//------------------------------// // Absence // Story: Population: One // by Trials //------------------------------// *************************************************************************** Population: One By Trials Proofread by Fluttrick Special thanks to Alondro and Amit *************************************************************************** Chapter 3: Absence *************************************************************************** “Come on, Spike,” the lavender unicorn said with a uneasy smile. “It's just a little prick, and it'll all be over.” The lurker in the cage shied away from the syringe, his black eyes glaring at it. The cage wasn't exactly the biggest prison ever, but it certainly kept Spike locked up nice and tight. As a result, he could barely move away; the spines on his back clinked with the bars of the cage that contained him, making high-pitched chimes. With a sigh, Twilight Sparkle moved closer to the dragon. Though anyone with any sense would refuse to do so, she stuck her hooves through the bars and sunk the syringe into Spike's arm. Any sense that remained in Twilight had left before Effingo arrived had departed with Effingo. The lurker growled as she pulled the plunger to extract the blood from its veins, but he didn't fight back. Spike obviously knew the consequences of retaliation; it was an... enlightening experience. Once the syringe was full with blood, Twilight gently removed it from her ex-assistant’s body. “Excellent, Spike. This will prove most useful,” she said, as if trying to justify her actions. Spike looked back at her blankly, not even a word of discontent or unhappiness erupting from his lips. She wouldn't even care if he whined — if he only he spoke something. With another sigh, Twilight closed the door behind her, leaving the lurker in complete darkness once more. Once she had arrived at her chemistry lab — well, more of a table with multiple chemicals and vials placed on top of it — Twilight released the blood from the syringe into a beaker. She slapped a label with the word 'four' on it. It was day ninety-four — four days since Effingo left. Not much had occurred, of course. Effingo hadn't returned, Twilight had continued to talk to herself and, as per usual, the experiments hadn't stopped. There had to be something to that machine Effingo had described, and for the past four days, Twilight had attempted to find it. Despite her valiant efforts during that time, no successful result had been discovered. The unicorn had to find something to do, anyway; the only thing worse than the lurkers, the loneliness or the general feeling of depression was boredom. Not that companionship was any less important— “Science, Twilight. Lovely, wonderful science,” Twilight said, interrupting her train wreck of thought. She closed her eyes, forcing the energy within her to summon her magic. Her horn became enveloped in purple light, and, as she pointed it towards the beaker, the tiredness hit her immediately. The contents bubbled and hissed, and, after a couple of minutes, Twilight was exhausted. The blood nearly spilt over the glass beaker, but the unicorn noticed it just in time. With a wave of her head, she cancelled the spell. Twilight looked upon the beaker with more frustration than interest. She'd repeated this process numerous times already, and she couldn't bear to face more negative results. If the blood stayed the same, the results would be negative, and Twilight would be no further in research than she had been days before. The contents had simmered down, and looked exactly like the blood of a normal creature. Apart from it wasn't. Twilight let out a cry, kicking the beaker with her forehooves. The solution splattered on the ground, forming a lovely, circular puddle of blood on her floor. “He's not going to change!” she heard herself screaming without hesitation. “No one is ever going to change back, and neither am I!” The unicorn vented her rage in the curses and obscenities she uttered. Rearing back her head, she could've sworn she saw steam spew from her nostrils. She kicked everything in the near vicinity, books and furniture alike. It didn't once occur to Twilight what childish tantrum she looked to be in, as, quite frankly, she didn't care. The only thing capable of judgement in here was herself. Finally, it was either exhaustion or depression that made her stop. Twilight slumped on a bookcase, allowing the strong frame to take her weight. Pieces of glass and wood littered the floor alongside the blood like an abstract monument to her sins, and a chair lay in three... no, two pieces. She looked at her own bloodied forehooves — the hooves that had wrought such tiny devastation in a world simply oozing with devastation. How much of an impact had her outburst made on an insurmountable amount? How much would she have to destroy in this little library to equal the same destruction outside? “Like spitting in the rain,” Twilight confirmed with a raspy voice, only then detecting her weakness. The blood on her hooves was now more than the blood on the floor. Twilight blinked slowly, her world suddenly spinning faster and faster. Bookshelves became blurry, losing the focus they had only moments ago. Her neck fell, joining her left shoulder in the slumped position. Slowly, ever so slowly, Twilight closed her eyes for the final time. When the unicorn awoke, darkness filled the library. Twilight inspected the candles from afar, noting the lack of smoke and smell of burning wax. "No matter," she said, as she looked down at her hooves, "I can put those back on in a minute." The blood had now dried, leaving a crusty feel to her fur. Twilight wrinkled her nose at the touch of it before quickly rubbing it off. The cuts weren't deep, but they'd done her damage. Even now, Twilight felt slightly weaker than she was... wait, what was the time? With a groan, Twilight picked herself up to find her watch. “Stupid unicorn,” she told herself. At that point in time, however, she feared that even her own self wasn't listening. She located the watch with ease, but found the time much harder to see. The glass and casing of the watch had been completely shattered, and the hands were nowhere to be found. Her time device was now destroyed, because of her little juvenile outbreak. There was no other way of seeing how long she'd suffered, or, in other words, how long it had been since things were normal. That was enough — enough to send her over the edge. It wasn't as if she hadn't gone already, but that was besides the point. Before Twilight could let loose the mass of words waiting on her tongue, however, she heard a creak on the wooden planks of her floor. Not the usual creaks she would usually hear, but larger, perhaps more prolonged creaks. Unusual creaks. “Twilight, is that... you?” a voice called out. It sounded so familiar that Twilight could almost put a face to it. “Yes! It's me! Who is this?” she asked demandingly. Of course, she was over the moon hearing the voice, but she had to know who it belonged to. “Do I know you?” “Yes,” the reply croaked, “it's me.” “Who's 'me'?” Twilight asked, her voice slowly growing in pitch. “I know you know me... my name is... Sp—Spike?” Twilight jumped at the mention of his name. Of course it was Spike! How could she ever forget that wonderful voice of his? She wouldn't have to be alone, anymore! “Spike!” she cried, a tear of joy forming on her cheek. “How could I forget you?” Twilight began prancing around the library, looking for the source of the voice. Even though he was safely locked up in the 'time-out' zone, she deemed it necessary to prolong their greeting. “It's... it's been a long time, hasn't it?” “Oh, of course!” Twilight confirmed. “Ninety... ninety-three days, right?” “Actually, it was ninety-four days last time I checked, but I—” Twilight paused, slowly considering Spike's question. “Spike,” she said, finally moving through the corridor, “how did you know that?” “I remembered each day,” the monotone reply came. Twilight grew suspicious. How did Spike even turn back to... Spike? Perhaps it had happened exactly as it began — some form of magic had changed him back. That must be it. That had to be it. It didn't matter, anyway — he was back! Her lovable, friendly pal, Spike, was back, and she wouldn't let go of him now, not even for a second. Overjoyed, she strode over to the room where Spike was contained. “Spike, I hope you understand about the cage; it was only a precaution. You see—” A deep groan came from the room in front of Twilight. The volume made the unicorn jump, and she forgot her words. “It's... it's fine, Twi. J-just come get me out,” an exasperated reply sounded. “Now!” Twilight blinked. “Okay, Spike, give me a second!” Twilight said. “As rude as ever...” she murmured under her breath, as she pulled the door open. “I heard that, Twi,” Spike said, his voice low, almost guttural. The unicorn pondered about that last sentence — the words she spoke had barely been audible, even to herself, but he still heard them from behind the door. With a gulp, Twilight opened the door to the cage. Unfortunately, that was all she could see: a cage. No Spike, no light and no bars on the far side of the cage. “Spike?” Twilight questioned, slowly backing away, “where are you?” “Oh, you know: lurking.” A shrill cry escaped the room, and the shadows in the corner grew in size and focus. The elongated claws came slowly, dragging on the floor, leaving splinters and scratches in the wood. Twilight was frozen to the spot, her eyes focused on the shadows. Run, her mind said, just start running. She willed her legs to move, but they didn't respond. The claws suddenly rose from the floor before being pointed directly at Twilight. Spike came into the dim light, his eyes glimmering in the sudden light, and his expression of the want, the need, of the hunt. Though the light burnt his skin, he continued moving closer and closer to the unicorn. Run, you fool! She had to react. Supporting her body weight with her forehooves, Twilight swung her backhooves through the gap she'd made, bringing them directly into the lurker's face. Before even seeing the damage she caused, Twilight ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. A cry of pain erupted from behind her, but she carried on. Even the fear of her actually hurting Spike— no, the lurker, she meant — didn't stop her. It only took a matter of seconds for it to catch up to her, so she barely had a couple of seconds to think. As she passed through the bookshelves she feared she would never see again, Twilight saw the saddlebag next to her chemistry lab. With a quick scoop of her hoof, she grabbed it. Before completing the action, she heard a lunge from behind her. Twilight felt the sharp claws grab her side, raking deep, red lines in her fur. The unicorn tried not to cry out, but the pain hit her as fast as a heartbeat. She could feel the warm liquid dripping down her chest. Twilight looked around to find the lurker pull back one hand in an attempt to slash again while pinning her down with the other. He had transformed from a small, friendly dragon into a killer. Not a monster, but a cold-hearted predator, which, she thought by definition, was even worse. Who a monster is, is in the eye of the beholder — not something factual or definite, but an opinion. Spike was now an efficient killer; he wasn't something that could be disputed. His sharp claws and fangs, his detachment to the one he had loved, even his expression of pure, unrelenting determination in his efforts to kill her — all explained the obvious change. Spike was no longer Spike. “Not today, Spike, nor any other day.” Twilight said, looking deeply into the lurker's eyes. The unicorn summoned her last energy into her horn. As the claws quickly detached from her body, she let out another cry. Twilight fell to the cold grass, content that her teleportation spell had worked, but weak from the overwhelming sense of pain. On closer inspection, the scratches were much deeper than Twilight had first thought. More like gashes, she considered, even enough damage to potentially end her life. She knew that the saddlebag lying on the ground next to her contained bandages and aid, but she was outside. Twilight was no longer in the safety of her library, nor in the light that surrounded it; she was vulnerable to the horrors of the night. With a groan, Twilight got up from the ground. Another sting of pain sent her back down with a small scream, but she finally got to her hooves. She had many plans of where she could if the library became unsafe, but the nearest place was still a way to go with an injury. Sugarcube Corner may not even be safe, but from what Twilight gathered as she passed it on day... she couldn't remember, but the place had looked relatively empty. Each tentative step was joined by a jolt of pain. Though she realised this, each progression brought on a new, stronger wave of pain. The unicorn couldn't exactly blame the lurker for injuring her — after all; it was only trying to survive. How it managed to use Spike's voice and memories was disturbing, though. It felt as if all the good times she had shared with her friend had been brutally torn away from them, used by the vile predator that now possessed Spike's body. The image of both of them together had been tarnished... It didn't matter anymore. The lurker was trying to survive; Twilight was trying to survive. As Twilight limped onwards, the voices of familiar ponies echoed through the seemingly empty streets of Ponyville. The town sounded exactly as it once did: filled with the laughter, merriment and conversations of ponies, new and old, friendly and bitter, happy and sad, but all ponies. The source of the voices, though, was not from ponies. Just in the corner of Twilight's eye, not quite in focus, stood a lurker with a voice sounding like a unicorn. “Darling,” it said pleadingly, “why must you run? I have many clothes you may try on over here.” Twilight began to move faster. Though the wound began sending faster, stronger pangs of pain, she knew this was a life-or-death situation. The horde of lurkers was almost upon her, their voices bearing the friendliness and warmth that their bodies didn't reflect. “Twilight,” they all said in unison, “stop running. Remember when we did this? Remember when we did that? Remember the good times we shared?” The voices, the voices! The overwhelming flood of voices bearing down on Twilight like a wave of pure sound! By Celestia, why didn't it stop? They pleaded with her to stop, to remember what they'd done as friends, but Twilight knew they were no longer her friends. The unicorn began sprinting through the darkness, choosing to forget the pain erupting from her side. Twilight dared not look back, for the horde sounded, oh, so very near. She couldn't even hear the countless hoofsteps of the crowd — whatever cruel torture Twilight had been put up against before, even the profusely-bleeding cut in her side, it was nothing compared to the entire population of Ponyville bearing down on her. It was insane. She couldn't hear herself think. The voices plagued her mind, almost slowing her run to a halt. Her mind began to crack at its seams, falling prey to the maddening maelstrom of words and memories. “Shut up!” she cried with desperation, “just shut your putrid mouths!” The crowd did not listen. Hearing her cries for help from her faltering mind, they only increased in volume. “Twilight! We're your friends! You shouldn't tell us to hush!” Even though the unicorn couldn't physically hear the words from her ears, she could feel every syllable hit her mind. By now, her pain had melted away, succumbing to the stronger sense of pain coming from her head. All she could feel was pain and an overriding sense of defeat. She couldn't give up, though — Sugarcube Corner was in sight! Twilight could see the colourful, cake-inspired house stand tall, almost towering, among the smaller houses. One final sprint. Twilight's breath was heavy, and her mind even more so. With one final grunt of desperation, she cast an illuminating spell over the shop. It was all the energy she had left, and as she stumbled into the shining bubble of purple light, the voices of those behind her grew quieter. In fact, everything grew more quiet, even the screaming of her own body telling her to stop running. It was funny. After all that noise, it was like her body was going through a withdrawal. She laughed at the image of her ears refusing to pass on their messages, as if they were going on strike. The ground felt much more comfortable than standing up, anyway. Grass, or, at least, the withered version of it was soft to touch. Twilight ripped a couple of blades away, only to watch them drift off in the breeze when she dropped them. When they hit the ground, her head joined them.