The streets of Wintercrest were particularly dark that night, cobblestone concealed by the new moon and thick clouds obscuring even thin wisps of starlight. Total darkness never quite descended—from the shores of Lake Mistvale, strange flickers of green occasionally emerged with the high tide, whispering of the strange seaponies who were not so dead as the city's ordinary inhabitants.
Domino kept his head as he led his charge through the ruined streets, occasionally raising one pale wing to warn his companion away from some danger the unicorn did not perceive. They stopped beside a tumbled churchyard wall, stepping over the broken remnants of pews and sanctuary. A thin layer of dead white barnacles coated the building's lowest levels, sign of the ancient flood that had long ago destroyed the city.
The more prominent sign of that destruction lumbered past the gate—a dozen or so of the dead, shambling in a pack. The level of detail to them was particularly gruesome, rotten bodies with coats hanging loose and bones exposed. Rot pulled their teeth back, giving the otherwise herbivorous jaws of ponies a little more threat.
They moaned quietly to each other as they walked. One sniffed, turning briefly in Domino's direction. His heart caught, his wings spreading in preparation for a desperate flight—then they turned away, and passed on along the broken road.
His companion did not take so many steps to hide. The unicorn stallion wore a crisp black suit with a thin black tie and square glasses on his face—like a NASA scientist taken from a 1960s photograph. Except of course that he was a unicorn, instead of a human being.
"Does the necromancer have to be so obtuse about everything?" he asked, far too loudly. "Ponies tell me she's the only one who can do what I want. But why would she live in a city of the dead?"
The real answer was too complicated to be worth giving. Domino could spend lifetimes explaining the why and how of Arcane Word to those who came seeking her. He never did. "She's a necromancer," he whispered back, hoping his tone would be suggestive for his client. "She doesn't want to be bothered by ponies who aren't willing to risk their lives to talk to her."
The stallion rolled his eyes, voice no quieter than it had been before. "Sweet arrangement for you then, isn't it? I bet you're in this together."
Where was the sound of the shambling dead? Domino's ears perked, and he leaned out from the fallen church wall, scanning the gloom. Pale green ghost-lights flickered in the darkness, providing his day-tuned eyes with just enough light to see. But even without them, Domino Storm knew the layout of Wintercrest perfectly. Every house, every old shop and destroyed park. The old statue of Acanthus still standing in the square.
It was only the contents of the town that changed. Occult magics worked in this place, leaving the dead to rest in peace whenever Arcane wished, and raising whole armies of her dead citizens when she felt so inclined. Today was far closer to the latter than the former.
"I should think so, she's my wife," he whispered. "But you're here with me, that means I think your job is interesting enough for her. Getting to the old castle should be the easy part."
At that moment, Domino discovered exactly what had happened to the missing undead, as they broke through the rotten wood and stone at their other side. A skeletal earth pony at the front yelled something in his direction, a howl that might be a demand for revenge, or maybe a funhouse sound-effect. It was hard to tell how much the undead were in on it.
Part of getting in to see the Necromancer meant agreeing to her perception overlay, imparting an appropriate fear of death and physical harm on any visitor. His client Mystic Crescent shouted in terror, releasing a flash of white fire from his horn.
The skeletal pony exploded in a shower of bones and dust, like an ice sculpture tossed into an oven. The others roared with hunger, their attention now fully fixed on Mystic Crescent.
"What did I tell you about magic?" Domino yanked the stallion by the hoof, dragging him out into the street. They broke into a gallop together, charging up the incline for the old castle. As they ran, dozens of undead ponies emerged from the fallen houses, all in various stages of decay. Hunger for living magic glowed in their eyes, and a guttural howl passed through the city, carried higher and higher by the dead.
"What was I supposed to do?" Mystic Crescent demanded. "Stand there and die?"
Domino didn't argue. Instead he drew a long, thin blade from the scabbard running along his back, one made to swing with a pegasus wing. He swept through the air ahead of them, clearing aside some particularly rotten undead that blocked the path towards the old castle.
It was far from the ancient paradise Arcane had once used to welcome him to Equestria—the building was now crumbling, its top floor long collapsed. The walls still stood, reinforced with bits of old houses and metal rubble. Much of that broken material scavenged from the rest of the city grew into a spire rising where once the castle's main structure had been, a patchwork of different materials combined by black crystal into a rough circle.
Mystic Crescent turned his horn on another nearby wave of undead, slicing through them with ruthless efficiency. That only raised more shouts of fury from the city. Whole buildings emptied, overflowing the streets behind them with an ocean of the dead. Green corpse-light glowed from rotten eyes, smelling of mildew and rot.
No matter how many clients he brought to the Necromancer, this process was never quite the same twice. "Open the gate!" he shouted, as they approached the portcullis. As he did, ancient brass automatons rose from the wall, snapping jerkily to their posts. These were built from old code, some of the oldest in all Equestria. They would probably keep working until the stars themselves gave out.
They managed to get the portcullis up a foot or two by the time Mystic Crescent reached it. The unicorn clutched at his satchel with one hoof, then scrambled underneath, scuffing and tearing at his perfect suit in the process.
Domino slowed as he got close, waiting for it to open to his full height. He sheathed his sword, then spun around to the ocean of undead following him.
He'd been through this dance enough that he could even make sense of their moans. Protests from a group of nearby unicorns wearing rotten dresses, indignant at the escape of their prey. There were no words, but the meaning was obvious—Mystic Crescent cheated, why was Domino still helping him?
He turned both wings towards them apologetically, mouthing the words “too important,” before backing through the portcullis. As soon as it rattled down, the mob of undead bashed up against it, clawing and tearing to reach the courtyard.
The old steel rattled and creaked, but ultimately held—for now.
"I wouldn't try any of that with the Necromancer," he said, patting the unicorn's shoulder. "The stories don't say whether she's alive or dead. She has killed clients before."
Mystic Crescent adjusted his jacket with a faint glow from his horn, making the kind of mistake that had killed past clients. But given the wealth in currency and opportunity he had to offer here, Domino expected far greater tolerance from Arcane. Within reason, anyway. She was still a dangerous necromancer, with a skill unique among mortals.
"She won't kill me," Mystic Crescent said flatly. "We both know that. If I die in her shard, she won't get my payment."
What would Mystic Crescent do if he did die here? So far as Domino knew, the only other who could do it was CelestAI herself, the machine god of the universe. Anyone who came to the Necromancer had already rejected an appeal to the divine.
"She is already waiting for you in her sanctum," Domino continued. "I've given her some details about your case so she can make preparations. The task may already be complete."
They walked together through the abandoned courtyard. The castle had no undead, but signs of his old life remained nonetheless. Arcane's carriage rotted in one corner where the stables used to be. The castle itself was rubble, though bits and pieces remained.
Violet's old room remained intact, its purple stained glass against so much that was shattered and ruined. Every now and then, she still wanted to visit.
The sanctum was really just the old lobby she had once used to sell pirate software in Tortuga—in a way, it still was. Only now they accessed it by stepping into the still-intact basement, descending past a lovingly-decorated dungeon set.
They walked past rusty cells filled with various monstrosities, meant to resemble the Necromancer's failed experiments. At least Domino hoped it was only a resemblance. A half-animate pony missing most of their limbs hobbled around in an iron cage, watching them pass with black, lifeless eyes.
But Equestria was a domain of near-infinite individuals, with tastes that could shock and disgust. In an infinity of possible ponies, that meant plenty who enjoyed "living" in Wintercrest, waiting for an opportunity to devour any they fell upon.
"If you think that, you must not understand the gravity of what I'm asking for," Mystic Crescent said. "I'm not here because there aren't others. I'm here to put your Necromancer's reputation to the test."
Domino chuckled. "Sure, kid. You're the first pony who ever wanted to bring back your dad who was too proud and human to emigrate. I'm sure Arcane Word will have no idea what to do with your request."
They reached the final door, worked of dark stone inlaid with gold. Dark words in Latin ran along the outside, words he only knew because of how many times Arcane had explained them.
"Mutatis Mutandis."
He held the door open, and light spilled out from within, illuminating Arcane's sanctum. It mixed the spooky dungeon and practical laboratory in equal measure, a round room with a glowing crystal pedestal in the center big enough for one pony to stand on. Chairs and benches were arranged around it, with enough space for customers to converse, or inspect their purchase.
Sure enough, Arcane Word was already here.
Many ponies expected an old witch, as shriveled as the zombies outside. They found instead a young unicorn mare with a slightly curved and transparent horn, a little like the ancient Sombra. But where dark magic had twisted his mind beyond recognition, Arcane remained in control.
She wore only a crown of thin metal on her head, brown and slightly rusted on the edges.
On the pedestal before them was a ghostly outline, one that vaguely resembled a stallion, but was still transparent.
"You've come a long way, Mystic Crescent. How long did it take to travel here all the way from Andromeda?"
"Centuries," he replied, without missing a beat. "But that means far less than it used to."
They met near the door, and Arcane exchanged a polite hoofshake with him. "Not all the First Generation still live in Sol shards, Arcane. My talents were needed elsewhere. We all spend our ancient wealth differently. I'm interested to give you all of mine, if you can do what I ask."
This was usually the part where Domino's involvement in the situation transformed to a simple observer. Sometimes he helped more actively, a subject for potential clients to test potential appearances for their purchase before settling on one. That was easier to do with a living pony as competent with different bodies as he had become.
Domino cleared a few cushions away, brushed the table clean, then took a seat beside Arcane. Even the table had to match the decor, warped old wood with many burns and old ripples.
Strange that most of this furniture was older than the First Generation of human civilization. Almost everything was.
"You know what I offer?" Arcane asked.
Mystic Crescent settled across the stable from the two of them. "You're the Necromancer. You bring back the dead. Those who never emigrated, those who never even met CelestAI. You do the impossible."