//------------------------------// // Interlude - Things That go Bump in the Night // Story: The Guardian (K)Night // by InfiniteBrony //------------------------------// The shadows writhed, twisting and squirming like something alive, their unnatural motions evocative of rot, death, decay and all the hideous things that fed on such. They curled and clawed around all they could reach, yet mindless as they were not a one dared to alit upon Its form as It strode the Shaded Path, Its very presence driving the darkness into a frenzy as if pained. A nonexistent screech reverberated through the Immaterial with Its every step, the Dark Otherside forced into intangible substance by Its unknowable will. Its presence was as unnatural here as it was on the face of Equestria, yet It payed about the same amount heed to both; that is to say, none at all. Walking, It spent a literal timeless moment traversing Its path, and arrived at the same instant the It left.  With a single immense stride, It stepped from the Unseen into the Real, the world itself parting around it like a gossamer curtain of unknowable things. It towered above the Realspawn youngling before It. Its own shadow began to stretch out before It, swallowing up the narrow pocket of Realspace It currently occupied along with the meat creature. The tiny thing began to tremble with terror as Its shadow devoured the light of the stars, sealing everything in impenetrable blackness, and slowly it turned to face It. The moment the little Brightling’s fear reached a crescendo and it beheld Its faceless form the tiny thing ceased to Exist and became an Unbirthed, allowing It to pull its animus into Its Shadow to create another Dreaming One.  It felt neither satisfaction nor frustration, as those were Mortal concepts. Its only reaction was an unuttered whisper that echoed across Nothing. ‘…moRe…’ Not enough. It need more. The Call had gone out already, and The Others would answer.  It must be prepared.  *~-/^\-~* Burning. Raging. Spreading. Devouring. It was a simple beast, and it only knew two things: Spread, and Consume. So it did. Always. Everywhere.  It was a cold, dark, and empty place this strange world was. Everything was static, unchanging. Moment after moment after moment, things were constantly the same as they were a bare instant ago. It was odd. Unnatural. Such permanency felt sicking.  So spread. And consume.  A touch here. A flicker there. Soon, things stopped being static. They changed. Broke down. Burned away.  As it should be.  Spread. Consume.  Flickering, shifting, changeing. The Blaze was growing, turning into a full inferno. Always spreading. Always consuming.  Eventually, The Enemy began to fall from the sky. Drip drip drop. The Blaze began to gutter, and dwindle. But that was alright.  It had spread. It had consumed. The Call had been right, and it was good. The Blaze had done what it was meant to do. Whatever came next, was up to its Embers.  *~-/^\-~* This was not a good day. First there had been the torrential rains making everything miserable, then there was the weirdness at the way station where he met Red Fields, and now the whole town seemed to be overrun with those things.  “Hold on!” he shouted over the winds to Red Fields where she sat in the tiny chariot he was pulling, “Things are about to get bumpy!” With that he dove, narrowly dodging the various decrepit other things that used to be pegasai swarming the sky that tumbled gracelessly after him through the air. The way they lurched through the air was stiff and unnatural, and seemed to be the flight equivalent to the shambling gait of the others on the ground.  Suddenly there was a flash of light, and the chariot was ripped away from him by a burst of raw formless magic launched by one of the more intact rotting former unicorns on the ground. His passenger screamed as she fell, and with a curse he hit the quick-release button on his harness and dove after her.  It was going be close. He had already been flying low to try and avoid the rotting pegasai and that bolt had come out of nowhere. Luckily, he did manage to catch her just in time, just scant inches from the burning roof below them. Without any room to pull up countless hours of drills and training kicked in, and almost on instinct he pulled Red Fields tight against his barrel and turned over in the air to allow the standard issue armor on his back take the brunt of the fall.  With a great crash, they smashed straight through the roof and onto the floor below, the impact jarring them loose from each other and tossing them to opposite corners of the room from each other. With a great crack, the burning thatches and timbers caved in after them, dividing the room in half and separating them. “Leo!” Red Fields called out from where she landed, winded and not much else thanks to his efforts. “Are you alright!?” Leo stood and tried to call back that he was fine, only to be stopped short by a lance of agony on his side. Looking over, he saw his wing hanging limply and refusing to respond to his commands. “Shit”, he muttered to himself, before more loudly calling back, “My wing is broken!” “What do we do now!?” she yelled over the roaring of the fire, the beginings of panic evident in her voice.  “I managed to get a good look at the town while we were flying over!” he responded. “If you go out the door behind you and head north you should be able to reach the guard station, it looked clear!” The groans of the rotting former ponies outside were getting loud enough to be heard over the roaring flames, reminding him of his perilous situation. Looking around, he found a busted out window he could crawl through. “I’ll met you there!” Quickly, he squeezed through the point of egress, and she left as well, both of them eager to avoid whatever fate might await them if they stayed.  Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to be like this! What the hell had happened anyways? At this point he was starting to regret ever joining the guards at all. Seriously, it was literally his first day, and already he was deep in the shit! Whoever thought something like this could happened to Trash Panda Town? *~-/^\-~* It swam the technicolor currents in witch it lived, its own elation and joy almost a contrast to the flows of thought and emotion it rode. It had found a perfect hunting grounds in this section of the Realm of Thoughts that overlapped with the mortal creatures’ large settlement. Wistfully, it savored the currents of emotion on which it soared. Frustration. Stress. Rage. Joy. So many powerful emanations, and all ripe for the taking.  Spotting the Thoughtform Avatar corresponding to one of the mortal creatures in the real world, it swooped down and latched on. Feeling gingerly around the back of the head for the sweet spot, it found it, and with a single strong thrust stabbed its sharp proboscis inside. Slowly, it began to sip, savoring its meal.  First were the emotions. Apathy was most prevalent, followed by a dim and aimless frustration. Anger at tiny injustices. Avarice and ambition towards minor vices and pleasures. Joy in their consumption. Sadness at their absence. A brief flare of confusion and fear as it felt its emotions being ripped away and consumed, before even that was gone too.  The thoughts were next. What the…? the mortal wondered. What’s going on? Is something there? I don’t understand. stop. pleas. cannit… i… It continued to suckle and feed. It always loved this moment best, feeling the thoughts writhe and squirm and die, even as it sucked them down.  Then were the memories, each like a gleaming crystal pebble that added a nice sort of crunch to its meal. Memories of sunlight. Of joy, of love, of family. Of triumph and terrors. All the little building blocks that constructed the mortal as it was, each being drawn away and the Thoughtform Avatar beginning to collapse like a pile of wet sand.  Lastly was the Lifeforce. It drained quickly, in moments that seemed to stretch forever. The last remains of the Thoughtform Avatar collapsed into glimmering and glowing green motes like dust or sand, spiraling upwards and being sucked in voraciously.  If it were capable of doing so, it would have let out a content sigh of satisfaction at yet another fulfilling meal. Truly, answering the Call was the best thing it ever did.  *~-/^\-~* The shadows never seemed to sit still. They twisted and churned at the edges of his vision, never leaving him alone. Constantly laughing at him, weeping for him, berating him, screaming at him, taunting him, encouraging him in their ceaseless, silent, voiceless chorus. Every time he turned his head they seemed to shift with him. Guiding him. Stalking him. Invisible eyes around every corner, staring at him. Accusing. Judging.  Some small part of him knew he was utterly mad. Another didn’t care. The rest screamed and gibbered and raged and trembled and clawed at corners of the confines of his mind.  The moon was big tonight. The eyes were staring from the insides. Frightful. Inspiring.  His hooves carried him through the dark Fillydelphia alleyways seemingly on their own. It was like his body wasn’t his own anymore.  Ah. That’s right. It wasn’t. He was just a vessel now. He wasn’t real anymore. Nothing was.  He stopped before a wall. Blank and white and empty. Slowly, his hooves lifted as the silent and unspoken voices commanded. Thick, cloying blood began to weep from the rents and cracks where the flesh had worn away, exposing the meat and bone. Slowly, almost reverently, he started the first line.  Crack crack, chip chip, splinter splash.  Tirelessly, he set about his work. Carving out the sharp lines and twisting angles from the unyielding stone with nothing but the worn away and mangled hooves at the ends of his legs. The blood never stopped. Neither did he. Not when his bones splintered. Not when the remains of his hoof sheared off and fell away. Not even when his eyes grew dark and he could feel his flesh and slough away. None of it matted. The only thing that did, was finishing his work.  Slowly, after what must have been hours, it gradually came to fruition. It was a sharp, harsh and twisting thing, caked in blood and viscera. It almost seemed to twist and writhe as if alive, coiling and spinning and weaving in more dimensions than could been seen. It was a gut churning display, and if he’d still had eyes to see it, he might have become violently ill.  The last bits of his mind began to fade away, drawn out like guttering embers in umbral streams that were drank greedily by the abominable sigil before him. His body rotted away, and his soul grew dark. The voices had finally stopped. He wished he’d never heard that Call.  *~-/^\-~* All across the world, the Call was heard and answered, over and over and over again. Twisted things of darkest nightmares shifted and stirred, called to action by the greatest among them.  Things that dwelt beyond mortal reach. Beyond thought. Beyond time. Beyond comprehension.  They twisted. They yearned. The time was coming. The time was here. The time had passed.  Yes. Heed the Call. Awaken. Spread and grow and change and consume and demand and dominate.  They will fight. They will strive. The mortals will gather their champions and rail against the coming dark. They will not fade quietly into the gentle night. They will burn and rage against the dying light.  They will fail.  The mortals thought themselves safe. They thought they had nothing to fear. They thought the world was theirs.  They were wrong. ‘ThiS WoRld IS oUrs’