The violet bolt struck Augur in the side, going clean through. The fortune-teller made a sickly cough, and fell forward, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
“Augur!” cried Daydancer, rushing to his side. She knelt down in a panic.
Trixie bit back a curse, as she turned to see Moon’s Omen emerge from a passageway. The twisting architecture made it hard to see things, but she still felt angry she had missed it.
The druid was haggard, cloak burnt, and in some places fused to his skin. His coat was burned completely off in places, leaving black skin. “You ruined it! The perfect world, our perfect world… Where everypony would be equals…”
“Everypony’s already equals,” Twilight said. “We may not all have magic, or be able to fly, or be able to harvest the perfect yield of crops. But we all have special talents that make up for what we can’t do but others can.”
“Spare me the friendship babble,” he spat. A low rumble and a sharp crack underlined his words. “I never wanted this to happen, but you’ve left me no choice.” He lowered his horn, crackles of deep purple energy surrounding it.
A resounding boom echoed through the chamber, and chunks of obsidian came crashing down from the ceiling. A large piece struck Moon’s Omen, crushing him and breaking through the floor. The floor began to crack, the fingers reaching out to the ponies. Before they could react the floor broke apart with a loud snap! They were falling, head over hooves, fate in the arms of gravity.
(Galloping Guardian, awaken. Your time is not up.)
His eyes opened, slowly. All he could see was red. Blood. His blood. His side ached. Far-off, he could hear thunder, and rain hammering down. “Who… how do you know my name?” he gasped, pain stabbing through his side with each syllable.
(I know much about you, Guardian, though you know little of me.) Daydancer stepped out from behind the pillar he was laying against, her form gauzy and her smile beatific. She seemed to glow from within. (You abandoned one destiny for this, the destiny of being a great warrior, servant to the Princesses. Why?)
He shook his head, feeling his essence ooze from his side. He knew he had little time, and he wondered why Daydancer was asking him such questions. “If you know so much about me, why not say it for both of us?” He coughed, feeling wetness come out of his throat.
(Your friend, when she died. You felt as though you failed her.) She came close to him, and stroked his cheek with a hoof. He felt only a strange tingle like static from a balloon. (How could you fail somepony who’s life had already been written? She died there, her life for yours. You augured for many a pony, why forget you the ways of balance? Of Purpose and Reason? Truly, you desired to escape the future writ in your mark. But you never could.
(Even as you cast lots, you followed your fate. Even now you follow it. This is why I know you will take the final step, and fulfill that which is writ in the Thread of Fates.)
He stared at her, haggard eyes full of amazement. “Who are you?”
(Call me a pony of Purpose. Call me Daydancer. Call me mother. As all of these, as any of these, I beg you. Fulfill your fate, and save she you care about.)
Augur… Galloping Guardian stared down at his hooves, ruffled and singed, for a long time. Then, “What do you want me to do?”
(Simply follow me.)
The ground came rushing up at Twilight. Her head spun and her stomach rebelled as she tumbled head over hooves. A violet corona shone around her horn, and she struck the bottom of the Spire. The impact hurt, but her quick cast of slow fall had helped greatly.
She still felt the impact deep inside her, resonating in her very bones. Bleary-eyed, she rose. Glancing upwards, she found that she’d fallen quite a longer distance that she had thought at first. Somewhere up there, hundreds and hundreds of feet up was the faint shimmer of witch-fire. If she had somehow survived the fall, could–
Yes, they could have. She saw now that Trixie and Daydancer had survived the long fall as well, and were picking themselves up slowly. An earthquake shook the tower, sending a rain of rubble down.
“Sparkle,” Trixie cried, voice almost lost in the crash of stone. “We need to move!” She waved at Twilight, gesturing wildly to a curving passageway. Twilight waved back to her, and she gathered Daydancer and began running down the passage to places unknown.
With one final glance upwards, Twilight Sparkle broke into a run, following the gypsy and the druid.
Moon’s Omen – no, Allie Horn, he had always been Allie Horn – woke, for the last time. He felt nothing, but a greater deal of nothing past his midsection. He strained his neck around as far as it would go, and found a great black chunk of rock consuming his lower half.
Allie slumped to the ground, the cold kiss only reminding him of his rapidly dwindling life. His ragged breath, growing ever longer between gulps, fogged his glassy black reflection. He became aware, however distantly, that wine – no blood – was pooling beneath him.
Robotically, he began to run his shaky hooves through the pool, forming a strange sigil. The pool coagulated and shifted, forming a fleshy mound. A slit bisected the mound, yellowed teeth and quivering cilia probing outwards.
Allie closed his eyes, a sob of pain wracking his body. “With this blood I free you,” he spat through bubbles of blood. “Use me to rain destruction upon your enemies.”
“Acc-s-s-septible,” hissed a voice from deep within the mound of flesh. The cilia extended to caress the unicorn’s body, sliding down, under the rock. The mound itself quivered, drawing itself over the unicorn, bringing his body into the gaping cavity.
Allie let out a gasp, and then-
Silence.
Galloping took another unsteady step, the pain in his side a white-hot blaze with ever rise and fall of his hooves. He could control the pain better when he was talking, so he tried his best to keep a conversation going with the ethereal figure helping him through the passage.
“Why her?” he asked through a sharp intake of air. “Why did you come as Daydancer?”
(I had many choices. I could have come as your mother.) Daydancer’s figure was replaced by that of a pastel green unicorn with a modest manecut. There was no transition, she simply changed in a heartbeat. (Else I could have been somepony you have fond memories of.) She was Clover Bell, not a filly anymore but a full-grown mare, heartbreaking in her beauty. Then she was gone, like tears in the rain, replaced by Daydancer once more. (Is this not better? Would you rather I be somepony who brings back bad memories, or one you care for?)
“Care for?”
(Oh, you care not for her? Why then did you plot to run away with her? Why then did you rush to her house when trouble began? You care more than you realise. If the world were more perfect, more fair, you would have time. Je regrette.)
Galloping was silent for a long while, the rhythm of walking tearing him apart. At last he spoke. “You know much of me. How is this? Are you a god?”
She laughed, a clear musical chime. (Goodness, no. As I said, I am a creature of Purpose. I serve the Creator in all things. I guide those with Purpose through their lives, ensure they fulfill it. Purpose and Reason guide all things, under the Creator’s eye.)
“Purpose. Fate. I never had a single choice in my life.”
(You always had choice. Had you not chosen to play at the quarry, you would be an artist like you dreamed. Had you not gone out that rainy day, you never would have found the druid’s book. Had you decided the book was fantasy, your life would have continued in a different path.)
(What you never had choice in was your Purpose. In all the worlds, in all the realms of existence, there is only one you. There is only one Spire. There is only one Barsabas. There is only one Bastion. You were made for the Spire, as the Spire was made for you.)
(What happened in your life, what truly mattered you had choice over. You impacted lives, helped people through their sorrows. You were a helping hoof, a comforting shoulder, a listening ear. You were respected, loved even. All because of choices you made, not the Purpose. All the Purpose did in your life was guide you here.)
(Purpose can be avoided. Had your decisions led you elsewhere, Purpose would have moved on, to find another pony to fill its needs. Every decision you made set you on a path. Whenever the path diverged, you kept to the path of Purpose. You only think you had no choice in life because you are too close to life to see.)
Galloping had nothing to say anymore. There was nothing to be said.
They walked on in silence, hoofsteps echoing in the empty passages. The witch-fires swirled around their legs, still being swept away to some unknown place. The distant rumble and cracks of the Spire slowly collapsing was lost to them.
Finally, Daydancer slowed. (We are here. Your fate lies beyond these doors, Galloping Guardian. Purpose has aided you in your darkest hour. Do not forget us.)
She began to fade, his weight shifting dangerously off-balance as she disappeared. “No wait!” he cried. “What do I do? How do I fulfill my destiny if I don’t know how?”
Like the Cheshire of books old, Daydancer’s smile was the last to fade. (And here I thought you knew how to use a crystal ball.)
She was gone. He was alone. Galloping lowered his head and marched forlornly on, leaving behind a trail of blood on the floor. The doors before him opened of their own accord as he drew near, some magic still remaining to animate them.
He crossed the threshold, breaths coming in short, jagged gasps. When that beautiful angel of Purpose had guided him here, he knew he would not have long to last. Now here he was, on the final approach, frustratingly close. He pitched forward as his last burst of adrenalin rushed through his body.
He struck a black obelisk jutting from the floor. Arcane runes were scrawled in it, seeming to creep across the surface as he watched. In the centre of the artifact was a single great crystal, glowing colourlessly from within.
A crystal ball, the thought flickered through his mind. He forced his hooves, leaden with the weight of death, around the crystal. He stroked it as he would a dear pet, watching the pale light pulse in response to his touch.
A deep boom resounded somewhere, deep below the Spire. He heard it faintly as he slipped backwards, hooves leaving the crystal. He struck the blood-slick floor, the pain a dull thing in the back of his mind.
The world turned white. He floated.
Clover Bell was there; dear sweet Clover, her ragged boyish mane still as rosy as before. He was home.
The Spire crumbled. It seemed to happen in slow motion, cracking from the summit. The fragments collapsed inward, grinding each other to dust. The green fingers of witchfire reached for the sky. The ground itself was giving way, the yawning abyss swallowing the fragments.
When the dust settled, there was a black, strangely forlorn fissure where the Necropolis had been. The legacy of the Giants had been lost to the depths of the world. In time, even the memories of them would be lost.
Twilight stood at the edge, her gaze cast down upon the void. A quote about staring into the abyss too long floated into her mind.
“Sparkle!” came Trixie’s voice, sharp and panicky. “Get away from the edge! You of all ponies should know it isn’t stable.”
As she backed away, she saw something white float to the ground. Pausing, Twilight leaned to see what it was. Something wet touched her nose. The unicorn looked up to the sky in confusion.
It was snowing. Light flurries of snow whirled around the three mares, flecking their coats with a dusting of white. An emerald aurora glowed in the sky, casting its light on the flakes of snow.
“It’s beautiful,” Twilight whispered.
An unearthly shriek shattered the awed silence that had fallen. A shadow rose from the pit, a great carrion bird.
A lanky figure, bipedal with long limbs. Tattered bat-like wings wrapped around its body, a cloak to protect it from the chill. Its head was that of a vulture’s, beak grown over with flesh. Jagged shards of teeth jutted out from the protrusion at sick angles.
In the centre of its chest was a mound of pulsed flesh. A gash ran down its middle, and from that gash quivered a mass of slick cilia, grasping at the very air. Teeth like thorns ringed the gash.
The mares had no way of knowing, but Khaazad-Tûl had been birthed into the world of mortals. At long last the demon had broken the veil and escaped Tartarus.