The shockwave from Marcellus’ magic crippled the high tower, and like a felled tree, it slowly collapsed. The living creatures below fled from its path as debris rained down, but the cursed spires remained standing. It was at this point that Marcellus finally regained awareness of his surroundings. He saw below him a cloud of dust from the falling tower, and to his great dismay, his father became lost in its wake.
“Father!” Marcellus cried, and he immediately dove down after him. He moved as fast as he could, tearing through the air and dodging past the flying stone fragments. He braved the dust cloud and dove past the remnants of the tower as it crumbled, hoping to regain sight of Marcus, but he could see nothing. He caught himself as he reached the ground. The destroyed tower came to rest a short distance away, and Marcellus quickly searched for his father as the dust cleared. It seemed hopeless - there was such a great expanse to cover, and so much refuse and rubble to look through. He had to try. He picked himself from the ground with his magic and began searching from above.
And there, lo and behold, his father lay near the ground, between two of the black spires, motionless. Feeling hopeful, Marcellus dove down to him, but what he saw immediately crushed that hope, replacing it instead with a sinking heaviness. His face fell cold. A number of dark glassy spikes pierced through Marcus’ body, soaked with blood. Marcus was no more. Marcellus felt light-headed, but still managed to rush to his father’s side. His heart was heavy with emotion. He rested his head against Marcus’, and he began to feel that emotion pooling in his eyes.
“No…”
He buried his face into his father’s neck and wept. He could do nothing else. He held on to him tightly and let it out. He couldn’t help but love Marcus, even despite everything - a love that was seemingly never once returned to him, and never would be. His city, his father, his home, all gone. Lost to history, lost to the ether. But it wasn’t over.
“You will suffer…”
A deep, growling voice came to him, its origins unclear. It felt unsettling, full of malice, and it sent a chill down his neck. Marcellus rubbed his eyes and looked up, but could see no one, and heard only the ambient sounds of battle.
“Who’s there?”
“He was a weak old fool…” The voice spoke again, each word like hate-filled poison.
A wisping mass of blackness unveiled before him; within it, the Great King of the Cursed Realm took his hoof-hold in the twisted city-scape. Ryken, Lord of Shadows, Ruler of Umbra, loomed over Marcellus, his charred iron-clad hooves cracking the pavement. His eyes were deep red, piercing into the unicorn’s soul as they glowered down at him. His mane and tail were of smoke and embers billowing into the air. His large frame was ashen gray, his torso covered by menacing spiked armor. A crown of flames rested above his head, and his horn stung the air with its vibrant red color. Marcellus was in no mood for bravery, and instead cowered.
“... And you are no stronger, Marcellus,” Ryken sneered.
“You…” Marcellus spoke softly. “You’re…!”
“I am the King of the Shadow Realm. The new and rightful ruler of all living lands. The harbinger of doom, the Death-Bringer.”
“Ryken…!”
“He was so fun to destroy…” Ryken used his dark magic to lift Marcus’ body from the spikes, despite Marcellus’ protests, and brought the limp unicorn to eye level. “Toying with his mind, distorting his vision. Breaking his will, and driving him mad!” Ryken grinned, looking to Marcellus. Marcellus was speechless, shocked at how much it fit. He knew that something wasn’t right.
“It was you!” Forgetting his fear, he stood to face the shadowy king, now more angry than afraid.
“How could you not tell sooner?” Ryken carelessly tossed the corpse away. “I would have thought a captain like you to be more intelligent.”
Marcellus growled. “Leave. My. City.”
Ryken laughed. “Oh, it isn’t yours anymore! This city belongs to me now. Moenia Tenebra, my new lair on earth. With it, I will launch a new campaign to finally rid this plane of you simpering mortal creatures!”
“By my life, by the grand divinity of Magnus de Vaspian, I will spend every thread of my soul fighting against you and all you possess. I will never let you win!”
“You will never stop me,” Ryken growled. “And now you must die.”
Ryken’s fearsome horn came to life with the crackle of red sparks, growing in intensity until a powerful bolt connected itself to Marcellus with a loud zap. At once, Marcellus was thrown back and overwhelmed by immense pain that tore at his very being, down to his bones. He writhed in agony, wailing and screaming for it to stop as the dark energy coursed through his body, but Ryken would not lift the attack. He was without mercy. Of course, he would attempt to give Marcellus a slow death. He had to fight it. He couldn’t give in. His fighting spirit would not allow it.
With a growl and a resounding scream, Marcellus fought to stand, legs shaking and body trembling, struggling against the pain searing into his flesh. He felt that presence again, that same warmth that joined him in the sky. Something was definitely watching over him, as he felt the pain lessen. He felt the power surging within him, desperate for him to let it out. And that he did. With another yell, he unleashed a powerful rush of magic that broke the torturous spell, and even surprised Ryken. Marcellus stood before him, breathing heavily, furious, defiant. Ryken was briefly surprised, but unshaken.
“Fine,” The evil king said. “We’ll play your game. Ready your weapon, worm.”
Marcellus conjured his energy sword, only to find it dwarfed by Ryken’s great blade of fire, igniting to his side. Ryken bore a confident smirk. Marcellus was unsure of whether he could contend with such a mighty weapon, but he had no time to think. Ryken raised his greatsword and made a lunge at the unicorn. It was fortunately slow moving, clearly cumbersome, and Marcellus had time to dive out of the way before it carved its way into the ground. His heart was pounding, and he had to think fast. Ryken jerked his sword out of the stone pavement and made a horizontal swing at Marcellus. He frantically jumped back to clear its path, but Ryken threw it back around again, closer. Marcellus tried to parry it with his own sword; the sheer force shattered his spell with little resistance. The dark lord growled and shouted with each hurl of his mighty blade.
Ryken made another overhead swing at Marcellus. Marcellus quickly enclosed himself a shield spell and looked away, cringing. There was a resonating noise as the blade crashed into the shield, along with a flash of light, and although it did indeed throw Ryken back, it also destroyed Marcellus’ shield and knocked him to the ground with a pained cry. Marcellus was disoriented, groaning as he laid on the ground. Ryken quickly composed himself and targeted Marcellus, making his approach and wielding his blazing instrument of death. Marcellus did the only thing he could think of to get out of this alive. With a flash and a sparkle of light, he vanished. Ryken stopped and searched the area for him, his anger building.
“You coward… You wretched coward!” He belted his frustration into the surrounding air as Marcellus got away.
Marcellus brought himself back to the ruined town square, now overtaken by the monoliths. Bodies lined the streets and rubble filled courtyards, their blood soaking the cobblestone walkways, only adding to the new oppressive atmosphere. So much death, so much hatred. One harrowing detail came to light as Marcellus walked past the corpses - almost all of them were civilians. The ones he had forced to stay behind. His heart was wrenched with guilt. Not only did he run from a fight, as his father said, but the blood of a thousand good ponies was on his hooves. He whispered, under his breath, the weight of his thoughts:
"What strength will turn the tides of this war? Where will our worldly nation falter, against the ever-looming threat of Umbra? There will be no peace, no reprieve from this eternal curse that invades our lands. The mortal realm itself is a sickness from an ultimate evil. We are but doomed creatures, fated to perish and return to the ether. Blood and screams, clamorous woes. That is their purpose. They will never relent. What strength will hold them at bay?"
Why did he continue? What hope was left? No, it was lost. Valencia was gone.