//------------------------------//
// Seek. 
// Story: Lest There Be Light 
// by MonoGlyph 
//------------------------------//

At last, the typewriter stopped. 

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, IT’S BEST YOU ASK THEM NOW. 

Countless questions buzzed in her head like bees around a flower bed. Twilight took a few moments to try to articulate her thoughts. Focusing became difficult, however, as there was a different sort of buzzing present as well; a very real, audible sound. 

“What’s that?”

The droning increased in volume as the origin drew near. The senior reviewer took a few moments to type out another message, this one, unheeded; for at this precise moment a ghastly, rat-sized creature landed on the tip of Twilight’s snout. It appeared insect-like, though this description really didn’t do the beast justice. Its thorax and two of its legs were translucent, almost vaporous, while its metasoma was undoubtedly solid, and covered with a thick ceramic carapace. Its eyes were the stuff of nightmares, celled but with a clearly visible pupil, giving the creature a questioning, haunted appearance. In place of a mouth, the creature sported a long curled proboscis that twitched in anticipation of its next meal. 





Of course, the only one in a position to make all these observations was Spike. Unfortunately, he could not find the time to examine the little monster in such detail, as, with a yelp, Twilight swatted it away. Upon impact with the far wall, the creature’s shell shattered and those parts of it that were not composed of solid matter swiftly evaporated. 

Trying to catch her breath, Twilight glanced at the typewriter. 

THAT’S WHAT WE CALL A ROTMITE. THESE CREATURES MAKE THEIR HOME HERE IN THE BUREAU. THEY FEED ON ENERGY AND, TO A LESSER EXTENT, LIFE-FORCE. ERGO, THEY ARE HARMLESS. 

“That doesn’t sound harmless,” said Spike. 

ENERGY IS HARDLY A MUCH-SOUGHT-AFTER COMMODITY AROUND HERE. OUR CLIENTS OFTEN BRING AN EXCESS OF IT UPON ARRIVAL. THEY HAVE NO USE FOR IT, AND A SURPLUS TENDS TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE DECAY OF THE FACILITY. ROTMITES ARE VITAL TO OUR OPERATIONS. 

“Yes, but we’re, as you said, corporeal,” Twilight pointed out. “Doesn’t that mean that these insects could, you know, conceivably… hurt us?”

There was another pause. The next message was typed out slowly, and with great care. 

I SUPPOSE THAT’S A VALID POINT. HMM. I HAD NOT CONSIDERED THIS EVENTUALITY. IT IS POSSIBLE THAT ROTMITES COULD CAUSE YOUR UNTIMELY RETIREMENT. BUT I WILL WAGER THAT THE ISSUE WOULD ONLY ARISE WHEN DEALING WITH A LARGE QUANTITY OF THE CREATURES. DO BE CAREFUL, WON’T YOU. I IMAGINE YOUR PRINCESS WOULD BE CROSS WITH US IF WE LOST YOU.  

Twilight took note that their task was not without an element of danger. But such was the case with many of the endeavors that Princess Celestia thrust upon the Elements. It was unlikely that they’d fall now, due to a few insects. The very idea was laughable. If the deciding vote fell to her, Twilight knew that she’d choose to remain here and complete Sheol’s task. The Princess expected it; moreover, this facility and its function were vital to the well-being of the world at large. Twilight could not begin to comprehend what effects its malaise would have on life in Equestria if it were to continue, even after the senior reviewer had told her. 

With this assurance close to her heart, Twilight accompanied Spike as they left the reviewer to his work. It was time to find the others.


***


Applejack had not moved from her seat in the lobby. Her eyes had still not gotten used to the striking light that filtered through the glass doors she’d used to come in. The steel designs running through the inside of the doors cast dramatic shadows on the long ebony counter and the wall behind it. Applejack couldn’t say why she elected to remain where she was. If pressed, she’d confess it was only a feeling that kept her rooted to the spot; a feeling that something was due.

“Oh! Applejack…? Is that you?”

Yes. There it was.

Applejack turned to see a familiar yellow pegasus making her way across the dusty floor. A few responses ran through Applejack’s mind, but she settled on a greeting.

“’Ello.”

“It’s so good to see you! I thought I was all alone here. It was… terrifying.”

Applejack didn’t reply. Fluttershy focused on her forelegs, suddenly self-conscious. 

“So… mmm. Do you know why we’re here? Or… where here is?”

“Sorry.”

Fluttershy sighed quietly and sat down next to her friend.

“Ah. I see. I guess that’s okay. Um. Why are you so quiet, Applejack? Did something happen?”

Applejack kicked at the dust at her hooves. 

“No, no,” she muttered. “I jus’ don’t have much to say. This place… this place just kinder gets to you, y’know? It’s quieter than a church mouse. Or, I guess it was.” She looked at the hideous buzzing creature that was tirelessly orbiting Fluttershy. “What is that awful thing, ‘Shy?”

“This little guy? I found him while I was wandering around in the halls, and he started following me.” 

Something about the insect made Applejack feel uneasy.

“I’m thinkin’ it’d be best to get rid of the critter. We don’t know what it is or what it wants.”

“W-what?” Fluttershy looked crestfallen. “It’s not hurting us in any way, is it? It was my only companion for a while… ”

“Alright, alright. Whatever you want.” 

Applejack seemed preoccupied. Fluttershy consulted with her buzzing cohort. It did not offer much in the way of advice. 

“Do you think anypony else is here?” she asked. 

None of you will be harmed unless you choose to be.

“I think so,” said Applejack. “The four other, uh, Elements are probably here as well. That is, Twilight, Rainbow, Rarity and Pinkie,” she explained. She didn’t like referring to the others as ‘Elements’. She felt that it invalidated them as individuals. Her friends had functions besides simply being the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, after all.

“Should we go and look for them, then?”

“Prob’ly. From the outside it looked like we’re close to th’ top. We should check upstairs first, just to be thorough.”

Fluttershy remembered the note she found upon waking up. 

“I read that’s where the immigration offices are.”

“Immigration offices? What kinna place is this?”

Another familiar voice broke in, mingling with the sound of hooves on concrete stairs.  

“This is the Charon Bureau. It’s a testing and preparation grounds for the dead.”  


***


The better part of the hour had passed since Rarity had heard from Rainbow Dash. Rainbow had assured her that she would find a way down, that they would be reunited. And yet, Rarity could see no reason that Rainbow would take this long to find her. It was a little uncharacteristic. She was getting worried. Had something happened to Rainbow? Rarity could not bear to wait any longer, not when her friend’s safety was on the line. The creaking of the building above continued. 

As she began her canter through the tired hallways, the noise built as though the stones themselves shrieked, leading her to provinces unknown. But the dead and the departed had no voices. The facility, long forgotten, was a relic of olden times. Countless civilizations arose and fell over the eons, leaving behind countless artifacts and cities of ghosts and rubble. Many of these had been recovered by modern historians; many more still slept beneath the ever-drifting sands of time. But what did that matter to her? She cared about the now. What was that one saying? Carpe diem; a sensible way to live, any way you cut it. When one has only so many days in their lifetime, what’s the point in brooding or leafing through the past? 

Among the most enduring aspects of this world were stones, the hardest of which were diamonds, like those her mark symbolized. She realized early on that not even the mark determined her fate. Her mark was a trio of diamonds, yet was she a miner? Certainly not. While she found diamonds appealing, she focused on making her dresses, which occasionally used diamonds. But the dresses themselves were never so durable as the diamonds that decorated them. That was alright, though. Among other things, this kept her in business.

Rarity surfaced from her sea of introspection. She realized now that the tiles beneath her hooves were checkered black and white, whereas they previously were an unappealing gray. The walls were a bright crimson with a golden trim, an oasis of color in a building that was predominantly monochrome.  She looked back to see if she’d missed something, to try and catch a glimpse of the path she’d taken to arrive here. The garish red and gold hallway seemed to go on forever. She questioned her predicament, but in doing so, accomplished nothing. The universe, as she saw it, stood still… until she resumed her journey through the crimson passage. 

Paintings adorned the walls, numberless paintings; all colored a somber black and white. Rarity recognized some of the paintings as works of Salvador Oscura, Lucky Isabel and Obsidian Obelisk, although they were clearly not the original pieces. Rarity had seen these paintings in various museums and art galleries in Canterlot and they were supposed to be in color. The subject matter of the paintings was grim. Only the classical Gothic-inspired artwork of Oscura was presented. The artwork by Lucky Isabel was exclusively the sort she drew after her eventual mental breakdown. Obsidian Obelisk’s pieces were the ones he created in the last few years of his life while wrestling with his unknown disease. 

The hallway terminated at a large cubical space up ahead. Four pillars towered near the center and Rarity suspected these weren’t built for support or any other practical purpose. They looked tan, but their weathered quality implied they were once white or light gray. A large, muscular stallion was carved into the base of each column, eternally burdened by the weight of the ceiling above. Rarity stopped to admire the four statues. They were expertly sculpted; smooth, lifelike and anatomically correct. The walls of the room were decorated by murals depicting featureless gray alicorns in flight, accompanied by a flock of brilliant white doves. 

A scythe was mounted on the wall opposite the exit. As Rarity drew closer, she was struck by the exquisite craftsmanship of what was intended to be a simple farmer’s tool. The body of the scythe was carved from a dark, sturdy oak, which had been polished to a high shine. The shaft was crafted from two lengths of wood that twisted around each other in a double helix. A single handle protruded from the midsection of the tool, and ended in a point that looked to be about as sharp as the blade. The blade itself was built from lustrous mirror-like platinum, and curved in the shape of a semicircle, reminding Rarity of the crescent moon. Were she more scientifically minded, she would question the practicality of crafting a blade from a metal as malleable as platinum. But even without this background information, Rarity was certain this scythe could not have been made for any purpose besides strictly decorative or ceremonial. 





Take it with you.

The suggestion was internal, and she questioned whether she had truly heard or understood it. She was compelled to look back into the crimson hall. Something stood there, in the distance, something slender and pale and indistinct. Was it hostile? She dared not let it out of her field of vision for fear that it was the only thing keeping the alien shape at bay. Several seconds passed. At last the shape moved slightly, as if rotating, and evaporated. Was she hallucinating? She held her ground for a minute more to see if the phantasm would rematerialize. When it failed to do so, she turned back to the scythe. Fabulous as it was, it was unlikely to be of use to her. Even if she took it for self-defense she was about as likely to hurt herself with the unwieldy thing as she was to ward off any attackers.

Ten minutes passed. Rarity had evidently moved on, as she was no longer inside the room with the ivory pillars and checkered floors. And, as fate would have it, neither was the platinum-bearded scythe.