//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Train of Love // Story: The Rise of Darth Vulcan: Rising Star // by Fantastic Tales //------------------------------// Chapter 2: Train of Love You ever gone trainspotting? Yeah, neither have I; I was robbed of the opportunity by the fact that I had a life.  I have seen trains, though, from a distance, where they always seemed as slow as a jetliner. That was only an illusion, of course—an illusion which, I have to say, drastically lost its effectiveness when you were three inches away from the screaming steel and attempting to jump aboard said train. And I was trying to teleport, not jump. Generally, with the amulet’s guidance, teleporting was a walk in the park. Teleporting with friends was slightly more challenging. Teleporting a large, stationary group of minions onto a train car the size of a minivan moving eighty miles per hour, on the other hand… well, that was less a walk in the park and more a doomed attempt at a 960 kickflip with a longboard: technically possible in Pro Skater 2, but mostly because the developers didn’t bother to create death animations. And, speaking of death, we were well acquainted with the concept because, thanks to some horrible mistakes (you’ll be hearng that a-lot today), we’d spent our entire ambush plastered back against the sheer face of the mountain, desperately toeing the suicide ledge that supported us, all the while staring down at the depressingly shallow train path which jutted all of ten feet beyond the mountain face below, mostly in an attempt to avoid looking at the even more depressing presipice beyond, one which fell down to a jagged formation of broken stone. If that sounds like some epic scenery to you, let me tell you it loses its novelty after you spend fifteen minutes clawing back against hard stone and playing “the floor is an endless abyss” with a yipping pack of diamond dogs. And what an abyss it was—I swear I could feel the ground pulling away everytime a particularly strong gust decided we just weren’t getting enough excitement in our lives. What was it Nietzsche said about the abyss, again? Anyway, I’m getting beyond myself. Geography had made it clear: if I over shot, things were about to get messy in a Humpty Dumpty sort of way. Technically, as a magically infused, ancient-artifact wielding, warlock, this sort of thing should have been in my wheelhouse. Heck, this should have been in my f!@#ing car factory! “Technically” being the operative word in that sentence, because, as it was, I had as much good hope here as the average lawyer did on the uneven bars. So, with all of that in consideration, it shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise that I fucked up. It wasn’t all bad, of course. I did manage to get everyone in the car. Well, almost everyone, some people I overshot, but a quick head count, as well as some annoyed thestrals popping up to glare through the side windows, confirmed that they’d all been the flyers. No, the real problem started when, through the flash of smoke we’d puffed through, a small, minor trinket, one of the dogs’ dragon tooth blades—I found out later—managed to find itself teleported into a small, minor component of the engine system. The train was in otherwise perfect condition, but that had been enough. BRACK! Before the dark had fully cleared away, an explosion rocked the cab and the world went to dutch angles as the dogs and I were sent reeling. The sound of deforming metal screeching through the air and the intense heat of an exposed coal fire blasted through the cab entrance. The dogs flinched away from the now glowing entrance to the engine room, eyes fixed shut against the tearing wind as it howled through the rattling cab. I set a cooling spell blowing with a flourish of my cape, but I’d barely found the time to do so when the windows exploded. A crack ran through the side wall of the cab, slashing across the stern like captured lightning as the main window shattered with a crystalline expression. I could feel the metal floor rattling through my armored boots. “AHHHHHEEEEE!” My attention was once again drawn to the engine room as two disheveled looking earth ponies ran out with frightened expressions. Well, I think they were frightened expressions, anyway; I was distracted at the time by the fact that they were on fire. …  Ok. I wasn’t going to lie, we were in a bad spot. Heck, the only worse spot available was ‘chained to the tracks while some prohibition era sleazeball twirled his mustache at the moving picture machine.’ I focused my mage sight through the glare, I could see the ash pan sprinkling embers through the room, and a third pony, a pegasus, lofting wooden buckets of water with his wings. “And, you know,” I paused, looking up from the chessboard, “your fire prevention systems are terrible. I mean, you can make trains but you’re still using one man bucket brigades?” I pointlessly directed an incredulous look at her through my helmet, leaning back into my chair with a niggling sense of annoyance. “Our trains aren’t supposed to catch on fire!” she hissed back, an accusing glare in my direction. “Yeah, and the titanic wasn’t supposed to sink,” I shot back blithely. “Would you please return to the story?” she said, voice soft like flint. She’d been less successful at maintaining her calm then she usually was, I noticed. Although, the only time she’d dealt with me had been when I was defeated and in her dungeons, so I supposed my sudden arrival might have put the heat on her, here. Not that I thought I’d managed to get into her head, or anything; but it was interesting, nonetheless. “Whatever.” I turned my gaze back down and moved a bishop. The screams of the dying isn’t something I’ll try to describe, but it’s loud, and it carries a sense of fear that’ll rage through even under the numbing adrenaline of panic. Shifting my attention back to the burning ponies, everything seemed to be going in slow motion as they writhed against the floor, their panicked shouts hitting me like an anvil. It wasn’t pity that I felt; it was more like that jolt you get when you find a rattlesnake on your welcome mat. The scene grew colder, and slower as another cold wave passed. Looking through the flames, I could see only superficial injuries, burned fur, singed skin, that sort of deal. The problem was those injuries were getting worse, fast. I’d have to do something: but what? ‘Let them die. They deserve to burn.’ Thinking quickly, I struck out my hand and lit it in spell.  My gauntlet glowed, and then my gauntlet glowed. With a flash of motion, conflagrations of flame streaked through the air to coalesce against my outstretched arm, flames literally peeling themselves away from wood and fur like they were cheap stage props in order to do so. I didn’t pull any stops. What I was using here was a handy little spell called Fire’s Bane, created some centuries ago by a powerful and unimaginative wizard. It was the single most effective fire prevention spell I had, and the first one which popped to mind in the chaotic tumble of the car. Whereas other spells would try to douse and suppress, this one apparently failed its thermodynamics final and simply attracted the flames and heat to the user. Problem? It hurt like a Motherf@#$er, and I was soon acquainted with the notion that fire was hot as the spell, in order to function, nullified the heat dissipation spells lining my armor. The metal of my gauntlets screamed, howling in agony as discolored, purple stresses ran up the forearm, and I screamed with it. “AAAAAARGHH!” Pain! Pain! Painey, Pain, Pain! I grit my teeth against the sudden shock, riding the too-slow ring of numbing cold emanating from the amulet as I focused back on the flames ahead. Watching the final streaks of flame leave the still panicking conductor and readying to chuck the blob of flame sticking to my arm the moment the spell concluded. “Of course,” I commented, idly fingering a piece, “I didn’t quite get around to doing that. That was the moment your precious student decided to take advantage of my distraction and blow me off the train.” BLTZEW. A tinny, ringing sound accompanied by a quick flash of brilliant violet in my peripherals hit me. My feet slid out from underneath me, or maybe I slid forward off of them, and the ground rushed up, coming to a hard stop against my face as I was slammed down with far too much rapidity for gravity to account for. For my part, I didn’t even register what had happened until I found myself kissing the floor, and it was even less clear as I jumped to my feet and whirled around, face to face with a, bracing, stone faced Twilight just as she blasted me again. Fwoom! Again, things seemed to run on fast forward. Before I could even be sure that I’d felt the impact, the entire world seemed to slide around me, broken glass glittering in the sunlight as I found myself suddenly outside of the train, horizontal with the ground for all that it was several thousand feet below me. Well, what could I say in this situation except, “Aaaarggggh!” my voice trailing with the falling distance. “I have to say,” I moved my piece, “attacking someone when they’re busy helping your own side: pretty ruthless.” I leaned back against the throne, indicating her move. “Don’t believe us to be so like yourself, Vulcan,” Celestia snapped. “Princess Twilight merely acted in good faith on the available information; and, I hope it won’t be necessary for me to highlight, but the sight of a screaming warlock with a gout of flame connecting him to several burning ponies does not lend itself to many favorable conclusions-” “Oh, learn to take a compliment.” I waved my hand dismissively, drawing a quizzical look from Celestia before continuing on. “It’s not of any importance, in any case, because your precious pupil, it seems, never learned the one rule for throwing someone into a ravine.” “Which would be…?” Celestia said, with exaggerated patience. “When you throw someone into ravine,” I leaned forward, gripping the armrests and smiling like a maniac behind my mask, “make sure to check that they’re actually dead!” I wasn’t dead, it turned out.  I was, however, barely hanging on for dear life with an outstretched shadow hand, swinging wildly in the wind on that uncomfortably transparent line of purple-black that connected me to the train several dozen yards above my head. I counted down the line of cars, reaching on the fourth count, my target. And, immediately upon doing so, felt like an idiot for even bothering. There it stood among the throng of cars, garishly pink and blue and absolutely glowing with defensive magic, like a metaphorical bullseye with arrows pointing to it for good measure. Well, then, call me Robin Hood, I thought. A smile lit my face as magic prepared itself in my free hand. Looking up, I ran rapidly through several plans of attack. Of course, I never got the opportunity to enact any of those plans because I was, once again, interrupted.  Pinkie brought her forehooves up to her face, keeping them there just long enough to adjust her goggles before moving them back to hold her cannon.  Her lower legs straddled comfortably across the curved, metal top of the carriage and she leaned casually forward against the curved back of her cannon; an occasional easy shove and subtle press manipulated the heavy metal into a balanced equilibrium on the slippery, sloped surface of the carriage top. Her ears were folded consciously back into airline streams, letting the wind flow back across their narrow tips and turning the surrounding howl into a muffled break. So it was all the more surprising to her when they shot suddenly upward, filling her world, once again, with sound as they did so. Her eyes widened with them, and her brows curved into extreme arches of surprise, rather involuntarily. Her spine stretched out and curved again, her forelegs leaving the cannon as she rattled across the back of the train, shaking like an alarm clock and buzzing smoothly across the rooftop, going “Ohwowowowowowowowo” with a mechanically rattled voice as her pupils ping-ponged across her eyes and her ears metronomed atop her head. And, then, just as she felt her hooves begin to ache and her lungs beginning to burn, it stopped. “HEEEAAAAAA,” she reared back, sucking in a desperate, high pitched, gulp of air, wide eyed; she kept back in this reared pose, holding the breath for one, long second before, finally, letting it go, exclaiming as she did so:  “WOWZA! That was a biggie!” she expelled, reforming her breaths into a hyperventilating tempo. Pinkie often didn’t explain the way her sense worked, not fully. The… idiosyncrasies of it made any earnest attempt at accuracy come off, to her, as dreadfully inaccurate at best and flat out deceiving at worst. The message in this latest one, however, was loud and clear: ‘this is your opportunity, make the best of it.’ Her breath soon calmed, and her heart slowed with it. Looking back at the precipitous edge of the train car, several inches long of her rear hooves, Pinkie turned her head back to face the front. She knew what she had to do. Rearing back onto the tips of her rear hooves, Pinkie spread her forelegs out to either side, and, with a resolute expression, like that of a saluting soldier, fell backwards. And on the traintop she’d left behind, there was little evidence of her absence, little except, of course, for the rattling cannon which, with every passing moment, drew inexplicably closer to the sliding edge of the train body. I felt the dark energies coalesce in my gauntleted fist, forming, solidifying into a spear tipped, ethereal chain which clattered against itself with every shift of the wind. I buffted wildly against the wind, still holding desperately on with the shadow hand stretching out from my other arm. I poured more power into the chain until it grew opaque and cold, clacking against my armor now with dense motion, unyielding to the howling wind and all but screaming against the hollow chambers of my helmet as its ringing reverberations ran explosively up my body. “Wwwwweeeeeeeeeeheeheehee!” And then, a pretty pink pony fell by me. “Wah-?” I couldn’t help but follow the sight, watching the frizzy haired dumb@#$ actually smiling up at me as she grew smaller and smaller against the oppressive background of shattered rocks below. “Look out!” she gestured to the space behind me, yelling over the wind and somehow still managing to make the warning sound jovial. Following her pointed hoof, I turned my gaze around just in time to have it filled with the approaching baby-blue of a cannon breech. To clarify for those of you as confused as I was, I’ll repeat myself. I looked up, from the falling, pink pony and saw, inches from my nose, a quickly approaching, blue cannon headed off the Canterlot Express, destination: my face. WHTANNNNNNNNNNNNNG! Hmm. Ok. Have you ever seen those old Tom and Jerry reruns they showed on Cartoon Network during the weekday off-hours? You know, for all those kids pretending to be sick. And, do you remember when Tom would get decked with a frying pan or cushion an anvil’s fall with his face and his head would just… flatten, you know. Like, the laws of physics would turn off for that one second and his head would turn into silly-putty to accommodate. I often used to wonder where the animators first got the idea to do that. It really seemed unintuitive to me, as a child. Well, I was wondering no more, because, at that moment, those pancake head expressions I’d grown so used to seeing made perfect sense to me, primarily because, while I wasn’t sure how it looked, it sure as hell felt like my skull was intersecting with my brain. My neck didn’t even bother to muster a resistance, giving way like a well oiled door. My head, as a result, just rolled with the motion, snapping away in an instant as I found myself suddenly facing the ground, sent tumbling and whirling on my, surprisingly still active, ethereal hand. Below, through the haze of motion sickness and flying stars, I could see the cannon falling away, not at all visibly slowed, and below that I could see the still cheering pink one, giggling idiotically as she spun rapidly, flashing in and out of the limits of my whirling vision. I was still too busy to really notice her, though, distracted as I was by the cartoony, crashing cymbals sound effect that was playing in my head. “Weeeee!” the pony shouted, the high pitched combo of screaming and laughter bringing me back to my reality as I saw the still falling pony receed further into the distance, her stupid cannon following her all the while. “Wraaghhllle!” I retorted, garbling senselessly into the wind, and feeling the chain crackle against my hand as I focused, intently, on the bright pink form of the pony below, attempting to center my vision through the cracked visor of my helmet. It wasn’t working. “Raaaagh!” I roared, furious at the inconvenience and attempting to snarl away the double vision (post-conversion 3D) effect my eyes were running. Yes, I realize I let myself down with that response and probably deserve to be called chewbacca following it, but no one was there to hear it, and… well, what else are you looking for? My brain just took a cannon to the face—if you were expecting anything more sophisticated than video game dialogue to come out of it, I don’t know what to do with you. Eventually, I managed, somehow, to center myself. I hung, still as a picture in the screaming wind, and took aim. “Get over here!” I shouted, and threw the chain down onto an intercept course. The pointed tip streaked through the intervening distance in an instant, more chain magically forming behind it until, at last, it reached her and wrapped around the pony’s waist, arresting her motion with a cushioning flex, slowing her to a gentle stop before snapping back, rubber banding her up to me, laughing and hooting all the while. Eventually, I had her in my grip, hoisting her up by the hackles as I let my eye lenses glare at her face, their cracked state sending red light sparkling all across her form. “Idiot!” I seethed. “Hahaha! Woo Hoo!” she cheered at me, unfazed. “Did you see that?!” She gesticulated wildly at the ravine below. “First I was like ‘EEEEEE!’ and then you were like ‘Get over here!’” she mimed a scowl across her face — “and then I said-” she stopped abruptly, interrupted by the booger cannon I shot at her face. I took a breath in the sudden silence, taking the moment to clear my head as the pony, unheeding of the encumbering muzzle, continued to chatter away behind the mask. Ignoring her, I turned my sights back skyward. Reeling up across the stream of black magic, I released the spell just as we came over the edge of the track, arcing through the air and landing roughly top of the blue-pink bubble which surrounded the carriage; almost immediately, I noticed a dense ripple flow throughout the solid magic which made it up: it seemed I wouldn't have to knock after all. The carriage top turned transparent, and below it, I saw the fierce expressions of the odd-couple pointed up at me, and then I saw those expressions turn dreading, pupils becoming pin pricks as they turned their expressions to the waving, smiling pony in my hand. “Hi Cadance! Hi Twilight's brother!” Pinkie, suddenly unmuzzled, shouted down, beaming at the pair. “I found your lost idiot,” I growled through my mask, taking the moment to fix the damage done to it before raising my hand behind me and pulling my sword off of where it had been magnetically attached to the back of my armor. (The thing was heavy, ok?) Wordlessly, their horns dimmed and the shield broke, circles of emptiness forming all along its surface, growing, merging, until, eventually, only the slightest bit supporting me remained, holding there for a hesitant second before it, too, sparked away into a colored mist. And that had been just the moment I was looking for. I teleported us inside with a flash of darkfire. Before me, the couple jumped in unison, turning frantically in my direction with their horns lowered. I… ignored them and looked around at the carriage. I paused in slight amazement at the sight, wordlessly replacing my sword as I took a moment of silence. It might have been because of the impromptu sunroof, but the inside of the cab was absolutely dazzling. Everything shined like it was in a Crest commercial; even through the blackout frames of my Darth Vader helmet, I had to squint. There were swords and shields and various polished metals lining the wall and leaning against every corner. A set of pony shaped armors sat by either end of the carriage, guarding the doors. Interspersed between the trinkets were various oil paintings of what, I guessed, were pony military figures. I guessed this upon looking at a particularly dramatic piece showing a pony in uniform rearing, Levade, on his hind legs. I assumed he was a general of some sort because of his uniform and the fact that his right forehoof was pointing up at the top corner of the frame. It was basically Napoleon Crossing The Alps without the Napoleon or, in this case, even the Alps. Turning my head, I saw the comfy couch which took up most of the right side of the carriage and nodded in appreciation. It seemed Generic Fantasy Hero Number 5, as I remember his name being, had managed to fortify himself a man cave despite his betrothal to what I was sure had to be the girliest being in existence. I had to admit, that earned my respect. “What do you want, Darth Vulcan?” the pink one… the alicorn, wafted, looking worriedly at the pink pony in my hand. “Shiny,” (so that was his name), she moved closer to the unicorn, halting his press forward, shaking. “Don’t worry sweetiekins, I’ve dealt with him before.” The pony in question stepped past the alicorn, “he may be strong, but he’s no match for the power of our love!” Aaaaand, there went that respect. Beneath the syrupy sentiment of his words, however, the false bravado which underlied them was as clear as day to me. I had a hostage, and they’d let me into their carriage. It was clear who had the upper hand, here. “The mirror,” I demanded simply, holding a clawed gauntlet out, palm up. Worlessly, with grit teeth, a pink aura hovered the tarpaulin covered mirror to me. Dragging the tarp off with a jerk, I wrapped my gauntleted fist in the cloth and promptly smashed it into the center of the mirror. The missus set up a startled shriek—or at least I hope it was the missus, anyhow—and I picked out a good-sized shard from the crystalline mess decorating the floor, holding it up to the light observationally. “Don’t look so surprised,” I said. “Now Celestia can’t use it, either.” “What do you think-” the alicorn began, indignant. I threw what remained of the mirror at her, sending her jumping to dodge it even as “Shiny” jumped to shield her. Typical hero. In the confusion, I teleported up several cars to the burned carriage I’d started this train ride on. Inside, I could see the blackened surface of the floor and engine room ahead. Layering several dozen sound proofing spells around the pony in my grip (how didn’t I think of that earlier?), I pocketed the shard and stealthed through the cabin, coming to a brooding stop at the entrance to the engine room. I activated the amulet, melting into the shadows as I deactivated my eye lenses, watching. In the far corner, the conductors hunched, tending to their wounds with a grimace. The dogs, I noticed, were shamefaced and huddled together in the opposite corner, tied tightly together with a lasso. On the other side, my thestrals sat, similarly encumbered.  And, standing in the middle of it all, were the elements. Smiling and yipping like the Spice girls as they appeared to discuss something. The four of them were arranged in a semi-circle, facing Twilight, who had her back to me. “...now what are we going to do about them?” she asked, interrupting the chatter of her friends as she gestured at the bound mooks, and my face nearly tore in half with the smile which came across it. You see, being a bad guy involved a lot of sneaking and spying, as you might well know. And, occasionally, you come up on a perfect opportunity to interject, such as now. So, as it was, I was faced with a choice. Twilight Sparkle has just ended her sentence with a question, would I, A: Come jumping out with a witty answer or, B: Preserve my element of surprise and come in swinging? Thought about it? Well, the answer, as it turns out, is C: Shoot Twilight, and then jump in with something witty. Aim high, kids. And that’s exactly what I did. I’ll paint the scene for you. “...now what are we going to do about them?” Twilight said, gesturing to the bound mooks. And then- Boom! The thunder sounded as the purple black lightning crashed through the formerly still air, and, wouldn’t you know it, cracking the unicorn straight on her horn. Her legs went kooky and crossed over themselves at that. I could almost hear the knock out theme from Mike Tyson’s punch out playing as she toppled. Well, toppled would probably be overstating it. She was a three foot tall pony, after all. It was more like she… flopped over, ya know, like one of those fainting goats. “I believe I have some suggestions,” I wheezed, skulking out of the to the despairing looks of the former elements. The diamond dogs, on the other hand, were cheering like they were at a sports festival, attempting valiantly to bow inside their bindings. The thestrals, I noted, barely mustered a reaction; it was only a second later I realized they’d probably seen me the moment my delicate features made an appearance at the doorway. ‘Night vision, duh,’ I thought to myself. “Let her go, Vulcan!” the rainbow haired one demanded. “No.” She snarled, flaring her wings and making as if to charge. “Ah, ah, ah.” I held the pink pony out to them as if I were brandishing a pistol, swiping her through the air at each of them. “I have one of your friends,” I reminded them in a friendly manner, “and another lies helpless at our feet,” I gestured to the fallen Twilight. “This is not a fight which will go in your favor.” The pegasus seemed to temper at that. The apple farmer stepped forward in her place. “What da ya want, Vulcan?” she asked, a strange chill overcoming her voice. “Simple,” I answered, “I want you on the next car back before the next bend in the track. I’ll throw her in after you.” I shook the little pony in my grip for emphasis. “And how do you expect us to trust you, darling?” the seamstress—Rarity, I think it was—spoke up this time. “You can trust that I’m a man of my word, and that this one’s annoying enough that I’ll chuck her out of here whether you cooperate or not. In either case, the bend is coming up soon, and I intend to have you off this train one way or another, your choice.” I finished with another gesture of the pink pony, and looking to her and seeing that she was still smiling and chatting away behind the sound proofing glyphs bubbling about her head, I think they decided to take my word for it. Soon enough, they were all loaded onto the train, Twilight floating in behind the conductors as they stepped tentatively through the gap between the cars. The pink one was the last to leave, similarly floating behind Twilight. I flexed my shoulder painfully as soon as she left my grip; super strength or no, you try holding a pony out at arms length for that long. The soundproofing dissipated as soon as she dropped out of my aura, and I immediately severed their car from ours with a slash of magic. Their car drew back immediately, and was soon lost behind the crest. As that happened, however, I heard the pink one shout, “See ya next time, Vulkie!” I wasn’t sure at that moment why, but it bothered me to hear her say that. Like, really, really bothered me. I thought, at first, it might have just been the ice-pick headache I’d been suffering from ever since the cannon, or maybe the stabbing pain which had started to pulse through my neck vertebrae, but I could hear the words repeating themselves inside my head as we detoured onto the hidden tunnel we’d constructed into the mountain. The sudden darkness only intensified the white flashes which had appeared in my vision. Thought I’d been imagining those… and again, the words echoed. “See ya next time, Vulkie!” The pain in my neck started spreading into the upper part of my spinal cord. My bones seemed to grind everytime I so much as twitched my neck. “See ya next time, Vulkie!” The flashes of light grew more frequent, and brighter. An antiseptic taste seemed to work its way onto my tongue. “See ya next time, Vulkie!” The flashes, the flashes! They were nearly filling my vision now, and it was only then I managed to hear the voice, one of my thestrals, calling me. “...Uhh, boss? Ya okay?” “I’m fine. What?” I asked, attempting to sound impatient, but coming off more bleary. “What happened with the mirror? It seemed like things didn’t go too… uh, badly, for you,” the thestral asked, trailing off near the end as if she’d regretted starting her sentence. “Destroyed it,” I answered, leaning heavily back against the wall, clawing at the smooth wood for a handhold as I held back a retch. The taste had worked its way into my throat; I could almost smell it in my breath now, fogging up my lenses and giving me a case of the “I need a bag, now!” doozy. “Uh, wait, why?” she asked. Through the now all encompassing white which filled my vision, I got the feeling that she was shaking her head back to face me. “Pointless,” I said, gnashing and huffing to stay conscious, despite the slow and inevitable heaviness which seemed to drag me down. “The world wasn’t my world.” I was lying on my back now, how about that. “Woulda just… wasted everyone’s time…” And the darkness fell with my eyelids.