Chapter Fifty Four: Home Sweet Home
~BlackRoseRaven
Valthrudnir's mansion, as expected, was not only clean, polished to a sparkle, and obsessively-organized, it was also filled with self-adulation, arrogance, and relics so bizarre and monstrous it made it quickly clear that the owner of this place was a sociopath with no regard for mortal life.
Scrivener grimaced as he studied a glass trophy case filled with eight different skulls, each resting in a shaped holder and with a small plaque in front of it, detailing a name, the cause of death, and why Valthrudnir had 'honored' them like this. The earth pony drew back after a moment, shaking his head before he glanced over his shoulder at the open set of double doors leading into a trophy room Luna and Twilight were exploring with horrified fascination.
Scrivener strode quietly inside, looking apprehensively in all directions as he did so: the atmosphere was thick with the presence of the Jötnar, even though he was long dead. Or at least... Scrivener hoped he was long dead, thinking back on his vision and feeling chills run down his spine before he forced himself to calm down.
He looked at the floor, concentrating on it, trying to clear his mind: hardwood, ash, he thought. All the floors were the same polished hardwood, many carpeted... just as the walls were all the same plain eggshell. And as he looked up, at the trophy cases and shelving units, he saw the similarity, the sense of sameness between them, too. Valthrudnir liked control, and he liked regularity, and he liked when everything fit together. Had liked all that... he was dead.
But reminding himself of this didn't help the charcoal stallion feel better; it just made his stomach twist even as Twilight stared at a large, glass trophy case in which was a Nibelung Architect who had been stuffed and posed in his flowing robes, holding a golden scepter in his hands and with a crown on his head. The plaque cemented into the heavy glass in front of him declared it was 'Dvalinn, Master Artificer.' It sickened Scrivener a little to understand that apart from his pedantic games, Valthrudnir's hobbies included taxidermy... specifically of other people, since this wasn't the first person they had come across that had been turned into a trophy.
Then Luna turned away from a gleaming silver chalice, muttering in disgust: “We are learning nothing here. Aye, 'tis all more proof that Valthrudnir was a wicked monster but we already knew this, did we not?”
“I can't believe he killed and...” Twilight shivered, turning away as Scrivener bowed his head silently, and the violet mare studied him for a moment before she asked finally: “Where did Odin and Pinkamena go?”
“Oh... through the kitchens, I think. I'd rather not go in there.” Scrivener grimaced a bit, then he turned and looked back and forth before reaching up and rubbing moodily at his skull, murmuring: “The worst part is the sensation of familiarity...”
Twilight frowned at him as Luna softened, but then Scrivener dropped his head forwards, muttering moodily: “Maybe I'm not thinking about this the right way, though... maybe if I...”
The earth pony looked up thoughtfully, then strode out into the hall, and Luna and Twilight traded looks before following after him before the sapphire mare cocked her head curiously and asked: “Does thou truly think that will work?”
Scrivener only shrugged after a moment, looking moodily down as he muttered: “Well, it wasn't a two way link, but... our instincts were attuned to each other's. I think that... if I let myself focus on those feelings, those instincts...”
As he spoke, he strode onwards, walking a little faster as they passed into another hall: Valthrudnir's manse appeared large on the outside, but on the inside it was gargantuan, as if time and space had been distorted solely so that the Jötnar could better feed his ego. Luna and Twilight followed quickly, trading curious looks as Scrivener hurried past doors, then turned suddenly and headed up a tall, curled staircase to a floor above, muttering: “That sensation is getting stronger. Horses of Heaven, the corruption in my head...”
Scrivener clenched his eyes shut, coughing once and not feeling the black tears slowly dripping down his cheek, too intent on finding some answer, on being... useful, for once in his miserable life. Because he was worthless otherwise, wasn't he? He was a meat-shield in battle, a beacon for the Clockwork Ponies, a flaw that Valthrudnir had mocked and used again and again to hurt Luna and Looking Glass World and everyone he cared about...
Scrivener staggered drunkenly, snarling as more corruption dripped down his cheeks, and his vision flashed as saw walls of flesh all around him, inset with massive cables and black pipes pumping toxic blood through the house, keeping the endless machinations running. Then his sight returned, even as Luna shouted his name, running after him with Twilight as the stallion turned a corner and ran up another staircase...
He crashed through a door at the top, then staggered again before coughing violently, as voices rattled through his head and corruption dripped out of his jaws and nose. Then he snarled and shook his head out quickly before staggering across the sitting room he had ended up in, even as Luna stumbled into the room and stared in horror at the splatters of black goo, before she shouted: “Scrivener, stop! Thou art hurting thyself!”
“Pain is pleasure.” Scrivener muttered as he shoved open a tall door at the back of the room, and Luna cursed under her breath as she ran around the chairs and Twilight followed after her, fear in her eyes as Scrivener staggered into the room beyond and whispered: “Pain is better than being useless.”
“Damnation, Scrivener!” Luna tackled the earth pony from behind, pinning him down as he coughed violently, more corruption splattering out of his jaws as tears and dark mire streamed from his eyes, and she snarled down at him, trembling violently. Their link was filled with static again, Scrivener's mind only a dark void, but she could still feel him through his body, hers overtop his, holding him in place. It was like their armor wasn't even there as she looked down at him, before she whispered softly: “Come back.”
“N-No... wait...” Scrivener whispered, looking up but not struggling, pointing across the room at a display case sitting a few feet away from several enormous shelves filled with books. Comfortable armchairs were to either side of it, and there was a large couch and coffee table and all the trappings of a room that was part library and part plush den... the perfect place for Valthrudnir to have kept his greatest trophy. “There!”
Luna looked up: she only saw the open glass cell, but Scrivener saw the translucent shape of Kvasir inside, whimpering and sitting back in a corner of his prison as Valthrudnir leaned over the case with a cold smile, saying mockingly: Now you're just being ungrateful! After the gift I gave you, after how I made you from the Vanir and the Aesir all glued together... an imperfect homunculus with perfect blood. Blood that will fill empty vessels with knowledge... blood that could bring life to other shells and husks, in the right amount and mixed with the right materials. Oh, I know, I know! So much to take in, alive for only a few hours now, and you don't know who or what you are, but I'll tell you. You are a trophy and a toy, and a small but important piece of a delightful little experiment I've been working on. Broken toys have to be replaced, after all...
Then the image of Valthrudnir smiled cruelly before he straightened and leaned back, reaching a hand up to grasp a book... and this glowed in Scrivener's vision before the images faded. Scrivener dropped his head forwards, groaning in pain, but now the despair, the agony, and the sense of haziness were all fading slowly as Scrivener muttered: “Get off me, Luna.”
Luna sighed in relief, responding by closing her eyes and only settling firmer down against him, and Scrivener reached up and rubbed at his face, wiping corruption and goo away as pain flickered through his skull before he felt their mental link restoring bit-by-bit. “I... I'm sorry. Visionary's powers and the corruption and... everything else drove me insane for a little bit.”
“You need to stop using those powers. They're... they're killing you.” Twilight whispered, leaning down beside him and trembling a bit as she studied his face. “Horses of Heaven, Scrivener... when I'm wishing that was blood coming out of you, you know there's a problem. That... that goo...”
“I... I know. I need to find a way to... balance it, to dilute the effects, or... just... handle it until we get through this.” Scrivener grimaced a bit, then Luna finally hesitantly slipped off him, letting him climb to his hooves before he looked up and asked quietly, before either winged unicorn could say anything: “Can someone grab that book? Third shelf from the top, the big one with the red binding.”
Twilight frowned, glancing towards the shelf before her horn glowed and pulled this out while Luna was still dubiously looking for it, and it floated down to the ponies before Scrivener caught it. He groaned at the sight of the runes on the cover, but then Luna smiled and took it from him, saying kindly: “Fear not, I can read these perfectly well still. The language of the Jötnar was not so different from our own... mostly so we could make threats against each other, I think.”
“Actually, it was because much of the Aesir's culture was taken from the giants and used by us.” Odin's voice came calmly, and Scrivener blushed and dropped his head forwards, hurriedly rubbing at his face as the falcon-headed entity strode through the door and both Luna and Twilight glanced at the once-god with a guilty expression.
Pinkamena followed behind him, loudly chewing something, and Odin gave her a grimace before he sighed as he turned his eyes forwards, saying dryly: “We were able to find you so quickly because you left a trail of corruption in your wake, Scrivener Blooms. The looks on the faces of Brynhild and Twilight do not help, either.”
“Oh shut up, Odin.” Luna grumbled, the book floating in front of her and opening before she frowned a bit, paging rapidly through it as her eyes flicked over illustrations and words she caught here and there. “This is an alchemist's journal...”
Odin held out his hand, and Luna passed the open book to him without needing to be further asked, the once-god taking it and slowly turning a page as he quickly read the book over. Then he nodded slowly, muttering: “Of course. He put this right in plain sight, right behind his trophy... but after freeing Kvasir, I was eager to leave and didn't think he'd leave two such treasures not only unguarded, but in such close proximity... foolish, and cunning.”
The once-god fell silent as he flipped slowly through the book, then closed it and held it up to gaze at the front cover, muttering: “Volume Three. I wonder...”
He looked up, glancing back and forth over the shelves, and when Luna frowned at him, the falcon-headed entity said quickly, gesturing around at the wall-to-wall shelving: “Search for other volumes of this book. They will likely look the same, like... yes, there!”
The once-god pointed with his cane at another red book, and Luna's horn glowed as she pulled it out of the shelf with telekinesis to pass it to him. He took it, then grimaced at the cover, muttering: “Volume Five. Why aren't these books in order when everything else in this place is?”
“Maybe they are.” Scrivener said slowly, looking over at one of the side shelves, and Odin cocked his head as he glanced at him, Twilight frowning a bit before the stallion grimaced and pointed at a red book near the top left of shelving along the side wall. “I bet that's Volume One.”
Twilight's horn glowed as she lifted it down to pass it to Odin, who dropped the other books on the back of the couch. He studied it, then nodded slowly and muttered: “You're right. Volume One.”
“They're arranged chronologically, left to right, clockwise.” Scrivener smiled wryly over his shoulder, adding dryly to Twilight: “Kind of makes you look as disorganized as me.”
Twilight glared at him, and then, as Luna and Odin looked for the other volumes and Pinkamena simply chewed her food and watched with interest, Scrivener pointed at a small, thin white book at the very top left of the shelves, asking quietly: “Can you get that for me, Twilight?”
The violet mare frowned at him, but then nodded, and a moment later, the book floated carefully down. Scrivener took it, looking at the runes on the cover of the worn, dusty book... it was about the only book here that wasn't in pristine condition, hadn't been taken care of, had been shoved up and away as if Valthrudnir was ignoring it on purpose... or maybe trying to forget about it. But he couldn't destroy it... and if a sociopath like him couldn't destroy it...
He gritted his teeth, concentrating as he drew knowledge from Luna's mind despite the static still tingling in their link, and slowly, the runes formed into a coherent word. It made his brain ache a little to read this way, but the pain was more than worth it: in his hooves, he held the first thing Valthrudnir had ever written... his journal.
He flipped the book open as Twilight cocked her head curiously, striding over to his side to glance down at the neat shaping of runes over the page in some kind of ink. Over the years they had faded and smeared, but it was still legible as Scrivener gritted his teeth, forcing himself to work through the words as the runes danced and pulsed in his vision. Entry, Day of Rest. I have decided to take the time to write down my thoughts on important events and matters, to serve as a reminder of what I have lived through and what I have achieved. To remind me to not show mercy to those who I am determined to rout out, one way or another...
As Scrivener read, Twilight drew back a bit and glanced over at Pinkamena, but the demon only shrugged moodily as she glanced over her shoulder at a large oil painting on the wall, a portrait of Valthrudnir himself in a smiling, thoughtful pose. “So that's the douchebag, huh? He doesn't look too scary. Looks more like some middle-management reject who got fired because one little taste of power made him so crazy they had to pry him off his secretary.”
“That describes Valthrudnir well.” Odin muttered, shaking his head in distaste as he paged through another of the alchemy books before he turned his eyes to Luna, saying quietly: “Check the end of the shelves now, Brynhild. See if there's any information about recent projects.”
“Won't be here.” Scrivener muttered, and then he blushed as he realized he'd spoken out loud and that all eyes were now looking at him, Odin's gaze in particular a little more intent than he'd like. “Sorry. I mean, it's not likely they'll be here... these are all finished books, even this thing, although from his last entry I think there's another journal somewhere...”
“Wait, a personal journal?” Odin stepped towards Scrivener quickly, leaning down intently, and the stallion winced up at the once god before he held a hand out. “Let me see.”
Scrivener hesitated, looking up at the falcon-headed entity awkwardly, and Odin frowned at him, beginning to lean forwards before he winced when Luna firmly jabbed him in the leg with her horn. He staggered to the side with a curse, and Luna said flatly: “As I tell my son Antares, Odin, he who acquires it, owns it. Scrivy will share with thee in time but do not forget that... thou art not the only one... scarred by Valthrudnir here.”
There was silence for a few long moments, and then Odin straightened and bowed his head, saying quietly: “You're right. I apologize, Scrivener. But I am interested in... whether or not you've found anything that could help us.”
Scrivener shook his head, then he smiled awkwardly before offering the journal, replying finally: “I can't read the runes very well, anyway, they... make my head hurt. Maybe you can find something. I... I think I need to take a walk.”
“I'll go with you. Let these losers finish up in here.” Pinkamena said mildly, and then she grinned over at Twilight when the violet mare opened her mouth. “Sorry, I'm not as into threesomes as you are. You stay here.”
Twilight glared at this and blushed as Luna snorted in amusement, retorting rapidly: “It's not like that at all and it's not about that and... and... I'm not into-”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Scrivy. Oh, hey, you got a little something...” Pinkamena leaned over, then licked slowly up Scrivener's cheek, making him wince and grind his teeth together as she slurped a trail of black corruption off his face before smacking her lips delightedly. “Frigging Helheim, Scrivy, if I didn't like you so much I'd break you open like an egg and glut myself on that dark pudding!”
“Oh how I hate you.” Scrivener muttered as Luna glared at the demon, and then the stallion sighed and said awkwardly, cheeks tingeing a faint red as Odin looked at him with strange seriousness: “I'm... going to go now. I'll let you know if something goes wrong.”
“Just... don't hurt yourself.” Twilight said finally, and then she shot Pinkamena a grumpy look, but nodded to her all the same as the demon turned and followed Scrivener out.
They headed back to the stairway and returned to the second floor, and the stallion sighed a little before Pinkamena pounced on his back and pinned him down on his stomach, making him wheeze in pain as she grinned down at him and asked mildly: “So why the hell is this place such a labyrinth even if it's so goddamn peachy clean, too? You know I spilled some blood all over the kitchen – by accident, of course – and it just kind of steamed out of existence? What crazy douchebag magic is that?”
“You're in a good mood.” Scrivener muttered, and Pinkamena shrugged before slipping off him, letting Scrivener get up just enough for her to hop forwards and leapfrog over him, knocking him flat once more from the force of her rough shove.
He grumbled from the ground before crawling up to his hooves again as Pinkamena walked down the hall, and then the demon added irritably: “And by the way, I expect a goddamn answer. I know you got one.”
Scrivener sighed tiredly, and then he said in an exasperated voice: “Because the design reflects Valthrudnir's psychotic mind, maybe, I dunno. He presents himself as organized, thoughtful, clean... but in reality, he's an insane nutbag. He's a genius, sure, but everything he does and plans is convoluted and riddled with... with madness. I mean, where was the guarantee that even if he destroyed everything, succeeded in his plans... he wouldn't just destroy himself along with it? The... the simple things have always eluded Valthrudnir. That's why we beat him, that's why this home of his is such a complex labyrinth, such a confusing mass of passages and stairways and... stupidity.”
“See? You always have some answer for everything. Come on, this way.” Pinkamena trotted down the hall, and Scrivener looked after her dumbly before he sighed and dropped his head forwards, following grumpily after the demon.
But before he could even voice the question, she grinned over her shoulder at him, saying mildly: “Hey, don't forget, you're not the only psychotic here, Scrivy. You got me, too, right here with you. Hell, we share a cell, don't we? We see things so much the same way...”
“Beneath the masks.” Scrivener murmured, as they fell into step side-by-side down the wide hall, turning down another corridor before the stallion grimaced a bit as he looked down and realized that not only did the corridor curve, they were following a gradual upward slope. “But now, the visions are so much more intense...”
“Yeah, so the candy-dispensers at the psych ward put you on some bad meds. That wannabe-shrink who kicked your flank – and okay, smacked me down too – didn't help a whole lot either, but.... Scrivener... you're still here. You're still here, too.” Pinkamena halted, reaching up and firmly poking Scrivener's forehead, looking at her with a strange smile on her features as she said softly: “Do I like seeing you in pain? Well, a little, but you know what I mean by that. Do I like seeing you stuck in the asylum with me? Yes. Yes I do. You're my cellmate. We're side-by-side, one with the other, hoof-in-hoof. Hell, our straightjackets are sewn together., you don't get any closer than that.”
She laughed and shook her head, then suddenly hugged him tightly, and Scrivener smiled awkwardly despite himself before she suddenly threw him hard down on his side, the charcoal stallion wheezing before her hoof slammed into the side of his neck pinning him down as she glared at him and added sharply: “And that is why if you give in to that corruption in your head and let it kill you, I'm going to rape your corpse and then use it as cat food for Kǫttr, you hear me?”
Scrivener blinked slowly, and then he grimaced before asking dryly: “Do you really think Sleipnir would let you feed me to your quote-unquote 'son,' especially after you... I don't even want to imagine that, actually.”
“Yes you do. You're sick like that.” Pinkamena said moodily, and then she grabbed him by the mane and dragged him off the ground, Scrivener hissing through his teeth in pain before he managed to get his hooves beneath him, and Pinkamena glared into his eyes, then leaned forwards and said quietly: “Now you listen to me, crowbait. You conquer this, one way or the other. You dig so deep, you dive so far into the abyss, you fill yourself up with all that pain... until all you can see is light, all you can feel is numbness, then pleasure. You can handle it. I hate you, and I admire you, because I know you can handle it without losing yourself.”
“Says the demon.” Scrivener slapped her hoof away after a moment with a wince, and when she bared her teeth at him, he only smiled and reached up to flick her under the chin. “Hey. If anything shows that you should have a little more respect for yourself... it's that.”
“I don't have time to respect myself, any more than I have time or patience to respect anything else. Now hurry up.” Pinkamena grumbled, shoving him firmly before she stormed onwards, and Scrivener rolled his eyes as he followed after her until they pushed through a doorway that Scrivy was fairly certain should actually lead right back to the room they had come from, but instead, they ended up in another long corridor.
Pinkamena looked back and forth, then she grunted and jerked her head to the right. As they walked along, she snapped at him suddenly with her teeth, but Scrivener only grimaced in return before he checked her firmly, and she grinned a bit before looking ahead, shaking her head and saying meditatively: “I wonder what it would take to get you to beat the crap out of me. I wonder who would win in a real fight between us... not like that cheating-ass stupid-ass weak-ass performance you put on at the arena way back when, that was pathetic and I still gotta spank you for it.”
“You know, I don't want to beat on you and I don't want to get spanked by you. I figure somehow that Odin and Sleipnir might both get on my case about that.” Scrivener replied after a moment, but Pinkamena only laughed loudly.
“Screw you, as if I can't control Slippers. Guy's a weak-tight fish when it comes to two things: poker and me.” Pinkamena snorted at this, shaking her head before she added moodily: “Of course, in a lot of the stories he tells me, every time he gambles with his prostitutes he loses all his money to them, but then he sleeps with them and they end up paying it all back. After seeing what he can do in bed I am very inclined to believe it.” She grinned at him. “You should see for yourself.”
“Can you go back to hitting me now?” Scrivener asked mildly, and Pinkamena responded by stepping forwards and headbutting him hard enough to knock him flat on his stomach, the stallion groaning in pain but the demon shaking her own head briskly out. “Horses of Heaven I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, look at that. Seems weird, doesn't it?” Pinkamena gestured ahead as Scrivener crawled slowly to his hooves for... he wasn't sure how many times it had been now. But as he looked up and ahead, he frowned a bit and nodded slowly at what the demon had pointed out: a large, full-length mirror was inset into one wall only a few feet away, covered by a thick curtain.
Scrivener and Pinkamena approached this, and then the demon yanked the curtain back... and both she and Scrivener winced backwards at their reflections. Pinkamena's grinning demon form leered back at her from the glass, and Scrivener's half-wyrm, half-pony shape glared out at him.
Pinkamena cursed under her breath, then she yanked her axe off her back and swung it savagely into the mirror, sending cracks through the glass and ripping deep into the wall beyond: but horribly, black mire and red blood exploded from the shattered glass as well, and the demon staggered backwards before cursing and quickly leaning out to seize her axe and try to yank it loose.
Instead of the axe ripping free, an entire, thin section of wall slid several inches forwards, more glass tumbling down from the broken mirror before the half-demon finally tore her axe out with a grunt. Now, the broken mirror was simply blank, the shards no longer reflecting anything... and Scrivener winced a bit as he traded a look with the demon before she snapped: “Well you didn't stop me!”
Scrivener only grumbled, then he carefully grasped the side of the sliding panel before attempting to push it sideways. It moved with ease, rumbling along as if on some kind of invisible track and revealing an archway beyond... before a half-wyrm, half-pony monster leapt out with a snarling roar, tackling Scrivener onto his back, a horrible laceration already ripped through its shoulder and chest as it foamed at the jaws, eyes glowing with terrible red light.
Before Pinkamena could react, a gray demon lunged out next, its features and body cracked like glass as it lunged at her and tackled her down: their wounded reflections, violently seeking revenge. Pinkamena stared with horror as she half-hid behind her axe, using it to try and shove the demon off as it clung to this and bit viciously at her face, and Scrivener was snarling on his back, swinging his hoof up violently into the throat of the monstrosity pinning him down, but to little avail as it tried to crush him as it rose its single front claw, hissing like a snake-
Scrivener suddenly angled one rear hoof down instead of up, slamming it as hard as he could into the monster's knee, and the hybrid howled in pain as it threw itself backwards before Scrivener kicked his other rear hoof up into its mouth on a lucky strike. The creature was knocked gargling and spitting blood, and Scrivener hurriedly rolled to his hooves before he spun around and slammed both rear hooves as hard as he could into the monster's face.
It was knocked crashing backwards, hitting the broken mirror and knocking more shards of glass falling down around it in a glassy hail as it shrieked in pain. But a moment later, it snarled in fury, lunging forwards in animal rage and lashing its claw out.
Scrivener tried to slip to the side, but the claw tore into his shoulder, ripping through the armor plating and flaying chunks of metal from his body, cutting apart the mesh beneath and ripping open his hide. He cursed in shock, stunned by the blow even as the monstrosity skittered backwards, then it grinned viciously as it swept up a dagger of broken glass and lunged forwards again, sensing vulnerability.
Scrivener's eyes widened as he slipped backwards, but he hit the wall, then howled in misery when the knife of thick glass tore deep into his shoulder. The monster hissed at him, visibly enjoying his suffering before it slammed a hoof into his breast, knocking him backwards, and Scrivener gargled in pain before the monster brought its claw back, prepared to deal a lethal blow as the earth pony snarled up at it, knife of glass buried in his shoulder...
And Scrivener did the only thing he could think of, lunging forwards and tackling the creature before he howled in pain even as he rammed his shoulder upwards, squeezing it in as tight an embrace as he could, sending the dagger of glass sticking out of the charcoal stallion's shoulder ripping into the creature's neck. It screamed in pain even as Scrivener felt his limb go weak and indescribable agony fill his system, but even as the monster shoved him away, it only succeeded in tearing the wound in its own neck wider as the chunk of glass broke off, the reflection monster howling weakly as it clawed at its throat before suddenly shattering apart into porcelain and broken bits of mirror.
Pinkamena, meanwhile, was still grappling with her reflection, breathing hard, staring up at it as it simply tried to crawl over the axe to bite her before the dull-pink pony suddenly snarled, roaring furiously: “Enough!”
She snarled and yanked her axe hard to the side, slicing viciously upwards with it and tearing through the reflection demon's breast and body, and it screamed as it was knocked backwards before Pinkamena's rear legs snapped up, locking around its throat as she smoothly twisted to the side and rolled. She ended up in a straddle over its throat, pinning its head back as her axe swung up, and then she brought the handle down in a cruel, crushing thrust that smashed through its skull, the mirror demon shattering apart into broken fragments of glass before the haft of the axe hammered into the floor.
She leaned forwards against her battle axe, breathing hard in and out, trembling a little as she stared blankly down at the hardwood floor, and Scrivener looked over at the demon, rasping quietly himself. Then, slowly, he approached her, and Pinkamena snarled at him, but the charcoal earth pony slipped forwards all the same and hugged her around the neck, looking past her as she continued to snarl loudly even as a tear spilled down her cheek, whispering: “I shouldn't be scared of my own goddamn self...”
“There's nothing more sane to be scared of.” Scrivener muttered, and Pinkamena fell quiet as she dropped her head for a moment against his armored shoulder, then sighed and shoved him away. They traded a look, and then the demon tossed her axe away for a moment to reach forwards, seizing Scrivener by the head and foreleg and holding him in place as she bit into the still-exposed end of glass and carefully wiggled the long blade of broken mirror free from his shoulder.
Scrivener cursed and gasped in pain, going pale as she tore it free and spat this out, then she looked down at it before saying moodily: “It broke. Don't be a crybaby about this or I'll knock you out.”
Scrivener stared as Pinkamena leaned back, yanking a dagger free... and a few minutes later, the charcoal pony was shivering, his shoulder a bloody mess but all the broken glass at least removed, even if he felt weak from blood loss. Pinkamena was licking the last of his blood from her knife before she wiped it clean against the holster, then she sheathed the dagger and looked at him moodily. “Come on. We better make this search fast.”
The earth pony closed his eyes and nodded, then he winced as his shoulder steamed visibly before slowly healing, Pinkamena frowning at this as Scrivener muttered: “Twilight's healing Luna's wound... it carries through to me, so we don't have to worry about me bleeding to death.”
Pinkamena grunted, then she picked up her axe and fitted it over her back as she muttered: “Guess Odin lied about taking down all the traps or defenses...”
“Let's just see what Valthrudnir had hidden.” Scrivener replied tiredly, and Pinkamena grunted at him again before she strode forwards, firmly checking him out of the way to take the front. He grimaced, but smiled wryly all the same: her taking point said much more about her character than her beating on a wounded earth pony, he thought. Particularly because that earth pony was him.
The room beyond was some kind of study, dimly lit only by the light streaming in from the hall: there was a writing desk, an odd assortment of notes, and a table covered in half-completed models. Pinkamena went immediately over to this, studying it and muttering: “These don't go together. They're all... only partway done, maybe half. Don't recognize what he was building; do know they're proto-prototypes. As in, these are just the half-baked plans for the first version of whatever he was envisioning.”
“Great.” Scrivener muttered, as he automatically checked the ceiling above: he saw only pipes, and a single unlit lantern. It made him grimace, thinking of the vision he'd had before, and then he looked at the desk, searching it quickly and uncovering only two things worthy of note: a glass bottle filled with some kind of amber fluid, and what looked like a rubber stress ball, labeled with a single painted-on, staring black eye. Scrivener paused, then squeezed this between his hooves... and looked up in surprise as the lantern above burst into life.
He squeezed it again, and the lantern went out as Pinkamena looked over at him moodily, then glared when Scrivener squeezed it a third time to turn the lantern back on. “Stop playing with the stupid trinket.”
“Alright, alright.” Scrivener grumbled, tossing this into his pack, then he tilted his head as Pinkamena held up a book she had dug out of the cupboards beneath the work table, giving him a pointed look. Scrivy smiled after a moment despite himself, and then he nodded, picking up the bottle and throwing it to her as she tossed the book over to him.
Pinkamena caught it and yanked the cork out with her teeth, then took a deep swig of the liquid, swirling it through her jaws before spitting it out and muttering: “Rancid. Tastes like that gunk Cowlick pours in some of her machines.”
With that, she threw the bottle aside, and it shattered loudly against a stone wall as Scrivener grunted and paged quickly through the book. Then he nodded to himself, tucking this away as he said quietly: “Think we got what we were looking for. Let's get out of here.”
“Fine with me. Place is stupid, anyway.” Pinkamena muttered, and Scrivener smiled a bit before the demon added moodily: “But I suppose you and Luna want to do another sweep anyway, right?”
“We'll make it quick. Now come on, they're patiently waiting for us down...” Scrivener halted as they stepped out into the corridor, and then Pinkamena threw her head back and shouted in frustration as Scrivener stared at the cul-de-sac that was now in place of their way back, reaching incredulously out and poking at the solid wall with one hoof before he cursed under his breath.
He closed his eyes, concentrating... and Luna, a floor away, growled and rubbed moodily at her armored shoulder, feeling the cut beneath it still aching and making her even more frustrated as she snapped to Odin: “I thought thou had disabled all the defenses in this place!”
“I did.” Odin said quietly, and Luna's expression turned to one of anxiety as Twilight looked up worriedly as well. “What happened now? The mirror I may have overlooked but anything else...”
“The hall has transformed. Gone from passageway to dead end. They shall have to find another way down to us, and us to them.” Luna muttered, and Odin grimaced as he nodded apprehensively. “How did thou put a halt to this mansion's defenses last time?”
“With great difficulty, the enchantments are scattered throughout the building. It's better that we concentrate on finding Scrivener and escaping...” Odin hesitated, then said softly: “And be wary. The timing... it suggests that someone is in here with us.”
Luna shivered at this thought, nodding apprehensively before they hurried onwards, and above, Pinkamena and Scrivener were doing the same, trying to find a way out of the labyrinth of corridors and rooms that had been confusing enough even before they had decided to begin switching places.
There was a feeling of being pushed and herded onwards, however, that neither Pinkamena nor Scrivener could shake, as doors locked in front of them, corridors became blank walls behind them, and they were forced in this direction or that... but always forced forwards, never trapped, never sealed, not even thrown into danger. Scrivener was beginning to get the horrible sense that it was all leading up to something... a sense that was proven true when they shoved through a pair of scarred, battered double doors and into a wrecked, burnt-out hulk of a library, the shelves opposite torn completely down and the words 'Better Luck Next Time!' carved into the solid stone.
The area was still smoldering, as if the fires had raged with incredible intensity for days. Scrivener cursed under his breath as he looked slowly over the burnt walls and floor as he walked into the enormous, semicircular room, before his eyes widened at the sound of sharp, slow clapping.
He breathed hard as he looked slowly up to see Valthrudnir, grinning calmly as he clapped slowly... and it was little relief to see that it was clearly an illusion from the shimmer that surrounded it, and the way it distorted faintly with every clap. It was striding towards them, and Scrivener breathed hard, fighting not to flee, fighting not to faint, as Valthrudnir's voice said coldly from the creature's jaws, slightly out-of-sync with the illusion: “W-Well done, insignificant l-l-little ponies. If you've made it this far, I can only a-a-assume that O-Odin, cowardly t-thief that he is, has led you on an ex-expedition i-into my home. Well, not my home any longer, o-of course... I have Decretum to attend to, a-a-and that requires much of my t-time. So help yourselves to w-whatever garbage you find in this dump, I don't n-need it any longer.”
Valthrudnir smiled coldly as he spread his arms, and Scrivener gritted his teeth as he leaned to the side, looking past the illusion as he noticed some kind of glowing object sitting on the floor, glowing brightly and likely the source of the image and voice. “But d-don't worry, little ponies. My goal is not to leave you to d-die in this place... I want that pleasure m-myself. Instead, I shall let you escape, so that I can w-watch your misery as y-your entire w-w-world is destroyed before your eyes. H-Have fun finding your way out.”
With that, Valthrudnir mockingly bowed, and then the illusion flickered out before the light faded from the device. Pinkamena growled in disgust, then she spat to the side before glaring at Scrivener. “You see that? When you get your hooves on him, you promise me something. You forget all this bull about morality and being the good guys, and you put all your real special talents to use on his face.”
“Normally I'd argue with you, but Valthrudnir... Valthrudnir is a special case.” Scrivener muttered, and then he shook his head grimly, adding dryly: “Before we can do anything, though, we need to get out of here...”
“No, first we need to search this library for why he had it burned down.” Pinkamena replied shortly, and Scrivy looked at her with surprise, the demon shooting him a teasing grin in return. “You forget why we're here or something, or you really going back into 'give up and cry' mode? Look for where the fires started, and where they burned hottest. Look for where there's still embers. I'd wager my teeth that's where the stuff they wanted to destroy will be.”
Scrivener nodded slowly after a moment, and then he hesitated as the demon frowned at him before the stallion shook his head slowly, saying finally: “This isn't like Valthrudnir. You've seen how neat and ordered everything else around here was. Arson like this...”
“Yet you're scared that instead, he is alive, but he's come back bird-poop insane.” Pinkamena glanced over at him, and Scrivener grunted and nodded after a moment with a grimace, and the half-demon snorted before flicking her straight waterfall of a mane to the side, saying moodily: “So what? Let him come in our asylum if he dares. We'll shank him in the shower and split his corpse between us. I'll even share the ribs with you, and let you have the heart.”
“I'm more interested in picking his brain apart.” Scrivener muttered, and Pinkamena laughed at this as she strode towards a charred staircase leading up to the second floor. Then Scrivener turned his attention to sifting through the wreckage, sighing a bit as he tried to follow Pinkamena's advice... although it didn't help he had no idea how to find where a fire had started from.
All the same, it shortly became fairly obvious where a large part of it had been concentrated: the archives of files, sequestered in an archway leading beneath the second floor. Here, everything had been torn apart, broken into pieces, and scattered before being burned to ensure that everything would be destroyed.
Or almost everything, rather. While pushing carefully through the still-hot ashes, Scrivener found a melted metal can before he found a metal tube. It was still locked, and the lock was in ugly enough shape to let him know whoever had done this had been trying to break it open before they had given up and simply thrown it in the fire, likely figuring the inferno would destroy it one way or another. But the metal tube was still intact, and Scrivener studied this for a few moments before he slipped it into one of the satchels at his side.
He and Pinkamena went through the debris for half an hour before Luna, Odin, and Twilight arrived. They regrouped, and Luna had furiously stomped the small illusion-making device to pieces when it had begun replying the Valthrudnir message after detecting them. With the help of the others, they did a thorough hunt through the ashes... but all they found were a few charred books that likely wouldn't be of any use – yet Scrivener still took anyway, since they had the room – and some burnt illustrations.
Luna snapped the lock on the metal tube Scrivener had found with ease, as Odin had inspected the area thoughtfully. He'd returned when they finally managed to drag the melted metal tube open, however, to reveal charred but mostly-whole papers detailing some kind of schematic for what Scrivener recognized as the strange coffin that the Prophet had been sitting in front of, in the nightmare he'd had. They packed it back up to bring it to Cowlick and Greece to analyze, since not even Odin knew what it meant, but there were all manner of symbols and shapes over it that gave it a strange, mechanical feeling.
The mansion's defenses had shut down for one reason or another: it was a little worrisome, as they made their way carefully to the front hall of the manse, then left the building to head back towards the hedge maze. This time, however, Odin tore a path to the side of the maze, saying calmly over his shoulder. “Valthrudnir has a set of portals he apparently established to move from place to place... likely also so he could bring people here and show off the majesty of his home without having to reveal the location of the entrance to this pocket dimension. I've used them before to escape from this place... they should still work with a bit of tinkering.”
The others had only nodded: even Pinkamena was silent, moody but keeping quiet before Luna finally asked: “Why do we not simply summon the Bifrost? We may... not be the healthiest nor in the greatest of spirits, but...”
“For the same reason we didn't simply take the Bifrost to Niflheim.” Odin murmured quietly, as he ducked through a hole in a hedge and stepped out in front of a cave, the ponies following. Scrivener, Pinkamena, and Twilight strode past, gazing around at the dome-shaped interior of the cavern, but Luna halted, looking with a frown up at Odin before the once-god smiled a little. “I did not want you to worry.”
“I need thou to be honest with me, Odin. Please do not begin to lie at this juncture, of all times.” Luna said quietly, and Odin looked down as if ashamed, even if at the same time he was clearly surprised at how gentle the winged unicorn was being... but if anything, the change of demeanor only added all the more weight to her words. “What is wrong with the Bifrost?”
“I was forced to once more seal the Bifrost. Other forces have been trying to manipulate it... you saw the end result of one of their successes, when that attack was launched against Ponyville.” Odin said quietly, and Luna frowned before the falcon-headed entity shook his head slowly. “But it was only recently that I understood how close our enemies were to not simply invading the Bifrost when they were able to detect its energy, and use it as a... a conduit, through which to send their own dark magic... but in taking control of it completely. If they gained control of the rainbow bridge...”
“They could go anywhere. Aye, I see.” Luna hesitated, and then sighed and muttered: “I wish thou would tell us these things before we had to pry them out of thee. Even if thou told at least Celestia, I would feel better.”
“Brynhild, over the years you have gone from a cherished warrior and a very pretty maiden to someone who is like a daughter to me. I say this because I know you understand that it is in a parents' instincts to try and protect their children. Even when it is stupid, even when they should simply tell the truth.” Odin said softly, and Luna smiled despite herself after a moment, nodding hesitantly before Odin glanced into the dome-shaped cavern, over the five different ovals of flat stone that rested in a short semicircle through the cave. “But come. Let's activate one of these portals. We can use it to create a portal to Asgard... while there, perhaps... I can allow for a visit.”
Twilight looked sharply up at this, and when she turned her eyes to Odin with a silent question, he simply nodded. At this, the violet mare closed her eyes tightly, bowing her head forwards and trembling, and Scrivener wrapped a foreleg around her, squeezing her silently before Pinkamena asked abruptly: “Sissy's parents. Sissy's sisters. Where the hell are they?”
“You can look for them if you want, but... the Vale of Valhalla is a wide, almost endless expanse. It may be difficult to find them, assuming they died.” Odin hesitated, then added in a quieter voice: “Assuming that the Vale is where they went.”
“Yeah. Yeah. They were pious bastards.” Pinkamena muttered, looking down with disgust before she looked up moodily. “You sure we can't just go back home?”
Odin only smiled at her faintly, and the demon sighed tiredly, lowering her head and grumbling: “Of course not. Fine, whatever, demons in Heaven, sounds fun. Guess I get to see what life... or death, or... whatever... was like for Slippers. Everything that I tore the stupid jerk away from...”
“Slippers.” Odin looked meditative for a moment, and then, as he turned to begin inspecting the portals, he said calmly without bothering to look around: “When my son was younger, before he was a pony, his half-brother Loki dressed him up as a woman and married him off to a very stupid giant to win a bet, before they had to flee from Jötenheim with all haste when he found out what had happened. We called him Tyra for years afterwards.”
Pinkamena looked thoughtful at this, and then she glanced meditatively over at Scrivener, asking mildly: “Would you marry Sleipnir if he showed up at your doorstep in a dress? Oh, look who I'm asking and look who you're married to. Guess we're all deviants here.”
Scrivener sighed at this as Luna smiled despite herself, and Twilight gave a faint smile as she looked up. Then, silence fell as Odin studied the portal stones, all of them more than ready to leave Valthrudnir's elegant but twisted manse behind and try to make sense of the few clues they had found in his hollow home. Still, Scrivener couldn't deny that even though they were heading to Asgard and had at least made some progress, despite the disappointments that they had encountered... it felt more like ultimately, they were all doomed to one day find themselves in a world worse than Helheim, ruled over by a Prophet and her Clockwork King.