengthy sprint. “Just go, we’re behind you,” Songbird encouraged. Fluttershy led the trio through a long stretch of woods. Turning along the side road the group quickly barged into Pocornia’s log cabin. To their astonishment, Princess Celestia, the ruler of the Day and the Morning Sun stood amongst a squad of Equestrian Soldiers. A number of them were methodically searching Pocornia’s home. Songbird observed the soldiers while they examined Pocornia’s belongings. To her relief she noted they handled her possessions with care. Although their intrusiveness of her friends home troubled her, she was assured by Celestia’s empathetic gaze that everything would be left as it was found. Still... “Princess Celestia, what is going on?” Songbird, openly asked.    One of Songbird’s guards swiped their hoof across Songbird’s head, preemptively striking an eight legged assailant bearing resemblance to a tarantula. “Ow!” Songbird squealed, turning around. “What is wrong with you!” Celestia saw the hefty looking arachnid, then casually cast a levitation spell to control it. She levitated the spider towards her, holding it up to her scrutinizing eyes. “I respect the life of all creatures, but this one is unlike anything I have seen in Equestria....” “Stop!” Cried Vinyl Scratch as she stepped into the living room. “That spider belongs to Popcorn, its her pet!” “This is her pet?” Celestia questioned, wondering why a pony would want to own such an aggressive looking spider. It kept lunging its fang at her as she levitated it, desperately trying to strike her. “Could someone find a box please?” Vinyl and Songbird went to work, searching Pocornia’s home for a box. “Vinyl, I thought you and Rara went back to Fillydelphia,” Songbird asked. “Rara did, she left me to look for Pocornia all by myself!” Vinyl retorted. “What happened?” Songbird asked. “I found Pocornia at Sugarcube Corner.” Vinyl answered, “but something was wrong with her and she ran away from me.” “What do you mean she ran away from you, why would she do that?” Songbird questioned. Vinyl confidently lifted her chin, giving Songbird an offended stare. “What! you don’t believe me?” “It doesn’t make sense Vinyl!” Songbird fired back, grunting bitterly. “Why would she run away from you!”   “Why is the Equestrian Army rooting through her home, is she a criminal or something, did she steal something or hurt someone?” Vinyl hollowly replied. “No!” Songbird shouted, her powerful singing voice bouncing off the kitchen walls. “How could you say that?” “My little ponies, can you come back to the living room please?” Celestia called. Everypony gathered in the living room. Fluttershy sat down, shuddering. “Can we please go to Canterlot Castle, I'd feel so much safer.” “Fluttershy, do not fear. I and my loyal guards are here to ensure your safety,” Celestia announced. “Okay…” Fluttershy weakly responded.   “I and my sister have pursued your friends to the best of our ability,” Celestia explained. “Did she do something wrong?” Vinyl interjected. “Is she a criminal?” “Stop it Vinyl!” Songbird arqued. “Didn’t you hear what she said?” Vinyl replied. “She said friends!” Celestia resided in silence, calmly listening to the feuding musicians. “Luna and Celestia both aren't trying to rescue Pocornia, their hunting her down and their going to find her!” Vinyl roared loudly. “That's why she ran away from me, why else would she ran away from her friends!” “Vinyl, you are making no sense,” Songbird retorted, her voice matching Vinyl’s. “What could she have done, what do you think she did?” Anger, the strained look on Vinyl’s face expressed anger. Celestia saw the conflict in her eyes, her conscious wrestling with her feelings for her friend. Her eyes met Celestia’s, she watched the metaphorical damn in Vinyl’s eyes shatter and the rush of water that followed. “She killed Sapphire!” Vinyl shouted. There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by an outburst from all concerned. A shouting match broke out between Songbird, her bodyguards, and Vinyl Scratch. Only Celestia was able to maintain a relaxed composure. Her soldiers, however, began to insert themselves between the vocal combatants. Celestia detached herself from the turmoil and stepped up to one of the windows. She gazed up at the sky, a specific thought playing within her mind. This was his way, she knew, his doing. He had successfully manipulated these ponies, this group of friends, inciting disharmony amongst them. One in particular he had lured to his cause, and sent on a mission the true nature of which she was as yet still uncertain. She could not help that one, not yet. Only Luna could operate freely within that realm. But she could repair the damage inflicted upon these, her friends. Celestia turned, and stomped her hoof on the floor one time. Immediately all within the room went silent and turned to look at her. Dishonesty and deception were his tools, she knew. But the truth was hers. Therefore in the best interest of all she spoke it. “Your friend is not a murderer...” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Dark Pony sat, his eyes locked onto the magical barrier. Had Pocornia met the Werewolf as planned, he wondered? He did not know. Unlike the Werewolf and Pocornia, he could not cross the barrier. Only certain beings who possessed the gift could cross. That is why he needed the Werewolf, the Toad and Pocornia. They could do his bidding on his behalf while he could quietly make his plans. The orb was what he wanted, the power he needed to restore himself. He knew it sat somewhere beyond the barrier. He hoped Pocornia would be the one who finally brought it to him. He thought about it constantly, often obsessing about it. His desire to possess the Orb overshadowed all other concerns, and all he had orchestrated to date  lead him here, to this point, this moment. Watching the barrier. When the Dark Pony first encountered Pocornia he had sensed the gift hidden within her. He followed Pocornia, watching her go about her day. He learned her routine, her strengths and weaknesses. He had determined her most vulnerable traits were her bad temper, her childlike demeanor and her tendency to flee from her problems. Armed with that knowledge he exploited her weaknesses and had quickly sent her over the edge. The Dark Pony was pleased with his wit... The Dark Pony remembered how fast Pocornia’s nerves got to her. She started lashing out at her friends, having powerful anxiety attacks combined with many sleepless nights. When she did sleep, he was with her only for the sake of torturing her further. He chuckled, the joy of watching Pocornia awaken screaming wildly while flailing her arms around placating his ego. Instilling fear into the living truly pleased him. A strange feeling brushed against the Dark Pony’s senses. “Why are you here?” Princess Luna sat down alongside the Dark Pony, joining him during his time of reflection. “I presume I was too late...” “You are predictable, Luna,” The Dark Pony replied. “Too predictable it would seem,” Luna stated. “We have played this game for a thousand years…” The Dark Pony kept staring at the barrier while he spoke, refusing to give Luna his gaze. “I’ve never felt challenged by you.” Luna grew quiet. She watched the barrier, studying what she saw. The magical wall appeared transparent, yet intertwined with a fish like net of white floaters, apparently just to blur whatever occupied that space beyond.  “Why do you watch it?” she asked. “I have no purpose,” The Dark Pony answered. “I don’t believe you,” Luna replied. “Liars are capable of telling the truth, Luna…” The Dark Pony moaned. “You do nothing…” Luna asked. “Except watch this accursed barrier!” The Dark Pony no longer ignored Luna, turning towards her. “It is beautiful!” Luna leaned away a bit, raising an arm between herself and the Dark Pony. “Spare yourself of a petty scrimmage.” The Dark Pony sighed, relaxing. “Answer my question…” Luna sat silently. “Why are you here?” “I want you to stop this!” Luna answered. At first, the Dark Pony questioned the legitimacy in Luna’s answer. How could the warrior like princess be so exasperated from her work to ask him for relief? “Luna, why are you here?” “I want you to stop!” Luna answered, raising the pitch to her Canterlot voice. The Dark Pony broke out laughing, loudly but laced with hysteria, Luna noted. A raspy quality quickly overtook the rest. The Dark Pony grabbed at his throat, wheezing. “Luna…” Luna sat quietly. “Your a hypocrite!” “Do not insult me,” Luna replied. “Or what?” The Dark Pony fired back. “You know what you did to me, a thousand years ago!” The moonlight illuminating the forest suddenly waned, an unnatural darkness shrouding all. Within moments Luna was surrounded by a dark veil so thick she could no longer see anything. For a moment she felt fear. That was unnatural as well, she knew, but not completely without cause. The Dark Pony hated her. She could feel it. The darkness was made of it. She saw the hoof of the Dark Pony reach through the void, pointing at her. Then she heard his voice. “I am going to kill your sister and drop her corpse before you.” Luna quivered. Such hate, even in nightmares she had never encountered such. “And then,” he continued, “I will spare some time for you to feel what you did to me…” Luna felt him draw away as the light of the moon began to return. She perceived his image for one moment, his eyes locked on hers, before he faded into the night. At that moment she truly realized the stakes, truly realized the game the Dark Pony had set poor Pcornia to playing. Luna’s hope rested on that one, the innocent, vulnerable Popcornia, sent on a deadly mission by a vengeful, bitter creature. And Pocornia would have to succeed, Luna knew. But first she would need some help. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Her time had come. She knew it when she had felt compelled to leave her house, leave Ponyville and enter into the forest beyond. For hours she had walked, stopping only to drink from a stream necessary to cross. She walked deeper still, deeper into the forest on a course with apparently no set direction, other than forward. Then the sun had set, and she had started to run. Darkness closed about her. She maintained a steady pace, dodging about the trees yet maintaining her general course. Forward. As she progressed the trees began to change, their shape and form to waver and alter subtly. To her they seemed to grow more animated, to become more...living. She was aware of them, and they of her. They allowed her to pass unmolested. There were others about as well, creatures, beings she saw only as shadows. They darted about, shadows without forms, forms without shadows. They watched her progress, those others, but also made no attempt to impede her. The trees began to whisper as she and they ran by. Forward they said. Forward. She ran until the Moon reached its zenith far above, casting what she felt a sickly light over everything. It wept, she thought, the moon. It shed its tears on the land, illuminating her path. She saw flowers, pink ones she thought. Or perhaps green. They also appeared aligned to form a path of some sort, to point a way. But that path was not hers. That path was meant for another. Taken in totality little of what was occurring, what she was witnessing, made much sense to her. She was simply on her way to a destination predetermined by forces beyond her control. But it all did serve to confirm she was no longer where she had been, just nearer where she was going. Funny I don't feel tired, she thought, all this running. I should feel tired, but I don't. It was as if she were... But no, she wasn't dreaming, she knew that, not this time. This was all only too real, the impending confrontation only too real. It was her time. Forward, the Trees said. This way, the Moon told her. We're watching, said the Others. So she embraced their words, and kept running. Shadow shadow shadow, darting about, beside her, above her, flitting about in the distance. They mirrored her movements, made the darkness darker. She continued to run through it, until she saw light. Up ahead and slightly to her right emanated a glow, masked and dispersed by the trees there. Weak, morbid, final, yet there. She knew what that glow illuminated, for she had been there before. Twice. She began to angle toward it, the trees seeming to give way before her. Forward, they whispered, just a bit farther... She heard screaming. It came from the area ahead, from the glow, and the gravestones. It was a familiar voice, the one screaming, and she wasn't surprised to hear it. “Now!” she again heard the crowd chant, “Now!” “Forward!” The Trees shouted. “Forward!” “This way!” Cried the Moon. “We see!” Wailed the Others. “We watch, and bare!” It was her time. Octavia burst from the tree line into an open glade. The graveyard was to her right, the headstones standing mute as a new play unfolded before them. The Toad was there, and Pocornia. The Toad was driving her before him, kicking and punching, forcing her toward a new addition to the graveyard, a freshly dug open pit, a newly minted headstone placed at one end. Pocornia was crying, wailing, screaming, desperately attempting to forestall her progress toward that pit, desperate to delay what appeared to be the inevitable. The Toad meant to bury her, and Pocornia seemed helpless to prevent that fate. Octavia stood for just a moment, just long enough to draw a breath and lower her head. Not the opponent she had expected, perhaps, but one whom would certainly allow her to satisfy the requirements of her small part in the overall tableau. She stamped her right hoof, felt the air burst through her nostrils. Her emotions were a mixture of fear, anger, and loathing, all tempered with a sense of purpose. The Trees, the Moon, the Glade, the Headstones, the Others, they all waited, silently. But just so... Octavia saw it all. The Toad, Pocornia, the Trees, the Moon, the Others, their whispers, their words. She could even see the emotions of the moment, the tension, the fear, the loathing, the horror and dread permeating that instant intertwined with everything. She could feel it in her blood, taste it in her mouth, smell it in the air. The moment was rank with all of it. Then, in the next moment, perhaps the briefest of all moments, time stood still. The image was complete, and in that moment of infinite stillness, she felt the anticipation of all concerned. It was inevitable, what came next. It had always been inevitable. Octavia charged. The Toad was intent on kicking Pocornia into the grave now just before her, drawing his foot back for the final blow. Pocornia pawed the air all around, screaming as she turned her head and beheld the abyss. The Toad leered down at Pocornia, his grin wicked, his delight in the doom he was about to inflict apparent. So intent he was with his malice, he never saw her coming. Octavia slammed head-first into the Toad, striking him squarely in the torso, the force of her blow sending him flying back. He hit the ground hard, rolling twice before righting himself and sliding backward on his knees. Momentum had carried Octavia forward about half the distance she had sent the Toad. She stood there, her nostril's flaring, her face a mask of embraced rage. The Toad looked at her, still on his knees, one arm propping his body. “You...” was all he said. Octavia heard Pocornia behind her, still simpering and flailing on the ground. Octavia never took her eyes off of the Toad. “Pocornia, get up,” she said. She heard Pocornia moving behind her. “Octavia?” Her voice shook, still gripped with the terror of the moment. “Octavia? Waa...what are...where did you come from?” “Pocornia! Get up!” Octavia snapped. Again she heard movement behind her, as if Pocornia were thrashing about on the ground. She and the Toad continued to hold each other’s gaze. His was dominated by two large pools of torment and purpose. She hoped hers reflected something of the same. “He...he wants me in that grave...” she heard Pocornia cry. “Octavia? He wants me in that grave!” Although dominated by tears her voice stank of fear, Octavia thought. There was no place for that here, not any longer. “Pocornia...” she hissed. “He says it is meant for me!” The Toad stood up. A smile played across his face. In return, Octavia smiled back. He knew what she was going to say. “That grave isn't meant for you, Pocornia,” she said, her voice flat, steady, and as emotionless as the stones arrayed behind her. “It is meant for one of us.” The Toad nodded his head. She could have a moment, just this one. Octavia turned to look at Pocornia. Her friend was still lying on the ground, one hoof hanging over the near edge of the newly dug grave, but thankfully looking back at her. Her breathing seemed to have steadied, her eyes reflecting something less than stark-raving terror. “Pocornia,” Octavia said, softly, “get up.” Her friend lay there for a moment, seemed to gather herself, and then slowly got to her hooves. Octavia turned her head to again eye the Toad. Until this was over, she knew she couldn't look away from him again. “What am I supposed to do, Octavia?” Pocornia asked. The Toad began to move to his right, circling to align himself with Pocornia and the grave. Octavia moved with him, keeping herself between her opponent and her friend. “You are on a mission, are you not?” Octavia said. Her eyes never wavered. “Yes,” Pocornia replied. “But...how...how did you know? How did you know to find me?” “You have friends,” was the depth of Octavia's reply. She knew it was all the reply necessary. “Now get moving.” “But...” “Please, Pocornia,” Octavia said, “We don't have time for this. Get moving!” She heard Pocornia begin to cry, a soft whimpering from behind her. “I tried to fight him, Octavia,” she said, her voice cracking. “I tried...” “I know.” “But he was too strong...” Octavia shook her head. “No, Pocornia, no. He is nothing but a shadow. You are the strong one.” The Toad's eyes hardened. Apparently he didn't appreciate that comment. The battle would begin soon. She had to get Pocornia moving. “Go, Pocornia, go. Your battle lies ahead.” She nodded her head toward her opponent. “I will take care of this.” The Toad stood up, balancing himself on his hind legs. He began to stretch his arms to the side. The air around him began to move, to twitch, to swirl. Something began to form. But at that very instant a gust of wind blew through the graveyard. Upon it floated a voice, one familiar to both the ponies. It was a friendly voice, a comforting voice, one both ponies had heard in their dreams. Octavia felt invigorated. Pocornia had stopped crying. “I have to go now, Octavia,” she said. “I know.” “I'm sorry,” Pocornia stated, and then her voice trailed off. Octavia heard her begin to move away, farther along her path. The time for words between she and her friend had passed. She eyed the Toad. The air around him had continued to swirl and then coalesce. Armor had formed on his body, a helmet and a breast-plate. In his hands a sword and a shield. It was all meant to frighten her. “Do you really believe you can defeat me?” The Toad asked, his voice laced with finality. But as he spoke high above her Octavia heard a sound, a rustling in the air. Something approached. The Toad crouched, assuming an attack position. He leered at her. She knew he expected her to panic, to run. Instead she gave him a grim smile. The rustling in the air grew nearer. “Do you think you are the only one who can conjure trinkets?” She asked, a bit sardonically yet her smile steady. The sound grew louder now, something racing through the air down to where they stood. Octavia raised her right-front leg, holding it out to her side. There followed the sound of the air just above her parting, and then a thud, just to her right. A spear, long, sharp, deadly, now rested point first in the ground beside her, a combat loop attached to the hilt. Octavia placed her leg through the loop and pulled the spear from the ground. Tightening the loop with her teeth she leveled it, steel point targeted on the Toad. She knew what to do. Step, slash, thrust! It was as if she had done it a thousand times. The Toad stamped his feet back and forth and then charged, holding his shield before him and slashing down with his sword. She side-stepped to the right and parried his attack with the point of her spear. In counter she thrust toward his midsection, but the Toad was quick, swinging his shield around to block the attack. Octavia skittered further to her right as the Toad charged again. She swung her spear in a cutting arc, forcing the Toad to defend as she stepped forward with another thrust. The Toad slammed his shield down, catching her spear just behind the blade and driving it to the ground. Octavia ducked, almost going flat as his sword sliced the air just above her head. Raising her leg she sliced up, the tip of her spear now just inside the reach of his shield. The tip caught his arm. First blood. The Toad snarled, then attacked her with a series of cutting arcs, forcing her back, back, toward the tree line in the distance. She couldn't allow that, she knew. In there the advantage would definitely be his as the trees limited her maneuverability. Time to use her speed. Octavia parried a strike, stepped right and then immediately darted left. The Toad struck as she moved, and for her efforts she now had a cut along the right side of her chest. She couldn't tell how deep. It didn't matter. She ran while turning, putting a bit of distance between herself and her foe. He stomped forward, his sword still arcing before him, a wicked smile on his face. She gave ground back toward the open grave. She found herself hoping this would work. As she stepped backward, back toward the open grave the smile on the Toad's face broadened. He sensed an opening and moved to land a killing blow. Octavia saw his arm sweep up to his right, preparing for another broad-stroke toward her head. She took one more step, allowing him to close, then planted her hind-hooves. Octavia stood, gripping her spear with both front legs. As the Toad swung down and to his left she swung left with all the force she could summon, catching his blade with hers. Parrying his attack she followed through, turning her body and swinging the end of her spear around. The blow landed squarely against the side of his head, a thunderous crack sounding as the Toad was flipped from his feet and slammed to the ground. His helmet flew to the side when he hit, and Octavia could see the pain on his face. Octavia shouted, a cry of battle exploding from her mouth. She returned her spear to center and again thrust, intending to spit her opponent and then slice him from top to bottom. But again his speed surprised her. Rolling just enough to his side he caught her thrust with his shield, sending her blade sliding up with a clang. But not enough. The tip dug deep into his upper arm, and he howled in torment as he rolled backward, attempting to escape her reach. Her spear separated from his arm with a sickening squish, and Octavia rebounded. She was breathing heavy, her heart pounding as her foe gathered himself and stood. His arm was bleeding profusely, to the point where he could no longer hold his shield. She felt a slight sense of elation as he let it fall to the ground. But he still held his sword. The two stared at each other for a moment, silently, determinedly. Octavia then advanced, keeping her spear point leveled on his torso. He circled left, his sword still active, ready. His face was a blend of pain and fury. Octavia had never seen someone so angry.  Except perhaps herself. This time the two charged each other. For a thunderous few minutes the battle raged back and forth across the glade, both scoring small strikes but neither able to land a killing blow. The Toad struck and Octavia parried. She countered and the Toad defended. Strike for strike they wielded their weapons like the warriors of old, each having found the rhythm of their terrible dance. As they fought the Moon continued to cry, the Trees to whisper, and the Others to watch. She felt them, sensed their presence arrayed just inside the tree line. Those Others. She and the Toad fought, while the Others... Octavia suddenly realized who they were, those Others. Within the field of her vision she caught glimpses of their eyes, bright yellow orbs glowing fiercely in the night, intently watching the battle. Watching her...waiting, she thought, for the chance to howl their approval. They had come looking for...a kindred spirit. They were feral creatures, she suddenly realized, slaves to a dark desire. They were the pack, the wolves, servants of a greater master. They had been sent here, to see...to determine...if she were worthy. And consequently they had brought her a message. All of her life Octavia had been a civilized creature. She had pranced in High Society, played the Cello, been ostentatious, haughty, even a bit arrogant. But civilized all the while. A few months ago the very notion of this fight would have been complete anathema to her way of thinking. She would have snorted at the very idea. But then Pocornia had come, a disrupter of sorts, and situations had changed. Consequently she was now here, in a fight for her very life in defense of a friend for reasons she did not fully understand. But she was here, nonetheless, being watched, and ultimately judged, not only by her opponent, but by the Pack. A Pack of feral creatures, a Pack sent for her. And she heard their message, felt it in her soul, echoed in the remembrance of a thousand warriors past. To a feral creature, to the members of the Pack, nothing mattered but the kill. The Toad had been methodically attempting to wear her down. He was bleeding from a series of wounds but then so was she. One or two more, she reasoned he thought, could, and probably would, be enough to weaken her just enough. But feral creatures fought to the death. And to feral creatures, that phrase truly meant something. She snarled, and the pack howled. For the final deciding moments of this battle, Octavia the Cello playing socialite passed into oblivion. In her place Octavia the warrior, Octavia of the pack took her place. Octavia tasted the air, and knew what to do. She stepped back, allowing the Toad to step forward and target her. She rolled right and heard the thud of his weapon striking the ground in the space she had just vacated. Rolling upright she swung her spear end first in a savage, sweeping arc, striking the Toad in his side. She heard the crunch of bone as he staggered left. She followed with a swinging arc to the right, slicing across his front midsection with decided effect. Blood flew as the Toad staggered back. Octavia advanced, thrusting forward. The Toad gave ground, the counter-strokes of his sword weaker now. She pressed her advantage, forcing him back, back, ever back, toward the open grave now behind him. A wicked, malicious smile crept across her face. She could sense it now.   As could the pack. They howled their delight to the Moon, the Stars, the Trees. They and she reveled in it. The Toad attempted to stand his ground, swinging his sword at her head. She parried the blow easily, then brought her spear down across his right arm. A scream escaped his lips as her blade sliced the tendons and his sword fell to the ground. Octavia stepped, her eyes wild. The Toad took another step in retreat. She slashed, forcing him to retreat yet again. Her heart pounding in anticipation, her lungs seething with desire, her heart burning with lust, Octavia thrust her spear forward. The blade caught the Toad mid torso, piercing his armor and sinking deep into his chest. His breath was forced from his lungs with an agonizing grunt. He stood for a moment, tottering, then grasped the shaft of her spear with both hands, his eyes staring at the weapon protruding from his chest. Octavia continued to push him back, two steps, three, four, until he stood at the edge of the open grave. The wolves had gone silent. The Trees had stopped whispering. The Moon no longer wept. All was still, soundless, hushed. She stared at him, hands weakly grasping her spear, blood seeping from both corners of his mouth, his breathing labored, tortured. The play was almost over, she thought. There was only one thing left for her to do. She planted her feet and pulled her spear from her foe. He teetered on the edge of the grave, eyes locked with hers, for just a moment. Then he fell backward. She heard the thud of his body striking the ground. Octavia rested the end of her spear on the ground and leaned against it, her breathing heavy and quick. She felt what she considered an uncharacteristic sense of elation stemming from what she had just done, then became only too aware of the smile on her face. Relief, she considered, perhaps. The howling of the wolves informed her relief wasn't their reaction. And probably not hers either. She glanced at the open grave. Stepping forward, she looked down at her foe. He was lying on his back, eyes staring bleakly up into the night sky. Blood continued to gush from the gash in his chest and dribble from both sides of his mouth. His legs shook slightly. For a brief instant, his eyes moved to lock with hers, but then fell slack, staring upward, at nothing. At everything. She heard him gasp, or perhaps sigh. She wasn't sure. But then he spoke, his voice cracked, pained, choking. “It...wasn't supposed...to be this way,” he rasped. Octavia stood over the Toad. Looking down at her former foe lying in the grave he had intended for another, she suddenly felt nothing. The vision before her only represented the finality of her part in this play, the Toad simply reflecting the results of her handy-work. Yet in that finality he had spoken. As the light began to leave his eyes she gave the only response which could possibly hold any meaning, spoke the only words which would ever matter. “But you always knew I was coming.”