//------------------------------//
// The Unwavering Eye 
// Story: Thing a Day 
// by Rennoc215 
//------------------------------//

Thing A Day: The Unwavering Eye

The dead should not walk among the living. It's a law of nature. Things live, and then they die, and they cease to exist. It's something that is 

inescapable. But that doesn't mean that you can't break the cycle. 

Zombies. Ghosts. Necromancers. Liches. Elementals and Demons. All of them break the cycle. They all grant life to the dead, either by fell magics or 

sheer will. Whenever something dies, these can ignore nature's balance, and use the dead to their own advantages.

Which is why I do what I must. I turn and look down a hallway which was whispering my name on a wind only I could hear. A moan, and the shambling 

form of an earth pony comes from the dark corners of that passage. "There is no struggle, only balance." I whisper, before I turn to face this threat. "The 

dead may rise from the grave, but we stand to put them back." I continue.

It's an old verse, from one of the old scriptures. I always prepare myself mentally for any fight, and these lines always bring clarity to my mind. 

"There is evil in the world. There is good, too. Evil has it's champions, and we mirror them. Purity and light are my path, and under my divine light, evil 

shall be banished like the darkness it hides in." I grasp the silver blade, firmly sheathed at my hip, with my silvery aura. "I am the lightbringer, and 

you," I say, drawing the blade with a soft hiss, "Shall fall."

All the solitary zombie replies with is a hoarse moan, before it shambles closer. I smirk, and bring the blade down, cleanly bisecting the unholy 

abomination. It slumps to the ground, nothing spilling from the half-decayed body. I gently pick the body up, before burning the corpse in pure magical flame. "I release you from damnation." I say, before I collect the ashes in a small pouch on my hip. I turn away from the alley, and I'm about to depart when I hear a low wail.

I grit my teeth, hearing the banshee ever so softly. So, this wasn't a seemingly random awakening, I rationalize, before turning to look at the abandoned home at the end of the road. Certainly enough, through the upper left window, I can see a faint blue glow. I dash down the alley, and slam into the front door of the home.

Years of disuse has weakened the door, leaving rusted and brittle, and I smash through it with ease. I slow down before I hit the other wall, and I take a moment to look at the shape of the structure I'm in. It must have been a semi-wealthy home, as everything still looks somewhat nice, as long as you ignore the thick layer of dust coating everything. A gleam in the kitchen catches my eye, and I dash over.

To my delight, this family owned silverware. Silver plates, in particular. I reach in and pull a few out, and lay them on the inside of my cloak. That'll be a nice suprise for this spirit. I turn to the staircase in the other room, and see that the ghost has yet to come for me. Patience. If it won't come to me, I'll go to it.

I travel towards the staircase, and up it quickly, to find myself in a narrow hallway. At least this one can't slink past me as I check the rooms, I mentally note, before turning to check each room in turn. All of them turn up empty, until I come to the last door on the hall. Slowly, I push it open, and I see the faint blue glow we've all been trained to worry about.

The door glides open, and I see that it's been oiled with ectoplasm. I shiver, but turn to the spirit, which is preoccupied by something in the sky. "The sun's beautiful, isn't it?" It asks, the projection it's holding constantly rippling and flickering. I come up behind it, silently, and raise my sword above my head. One more quick dispatch, and then I can head back. The spirit turns to me, and smiles. "Ah, Inquisitor. I've been expecting you."

I groan, and roll my eyes. "Really? Final words, and you start it with that cliche nonsense?"

That cracked a laugh from the spirit. "Ah, I see you have a sense of humor. Good! I was hoping that I would get stuck with some sort of no-nonsense snob." The spirit bowed, quite unexpectedly. "I am Rammos, Grand Inquisitor. And you are?"

I gulped. "I... Don't have a name." The spirit cocked an eyebrow, and I continued. "I... haven't used a name for as long as I can remember."

Rammos sighed. "Shame. I was hoping to get a name, so that I could wait for you on the other side."

I gulped again. "That... won't happen either." A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. Curse my honesty.

At this, Rammos cocked his whole head. "But, Inquisitors are reknowned for their purity of soul. As an Inquisitor, you have a reservation in the afterlife. Why wouldn't I see you?"

Do I really do this? Do I really share my story to a spirit, who I have to banish anyways? "I can't say... until I know you really were an Inquisitor before. Tell me: Who was the author of the thirteenth book in the book of sermons?"

Rammos smiled. "Easy. Seraphine of the pegasus tribe."

I smiled. "Very well. Second part: What is it she wrote about?"

Rammos closed his eyes. "Simple. She lived before the merger of the tribes. As a pegasus, she wasn't armed to deal with many of the darker forces of the world, and she realized what unicorns could do. However, what she wrote on was the importance of unification between the tribes, and at teh end, she was being led away for execution in punishment for 'dissent.'"

I shivered. He got it right. "Spot on. Very well, brother. You see," I said, reaching beneath my robe, to the silver plate covering my chest. I pushed it down, to reveal the slowly growing dark stain upon my gray coat. Rammos leaned closer, and placed an etheral hoof on the fine, intricate veining of the expanding patch. "Although my soul has a reservation, my soul can't make it. Instead, it currently resides in the clutches of Azairon, archdemon of the Cabal."

"A soul-less." Rammos whispered, before looking up at me. "How are you an Inquisitor?"

"Will." I whisper. "I once had somepony, you know. And then... she died. I couldn't bear it, and I became desperate to have her back. So, I went to the cabal. They said that they could bring her back, but at a cost. So, I sold my soul. They ressurrected her, sure, but she came back as a mindless, soulless body. I was disgusted, and I struck her down. An Inquisitor had lived in my town, and saw me strike down an undead in cold blood, and one who I had once loved. He took me under his wing, and brought me into the brotherhood. Without a soul, I couldn't break, and thus passed the exams with flying colors."

A single ectoplasmic tear slid down Rammos'es face. "Son, I have an idea." He looked me in the eye and flashed a defiant smile. "Let's go get your soul back."

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The tall ebony doors stood no chance against my wrath, and I knocked down the cabal's inner sanctum doors. Sitting in an oversized throne rested a single red stallion, lacking a mane but enshrouded in a cloak of fire. Two black ram horns protruded from his brow, and his eyes were a pitch black, the whole way through.

"Ah. I was wondering when you'd come back for this." He stated, lifting an etherial mirror image of myself. "I wonder, how much does it hurt to be broken by your soul? It will heal quickly, but you wont." He stated, lifting a knife and plunging it into where my mirror heart would have been.

I didn't even flinch, and his eyes widened. "What?" he shouted. "That should have had you writhing on the floor in agony! Why isn't your soul working?"

I smiled and drew my sword. "I got a loan." I said, as I began crossing the intricate floor.

His eyes rapidly narrowed, and he pulled a rusting blade from behind the throne. As he grasped it, the blade caught flame. "Come then, to your death, Inquisitor!" He leapt at me, and the fight of my life began.