Y’shtola watched, mortified, as Scarmiglione vanished in a swirl of darkness. Twilight disappeared along with him, the alicorn’s bloodied and burned face contorted with fury and fear. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through Y’shtola’s veins, accompanied by a rush of power as she gathered the aether left scattered across the battlefield. It coalesced in the sky above Scarmiglione, an orb of pulsating green amid a swirling storm of blackened clouds. With a shout of rage, Y’shtola brought her wand down, sending the blast careening for the smirking ascian.
It arrived too late. The blast struck only unoccupied earth. A cloud of dust was kicked up alongside a powerful shockwave that nearly knocked Y’shtola off her feet. She took a step back, bracing herself. She grit her teeth. “Twilight!” she shouted, a hand reaching out. But it was no good. The dust parted, and Twilight was gone.
Off to the side, she heard an impressed whistle, followed by a string of condescending claps. “Ooooh, is the big kitty angry?” Y’sanna purred with a vindictive smirk. Y’shtola turned on her, her eyes narrowing and her teeth bared in a furious snarl. Y’sanna was unfazed. If anything, she enjoyed it. “About time something busted down that facade of prim perfection.”
There were a thousand things Y’shtola wanted to say. Scathing retorts and bitter comebacks that would break down Y’sanna’s bravado. A string of insults to vent Y’shtola’s frustrations. But she bit her tongue. She merely lifted her wand.
Y’sanna’s grin faded. “What? No words for me this time?”
Aether began to swirl around Y’shtola. The winds bent to her command, and chunks of stone tore themselves up and out of the earth behind her. The winds swirled around them, chiselling away at and forming the stone into sharpened spears surrounded on all sides by razor-sharp shards. “None.” she allowed herself to say.
And then she attacked.
The trio of sharpened stone spikes flew toward Y’sanna at Y’shtola’s command, accompanied by a hailstorm of debris. Y’sanna stepped back, her hand rising and magic flashing from her book. A wall of glowing blue hexagons flashed into existence, intercepting the incoming projectiles. Y’shtola took a step forward to match Y’sanna’s retreat, her wand moving with precision. The earth beneath Y’sanna’s feet trembled and cracked, and the miqo’te traitor’s eyes flew wide.
Y’shtola’s frustration, Y’sanna leapt back just in time to evade the two slabs of earth swinging up to crush her between their bulk. They came together with a thunderous crash and a cloud of dust, forming an obelisk of crumbling stone. With another turn of Y’shtola’s wand, more aether obeyed her will and said obelisk shattered into a thousand stones. All flying toward Y’sanna. The woman barely had time to cry out before she was sent falling to the earth in a crumpled heap. Chunks of rock as large as a roegadyn’s fist pummeled into her from above, and Y’shtola felt a surge of satisfaction at the sound of the traitor’s cries.
Another step. Another turn of Y’shtola’s wand. The trees of Thanalan were dead more often than not, but this close to the border with the Shroud, there was enough life in them yet to heed her will. Wood and leaves came away from the few nearby trees with echoing cracks, snaps, and whistles. They surged for Y’sanna, seeking to bury her in a maelstrom of natural fury.
A burst of aether erupted from Y’sanna’s tome, and the onslaught was dispersed. A grey orb of crackling magic shot out of the resultant dust cloud for Y’shtola’s head. She side-stepped, never taking her eyes off her quarry. No time for distraction. End it. Put her down.
Movement, to the side. Y’shtola knew what it was already and turned to face it, lifting a hand to conjure a half-dome of blue light before her. The crimson carbuncle battered against it with a feral shriek, its claws and fangs scraping fruitlessly against the wall of aether. Y’shtola scowled at it, showing her own fangs, then pushed her barrier forward. The carbuncle blinked, then cried out as it was pushed relentlessly into the dirt. Its body compressed under the weight, ballooning, and pancaking. There was a strangled squeak and a froth of foam before the abomination shattered like a dropped wine glass.
Y’sanna was back on her feet at this point, her book open to a new page. A trickle of blood ran down her forehead. Her eyes were wide and blazing with rage. “You absolute bitch!” she shrieked as aether swirled around her.
Y’shtola turned to her, already preparing to counter whatever Y’sanna’s next spell was going to be.
The aether around Y’sanna formed into two diagonally intersecting rings of glowing green light. They spun rapidly around her, gaining momentum and emitting a keening pulse, rising in pitch.
Y’shtola’s eyes widened. She knew that spell! It was a common tool in the kits of most mages, temporarily accelerating the mind and the body for a few short seconds. It allowed the caster to follow up with another spell almost instantly - typically, ones that required more time and lengthy incantations to cast. It was used sparingly due to the toll it took on the caster, but one only needed a couple of seconds.
Y’sanna’s spell went off before Y’shtola could even step to the side. Three orbs of crimson shot forward and attached to Y’shtola’s chest. She felt a horrible pulling sensation, and agony blossomed through her torso. She cried out, trying to break free, but the tendrils had already gotten what they came for. Y’sanna pulled on them like a whip, and they tore from Y’shtola’s chest with a wet plop and a spray of blood. They swirled once, then blasted back into Y’shtola. A peeling shriek of magic lanced through her ears. The force of the blast threw her off her feet to crumple into the dirt several yards back.
The Pilus watched her Y’shtola fall before, with her eyes ablaze with impassioned fury, stepping through devastated flora. She flipped through the pages of her tome, her dilated pupils remaining fixed on the other miqo’te as the woman struggled to put weight beneath her and get back up.
Giving her no chance at all, Y’sanna delivered a kick to Y’shtola’s face, eliciting a pained cry from the Scion before the imperial planted her book on the crux of her back and pressed her further into the dirt.
“You and yours just have to keep struggling,” Y’sanna spat, twisting her boot painfully. “Even when it’s stupid and futile! Well, seems I was the wise one in the end! With my hypothesis proven, let me show you my conclusions!”
Y’sanna gripped her book, aetherial energies gathering for a finishing blow. Y’shtola grimaced, gripping her wand as she called with all her might to a spell that may yet change the course of the fight. Yet the requirements of aether were too great, too slow to collect. Compared to Y’sanna’s own cast, and with the Scion’s battered state, the chances of beating her to the draw were all but non-existent.
But Y’sanna’s words hit one truth, giving up was never an option for Y’shtola. She had to fight until the heavens fell. Until her last breath. For the missing Scions. Minfillia, Thancred, Urianger, Tataru, Papalymo…
Twilight.
Thwack.
“Gah!” Y’sanna shouted in pain, her spell fizzling out as she stumbled forward and off of her prey. An arrow was lodged into the miqo’te’s shoulder, with blood pouring from both ends of the wound.
Wherever it had come from, Y’shtola could only thank the Twelve as a flurry of green magical energies erupted around her, orbs of light spinning high around her in a maelstrom of aether. In the span of a heartbeat, nearly all of her wounds were sealed, each drop of blood wiped away, and her body’s energy replenished. Y’shtola was practically glowing with near-holy light as she hovered from the ground and back to her feet.
Yet the toll was plain, for where her health, in an act of benediction, could not have been better, she couldn’t help but pant as she felt the pangs of aether sickness.
“Seven hells!” a hyuran voice called out, Y’shtola glancing at it from the corner of her eye, yet keeping the majority of her gaze on her foe. “I knew you’d all bring trouble! How far did you get from the temple? Five feet? Ten?”
“Not far enough for our foe’s liking. My thanks, Einar,” Y’shtola spoke genuinely, levelling her wand toward the imperial. “But we are not yet finished, and I would hate to miss revising such a poorly written hypothesis as this!”
“Piss… off…” Y’sanna seethed in turn, the glare in her eyes not diminishing for a moment.
The fiery miqo’te took ahold of the arrow’s shaft, clenching her fist and breaking it free. She wasted no time in flicking her book open and sending two consecutive concussive blasts toward Y’shtola, the Scion redirecting one with a burst of wind and a second against a thin barrier of aether.
“You… are still weak! And I’m going to break you!”
Y’shtola countered, swishing her wand forward and sending another wave of wind towards Y’sanna to stumble the woman, not even speaking as she brought her wand to her chest and began her subsequent cast.
She switched the aether within her, letting white give way to black. A fire lit within her, a fury easily rivaling Y’sanna’s own bringing forth energies of pure destruction in lieu of her usual practices.
This had to end. No one else would be hurt by this fiend’s obsessions!
Her magic erupted, and a fantastic fireball that would make Ifrit himself proud burst forth around her and was sent hurtling toward Y’sanna with a fervour unrivalled. Y’sanna’s eyes widened, her own rage replaced with shock and terror as she placed her book forward in some attempt to catch the blow. The imperial further channelled aether into its pages, the fireball colliding in a kaleidoscope of flashing light, reds, yellows, and oranges versus the blues of her barrier. The effort was for nought, however. Her barrier evaporated around her, and whatever remained failed to fully protect her from the brunt of the flames as they enveloped her.
The detonation was a sight to behold, setting the remaining trees alight as Y’sanna was hurled backwards and into the brush. Her skin boiled, bones broke, and she skidded to a halt with nothing but lingering hate keeping her eyes open and soul in its mortal coil.
Y’sthola was having none of it, immediately approaching and preparing a follow-up, flames building around her wand. Her expression was cool, unassuming. Total concentration and sinister calm disguised the fire within.
And then she felt it, her head pounding as her spell died upon her lips. An emptiness within, reserves empty as she stumbled in place, hand rising to her head with a low grunt.
Y’sanna didn’t waste the chance.
Capitalizing on her foe’s moment of aetherial sickness, the imperial feebly reached for the charred remains of her spellbook and took ahold of the decrepit tome.
“Fuck…”
There was a flash, an invasive influx of white that pierced the eyes of Y’sthola and Einar, shielding Y’sanna from spell and arrow alike and concealing all for several moments.
And when those moments passed, all Y’shtola spied was the lingering whisps of teleportation magicks whisking Y’sanna away to whichever aetheryte she was attuned to.
Y’shtola felt the urge to growl but found she had no energy left. She staggered off to one side and slumped against the still-hot trunk of a nearby tree. “Damn her…” she panted. The adrenaline was starting to bleed out of her, and with it, the energy to stand. She slumped onto the ground, back against the tree, and closed her eyes.
Footsteps. Tiredly, Y’shtola opened her eyes and looked up. Einar came to a stop a few feet from her, a vial filled with blue liquid held in his hand. He held it out to her. “Here. Drink up,” he instructed. “Oughta get you back on your feet.”
Y’shtola nodded and gratefully took the potion. She could not care less about the taste as it swam down her throat, but the results were undeniable. The potion restored some of her strength, chasing away the worst of her exhaustion. She was still far from being at her best, but at least now she could stand. And so she did, on wobbly legs.
“My thanks again, Einar,” she said weakly.
Einar grunted, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “You owe me a bunch, now. Info, saving your skin, and giving you my last good potion,” he pointed out, crossing his arms. “But… since you were using my help to blow up that imperial bitch, I think that’s repayment enough.”
Y’shtola rolled her eyes. She glanced at the smouldering crater where her impromptu offensive spell had hit. She frowned. That spell had decidedly not been conjury, and it showed. For all of the destructive power it had, she had been ill-prepared to properly channel it. She looked down at her wand and grimaced. The tips of the branches were blackened and charred from channelling an unfamiliar element. She’d have to get a replacement.
And the worst part? Y’sanna had still managed to escape. Y’shtola’s hand clenched tightly around her wand into a white-knuckled fist. “Nay. Y’sanna yet lives. And my friend was captured.”
“What, the carbuncle?” Einar asked incredulously. “Can’t you just summon it back?”
Y’shtola shook her head, putting her wand away. “I am afraid it’s not so simple,” she said with a shake of her head. “And I’ve no time to explain. One more now wants for rescue, and I’ll be damned if I leave her to her fate any longer than necessary.”
Einar shrugged. “Well, whatever. I’ve done my part - more than my part, really. So you go on and save your friends. I’m gonna go save mine.”
Y’shtola nodded. “Of course. Be safe, Einar.”
Einar grunted. Without another word, he turned and walked away. She watched him go for a moment, offering a silent prayer to the Twelve for his safety, and then for the safety of the Scions imprisoned by the empire. Her brow furrowed, and she turned down the road, beginning at a brisk pace for Drybone. She was still unsteady on her feet, but it didn’t matter. She had places to go, and she could always rent a chocobo from the desert settlement.
“Just hang on, Twilight,” she said quietly. “I will see you safe.”
A sky smothered in endless blue smog. Marching regimes of soldiers. The clank and clatter of lumbering engines of war. All hells-bent on conquering and subjugating a land clinging desperately to its independence.
Twilight’s world was pain. She cracked open her eyes, only to immediately regret the decision. Her head pounded and burned, her horn tingled, and she felt her forelegs tremble and twitch of their own accord. Pins and needles danced up and down her spine, drawing a hiss of discomfort out of her. Definitely nerve damage, she concluded, the diagnosis almost automatic.
She was in movement. A sense of weightlessness sent her stomach flipping. She finally managed to crack open her eyes and get a look at her surroundings.
The first thing she saw was blue smog smothering the sky over her head. Monoliths of serrated steel and blue flame drifted lazily, but purposefully, through the sky all around her. The voices of men shouting orders and issuing instructions echoed into her ears, distant but audible. As her head lolled to one side, she saw a sprawling complex of yet more blackened iron spread across the shadowed deserts of Thanalan far below.
An impregnable fortress, its spires filling the heavens with their vicious silhouettes. The rumble of pump and pipe, draining the land of all it was worth. The stench of their waste upon the wind, polluting land and sky. The steady, endless rhythm of the imperial war machine.
Twilight turned her head when she spotted someone standing beside her. Scarmiglione smirked back at her, one hand raised and swirling with shadow. She was held in a similar aura of darkness, suspended in the air beside him. She tried to bare her teeth at him, but all she could do was grimace in discomfort.
“Try not to move, your Highness,” Scarmiglione said, his tone mocking her title. “You will only hurt yourself.”
Twilight opened her mouth to offer some bitter retort, but all that came out was an agonized groan. The world flickered and blurred around her as another tingling wave of pain coursed through her body.
Somewhere nearby, a metallic door slid open, and armoured footsteps emerged. Twilight looked up to see several imperials approaching her. The one in the lead wore very distinct armour, coloured a rich, bloody red. His self-satisfied smirk at her sorry condition told her all she needed to know about him.
“Ah, and at long last, the mysterious alicorn is brought before me,” the imperial said. He frowned, eyeing Twilight up and down. “And rather the worse for wear… You didn’t damage it beyond repair, did you, Ascian?”
Scarmiglione shook his head. “Nay. She is battered, but it should be well within my powers to see her back to full health,” he said confidently. “A day is all I shall need. Then she is all yours, Nero.”
Nero grinned in a manner that made Twilight’s spine tingle with disgust. “So be it,” he said, then turned to the troops beside him and clapped his hands. “Take her to a cell!”
The soldiers saluted. “Yes sir!”
They clustered around Twilight. Cold hands took hold of her hooves and barrel. She tried to squirm and fight back as the Ascian’s magical hold disappeared, but there was no strength left in her ruined body. She was powerless to do anything as the empire hauled her into the halls of the black steel fortress that loomed over them.
As the massive doors sealed me within the beating heart of the empire’s fortress, I know that the final chapter of my time in this world had begun. A chapter marked by fire, blood, and the light of Ancient magic.
Scarmiglione watched Twilight being carted off, crossing his arms over his chest as she went. Nero remained by him, smirking at the feebly squirming alicorn with barely concealed fascination. When the massive metal doors rolled shut, Nero spoke. “Even with my readings, I still find it hard to believe that such power as you described could reside in something so… small.”
Scarmiglione flashed the engineer a glance. “Small or not, she is powerful.”
Nero frowned but then shrugged his agreement. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. If small things had no power, I doubt those cabbages of the Shroud could conjure Ramuh.”
Smarmiglione nodded and opened his mouth to say something further. The words died in his throat, however, when he felt something shifting around him. The shadows nearby darkened and deepened, and an unmistakable sensation of being watched tingled in the back of his neck. A chill crept down his spine. Lahabrea, he realized.
Stiffy, Scarmiglione nodded his head to Nero. “R-regardless, I have other matters to which I must attend. We shall speak again later,” he said, perhaps too quickly.
Nero quirked a brow at him, then shrugged. “Ever on the move, you ascians… fine, fine, be on your way. I need to return to the Ultima Weapon, regardless. The time’s come for its first field test, and lord Van Baelsar will have my head if I’m not on top of things,” he lamented. With that, he set off back into the depths of the Praetorium, leaving Scarmiglione alone on the landing.
The moment the door shut behind the engineer, the unmistakable boom and rush of darkness echoed from behind Scarmiglione. He turned around uneasily. Lahabrea stood in the open air just beyond the edge of the platform, his arms crossed and his visible lips pulled down into a furious scowl.
“Lahabrea,” Scarmiglione greeted, his expression as neutral as he could make it. He felt some measure of relief that his mask hid the fear in his eyes. Not that he imagined Lahabrea would be fooled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Lahabrea’s snarl deepened, the unsundered overlord glaring death at the lesser ascian. “You were warned. The will of the Convocation was made clear, and yet here you remain. It is as if the coming ardour is but an afterthought to you. You scheme and plot as if we were yet ignorant.”
Scarmiglione’s gloved hand balled into a fist, and in spite of the immense presence before him, he couldn’t help but snarl in turn.
“And yet I was right! All of my research shows that the light of that world will be sufficient, and now I hold the key to unlock the Element’s power! If a bridge across the rift can be established, then things will proceed apace. The Tribunus has reported success in his studies, and now we have its owner.”
“And in doing so you defy our judgment. If one of my own Words cannot do as he is bid, then I have no further use for it!”
Lahabrea clenched his fist. In but a moment, tendrils of shadow coiled from the metal surfaces surrounding them and ensnared Scarmiglione. The shadows burned at his flesh through his robes, pulling him from his feet and to his knees. He gasped in surprise as he was brought to a low stance of supplication before the overlord. Lahabrea’s crimson glyph flashed threateningly across his face.
The overlord went on, his voice low with bitter condescension. “And all of this effort for a position that is beyond your grasp. Do you truly believe yourself worthy of the seat you so pine for? Perhaps I needn’t act at all. Emet-Selch would be more than happy to see your hubris put to rest.”
“For Lord Zodiark’s will, I beseech you to listen before you act!” Scarmiglione practically begged, feebly struggling against his restraints and making enough progress to stand once more. His own glyph flashed over his face, as it took all of his strength merely to stand his ground. “Without the Thirteenth, He will forever remain incomplete! I offer a solution the Convocation cannot ignore! Cannot afford to ignore!”
Lahabrea remained unmoved. “With risks beyond measure.”
“Have we not toiled for aeons? Lived uncountable lives and suffered for our star in ways beyond the comprehension of any mortal?” Scarmiglione pointed out. “For those we have lost, and for those we would see saved, I believe that the risk is more than acceptable. Complete as these ponies may be, as caretakers of our star, do we not have a responsibility here first and foremost? Are such equines truly worth more than the lives of those who gave theirs?”
And then, despite his position, Scarmiglione managed a sickening sneer that Lahabrea couldn’t help but be taken aback by.
“Are they worth more than your son’s?”
The bonds tightened around Scarmiglione. He tried to scream but was only able to gasp in pain. His glyph shattered and he fell once more to the ground. The tendrils boiled against him, searing his soul.
“Do not presume you may use Erichthonios to your advantage, cretin. You know nothing. NOTHING!”
His hand flexed as the tendrils tightened further, a twitching grin upon Lahabrea’s face.
And then, to Scarmiglione’s shock, the tendrils released. Gasping desperately for the air granted by his newfound freedom, Scarmiglione crumpled to the metal floor in a curled heap.
Lahabrea loomed over him. “All the same, you do raise valid points. And I have neither the time nor patience to properly punish you for your indiscretions. So consider this an opportunity to convince me. Do as you will. I will judge the results of your work as they transpire. But be warned that should I find your work wanting, then there is no limit to the suffering I will bring down upon you.”
“Of course,” Scarmiglione rasped, his body quivering in pain. He did not dare try to stand, however. Not yet. “I understand…”
Lahabrea glared down at him for several seconds longer. The fury from a moment ago had all but faded away, replaced with passionless boredom. The overlord turned away. “I now go to oversee the first field test for the Ultima Weapon. Use the time wisely, for you have precious little. When the rejoining has come to pass, and the world is that much restored, then I will examine the merits of your claims. This is your only chance, Scarmiglione.”
A swirl of darkness consumed Lahabrea, taking him to a place the lesser ascian was not privy. To the side of van Baelsar, perhaps? To the weapon itself? He cared little, his face lighting aflame with rage. He stood back up, shaking on his feet, and glared at the now empty spot.
“So says Lahabrea... Whole, and yet tainted in an altogether different manner. Unsundered indeed,” he openly mocked the air. He lifted his eyes up to the air. “We shall see who is worthy of their seat by the end… Hephaistos.”
His eyes turned to the facility itself, and the subject that was now being secured within. His rage gave way to an anticipating smile, determination flooding his body as he felt destiny growing ever closer…
“And you are going to help me, my little pony… Soon now. Very soon…”
And somewhere deep within the praetorium, newly deposited in her cell and left alone in the cold and the dark, Twilight Sparkle couldn’t help but shudder.