Chapter Twelve
The greatest enemy one can face is their self.
Klaxon forced himself to stand upright in an alleyway some ways into the frozen fortress. He was flanked by jagged shards of half-buried concrete, the buildings around him mostly frame than actual structures. Their metal beams were all iced over and patches of snow clung to the discolored metal. Shakily, he made his way out onto the street and looked around. A cold wind blew, ruffling his coat and sending stinging cold and powder at him.
He was alone...wherever he was. Looking to his right, he saw that giant tower unobstructed. Though it was far away, it was breathtakingly enormous. The city, as large as it was, seemed easy enough to navigate. All of the streets seemed to connect to the central point far off in the distance where the tower stood, meaning that they were all avenues out the the outskirts. It was just a matter of knowing which path was an outlet nearest to the vehicle and walking down it, right? It was no stroke of brilliance and the others would be more than capable of drawing the same conclusion. He could trust that they would be following a similar course of action. Falcon Wing had his Pipeye; he could construct his path using that, not to mention fly. If anything, the young pegasus was already in the air scouring the snow blanketed streets for his friends.
"That's assuming he's alright," Klaxon thought with a frown. After a moment or two more of planning, the bronze stallion had his course of action. "Get back to the wagon and wait a while. See if anyone gets there as well, then go looking for the others. Think about what happens if none of them gets there later."
With that, he started walking down the cold streets of the Crystal Ruins away from the monolithic tower, walking along where sidewalks would be underneath the deep snow. He was on alert, putting his sharp eyes to good use. He surveyed his environment frequently for all the good it was worth. The Magimus could appear anywhere in the city instantly, that much Klaxon knew. He probably would not see it coming and if he did then he would surely go blind. His focus was not the construct of energy but any other denizen of Maxim's domain. Snow Devils and the distinct possibility of Crystal City ghouls amongst other threats still existed regardless of the Maxim Magimus.
He did not get far before the unthinkable took place. His eyes widened in disbelief as the ruins warped and distorted, shedding the oppressive frost and taking on a more familiar form. The austere gray expanse, the tops of buildings craggy, bent and broken, filtering in the light of a green tinted sky. The city of Hope, the blue skies reverted to the sickly, cloud choked cover of the Equestrian Wasteland. The snow beneath his hooves, cold and crunching with each step became the hard, cracked asphalt of the city roads. Debris, rubble and junk surrounded him, the work he and Steiner had done completely absent. It was as if he was sent back through time.
"Impossible," Klaxon told himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head to regain his grip on reality. "This is not real. It is obviously a trick. An illusion."
But he felt himself warming up. He felt as if he were back in the Equestrian heartland and not the tundra...
"All part of the glowing bastard's plan. Get me to lose my fucking mind, take off my coat and go running around in my past until my body gives out in the cold. You'll have to do better than that, I'm no Wasteland fool either!"
"Oh, is that so?"
Klaxon's eyes shot open and looked around frantically for the Magimus.
"You are a pony that puts a lot of trust in what they see... but what happens when your eyes betray you? What happens when your very mind becomes my personal playground?" the phantom taunted.
"You get out of my head right now or Ill --!"
"You will... what? What could you possibly do to me? I control your reality!"
"You're no god," Klaxon retorted. "You may be powerful, stronger than Steiner even, but you're no god. You can fuck with how I see things but not reality itself. Nothing close to that."
For a moment, the mental affliction of the Magimus subsided, but the moment passed quickly. "You are indeed no Wasteland simpleton. You will be an excellent toy," the Magimus told Klaxon, leaving him to wander the ruins of his home.
Though he was left with an ominous parting, Klaxon knew one thing to be true. He had scored a victory against the magical pony. A small victory, but one nonetheless. He had shot down the Magimus' attempts to dishearten him with the boasting. He had destroyed the pretense of godhood the arcane being was trying to maintain by keeping his wits. He smirked. All he had to do was keep logical and this illusion would fold long before he did. With his mind's eye, he would be able to see past the lies crafted to break him. He was not walking down the ruins of Hope. He was still in the former Crystal City, his friends all separated from him in parts unknown. He may be gradually heating up, but he would not remove his coat. And whatever he saw had a counterpart to reality, twisted by the magic of the Magimus to be perceived differently. Klaxon pressed on, knowing the rules of this sick game. And since he knew the rules, he would jump at every opportunity he got to utterly break them. How satisfying would it be to beat the Magimus -- a pony made out of the very nature of magic itself -- at his own game? There was distinct chance that he would be furious. There was a strong probability that in his wrath he would end up killing the stallion without hesitation.
But even if he was killed for what he was about to do, the Magimus would live for eternity knowing that some pony from beyond the frozen wastes had beaten him. And that knowledge filled Klaxon with a spiteful, vindictive vigor.
"My final fuck you, shiny fuckhead."