The Shadow Of A Broken Heart

by WanderingPony


Chapter 7: Mooglectomy

"Kupo-woe!"

As peaceful, non-violent creatures went, this had been a lousy month. First, the ancient barriers vanishing in every direction, loosing horrid beasts to wander the tunnels. Most had thankfully preferred "away" from the Moogle Kingdom, and those that hadn't found that moogle wards were quite enough to keep their bellies empty and their rampages directed elsewhere.

The wards, and most of the moogle's magical might had melted into a melange of miserable mineral materialization less than a week afterwards. At the same time, terrified goblins had been literally throwing themselves into the openings, babbling about a "horned demon" that had terrorized or enthralled every goblin within it's reach when it crawled out of the tunnels, sending it's huge bugbear-sized brethren to bite bigger and bigger bits of the buffer between moogle and monstrous "King". They had barely the attention span to even attempt the occasional swindle in their desire to be anywhere but near "Sombra".

A few of King Kupofried's subjects had been too curious or too unlucky and had gone missing in all the chaos as well. As the circle of Royal Advisors continued to utter variations on "We're doomed", the brass-lined crown atop the monarchical Moogle's noggin dragged him another inch lower towards the floor.

Kupofried had always hated the crown, a traditional icon of the royal line handed down without amendment from one Kupofried to the next, topped with it's royal purple cap that liked to sneak down every time he furrowed his brow until the metal rim bopped him square on the bridge of his button nose.

*bop*, the crown responded in it's timely manner as it once again dipped to smack him in a now-sore spot, leaving his eyes covered and watering into the velvety cloth.

King Kupofried the Thirty-Fourth, August of His Line tore the offending object from his head, giving the serene orange pom a painful yank in the process. He squeaked in royal miff and hurled the thing to the floor, the muffled *clink* of the impact actually managing to get the attention of the entire room of advisors.

"You THREW SOMETHING!", said one greying old Moogle. Another fainted at the sight of the terrible scuff left in the well polished stone floor.

Kupofried had been quite a wrathful king by Moogle standards. He frequently raised his voice, even as a little Moogling and was famed for his harsh treatment of deceitful subjects, once confining someone to their room for three days and forbidding them care packages the entire time for making pointy sticks. That the Moogle had insisted they were for picking his teeth went unheard. If one needed to get something out of one's teeth, that was what magic is for.

"We. Have. Had. ENOUGH!", his Majesty uttered in a high-pitched, adorably infuriated tone that would have caused most ponies to cuddle the enraged monarch while squeeing uncontrollably. Such was the power of the Royal Moogle Voice. With visible effort, he hefted a bag of coin in his pudgy little arms and managed to send it sliding across the floor into a shady corner.

A gloved hand plucked the treasure from it's hidden nook.

"Ya got yourself a deal, Mistah Kupo...a real good deal. We'll take ya out our little gobbie getaway holes and ain't nobody gonna know down below. Take whatever ya can carry and we're vamoosing. Ya know the time. Don't be late, or ya get to see all da fireworks!", said the goblin.

The iron balls strapped on every exposed inch of his harness clanked, promising a one-goblin show that would rival Canterlot royal weddings for sheer flash and bang.

"Combustix's gotta make the magics. Youse moogles better grab yer swag."

Most of the moogles remained frozen in abject fear at the walking, talking bomb that had appeared in their midst.

"BOO!", Combustix shouted, letting his payload rattle and klink.

The room cleared with admirable haste, save for the goblin and the Moogle king.

"We have had them packing every satchel and bag since you came to me with your offer, Combustix. Go.", spoke the moogle with all the gravitas of a helium-filled balloon.

The goblin nodded and melted back into the corner without a sound.

Kupofried slung a satchel over his shoulder and floated out of the room, leaving only the crown to mark his passing. What good is a crown without it's kingdom, after all?

---

One foreleg propped against each of his throne's pony-shaped arm-rests, Sombra listened to yet another distant rumble of thunder echoing down the tunnels. Balefire licked at the edges of his eyes as his hooves reflexively stroked the stony backs of Cadence and Shining and tried, mostly successfully to keep from twitching with irritation. Goblins boiled in a sea of chaos, gangs running to brace sagging tunnels and cracked roofs torn open by the obliteration of what had been the Moogle warrens, setting off a chain reaction that had reduced even parts of the goblin tunnels to so many mixes of bloody paste and pebbles.

A stream of powdered rock sifted from the ceiling and was given a royal sneeze as it found it's way into the unicorn's nose.

CRACK!

A swarm of stony fragments stabbed from the dark above, razor-sharp pieces sending the crowd fleeing in every direction.

Sombra merely gestured with his horned head.

Ethereal energy coalesced into shining prisms of force around his subjects, deflecting the missiles like steel plate. A swirl of muddy light pooled around him, and the annoying dust suddenly became no more than a distant tingle against his senses. The panic faded as quickly as it came, goggled eyes staring in awe at the calm, disdainful presence that ruled in their midst.

A spark of distaste tickled under Sombra's hoof from the crystalline stallion.

"Good.", he thought as he casually crushed the distant bit of empathy under his will. The best slaves were the resentful but obedient ones, and the two ponies literally underhoof were both. Petrified into magicite, the two were helpless to resist whoever possessed them...and as Sombra had killed and ravaged, the suffering had unlocked deeper and deeper magical secrets from both, an understanding of spells that were stable in the scrambled aether of the new world filtered through their frozen forms by the bloody experience he had torn from death and murder. Power. Crystals. Slaves.

These WERE his favorite things. All in one lovely package. So what if the moogles and a few goblins had escaped? Let them spread his name to the ponies above, along with the fear. There were other ways to the surface, an army of beasts to send forth to gather his rightful tributes in flesh and magic, golden bits and the sweet tears of broken mares.

And what, perhaps would that little purple alicorn witch yield if he made her into a new decorative statue? Luna? Celestia? A thousand years of making them taste his cruelty, unable to close their eyes to his eternal rule? Yes. That would only be fitting.

In the stygian chamber below Sombra, an even deeper blackness swirled in it's home.

"He is every bit the monster I desired, a whetstone to sharpen the ponies with hardship and suffering, to teach them that the world is no illusion of peace. No more softness, no more coddling the life on this world like so many wet-eared whelps."

The thoughts that Jolfr kept remained silent, but lacked the malice of his servant.

"E'en after so many years, they have made them like children, never knowing what is to come for fear of ruining their happiness. Little ponies, dancing around their sunny meadows without a care for the wolf waiting to devour all, and while we slept, they have charmed the rest into dancing to their merry tunes. Let them hate Sombra, fear me, if it will make them ready for what is to come."

"A time of shadow, so that the light will shine bright enough to keep what is truly dark at bay forever."