//------------------------------// // Kuja Day Sixteen: Monsters of Mist // Story: To Live Again // by _No_One_Remains_ //------------------------------// I was awake for the remainder of the night, Mr. 33 and 111 by my side in my fevered stupor. The orange mare’s sister, the yellow filly, kept us company through the early morning hours, until the sun finally began to rise above the horizon. Off and on she nodded out, too young to handle the strain of caring for another into the late hours. The mages didn’t seem to sleep, instead focused on my health. Somewhere between Ghastly Gorge and Sweet Apple Acres I had contracted something. The cold sweat drenching my forehead and the burning in my chest was evidence of an illness that threatened to steal my sanity. I prayed that ponies could not contract the illness, as I would never wish such a pain on any other living creature, friend or foe. The effects of Flare were tame in comparison to the pain rending my heart that night. It seemed unlikely that Black Mages could contract the illness, given their lack of biology and their immunity to the elements that we passed through. I tossed and turned, my insides shifting from on fire to tight knots periodically over the moonlit nightmare. I was living a proverbial hell, wanting nothing more than to die at the time. Looking back, I’m glad I did not. As the sun lifted above the horizon, the orange mare entered to check on me. There being nothing for her to do, she carried her sister to her room, laying her down for actual rest. The Black Mages answered a few vague questions that I was too preoccupied to listen to, and then she left. As the warm rays of the celestial body cascaded through the window and comforted my aching body, a loud roar rang out from the edge of the Everfree Forest. Even in my fevered haze I could hear the roar. I could hear the pounding. I could feel the energy. A manticore, larger than the one we encountered in the forest, was heading for the farmhouse. At least I thought I could sense it coming. When I attempted to warn the mages, they acted as if they couldn’t understand me. It’s very possible that they couldn’t. It was equally possible for me to be having a hallucination. Just as I began to accept my thoughts as paranoia, reality came crashing down on all of us. Literally. I felt the weight of a lion stomp on me, followed by planks of wood tearing into my flesh. The box spring and floor below me gave easily under the monster’s force, sending me plummeting to the first story of the house in pain and confusion. The mages fell with me, unable to escape the collapsing woodwork. I heard the Apple family let out a conglomerate shriek of fear, the door to the house slamming open in a stampede of hooves. I could hear the confused mumblings of an old mare from through the doorway while her grandchildren attempted to explain the commotion. The Black Mages wasted no time in casting their spells, the manticore on top of me catching fire and setting the already-destroyed paneling ablaze. A sudden fury filled my every muscle. In an instant, the sickness that swallowed me evaporated in a steam of anger and fear. The beast crushing down on me was not natural, not even for Gaia. It had taken a very concentrated source of Mist to create such a raging beast. The type of Mist that could be generated by a Trance. Specifically 111’s Trance in Ghastly Gorge. No, that’s not how it works. Trances are fueled by Mist, not the other way around. Then where did the Mist come from? I began to think back to my dream, wondering if it held any merit. But my anger quickly turned my thoughts to ash. Before I was aware of it, I wrapped the manticore in a ball of magical energy that sent it rocketing back through the walls it had destroyed. I had just enough time to stand up and test my muscles before I heard it crash outside the house. Almost without thinking about it, I walked toward the thud, the Black Mages following me cautiously. The second my body crossed the destroyed threshold of the farm’s broken wall, a claw pierced through my chest from the side. The manticore had anticipated my actions. It was clever, but it was not powerful enough to handle me. Without so much as a wavered breath, I engulfed it in a ball of fiery energy, sending its flesh melting and its brain boiling. It took barely a second for the entire creature to enter a liquid state. Once its claws shriveled and left my side, I healed myself with a nice Cura and continued my rhythmic march toward the edge of the forest. As I reached the half-way point, citizens of Ponyville began to gather around the farmhouse to assess the damage. Five particular ponies crowded around the orange mare, their voices flooding with concern. My senses intensified; I was able to hear every syllable muttered within the crowd. I could see through the blinding darkness of the Everfree Forest and I could smell the blood that had drained from my wounds during the healing process. I could feel the vibrations of the ground as a pack of manticores charged at me. I blinked. I shouldn’t have. I can never forgive myself for what happened at the edge of the forest on that day. I can never give him his life back. He was innocent. He wanted to live in peace. He wanted to make friends with everyone. Even when he knew he would die, all he wanted to do was care for a baby Chocobo. And because of me, he died. I… Forgive me. Please. I beg of you, Mr. 33… Three manticores sank their claws into my body, poison shooting through my veins at a normally-fatal rate. Two manticores ignored me completely, each targeting a different mage. Mr. 111 was prepared, wrapping one in a cyclone of wind and rock. Mr. 33 was not prepared. His naivety was his death. He was too horrified by the sight of my blood to react to the beast ramming him. I watched the halves of his body split apart. I watched his lack of blood spill on the ground. I watched as his golden eyes faded into the blackness of his lack of body. I listened as the remnants of his voice called out to me. His dying words were genuine…and I quote… “Thank you, Kuja.” Thanks…for what? For letting him die twice?! For letting him face his mortality in an endless wait for the end?! For letting him be ripped apart and wiped from the afterlife?! No living creature should ever have to die more than once! None! But he…he never faltered in the face of his mortality! Even when his brothers waited for death to swallow them, he took solace in providing life for another creature! Out of all of the puppets I created, he deserved to live! The only mage comparable to him was Vivi! And now… My heart-rate skyrocketed. My illness and anger and fear were all drowned in sorrow. I couldn’t control anything anymore. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t see or hear. All I could do was feel. I could feel the pink glow of Trance engulf me. I could feel its warmth swallow all conscious thought. I could feel myself casting spells and muttering words. And, in my sorrow-induced state of higher being, I could feel myself telling me not to cast it. But I did. I cast Ultima. And…controlled it. When I had cast Ultima in the past, it destroyed an entire planet with little resistance. I nearly wiped out all of existence with the spell. But now, because I was fighting for others and not myself, I was able to control the power. I was Tranced for the memory of a friend. I was able to gain control of myself as I cast the spell. And the manticores ceased to exist. The inter-dimensional energy of Ultima devoured the manticores whole, leaving nothing as a reminder of their existences. No reminder at all…except for Mr. 33… Tears poured from my eyes. I’d never felt such emotions before my dying moments under the Iifa Tree. And now…I was openly crying for a puppet that I had cursed to face a second death. Mr. 111 stood over his brother’s tattered clothes, the blackness of the magical body beginning to fade away into the ether. If he’d had tear ducts, they would have been dry by the time the morning ended. I…had nothing to say in my Tranced state. Instead I focused my attention to the monsters pouring forth from the forest. Each one met a death similar to the first manticore, except none of them gained mercy. They each suffered before they died, like Mr. 33’s murderer should have. Instead it had been given a painless death, much to my dismay. And after an hour of killing the forest monsters, they all just seemed to stop coming. Ponies had gathered around my glowing aura, watching me wipe the beasts from Equestrian history. Mr. 111 knelt beside his brother, sobbing uncontrollably for the puppet. If I had been in control of my emotions, I would have sobbed with him. I…truly am sorry. But it all ended in a sudden moment of clarity. The end was beginning. Lord Avon’s play! My dream! It all started to become clear to me. I started to piece the puzzle together, but the clarity ended all too soon. My Trance faded, and I fell to the ground in a clump of flesh and tears and blood. A quote from my very own mouth echoed in my ears. “The weak lose their freedom to the strong. Such is the way of the strong. And it is the providence of nature that only the strong survive. That is why I needed strength.” Mr. 33 was weak. He lost to the manticore. I survived. But I didn’t survive because of my strength. I survived because of my purpose. This second life was not meant to be a happy one. I was not brought to Equestria by some unnamed power because it wanted me to have fun. I was brought here to protect it. To save it from an unnamed monster. And Vivi would be joining me. He felt real to me in my dream because he was really there. At some point in time, he will have that same vision. That was my final thought before losing consciousness…