//------------------------------//
// The Poet And The Puppetmaster 
// Story: Starlit Knights 
// by BlackRoseRaven 
//------------------------------//

Chapter Thirty Three: The Poet And The Puppetmaster
~BlackRoseRaven

Scrivener Blooms coughed weakly, and then his eyes slowly, tiredly opened. He was aware of agony, and despair, and defeat. He wished he couldn’t remember anything… but he’d dreamed of it, over and over and over again. Now, he wondered if he was still dreaming, almost too tired to raise his head as he looked slowly back and forth… but he was apparently sitting at a simple wooden table, in an uncomfortable, high-backed wooden chair… and all around him was whiteness.
Then he frowned as he slowly forced himself to look up, hearing a quiet, slick sound he half-recognized… and he watched lethargically as the dragon that had taken them all by ambush calmly played some strange game of solitaire with a set of simple playing cards. He was resting back in an oak throne, and beside him was a tall metal stand, hanging from which was a golden cage wrapped in blue energy… inside which lay Luna, broken and unconscious, trembling weakly.
Scrivener gritted his teeth… and the dragon didn’t bother to look up from his game as he smiled slightly, saying softly: “So you’re finally awake, Scrivener Blooms. Good, good. I want to play a game. I want to get to know you a little. You fascinate me… well, more aptly, the way you and Brynhild have bound your souls together fascinates me… but that in and of itself, I suppose, stems from one and the other. They parallel. They cycle. They feed; it makes them perpetual.”
He laughed a little to himself… then swept up his cards with an easy gesture and gazed calmly up at the earth pony, smiling. He was smaller than Scrivener had remembered, maybe only twice his size now instead of a giant… and the dragon leaned back, spreading his arms as he asked curiously: “Do you like it here? This is… or rather, this was, Alfheim. The world of the Light Elves… close to the divine, friends of the Aesir, guardians of the just. In other words, very difficult for me, so I exterminated them first. A simple task when there are Dark Elves… turn them against each other, invite Helheim in for some carnage, and then sweep up the remains.”
“Who are you?” Scrivener asked quietly, looking over the dragon, finally able to take him in: he wore a tight, expensive white suit with golden buttons down the front, and rings both gold and platinum glinted on several of his fingers. Cufflinks of silver detailed with ancient myths glinted over his wrists, and a bolo tie made of a diamond shaped carefully into the head of a wolf was tightly done up over the collar of his expensive-looking silk shirt.
His features were handsome, but cruel and childlike: lidded amber eyes, smooth white scales, two long black horns that stretched back from the sides of his skull in slight J-curves, and frilled ridges that followed the back of his cheeks to his jaw-line. He seemed to enjoy the question Scrivy had asked as he tucked the playing cards away in a pocket of his suit jacket, only to reach inside and pull out another set… one that looked somehow much more ominous as he began to calmly shuffle them.
“My name is Valthrudnir. I am a Jötnar… what the gods called ‘Frost Giants’ because we lived in Niflheim, at the center of which is Helheim.” the dragon replied calmly, looking at him with patronizing malevolence. “The Gods came from us… all things came from us. Some say that Ymir even planted Yggdrasil… but Ymir was nothing more than an old goat and an old fool. He deserved Odin’s slaughter, for never allowing me the leadership role I deserved… all the Jötnar were little better than the barbarian Aesir. Idiots, glorifying in violence and stupidity and contests of masculine bravado. None of them ever used their minds… that is why I survived. That is why now, I reign supreme.”
Valthrudnir smiled coldly as he leaned forwards, reaching up to tap his own temple for a moment as Scrivener Blooms gritted his teeth, shivering a bit… and then the dragon chuckled quietly before once more shuffling his cards, surveying him slowly… like he was prey that was already caught in a remorseless trap. “You see, you should feel lucky… blessed, privileged even. I’ve personally killed dozens of gods… hundreds of their consorts and guardians… and thousands upon thousands of demon, angel, and all their kin. And I’ve slaughtered millions of mortal lives, in one way or another… but oh, it’s so rare that I take my time anymore these days to sit down, and have a nice little chat and play a final, lethal game with one of your kind.” 
He paused meditatively, studying Scrivener Blooms, his eyes glowing with eagerness and arrogant triumph as he murmured softly: “It’s been so long since I've felt the urge… nay, the compulsion, to completely and utterly destroy an opponent in a one-on-one challenge, pitting wit against wit, strength against strength. Not brutality, oh no… for if I wanted, little mortal, I could crush you and your sweet like nothing more than the hulls of oats beneath my foot, that is how insignificant you two are to me.
“But that would be a waste of effort on my part, and furthermore, it does me not good nor honor nor proves my superiority. It’s like you…” He halted again, then flicked a wrist dismissively. “Well, there is no real comparison, because we’re too different. Because, between us? Even the meanest thing in comparison to you, is more of a threat to you than you will ever be to me, and we are going to play a game that proves that.”
For a moment, he halted again, once more studying the earth pony as he only stared in horror and disgust… and slowly Valthrudnir’s lips curled in a grin, his eyes lidding knowingly as he said softly: “You don't believe me? Oh, but what if I told you that I was the one who destroyed the Aesir… who laid Odin low?” He laughed at this, and Scrivener Blooms reared back, gritting his teeth in disgust… and admittedly, fear. Fear at the undeniable truth and pride in those awful words. “Oh yes… I did not kill him, oh no. No, that would have been merciful… and I did not want to show him mercy. No, we played a contest of wits, and I defeated and humiliated him, for all he tried to cheat, for how hard he tried to best me. And then I made him watch, as I stole everything he loved, everything he held near and dear, and he was forced to scramble in terror to try and conserve all that which meant most to him… while at the same time, struggling to bear the weight of his broken crown; his godhood stolen, his family turning against him. His pride, you see… that was what made it so delightful. So easy. His pride… telling everyone that no, he defeated me, and trying to cover up his sudden weakness with every pathetic machismo stunt he could think of… not knowing all he was doing was playing further into my hands.”
The dragon paused, then he absently split the deck before riffling the cards together, spilling them over one-another as he brought his hands in closer and then began to calmly shuffle again, as he continued in a peaceful voice: “First, I dealt with Loki, the infamous prankster... and he took very little to deal with. It was just a matter of having him show up at the right time in the wrong place, and the gods blamed him for what they saw there, another god laying dead at the hands of a little purposeful collateral damage. They did the rest for me while I stood back and watched with a grin in the shadows, as they chained him up in Ginnungagap with his own son’s entrails and then ripped his stomach open so the Grimm could have a banquet for good measure. Even now he screams… and even now I find this absurdly hilarious!” He laughed, cruel, cold, awful. “Maybe one day I'll free him from his torment... when I finally grow tired of the music of his screams, when the endless murders have finally gorged themselves full.
“Thor was next, now that Loki was gone: no matter what, after all, Thor always tried to take care of little Loki… but Loki, see, he was always the brains between the two, for all his maliciousness. So I intercepted him on the way to Ginnungagap in a nice little out of the way place on the road, and challenged him to a game. I called up a champion I had dredged out of Helheim's pits and told Thor that they would play strike-for-strike, and he would be allowed the first blow: if he won, he could do whatever he pleased with me as revenge for my brilliance in defeating Odin and Loki, the two people he loved most in all the world. But if my champion won, his own life would be forfeit. He was eager to play, and with a single blow he blasted my champion's head from his shoulders with his hammer…” The dragon shook his head slowly, clucking his tongue. “Silly, silly Thor, not looking before he leapt. The poor damned, undead soul bashed him back in the head twice as hard, and mighty Thor was crumpled like a toy, far from dead, far from conscious, too. He lasted a surprisingly long time in my torture chambers, even for such a hardy warrior god… long enough that I taught him just a little of my wisdom before I had him quartered on the rack.
“Oh yes. And others, too, I laid low… countless others, so many, the result of such genius and well-played schemes that not even the most foolhardy god would dare to try and fight me, would accept playing one of my delightful little games… but you mortals are different. Foolish. And brave… which I would admire if it weren't so incredibly, pathetically stupid.” Valthrudnir leaned forwards, sneering across the table at Scrivener Blooms as he slammed the deck of cards down in the middle of the table. “I can tell you that I was the one who arranged for the Vanir and the Aesir to have a misunderstanding once Odin started acting out of brash fear. I can tell you that I was the one who sent in Helheim to mop up the remains of the Aesir after I had weakened them enough. I can tell you that I made Odin flee like a coward, like a crying little girl… and even if his cheating has now caused a small delay in my plans, all that is about to end. Really, I should thank him… he gave me a very entertaining little adventure, a nice little way to occupy my time while I planned out what I’m going to do now that I am in control… now that there is no one left to get in my way.”
“You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Scrivener Blooms asked sourly despite his fear, and Valthrudnir looked up with surprise before he snarled slowly as the earth pony added quietly: “Sounds like Odin might have been smarter than you after all.”
The dragon glared at him… and then he smiled suddenly, and Scrivener Blooms frowned before the Jötnar rose his fingers and said softly: “Perhaps a small demonstration.”
He snapped his fingers, and Scrivy’s eyes bulged before he howled in agony, clutching at his stomach as his body began to steam violently, the dragon looking at him calmly and coldly as dark, horrible burns began to spread slowly along the male’s frame. “Do you feel that? That’s your body oxidizing. That was me, altering your chemical makeup, so that in oxygen you will dissolve. I can do that. I can do anything: I am Jötnar, and we made the gods by accident. Do you want to push me further, mortal?”
Scrivy screamed, back arching as his eyes began to go cataract white, as his body burned and hissed and rot-reeking fumes twisted up from his frame… and then Valthrudnir snapped his fingers again, and the earth pony collapsed forwards as his wounds healed instantly but the pain faded slowly, gargling weakly, foaming out of his jaws as the dragon said softly: “But that’s not how I want to destroy you. How I’ve already decided I am going to destroy you… no. You see, I have never come across something like this before… Brynhild, or rather, the remains of the Valkyrie that Odin saved and threw to that mud-speck dimension in an effort to hide her from me… she tied her soul with yours. Knowing full well, she was a greater, superior being, even if she did not know at the time the extent of it… she still willingly bonded herself to you. As a soulmate. I believe mortals call this notion ‘romantic.’ I wish to test its strength against my own.
“And more than this, you met the mind of one of my pets, what you call a Tyrant Wyrm, and you survived. No mortal has ever done that… is this because of your link with Brynhild? Or is this because you are an alien and unique specimen, Scrivener Blooms… at least, the only one so far who has had the chance to meet and embattle a Tyrant Wyrm on such a level, as most others are simply consumed immediately.” The dragon smiled at him callously, as Scrivy slowly, tiredly looked up… and then he laughed quietly, saying mockingly: “Oh, that question in your eyes… don’t worry, there’s no need to struggle to speak it. I understand what you want to know.”
He leaned forwards, his eyes burning with cold pride as he answered the unspoken question: “Yes, the Tyrant Wyrms are my creation… parasites of destruction intended to perform one very simple task: extermination. They worked spectacularly-well in the other layers of this reality… but that just leads to another question, doesn’t it?
“You see, Odin was slyer than I thought. Not smarter, not more cunning… but slyer, like… like a fox that has learned to dig under the fencing to reach the chickens. Nothing to be proud of… disgusting, in fact. A use of intelligence for debased ends.” Valthrudnir made a disgusted face, flicking his wrist disdainfully as he leaned forwards on one elbow, Scrivener Blooms grimacing as he pushed himself slowly back to a sitting position with a shiver, hating the talkativeness of the Jötnar but not stupid enough to interrupt. “He was arrogant as well. It didn’t take much prodding to get him to wager his very godhood… all his powers, all his abilities, which have come in very useful and amplified mine greatly.”
The dragon closed one fist, cracking his knuckles with a cruel grin… but when Scrivener only looked at him tiredly, unimpressed, he gave a snort of derision before continuing icily: “But Odin cheated. Even after I won, even after I sapped his strength, he still had a little bit of power left, and enough knowledge of old rituals to make a nuisance of himself. He was so proud of these worlds he created. Of the developing of existence, whatever strange forms they were taking on… and he wanted to protect the Aesir above everything else, even though his fanaticism and brashness is really what ended up destroying them all. 
“But when the Aesir began to be overwhelmed, Odin slunk off, coward that he was. From somewhere hidden in Asgard, he used the last of his strength and borrowed powers to replicate reality. To layer it… and Odin has always been fond of nines.” Valthrudnir snorted in distaste. “Ninety-nine worlds of Midgard, ninety-nine layers of reality… and for years, I have been forced to wade through these myriad mortal worlds, all distorted reflections of the single real world. The anchor world. The world that these ninety-nine layers protect and enshroud and hide from my eyes, because if I can finally reach true Midgard… if I can finally destroy his little utopia for pretty pathetic ponies, this realm of mortal reality will shatter, and I will be able to create the universe that I have always imagined and deserved.
“Of course, this was not the end of Odin’s treachery, oh no. To further frustrate me, he tossed the few shreds of gods he could find into these various worlds.” Valthrudnir paused, then he smiled coldly, extending a hand… and a blue sphere appeared in his palm, burning sapphire. A moment later, eight more spheres appeared, the same size, the same shape, but each subtly different as they revolved slowly around this central sphere. “While every world is a reflection of the center world… things exist in some that do not exist in others. Your friends for example, who I have watched die miserably with great joy now more times than I can count, exist in almost all of them. In the anchor world… the perfect world… they are happy. They know little pain. They would not survive ‘evil’ or true ‘darkness’ if it ever arrived at their doorstep, and it is not even linked to Helheim or Asgard. This, I must respectfully admit, was ingenious upon Odin’s part: the anchor was placed on a world where it can never, ever be threatened from within. Where even Ginnungagap beasts are driven to greater complacency if they crawl their way through reality’s folds to reach it.”
He paused for a moment, then closed his fist, and the spheres vanished as the dragon drew his hand back, saying softly: “The effects of these pieces of gods, as they came down, was like… replacing chess pieces, taking what would otherwise be mere pawns and replacing them with rooks and bishops and even queens. And to Brynhild… special to Odin, cherished by him more than most would realize… he also granted special guards. Sleipnir and Celestia… Thor, fragments of his soul saved from my torture machines after his demise, and Freya, whom he must have gathered the remaining essence of from the battlefield after Helheim had torn through and begun burning Valhalla and Asgard.
“Allowed time to grow… they all could have become a threat. I cannot be killed by mortals, but those infused with pieces of gods and their disciples, well. They were powerful enough to slay even my machinations, and through treachery and cowardice they may have been able to injure me. So I have exterminated entire worlds with extreme prejudice as I wended my way inwards… and now, here we are. I’m only a few worlds away from the anchor world now… and after this, there are no more reincarnations to threaten me.” The dragon’s eyes flashed as he leaned his head forwards, saying softly: “And that is why I am taking the time to explain this away. I want you to understand my mastery. That you cannot destroy or defeat me… that I am superior to you in every single way, Scrivener Blooms. I would test your precious wife, but she needs to remain incapacitated for now… I have special plans for Brynhild. Victory plans.”
He grinned widely, reaching a claw up to pick at his sharp teeth as Scrivy snarled and leaned forwards, and the Jötnar laughed before he leaned eagerly forwards as well. “Yes, good, good! This is what I love about mortals… even now, you think you can take me on? You think that you can fight me? You think you stand a chance of winning even with me stacking the odds in your favor for sport? I engineered the death of all your friends and oh, by the way, destroyed your entire worthless world. It took a few tries, I’ll admit… Freya was a little more resistant to my words of advice than I expected her to be, but once I figured out what to say, she all too eagerly sent you and Brynhild off on your cute little fairytale adventure… and the moment she touched the bark of Yggdrasil I had painstakingly poisoned, she became a dark reflection of herself. Ignominious? He never even realized it, but who he begged for dark powers from? That was me. Just like Veliuona, when she was nothing but a poor mortal, I found crying and alone… praying to her primitive gods to give her tribe the gift of life. I answered for them, and gladly.”
Valthrudnir snapped his fingers, and a black apple appeared in his hand, holding it out teasingly to Scrivener Blooms before he crushed it into ashes. “It was just a… small joke on my part. Likewise, as Odin replicated the worlds, I replicated Discord throughout the worlds. Except he was not a useable ally, and the idiots of Ginnungagap never even realized there were suddenly countless variations of Discord running around… but all they like is chaos. To them, it was just more of the same. Have I made my point yet? Have I made it clear that you cannot beat me?”
“And what if I can? What if I do beat you?” Scrivener Blooms asked quietly… and Valthrudnir smiled slowly at this, leaning back as he crossed his arms as the earth pony snarled at him. “You’ve taken away everything… you’ve killed gods… you think you’re so much better than anything and anyone else but so what? Valthrudnir, I’ll play your sick game but if I win, you leave me and Luna alone. You put us down somewhere, I don’t care where, and then you go and play out your psychotic little games. But know that Luna and I will come for you one day. And we’ll kill you.”
“Oh, I’m so scared, mortal.” Valthrudnir mocked, and then he snapped his fingers… and Scrivener cursed in pain, leaning backwards as visions filled his mind, of fire, of hell, of destruction as lava and ice warred and ripped across what had once been a beautiful… no… “Equestria, yes. In the space of the single week I’ve kept you and your precious lovely comatose, to ensure no further interruptions, the Black Wolves of Hell tore your country to pieces. Soon, the rest of the world will follow… and do you know what shattering the Gates of Helheim really did? It broke the link between the worlds. All this is, is a dead world, floating silently through empty space, breaking slowly apart. A dead world, full of ghosts who can’t go to Heaven and were thrown out of Hell, and the only soul left in Helheim from your version of layered reality is handsome little Thor, frozen forever as a trophy, as a testament to my success.”
Scrivener Blooms trembled and clenched his eyes shut, and then the dragon leaned down and murmured in terrible, alluring tones: “But I’m generous. I’m strong… and I’m willing to give you the exact same offer I gave the mightiest of gods who played my game, mortal. You’re a writer, are you not? That’s your ‘special talent,’ correct, pony? So here’s the basics of the game.”
Valthrudnir grinned, picking up his deck of cards and shuffling them before he swept the top nine cards up and fanned them out in one easy gesture, the black backings facing towards the earth pony as he forced himself to look up at the Jötnar. “I have two decks, of fifty cards each. Each of us will take a deck, and we will shuffle them, and draw the top nine cards. You may discard as many cards from your hand as you like and draw new cards, but only once. And then we will use the cards to tell a story based on the genre that I give you. The stories will be scored out of a hundred, based on the story arrangement and the meaning. For example…”
Valthrudnir placed a card down, and Scrivener stared in shock as he saw Ponyville… and the next card had a portrait of Twilight Sparkle, smiling faintly outwards, and the next Pinkie Pie, the image laughing and smiling. “Once upon a time there were two friends from Ponyville who took a trip…” The next card had an image of Canterlot; the next a swirling darkness; the next, grinning and hungry and somehow-sad Pinkamena. “They went to Canterlot so one friend could get help. But instead, she got a demon, who awoke inside her the other part of her personality. It was awful…”
But the dragon grinned cruelly, as he laid down his last three cards in short succession: one had a squad of Pegasus Guard standing at the ready, the next showed both Pinkamena and Pinkie Pie, sitting back to back, strange and serious, the last was a portrait of Celestia… of the old, cold Celestia. “She bashed and battled her way through the soldiers on a rampage, even as inside her, two halves fought, until she reached the castle gates… but she didn’t know that Queen was a fearsome warrior in her own right. She didn’t understand that she was biting off more than she could chew… and the Queen killed the two ponies in one without hesitation. The end.”
Scrivener Blooms grimaced, looking up and saying quietly: “You left a lot out. And you never used… the friend, again.”
“It was just an example, Scrivener Blooms, that’s all. Don’t start thinking too hard already.” Valthrudnir replied patronizingly, then he swept his hand over the nine cards, flipping them all onto their fronts before he easily scooped them up in another simple gesture, picking up the deck and beginning to shuffle as he looked with a cold grin across at the earth pony. “You see, the greatest battles are not fought with swords, or guns, or fists, or other brutal, barbarian means. They are fought with words, and in our games. This competition will determine truly who is the better… you, a soul linked with Brynhild, resistant to my reality-corrupting parasite’s eons of evil… or me. I believe the answer is obvious.”
“Me too.” Scrivy said quietly, and smile faded from Valthrudnir’s face as he paused in his shuffling, looking coldly at the earth pony as he breathed hard and looked calmly back. “But you haven’t told me what I’m playing for.”
“Persistent.” Valthrudnir said distastefully, and then he shook his head slowly before putting the deck down and reaching into his suit jacket. He pulled out three more cards, but these were strange and ivory, covered in runes… and the Jötnar closed his eyes as he murmured a quiet incantation, pressing the cards to his forehead. Scrivy frowned a bit at the gesture, and then the dragon placed these cards gently down on his side of the table as they glowed, the creature saying calmly: “We will play three rounds. What I am playing for has no value to me… your life. If you lose a round, I will kill you. Brynhild, trapped in the cage, will die as well… but her soul will not be able to go far. It won’t be hard to put back into one form or another for later.”
The dragon grinned as he reached a hand up and knocked on the enormous, blue-glowing cage, and Scrivener snarled as he felt a buzz go through his skull. “Oh, don’t look so angry, mortal. It’s an honor, really… filthy as you lower life-forms are. You’ll be pleased to know, at least, she can’t feel anything right now… for my convenience, as well as the fact I do not wish you both trying to conspire against me, the cage will keep her numb. But don’t worry. I’ll be sure to give her every last detail of your useless struggle against my might.”
He laughed, and Scrivener ground his hooves against the tabletop before the dragon calmed and continued softly: “I will not lose to you, so I have gone ahead and made the stakes high to encourage you to struggle your hardest. Each round you win will drain some of my strength into cards, some of my godlike power. Therefore, if you do defeat me… I’ll be killed. Everything that makes me, me, will be absorbed into these three cards… and with them, you can make three wishes. One for each…” Valthrudnir leaned forwards, smiling coldly. “Appetizing, isn’t it? If you’ve ever longed for power, then this is the ultimate chance. You could wish yourself a god. You could wish your world back. You could even wish Brynhild away… or for anyone else you wanted to see you the way she does. And there are plenty of worlds out there, still… do you know what I’d do with ultimate power?”
“Squander it away, since I thought you said you already had it.” Scrivener retorted, and Valthrudnir narrowed his eyes dangerously, snarling as he leaned forwards… and then he smiled ruthlessly, shaking his head in disgust.
“Fine, dog. Bark away. But keep in mind I’ve already won.” Valthrudnir reached into one of his pockets, removing another deck of cards, and he began to shuffle them quickly as he said quietly: “All I have to do is beat you once. You have to outdo me three times, mortal. And no god, no Jötnar, no nothing has never defeated me. Once the enormous, idiot bully Ymir was dead and hacked-up so Odin could glue his kindergarten projects together from his mottled flesh, I was in charge, I was ultimate.”
“Odin, who did beat you? Who it sounds like still eludes you, whatever the hell a god becomes when he’s stripped of most of his strength?” Scrivener asked calmly, glancing down… and then he gargled when Valthrudnir reached across the table and seized him by the neck, crushing his throat and forcing him to stare up at him as he wheezed and shoved uselessly at the dragon’s wrist.
“You will silence yourself or I will curb your tongue by cutting it out of your skull!” Valthrudnir snarled, and then he shoved Scrivener Blooms backwards, making him rock in the chair before he fell forwards, choking and clutching at his bruised throat as the dragon sat back and calmly went back to shuffling for a moment, before he leaned forwards and slammed it down on Scrivy’s side of the table. “Our first topic is comedy.”
The earth pony grimaced across at the dragon, then carefully drew nine cards from the pile, shuddering at some of the images as he arranged them in his hoof. Valthrudnir, meanwhile, was glowering moodily as he drew his own cards, then laid three down in quick succession before growling as he discarded the rest of his cards… and among them, Scrivener saw an image of Valthrudnir himself, an upper profile shot of the dragon smiling arrogantly out of the card. “Not much of a comedy person?”
“Be silent, mortal, unless you are ready to admit defeat.” Valthrudnir retorted disgustedly, picking up another few cards as he glared darkly across at Scrivener Blooms, who only calmly began to lay out his own… and the dragon frowned as he looked down at the images, which started with Pinkamena. “What… what are you doing?”
“You told me to do a comedy. I’m giving you a comedy.” Scrivener replied grimly, and the dragon snorted in contempt as he hurriedly drew six more cards and then quickly laid them out, now only looking disgusted.
“Very well, I shall go first, since you already seem to have snapped under the pressure, pathetic mortal. And here, I was even being kind.” Valthrudnir flicked his hand over the cards: one illustrated earth ponies, the next unicorns, the next a farmhouse, and so on. “Classic comedy. Servants of a rich family, living on a farm. The servants do all the work and the unicorns are not very bright and lord over the others.” The next cards had images of Rarity, Big Mac, and the Apple Family ranch. “The country hick loves the pretty idiot. They want to have stupid babies together. They sneak out often.” The last three cards were Applejack, fire, and an image of Rarity’s boutique. “The sister finds out, and in anger burns down the farm. Everyone gets out okay, the sister is sent to jail, brother and ditz move to town and live happily ever after.”
Scrivener looked quietly at the cards, studying them, studying their faces, and Valthrudnir smiled coldly, snapping his fingers… and in smoke, the number ‘fifty’ puffed up from the cards. “Simple, silly story, and it’s better than anything you could do, isn’t-”
“I knew this girl once, Pinkamena. She enjoyed building models and murdering ponies.” Scrivener interrupted quietly, looking down at his own spread of cards: Pinkamena, Pinkie Pie, Ponyville, an empty-looking farm, earth ponies, North Neigh, an image of a snarling Hellhound, a grave, and a boat. “She always acted like she hated her sister, but she always watched out for her. They had all kinds of fun together… when Pinkamena, you know, wasn’t killing people or shoving meat down her face. They lived in Ponyville, a quiet little town, and they tried to run a candy store together, but it didn’t work too well. Pinkamena liked biting ponies. Then one day, the sisters went on a trip together, to see their old home. Pinkamena didn’t want to go. Pinkie Pie, though, she insisted, and they went. They met a lot of ponies along the way, and talked about their family… who had thrown them out. Pinkamena hated them, grumbled about killing them a lot. Pinkie Pie still loved them, wanted to have parties and hugs all around. But when they got to a desolate town, they found out their parents had died. Killed, by monsters. Sending them away… was what saved the lives of the Pink Twins. Pinkamena’s all in a fuss and Pinkie Pie is spazzing out and they go through town, yelling at each other, not really knowing what they’re doing or arguing about, and then they end up at the docks. Pinkamena loved models, and this was the first time she got to see a real big boat. So she decided, impulsively, they were going to get on it. They were going to sail away together. They were going to ride on the real version of the models she’d always been building. And they did, off into the sunset, Pinkamena causing mayhem, Pinkie Pie toddling along behind her and trying to clean up after her, both sisters closer than ever despite everything they had gone through.”
“That story makes no sense!” Valthrudnir snarled, and then he snapped his fingers… and stared in shock as a sixty puffed upwards, written in black smoke. “What?”
“What, do they not have satire in god-town? Too good for a little gallows humor?” Scrivener asked quietly, and Valthrudnir narrowed his eyes dangerously as Scrivener looked calmly back. “When you make something bad enough, you can't help but laugh at it. Besides, send those two off on an adventure together and no matter how serious it is you’re going to end up laughing your flank off at something they do. Better than predictable classical-era comedy you ripped off and just made worse.”
The dragon only continued to look at him coldly… and then he reached down and picked up his deck, closing his eyes as he swept his other cards up and began to shuffle moodily… and Scrivener’s eyes flicked towards the ivory, pallid cards at the edge of the table as they began to glow quietly. He smiled a little to himself… and then Valthrudnir said softly: “You cheated. I won’t allow that, Scrivener Blooms… we are going to play fair and square. And I am going to prove that I am better than you. Now shuffle your cards.”
Scrivy gritted his teeth, opening his mouth… and without looking, Valthrudnir closed one hand into a fist and slammed it backwards into the cage Luna was suspended in, making it swing and rattle violently. Immediately, Scrivy’s body jerked, the male cursing as agony ripped through his form and Luna convulsed inside the cage, gasping, her body twitching in shock as her locks – not starry and ephemeral, but velvety, light blue from her powers being so heavily repressed – swirled around her, almost fighting to wakefulness before she slumped weakly at the bottom of the cage.
The back of Valthrudnir’s hand slammed against it twice, thrice… and Scrivener shivered as he fell forwards, breathing hard, drool and blood leaking from his gasping jaws as the Jötnar said coldly: “Shuffle your cards.”
Scrivy gritted his teeth… and then he swept his cards up and slowly began to shuffle them, hooves trembling a bit, struggling to do the simple task as he cursed under his breath. Valthrudnir watched him, eyes icy, irises glowing… and then he said softly: “Romance is our next topic.”
Scrivener Blooms grinned wryly at this as he put down his deck of cards… and then he stared in surprise as Valthrudnir rose a hand and several cards yanked themselves out of the deck, floating upwards before dropping to the table, and Valthrudnir smiled frostily. “Since you seem so confident, why don’t we see what happens when I limit your hand and force you to work around several cards of my choosing?”
The earth pony cursed as he looked down, gritting his teeth at the sight of the cards: Ignominious snarled up from one of the cards, Helheim burned out of another, and an anonymous Blood Seer was on the last, standing in red robes and with a pendant glowing around his neck. Scrivener Blooms looked up as Valthrudnir glared at him furiously… and then he only grunted and quickly drew six cards, looking over them and grimacing a bit.
He discarded two: a Hellhound and Big Mac, drawing two more as Valthrudnir studied him while he drew his own cards… and the earth pony paused only long enough to glare at the Jötnar when he saw the dragon’s frown, asking coldly: “What, now are you looking to forfeit?”
“Arrogant insect.” Nonetheless, the dragon returned his eyes to his own cards, arranging them quickly and muttering under his breath before his eyes flicked up… and he frowned in surprise at the arrangement Scrivener had made. “What…”
Scrivy looked in distaste down at his own cards: Ignominious, Luna, the Blood Seer, Canterlot, a card depicting several unicorns, Helheim, Spike standing ready in his armor, the Black Baroque, and roaring Fenrir. “He loved her. I hate to admit it, I hate to see it, and I hate to think about it… but he loved her. He wanted to be special to her. He wanted what he thought was best for her. He really did think that he could make her all his… and once, she cared for him. Loved him even… but after he went to dark places, to study dark powers… they grew distant. And there was no turning back when he began to murder families in Canterlot for power… other unicorns, but all ponies, all people. And Helheim… they dragged him down. They made him a slave. They ripped him apart, just like you know, don’t you? And when he came back… he found himself a monster, faced against good ponies. Good people.” Scrivener looked silently down at Spike’s brave image, then he closed his eyes. “And he was evil. But he still loved her… he would do anything to make her love him back. He gave up more than his soul and the souls of innocents… he gave the world, to the Black Baroque. He helped open that evil place… and he helped free Fenrir. All for love.” 
Scrivener Blooms smiled bitterly, looking coldly up at the dragon as Valthrudnir stared at him with cold rage. “Go ahead and tally the score. But you just made this even easier for me. Nothing is blacker, darker, and more evil… than romance. Not when you look at what love can make you do for people. Not when I think about the things I would gladly do for Luna. And how bitterly, sickeningly happy I am that she’s still alive, even if everyone else is dead. I miss them. I want them back. But Luna’s still here. And on my own… you would beat me. But I can’t fail her. I can’t give in. I can’t give up. So tell me your story, Valthrudnir. Tally your points. Let’s play your stupid little game. But it’s almost game over.”
Valthrudnir breathed hard… and then he snarled and snapped his fingers, and smoke rose from the cards, forming into numbers:’75’ on Valthrudnir’s side, ‘90’ on Scrivener’s. The dragon looked incredulous, leaning back for a moment… and then as Scrivener smiled and reached for his cards, the Jötnar reached into his suit jacket with a growl before he yanked a silver dagger free, the earth pony looking up in dumb surprise before he howled in agony as Valthrudnir shoved this into his body just beneath the collarbone, cutting into him just above the lung and tearing through to rip into the wood backing of the chair, leaving him pinned like a bug.
The Jötnar twisted slowly, and Scrivy hissed as he grit his teeth, tears forming in his eyes even as he fought against crying out, as he snarled at the dragon… and then Valthrudnir leaned back, sweeping Scrivy’s cards up as he grinned darkly, his eyes glowing with hate and wrath as he hissed: “You cheated again. You stupid, animal mortals always cheat… just like gods. Just like the other Jötnar. That’s fine, though… you can cheat, I can cheat too!”
He laughed as he began to deal the cards out, one after the other with a flick of his wrist, and they landed neatly in front of Scrivener Blooms, the earth pony helpless to do anything as he sat against the back of the chair and the Jötnar, the pedantic, childish dragon, shouting angrily and accenting the words he dealt out cards for: “How will you work around this then? Our theme is tragedy, and here’s your story this round! Once upon a time, Brynhild and Scrivener Blooms lived happily in the Everfree Forest, outside Ponyville. They sometimes got visits from a friendly slut named Twilight Sparkle and all their other worthless mortal friends! They knew nothing of Helheim, or of darkness, and Celestia loved them very much and helped take care of them, and all of Equestria was happy and peaceful!”
Then the dragon held up Scrivener’s deck of cards, and it burst into flames in his hand as he snarled furiously at the earth pony, the cards rapidly charring away to nothing. He flicked his fingers dismissively, and then as suddenly as it had gone, his arrogant demeanor returned as he smiled cruelly, saying coldly as he sat back and held his hand over his own deck: “And here’s my story.”
The cards began to lay themselves out as he spoke: Valthrudnir himself, Odin, Loki, Thor, Freya, Brynhild, a card illustrating beautiful, peaceful Midgard, Helheim, and Yggdrasil, the ancient ash tree standing with its roots twined around nine different worlds. “I’ve already told it once, though. How I defeated Odin. Trapped Loki. Mutilated Thor. Destroyed the Valkyries and everything else in Asgard. Settled my eyes on these pathetic worlds, and brought Helheim against them, and soon all the layers of reality will shatter, I will uproot Yggdrasil, and the entire universe will be at my fingertips, at my command. And how many points do we have here?” He mocked, snapping his fingers, and a ‘95’ rose up. “Oh, it looks like we’ve determined who the better storyteller is after all. Oh, no, wait, Scrivener Blooms, that’s right, go ahead and pick your last card.”
Valthrudnir grinned… then he laughed and snapped his fingers, and Scrivener winced as cards rained down around him, images of friends, of places he’d been, of experiences he’d had, as the dragon leapt up and leaned forwards over the table, grinning wider as he shouted mockingly: “Go ahead! Pick a card, any card! Show me how strong and worthy mortals are! Tell me how you’re going to beat me now!”
He laughed, sweeping up his cards and grinning violently as he threw his deck in Scrivy’s face, the earth pony cursing as the cards bounced off his features… and then he howled as Valthrudnir reached across the table and seized the knife, yanking it back and free to toss it away as he snarled down at him: “Exactly. You know you cannot win. You know you’ve lost. Once again, I have proven that I am superior in every way to filthy, worthless mortals. What do they call your kind? Slave-hoof. How fitting. Well, slave, don’t keep me waiting. Give me one last bit of entertainment. Pick any card you like and give me one last smile before I annihilate you, worthless little insect… because no one, nothing in this universe, can outwit me.”
He leaned down over him, snarling, as Scrivener breathed hard in and out, head lowered, eyes dazed as he shivered… and then he slowly forced himself to look up, teeth grit. Past the line of eight cards that sat, almost sparking on the table, surrounded but never disturbed by the cards that lay all around him… looking up, up, up to meet the dragon’s eyes as he breathed hard: “Any card? Fine.”
Slowly, Scrivener leaned down, gasping, as Valthrudnir grinned… and then the dragon’s grin faded slightly as the earth pony dug in the cards beside him, gritting his teeth as pain ran through him from the hole in his shoulder, clutching his limb close against his body as it trembled, barely able to move. Then he scooped up a single card in his hoof, looking up at him as tears slid down his cheeks, saying coldly: “No one can beat your plans, Valthrudnir. Immutable, unstoppable. You brought destruction to a world, tragedy to everyone who lived in it, for what? For what sounds like nothing more than amusement and pride and to prove you’re the best. Yeah, you’re the best, Valthrudnir. You’re perfect.”
Scrivener slammed the card down, and Valthrudnir stared in shock at the image of himself, falling backwards into his own seat as he looked stupidly at the line of nine cards as they sizzled, and then smoke poured up from them, forming a flawless ‘100,’ as Scrivener glared across at him. “Perfect plan. Perfect tragedy. Perfect destruction. The greatest tragedy ever told for us, for this planet, for me and Luna, because you separated us and killed everything that ever meant anything to us. Congratulations on being the best, on being so perfect. Too bad perfection never lasts long.”
The dragon shook his head stupidly, and then he gargled and grabbed at his own chest as the ivory cards on the table glowed brightly and cracks, like rips in the reality of the dragon, spread through his form… and then the giant snarled as Scrivener sat back in his chair, rasping quietly as he grinned even through his pain. “To summarize, Valthrudnir, in the words of a great poet: fuck you.”
“You… arrogant… worthless animal!” the dragon roared in outrage, seizing the table and lurching to his feet, and then he half-turned and threw it hard to the side, the table shattering apart as it bounced through the whiteness and Scrivener was knocked backwards and out of his chair with a wince of pain and a mental shock as one of Valthrudnir’s arms swung backwards and struck the cage, knocking both it and the rack it hung on over. The blue energy sparked out as the golden bars shattered like glass against the ground, Luna gasping as she was ejected… but the dragon paid this no heed as he staggered towards Scrivy with his hands extended like a zombie, as the earth pony winced and dragged himself backwards. “You think you’re better than me? You think that you and your kind are worth anything, or that… that I’ll let a cheater like you escape? No! Never! We’re going to play another game, mortal, and this time-”
Then Valthrudnir cursed as something ripped across the back of his leg, falling to his knees and catching himself on his hands as he twisted his head around… and Luna’s horn plunged forwards, ripping through his eye as the dragon screamed in horror, grabbing immediately at his face as the other hand clawed uselessly at her… but Luna yanked backwards, leaping away with a snarl to join Scrivener Blooms as the earth pony slowly forced himself up to his hooves, watching as the dragon cursed… and then slowly drew his hand back, staring at the silvery, liquid light filling his palm.
He shook his head wildly, then stared at them as he gargled, more cracks forming through his body… and his face broken almost in half, cheek shattered into misshapen puzzle pieces, socket leaking more of that silvery liquid and golden and white light shining out of it, a spiderweb of fractures spreading slowly through his head as he began to crawl towards them. “W-Wait! Please! One more game, Brynhild, Scrivener Blooms, one… one more game, fair and square! Let’s just p-play one more game! Please!”
He gritted his teeth… then looked over his shoulder in horror as he tried to crawl forwards, and instead his lower leg shattered like porcelain that melted quickly away into silvery light, shaking his head wildly as he looked desperately towards them… but Scrivener Blooms and Luna only looked at him silently, shaking their heads slowly as Valthrudnir reached for them… and his entire arm fell off, shattering apart like fragile glass, melting away as he tried to smile, his face half-melted, distorted, the cracks pulsing and growing wider as he whispered: “Please?”
Then his remaining eye rolled up in his head, and he collapsed forwards, shattering apart like brittle ice as Scrivy and Luna both winced backwards, several flashes of light bursting up from the larger pieces of his remains before they cracked and fell further apart, melting quickly away into nothing but silvery liquid that boiled, spilled outwards, and rapidly vanished. For a few moments, the two only stood, silently surveying the ruins where Valthrudnir had once been… and then they slowly gazed at one another, their eyes meeting as Luna smiled weakly and Scrivener swallowed thickly, then dropped his head against the side of her neck, feeling her solid blue mane tickling against his face as he whispered: “I’m sorry.”
Luna wrapped her forelegs around him and hugged him fiercely, and she curled her head down against his neck as she murmured: “For what, Scrivener Blooms? There is nothing to be sorry for. We… survived. ‘Tis… ‘tis awful, but… as I said before… thou has a way of making everything better. We… we shall fix all this. We shall find a way to fix all this… we shall always have each other, even if…”
She fell silent… and then the two slowly looked up at the sound of quiet clapping, both staring as a figure appeared in the distance and walked slowly towards them. It was rough and calm, perhaps as tall as the minotaurs had been, with heavy rawhide moccasins and thick leggings, a jacket made of patched-together wolf furs covering much of a frame that looked tired and feeble. Leather-gloved hands continued to clap as he approached slowly, not making any sudden moves as he finally came to a halt… and gazed down at them with a faint smile on his features.
He was no pony: rather, his head was that of a falcon’s, one eye missing and a scar tearing down this side of his face, beak cracked and short, feathers dirty blonde and black. His other eye was silver, and he grunted quietly as he slowly squatted in front of them… before Luna leapt forwards and slammed a headbutt into the newcomer, and he cursed as he fell backwards before wincing away as she lowered her glowing horn towards him, snarling: “Odin, do not think I cannot see through such a pathetic guise!”
“And you look different but you’re acting just the same as ever, Brynhild. Maybe being a pony suits you.” Odin replied tiredly, and Scrivener stared in shock before he winced as he caught sight of something beneath this shape, something that had once been… something that no longer was. “I’m not here to threaten you. I’m done… being a god. Being Aesir. Being… an old, prideful fool.”
Luna frowned a bit as she slowly stepped backwards and sat on her haunches, and Odin sighed quietly as he sat slowly up, rubbing at his face for a moment and muttering: “Wretched woman. Beautiful, sure. As beautiful and dangerous as a bitch-wolf.”
“I care not for who or what I once was. Besides, thou art no longer a broad-chested brute anymore, art thou?” Luna asked shortly, and Odin looked at her distastefully. “Thou should not speak badly of me when thou looks much the worse off.”
For a few moments, the ancient once-god surveyed her… and then he only shook his head before looking towards Scrivener Blooms, saying quietly: “And you. My Brynhild’s… soulmate. I think… I owe you an apology, as well as my gratitude. You killed Valthrudnir together… now the way to the Vale of Valhalla can be opened again. And you… saved my darling Brynhild. She was always prettier than my wife, and nicer too… well. A lot of things were.”
He chuckled rustily, and Luna sighed a little… but she seemed to soften as she glanced towards him, then grimaced as he reached up and gently stroked through her mane. “I am not a riding horse. Touch me not, old lecher. Thy pride-”
“Yes, my pride destroyed the Aesir. My pride destroyed everything… even after I lost most of my powers, I was able to hide it with… magic tricks and by acting like a vicious mongrel. Valthrudnir maddened me…” Odin closed his eyes and lowered his head forwards, saying quietly: “And I doomed us all. But I’m not here about that, Brynhild… I’m here to apologize to you. To you both… and to give what little I can. I am not as powerful as Valthrudnir became, but he gave you something, didn’t he?”
Odin smiled a bit as Scrivener and Luna shared a sharp look… and then the once-god held up the three ivory cards in one gloved hand. Luna began to snarl… but Odin offered them calmly enough, and Scrivener took them hesitantly as the once-god said quietly: “I’m not foolish enough to try and steal from you, Brynhild. And I have no wish to be powerful again… no, not anymore. It’s been… ten thousand years? A hundred thousand years? I do not know. Gods do not keep track of time… time keeps track of gods.
“But over all these years… I’ve wandered the worlds I’ve built. I’ve seen destruction and joy. I’ve… enjoyed these little spaces, these places, these strange sights. Always keeping out of sight… hidden, in this permanent, ugly disguise.” Odin gestured at himself with a sigh. “I loved horses, you know. Even back before I became the mighty Warrior King of the Aesir. Oh, we saw many worlds, did we not, Brynhild? In many places we are known by many names. Gods are worse gossips than Ginnungagap’s creatures, after all… and just as there are layers to our worlds, there are layers to Asgard, and layers to Helheim, and everywhere else. Things exist differently in different times and places, that’s all I know… but… I don’t think… as clearly anymore. It’s old age, finally settling in: I’m no god any more, after all. Immortal? Perhaps. Or perhaps… even immortals must die. So before I do die… I want to fix what I can.
“The point is… I didn’t want to see my world, my visions… destroyed. The only way to save you, Brynhild… was to kill you.” Odin looked silently towards the white sky, shaking his head slowly. “And I wanted to apologize for that. I wanted to tell you, I plan to fix Asgard as much as possible, and Valhalla… so at least, there will be a place of peace for our nobly-lost to gather, so that the dead do not choke the world. And I wanted again, to offer to do what I can. Ask anything of me… and I will do it. You can do much with those miracles given to you by Valthrudnir… but a little more help never hurts, even from a doddering relic who… whose warrior days are now long since past.”
Luna and Scrivener glanced towards one another… and Scrivener smiled faintly after a moment, looking down at the three ivory cards in his hoof as he asked quietly: “With these cards then… we can… bring everything back?”
“No. Valthrudnir was not that powerful, my friend…” Odin looked sympathetically towards Scrivy, and then he smiled faintly as the earth pony closed his eyes and Luna gritted her teeth. “But do you remember the Pales? The lost souls, looking for a home… well, you cannot take this and wish: ‘I want all my friends back, exactly as they once were.’ No magic can do that. But perhaps you can wish for their vessels… a body is only a breathing hunk of meat without a soul, there’s not much complicated there. And the Pales, with the right guidance…”
“A soul for a vessel, to bring them to life… to let them live again. Rebirth.” Luna murmured, looking with surprise at Odin. “But the process…”
“Would be long and difficult. And the Black Wolves of Hell have claimed your world, Brynhild, and destroyed it.” Odin smiled a bit. “But maybe there’s another world. A world… where ponies don’t exist, blank and empty. I’ll help you find it… if you agree to help me guard the anchor world. The precious world… the tie that binds it all together.”
“I will not leave Scrivener Blooms.” Luna said sharply, and Odin chuckled quietly, shaking his head, and the female frowned as she tilted her own. “Then… what does thou mean?”
“Only that your world will be… through the looking glass. On the other side of the anchor world…  one of a thousand reflections, yes, but one of the closer reflections. It will not be like the Equestria you knew… it’s a bit more chaotic, maybe… like the old days a little, as well.” Odin rubbed thoughtfully at the underside of his beak. “You’ll need to be on guard.”
Scrivener and Luna traded a look… and then they both smiled to one-another before nodding slowly, and Odin chuckled quietly, before Luna asked softly: “Then… what of my brother, Sleipnir? Thine own son, Thor… will… is it within thy power to rescue him from Helheim?”
“That is your request?” Odin looked surprised, and when Luna nodded firmly, the falcon looked down… then shook his head slowly and murmured: “I am… humbled, Brynhild. Humbled, and almost insulted, which humbles me all the more. Yes, I shall free him from Helheim, I’m strong enough and have friends who will be glad to aid even this old wretch… and when he returns to Valhalla, Sleipnir shall be among my most honored, as he always was as Thor. Is this acceptable?”
Luna smiled faintly and nodded… and then they watched in surprise as Odin slowly stood, brushing himself off and saying quietly: “I’ll take you both out of Alfheim, before we part ways… but first, before I forget… I have one other thing I meant to give you. Something that I kept in jealousy. Something that I didn’t want… well…” 
Odin chuckled quietly, and then he reached up and beneath his fur jacket, before he pulled out a single blue apple… and he smiled a bit as he tossed this to Luna, who frowned as she caught it… and then her eyes widened, leaning back slightly as she whispered: “This is…”
“Inside it is the piece of you I always kept. The part that makes a woman complete, if you’ll allow me the anachronism without hitting me again.” Odin looked at her softly, saying quietly: “My pride… my jealousy… trying to prove that I was still top god even though I was no longer any kind of god… it all drove me to doing wicked, awful things, and for that I am sorry, Brynhild. I saved you and took your ability to bear a child, saying it was a fair price… and it was not. I had already put you to sleep, and taken your life like a coward… and then, out of vanity and spite and anger, well… but enough of that.”
Luna looked silently at the apple… and then she leaned down and bit into it slowly, and shuddered as a spark rolled down her spine, wings fluttering as her mane sizzled before swaying backwards as it went from solid blue locks to ephemeral, beautiful starlit darkness once again… and she leaned forwards and breathed hard as inside her, Nightmare Moon whispered: We are whole… yes, I feel it… 
“Odin…” Luna glanced up towards him as the apple turned red in her hoof, smiling faintly at him… but the falcon only shook his head and smiled tiredly, waving a hand before he turned and strode calmly away.
Scrivener Blooms and Luna looked quietly at one another… and then Luna smiled a little as she slowly took a bite out of the apple, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and saying softly: “We have much to do. Capturing spirits, ensuring a once-god keeps his bargain, rebuilding all that is lost.”
“But we have time. We have hope now. We should make the best of both those things, and not rush.” Scrivy replied softly… and Luna smiled softly at him before they leaned in, sharing a soft kiss for a moment before pulling away… and the male smiled a little as he wiped at his mouth and murmured: “Apple.”
Luna laughed quietly, shaking her head slowly… and then the two faced forwards, towards where Odin calmly awaited in the whiteness, as the male carefully tucked the ivory cards beneath his armored vest and Luna tossed the last of the apple away, the black pearl hanging from the worn ivy around her neck all but glowing, her broken armor still clinging to her proud warrior’s frame as they walked side-by-side towards the future.