I so hoped this would be a peaceful day, and it looked quite promising in the morning. Our artificial pony project entered the next stage few days ago. We found out long ago that growing various parts separately allows us to make more improvements on every segment of pony anatomy, rather than growing the body as a whole and trying to modify the whole code at once. Sadly this approach has its downside too. It is much more time consuming than direct growth, but at last the tissue, skeleton and organs were finished. Now the time for testing had come.
To have a hope to be incorporated into final product the components needed to prove certain endurance. We wanted to expose them to microbes, poisons and mechanical wear to see what to improve. We had painstakingly drawn up an exact plan, we knew the boundaries. At least most of us did. One overeager idiot of a pony, young trainee called Vial Glass, applied aqua regia to some of the internal organs. I mean, it is still just tissue, not diamond, for Discord’s sake! If I didn’t know better, I would accuse him of intentional sabotage, but I don’t blame evil for what stupidity caused. Still now we needed to regrow a digestive system and a few other things. Charming, really.
Those are the moments when murder sounds like a good idea. But what good would the fool be as a corpse? If we had been closer to the border, I would have sold him into slavery to the Diamond Dogs in order to get refunded for the damage he caused. Alas, the slavers live too far away, so Vial Glass will stay with us. He will have to earn the money himself, although it will probably take him a whole lifetime…
Unfortunately, we can’t afford to wait until Vial makes enough money, so the hunt for a new client to drain the money from began. I’m not happy, the assingments usually mean dirty work, but for a greater good I will do anything.
“The project is saved!” shouts one of my lieutenants the he opens my door with such enthusiasm that it slams harshly into the wall.
Now, I don’t require any salutations or other such ridiculous signs of discipline. We use military rankings for their clear hierarchical structure - not the character of our organization - but a polite greeting and some respect for possessions are a must!
“Maybe you should leave the same way you came, Fire Caller. Perhaps take some etiquette lessons and try your entrance one more time, or is there a crime my door committed against your family?”
I question him standing up behind my carved mahogany desk. We may not have enough funding to continue our research, but that doesn’t mean we sacrifice all luxury at once. One can better mourn the cruelty of the world in a palace than in a shack.
“My apologies, Chant Circle, sir,” his cheeriness doesn’t drop a single bit, this must be really important. “…but I thought you would want to hear this at once.”
“Well, of course I would want to know that the project is saved, but knowing the chain of thoughts leading to that conclusion would bring me even bigger pleasure.” I answer with a raised eyebrow. I don’t want to be rude to Fire but the newly made dent in the wall next to my door didn’t exactly spur me to wash him in friendship.
He seems to finally pick up on my mood and calms a bit. “A courier arrived a few minutes ago. Apparently there is a pony asking around for unorthodox magical services. It must be something big, otherwise our contacts wouldn’t bother to let us know!” The longer he speaks, the more excited he sounds.
His emotions prove to be contagious as the full meaning of the news sets in. Unorthodox means illegal, illegal means dangerous, and dangerous means expensive! Of course we do all kinds of magical odd jobs to support our main cause, but this could solve our current problems at once! Yet I can’t allow myself to show any of my growing mirth. If the mere news made my subordinates run around like fire crackers, I fear to imagine what my approval would start.
“It might be a trap. Send the message to our contacts to observe him. If he doesn’t do anything suspicious during next two weeks, let them approach him and set a meeting. While they are on it, they should check his solvency as well.” I order as calmly as I can. I debate forbidding him to tell others about this news, but they probably already know by now, so what is the point?
“I’m right on it, sir.” He turns to leave but stops when he finally spots the damage he caused. “And I’m sorry about the door…” he trails off.
“What’s done is done. I understand your excitement. But try to be more considerate in the future. What if it wasn’t the door but focus crystal? You would be condemned to the same life as Vial Glass.”
Fire just shuddered and left in haste. Nopony wished to end up like Vial. He is to earn back the money lost in his dimwitted actions by cleaning the biological waste (read failed experiments). When he so loves aqua regia, he can work with it till the end of his days.
I sat back behind my table and placed my forehooves behind me head. Unorthodox magical service… Well if it is what it takes to bring our pony to life, we can be very unorthodox indeed.
Black magic. That’s what they call our research. How can they fail to understand that magic doesn’t have colors? The only difference between their petty spells and our rituals is the object of attention. The mechanics and rules are the same.
They think that changing living beings and bending the will of creatures to our needs go against the laws of nature? But do stones naturally fly in the air? Does anything simply vanish to appear the next instant miles away? No, if they want to call our way unnatural, they need to stop using unicorn magic as a whole. Hypocrites.
We can’t really complain about our current situation. From what is written in ancient tomes, our life used to be much harder. We can’t perform any 'black magic' spells during the day because Celestia’s sun burns our delicate spells down. Not to mention that through the traitorous Sun’s rays, she can see everything. We would end up just like our spells, burned to ash.
Moonlight on the other hand, that’s a whole different story. It’s not only gentle enough not to harm our work, it tends to tends to magnify and smoothen it. And since the Princess of the Night looks down on us from the Moon itself, we are completely safe from her wrath. Celestia can rise the Moon all she wants, but no way in Tartarus will it talk to her.
See? Here is another reason why we are shunned. Ponies fear the night and despise it so anything associated with it must definitely be evil. No wonder Luna succumbed to madness and turned against those ungrateful ignorants. But regardless of the justifiability of her actions, we are quite happy about them.
To be sincere, there is one thing that troubles us. It is hard to raise funds for our research. Why should we get money? Well, any scientist doing something positive for society gets money. Or do you think that understanding genetic material, curing diseases, and making a pony’s body stronger is wrong?
Let me tell you something. Every piece of knowledge can be used for good and for evil alike. The fact that they don’t allow us to focus on the good means that we need to get the money somehow. Thus anypony who pays can buy our services.
For once it seems that things are going our way. From the report we got, that pony really is looking for 'black magic' performers on his own, instead of being a mere bait offer from the Royal Guard. His purse isn’t the smallest in Equestria either - our contacts made sure about that. They get paid 5 percent of the money we earn so it is in their own interest to verify all information. It also seems he demands genetic alterations.
I gave them permission to set the meeting according to the needs of the customer. I don’t have much to do, since the research is suspended, and can therefore bend my schedule as needed. Besides, our contacts can be trusted to steer our client in the right direction. This isn’t the first time they set the meeting for me. Shady bars and abandoned quarries are perhaps romantic, and they look good in adventure stories, but they are also highly suspicious. Discussing business in Michefillyn-star-awarded restaurant is not only much more pleasant, but also much safer since the personnel makes sure that nopony disturbs the guests.
After months in a lab coat or ritual cape, I enjoy every second wearing my stylish, dark-green suit of an extravagant cut and complementing beige scarf.
“Soaring Profit, I have a shared reservation for 7 o’clock” I announce with as much disdain in my voice as possible to the maitre d’. Behaving any other way towards the staff would raise suspicion. Oh how pathetic high society is nowadays…
“Of course, sir. This way, sir.” If his anatomical structure allowed so, this colt would bow even lower. Once we are finished with our current project, perhaps we could design a race of waiters without backbones. If successful, the same concept could actually be applied to models for many other professions. The possibilities are endless!
The attendant leads me into a secluded section of the establishment. The privacy doors of the booth are closed, which means our future business partner already arrived. He is obviously eager. I should take advantage of it and aid as many bits to change pockets as possible.
“Finally! What took you so long? Do you vermins always let customers wait so long?” The pony snaps the moment the waiter closed the doors. I see he already downed half of glass of… beer. Sweet Celestia, who am I doing business with?!
“And good evening to you too, sir. I believe it would be impolite to arrive before my host does.” I reply with a smile. He is not the first yokel pretending to be of nobility that I have dealt with, nor will he be the last one.
“You think you are witty? I should just leave your rude mouth here and go to other providers! What’s your name anyway?” How easily some ponies boil… He obviously isn’t used to the fact that somepony doesn’t tremble in front of him.
“My name is of little consequence and so is yours. And what providers are we talking about? As far as I know, my “company” is the only one currently providing the services you demand. By the way, you should learn some subtlety. It’s a wonder we contacted you before the Royal Guard did.” A smile never leaves my face in these situations.
Our waiter chooses this moment to knock on the door and enter with our starters. All the food was pre-ordered by our contacts, and prepaid by our client. Having a monopoly brings these little pleasantries. This also provides time for my statement to settle in the customer’s head which becomes apparent when immediately after the waiter leaves.
I must say, the look on his face is priceless.
“R-royal Guard? What have they to do with this?”
“Much, I would say, since what you want isn’t exactly smiled upon by Celestia.” Now is the time to start being serious, and my voice follows this notion. Before continuing, I take a moment to savor the assortment of masterfully prepared appetizers in front of me. “Now, we know the general kind of operation you desire, but we lack the details. Care to elaborate your wish? That is, if you are still interested.”
His cockiness disperses like a fog in front of pegasi wings.
“Y-yes, I… I’m still interested. Even if it is illegal.” His resolve returns to his tone. “It concerns my son. You see, his coloration isn’t exactly fitting representation and a gentlepony in my position cannot allow anything to muddle his image.”
A few years ago something like this would ruin my appetite. There is a reason we don’t experiment on living ponies and instead create artificial constructs. Any genetic change is extremely painful and dangerous. Going through something like this just for a visage wasn’t unheard of, but it spoke volumes about that pony’s mental state. Putting one’s own foal through this for one’s for appearances sake would, by typical pony standards, result in banishment, possibly to the Moon (if it weren’t already occupied).
We don’t follow typical pony morals. Everything has a price.
“This isn’t exactly a simple ritual. It includes several steps demanding high strain from the casters. The cost might be above your resources,” I inform him. It’s not, of course. We made sure. But playing his ego ensures he won’t back out.
“My resources are my problem. Name the price,” he claims, haughtily inflating like a turkey.
“80,000 bits.” I watch as his bravado deflates. “And before you try to haggle, this is our final offer.”
The battle of passions raging inside his head is clearly visible on his face. Greed and pride, both sporting the intellects of a five-year-old, trying to dominate one another in a conflict rivaling the one between the princesses and Discord. And just like then, the result is known from the beginning.
“OK you greedy bastard. But I choose the place.” I will let him have that little victory. It is a small price for asking 30,000 more than usual.
“As you wish. It is a pleasure to do business with you.”
I throw a smug smile his way. The deal is secured, project is saved, and most of a delicious dinner is still waiting for me. Yes, things are definitely going our way now.
Our customer had enough sense in his high-in-the-clouds head to give us enough time to prepare for the ritual. Those assigned to perform the spell spent most of the time travelling around Equestria, acquiring necessary reagents. They are mostly standard alchemical materials, but the amounts needed would draw unwanted attention. Buying from various places diminishes the risks. We also chose not to tell any others the exact date of the operation.
Sadly, the nervousness in our headquarters has been rising recently. We didn’t keep the contract secret from our own ponies, and some of the lower-ranking ones (that means those who have been with us for a relatively short time) started to question our morality. This happens from time to time, so we always have a backup plan.
There is always a chance that somepony loses their head and run to the authorities confessing his 'crimes' and the location of our hideout. When you encounter open discussion about whether our deeds are righteous or not, you can almost be sure there will soon be such a pony. That’s why we adopted the policy of keeping a secondary hideout on standby. The new location is kept secret from most of our members but is ready and operational at all times.
Thanks to that policy, the moving could start immediately. The rank of a member and the importance of the project have been the deciding factors for the order of moving. Everything had to be kept in secrecy from those staying in place for now.
As we make our way to the place of the ritual, all the lieutenants and the most important scientists are safely in the new hideout. That knowledge brings me some calmness. For tasks like the one today, we always bring most of our available bodyguards, while the headquarters remain relatively unguarded.
To my surprise the customer chose a good place. The clearing is properly secluded and big enough for us to draw the circle and runes. All casters present are well versed in magical arts and have attended enough rituals to go through preparations on their own in their sleep. For a whole waking group, the setting poses ten-minute-long opportunity for amicable chat, including double checking the whole setting. We even have enough time to double-check our looks. Marketing is important even, in our branch.
The night fell many hours ago and the moon is high. Mare in the Moon looks down on the land that resents her. Sometimes I have a feeling she glares at me.
Mare in the Moon on me blinks,
How I don’t care what she thinks.
I sing to myself to the melody of “Twinkle, Twinkle.” The noises of two ponies making their way through the bushes are now drawing closer. It is time to take our positions. As they enter the clearing, I study their faces.
The colt is definitely scared, and I can’t hold it against him. Seeing the ritual circle and twelve hooded ponies in threatening masks is much to take in. His father tries to hide his anxiety under indifference, but he too is visibly trembling. Good, that fear at least suggests he won’t try to cheat us with the payment.
Two of my coworkers bind the colt in shackles in the centre of the circle. We can’t have him run into the forest during the ritual. Not only would it break the spell, but he would likely set the forest on fire.
As the casters trot past me to their designated positions around the circle, I overhear a few hushed remarks about that jerk of a father and the ritual they pass among themselves. It is all right; they know we need the money from this job, but it doesn’t make them heartless.
To my, and mostly his, displeasure, that’s exactly what I have to do to him. His father wants to change his coat and mane color, so the coat and mane must disappear first. We rear up and flare up our horns. In precise synchronization we slam our front-hooves into the ground. Flames spring from the spots of impact and race along the lines of the casting circle to the unlucky colt. He cries out in utter terror as the fire touches his coat and set it ablaze at once. The spectacular fire-show loses its luster when compared to the beautiful play of leylines we orchestrate. They swirl and dance like a cobra under the spell of flute.
This part requires attention only from two of the casters - one to continue providing the flames and one to keep the vitals of the colt in check. Soon he will stop his cries.
I remember that after the first time I partook in a ritual, I had nightmares for weeks. Oh long lost days of innocence.
Finally all the fur is gone. It doesn’t make much of a difference to the colt that the firestorm ceased, but for the others, the relief is immediate. Burning fur smells really horrible. Thankfully, the next step only assaults the esthetic sense, which will be spared by the darkness.
I channel more magic toward the colt and force it into his veins. We need to rid his body of all blood before we start the DNA change. Blood contains white blood cells, which would kill him from the inside, and his father wouldn’t be pleased by presenting his son’s new coloration on the colt’s funeral.
Studying alchemy and poisons helps with such tasks. All I have to do is to simulate boomslang snake poison, and the blood leaves the colt’s body on its own. As anticipated, he is silent now; you would be too with your blood flooding your lungs and mouth. The lymphatic system is at the same time taken care of by the stallion standing opposite me. Therefore no immunity remains in colt’s body.
Time for the rest of the circle to get to work. We use the lines drawn on the ground to aim fractions of our own life energy into the colt, otherwise he would never see the end of the ritual. You can’t just continue living without blood.
We need to hurry now, so what little blood is left will be dealt with later via potions. Changing DNA is no easy matter, not to mention keeping the colt alive. But we will manage.
Magical flow from all casters ceases, and any unspent energy remaining in the air is left to slowly even out. The charcoal-black, collapsed form of the colt is lying in the middle of the circle, with movement only apparent from his mild breathing. The same pony who was overseeing the burning phase checks the colt’s vitals with a spell and signals me our success with a nod.
On that cue, I leave my post on the rim of the circle and walk across the clearing to our customer. From what I can tell, he didn’t move from that spot throughout the entire ritual. Actually, he didn’t consciously move at all. Watching black magic in action can prove to be quite hypnotic. One can’t tell whether it is caused by dread or fascination.
“The work is done, your wish is granted.” I claim calmly. My voice draws his attention and he snaps from his rigid state.
“You sick monsters! You should all be hanged! You abomination! Tartarus spawn! You...you…” I never learn what else me and my casters are in his opinion because my hoof striking his muzzle cuts his tirade off. Now I am not usually one for physical violence, and a rant from this pony couldn’t possibly insult me, but his hypocrisy called for punishment.
“Monsters? Abominations? Tell me who is worse, the pony who performs a ritual which causes suffering or the pony who buys this suffering for his own son?” I ask him in an even tone - using rage on this excuse for a pony would be a waste - as he scrambles back on his legs, his face showing utter shock. “Next time you want to insult somepony, just use your name. Now for the payment.”
He wisely keeps his mouth shut and reaches into his saddleback for a purse. I grip it in my magic aura, open it and quickly count the contents. 80,000 bits as agreed, good for him. I signal one of our pegasi guards, and he brings me a neatly wrapped package. I hand it to our customer.
“Since your son’s body wasn’t strong enough, we didn’t manage to get rid of all his original blood without endangering his life… unnecessarily. Thankfully we accounted for this possibility and prepared a sufficient amount of serum for forcing alien DNA to leave his body. Feed him one vial daily for two weeks.” With that I turn around and pay the still-shocked pony no more mind.
During my small chat, my coworkers took care of tidying the clearing. The symbols were erased and any burn marks washed away by rain delivered by our pegasi guards. Without further delay we get on our way.
We approach our headquarters, but something doesn’t feel right. As we get even closer, we start to hear many voices shouting military orders, and we smell the same thing as earlier in the evening – burning fur.
Our situation is pretty clear – the HQ has been found by Royal Guard. Actually… that probably isn’t accurate. The HQ has been shown to Royal Guard.
The whispering spreads among our group. Some can’t believe what happened, some are just sad about those still inside, others debate the escape routes. Yet they quickly regain composure as I utter three words in a hushed voice, “Form pairs, disperse!”
We trained for similar situations and how to react. Every caster is immediately flanked by a bodyguard, and then they silently vanish in different directions. All that are left are Fire Caller, my personal bodyguard, and I.
We still wear the masks, but I can easily guess he has the same look of curiosity and determination on his face. We will find out who betrayed us. Not that it really matters, we didn’t lose much in this little escapade, but revenge is always a nice thing.
Thankfully the Royal Guard has never been a silently working organization. A stampede of buffalos could run in circles in the forest around them and they wouldn’t notice. So it is really easy to slither into the proximity of the main entrance. The whole place is burning. They probably didn’t even bother to search through it first and decided to destroy the evil as quickly as possible.
“Typical Royal Guard. ‘Purge it with fire’ they yell and not once did they invite me.” Fire Caller mentions to me, “Tell you what, next time we stuff the headquarters with explosives.” His joking somehow complements the scene in front of us. Guards are currently trying to stop the forest blaze they have managed to set. Ah, when one doesn’t think ahead…
But as a good leader, I have to scold him a little.
“You know our friends were inside. We escaped this, but even the lives of rookies have their cost. Don’t act like what they say we are.” He turns his eyes to the ground, realizing what he was joking about. But now isn’t the time for brooding. We need to find the culprit.
They bring the informer along. They always do to ensure he dies if his information leads them to a trap. Mercy only to a degree. In the overall commotion, there are two static figures in the light of the fire. One of them wears a golden helmet marking him as the Captain of the Royal Guard. Oh well, nothing unexpected here. The second one… nothing unexpected here either. Vial Glass was, after all, one of the complainers.
He probably thinks that he is out of trouble now. Well, not really. Even if they give him amnesty, there are much worse fates than cleaning our messes, and we deliver them so effectively, though it will take time. Just to eliminate him, however painfully, would be too little for this traitorous worm. We will let him know we are there. That we know where he lives and that one day we will come. And then ...