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// Chapter 39: Necromancers 
// Story: The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak 
// by Unwhole Hole 
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The reek of phenol and formaldehyde was oppressive, saturating the dank and nearly lightness air of what might long ago once have served some primitive, terrible purpose. The floors were stone, perpetually wet and etched with channels to carry away the fluids of death and glorious, endless rebirth. Throughout this bastion of modern achievement, countless students were hard at work- -but in this chamber, central and separate, meant to house only the greatest of specimens, not a single heartbeat within. 
Yet from its center, a dark figure rose, and Necrophilo of Canterlot slowly drifted across the floor, leaving the lifeless flesh of a white unicorn lying in a pool of her own preservatives in the center. 
“Excellent,” he said. “Simply excellent performance.”
The lifeless flesh stirred, and the preserved remains of a unicorn once called Hope slowly turned over and lifted herself. Her eyes were distant and blank, as they always were. “I did...good? Am I a good….pony?”
“You are not a pony. But you did quite well. Oh so very well.” Necrophile extended his numerous claws, picking up his long green robes and quickly wrapping them around himself, holding them on tightly with so many withered hands beneath his clothing. “Your cellular integrity is no longer decaying. A perfect preservation. The very definition of a perfect mare, of an eternal Venus. My greatest work by far.”
He smiled, and turned to a mirror to check his wizard robes- -only to nearly scream in horror, as the face looking back was not his own. Rather, it was that of a pure white unicorn- -or a unicorn who had once been white. One hideously scarred leg, though, was stained a grotesque yellow, and the cancer was spreading rapidly, the yellow reaching his face and one of his eyes. As the white unicorn looked up, he smiled, and Necrophile saw that the teeth on his left side had become black and horribly sharp. 
“Mr. Necrophilo? What is the matter?”
Necrophilo turned, and saw that his construct actually appeared confused. He quickly turned back, charging his horn- -only to find that the mirror showed himself, and the reflection of the undead white unicorn behind him. 
“I don’t...I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
He turned away from the mirror and approached the instruments, checking the dials and gauges and formaldehyde concentrations without actually seeing any of them. The construct watched him as he went, never blinking. That normally would have comforted him, but something was wrong. Terribly wrong. In all his years, Necrophilo had never felt anything quite like it. Something was coming. Something terrible.
He stopped suddenly, softly sniffing the air. 
“And are you going to just stand there, or are you actually going to be useful?” he demanded, although he was mildly disturbed- -and amused- -that he had not heard her enter the chamber. 
“I have completed the tasks you requested.”
Necrophilo smiled and moved to an alchemical table. “Excellent. Bring them here.” 
The crystal pony stepped out of the nearest shadow, carrying a bag concealed under her conservative maid’s cloak. Her main was braided back tightly, and Necrophilo was sure to note that it had been done in the style of the concubines. 
“Are you wearing makeup?”
“It is more difficult to remove than you would think.” Facet Flare put the satchel on the table. Necrophilo tipped it over, nearly laughing with joy as the contents spilled out onto the table: a pile of long, black hair, and, most importantly, pure alicorn feathers.  
“Excellent! Simply excellent!” He lifted several of the feathers and strands of hair and immediately went to work with the preprocessing. “Dyed, of course, but I can adjust for that. The calculations simply need to compensate...” 
“And why exactly, master, do you need these things?”
“You already know that, Ms. Flare.”
Facet nodded. “Your last poison was clearly effective. I nearly met my end, drinking it.”
“A risk you accepted quite bravely. But of course it worked on YOU. Your biology is far more primitive, like that of a glass-sponge in the face of a unicorn, at least compared to hers. Alicorns are, by definition, immortal. I learned this in the first attempt, though I came close...and would have come far closer had Thirteen not intervened.”
“Then why did I risk my life?”
“Life does not have value. It is a defect, meant to be cured. Risking it is hardly of consequence. If you had ended? I would have brought you back. Like her.”
Facet looked over her shoulder. Hope waved, and Facet shivered. She was fully aware that the formaldehyde-reeking zombie had once been Penumbra’s mother.  
“If Crozea had not been there- -”
“But she WAS. And that is exactly the POINT. Of course the poison would have failed to terminate the princess, but it served instead to place the suspicion on the Zebra. No one would expect a slave to be involved. A perfect diversion.”
Facet watched as several of Penumbra’s feathers dissolved in aqua regia and began to flow through a distillation assembly. “And this version? Will it work?”
“Very little is understood about alicorn biology, but means to terminate them? At least seven of the past Dark Thirteen have dedicated their lives to studying methods to accomplish it. Edwin the Goat came closest, before his imprisonment. They only failed because the potion requires the most powerful reagents of all...those derived from alicorns themselves.” 
“And I suppose administering it falls to me.”
“Most likely. She does not eat anything except what the Zebra gives her. Of course, with her no longer trusting Crozea...” Necrophilo’s pale yellow eyes twisted toward Facet. “Or do you have reservations?”
“No. But is it truly necessary?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because I want her. I want to process her exactly as I have her mother, to keep her fresh and beautiful for all eternity. So that both of them can be at my wives when I become king.” 
“And to weaken Sombra’s rule.”
“Indeed,” chuckled Necrophilo. “You are learning quickly.” He tapped against a flask; the solution darkened precipitously. “A rival, and a daughter of my one true rival...yes. She needs to be removed. I cannot take the kingdom while she lives. And I WILL take the kingdom. I have spoken with those who have passed to the other side, and I am guided by an infallible prophecy.” 
“That the Crystal Empire will be ruled by a King of the Dead. But where does that leave me?”
“The population will of course be sacrificed, but modern constructs are still...limited. More work needs to be done before I can teach them the craft, of course. I will still require students.”
“To wash the manes of your creations, perhaps?”
Necrophilo turned sharply. Facet took a step back, instinctively moving toward the shadows, but two horrid, pale things pulled their way out in advance of her, blocking the exit. “They must be cared for, yes, if that is what you are asking. With exacting precision, yes. Necromancy is an art of care, of detail, of absolute dedication. Or do you think you can take shortcuts?”
Seeing she could not escape, Facet glared up at her master. “I am aware that I am not a unicorn.”
“And there are ways around that. Your cutie mark is in crystallography. Tell me, Facet, how long have you spent in the mines?”
“Thirteen years.”
“For thirteen years, you never saw the light of day or the dark of night, mining crystals for our currently terminal king. And you know more about them than almost any other pony. Crystals have their own magic, even if you lack a horn. Surely you saw Luciferian’s ill-fated duel with the king.”
Facet had. It was mandatory. And she had seen the crystals. Crystals that she, too, could carve, if allowed to. 
“If you continue at my side, I will make you a necromancer. This I promise. In my Necropolis, race shall be irrelevant. Death unifies us all.”
“The Danse Macabre.”
Necrophilo smiled. “Indeed. And I shall lead it, and you shall be there, amongst others.” His smile slowly faded. “Unless you would rather turn back now. Perhaps you would rather protect the princess...and return to the mines. Along with your entire family.”
Facet’s eyes narrowed. “NO. What my family does, I do not care. But I will NEVER return. This, I swear. I refuse to be a slave, and I will not let the princess stand in my way. Make me a necromancer. Give me power.” 
Necrophilo smiled. “Yes,” he said, turning back to his alchemy. “This is something I can do.”