//------------------------------//
// 3:4- Apologia 
// Story: Part I: Precursors 
// by Auryx Saturnius 
//------------------------------//

	Twyla rolled her eyes around, making sure she could see everything properly. Her vision had become unbalanced; her left held greater, almost intoxicating clarity. It was as if the entire world had become crystal clear to her left, and fuzzy on her right. Deep in her head, she could feel the click of the mechanism moving about dully; like wasps hovering about their hive in the distance.
The operation on her eye was impressively painless, and quick too. Shortly after her arrival to the Abinadi Ckes, it became evident that the needle had infected her visual membrane. If she would have been lucky, then she would have lost sight in that eye completely, but, again, it was clear that she wasn't. Within five minutes, she had been moved across the massive ship, then knocked out and had her eye removed and replaced with a mechanical one. Afterwards, she and Dr. Aurel were moved into the deep interior of the ship and thrown together into a cell.
Twyla noted that the cell she was in now was cleaner and more cozy room than the metal one from the Ioseph Kaleir. Here, the beds were washed and softer, the room was sealed and kept dry and there was a comfortable warmth to it, though still not something desirable. Here, standing in front of a metal mirror that was bolted to the wall, Twyla stood looking at her face.
The operation hadn’t required anything but her eye removed or pulled or grafted; it was a clean and immaculate cut. Her eye was a newer model than the Didact’s; instead of the harsh solid red lens, her’s was designed to look like an actual eye, with a white and iris. There was still no pupil, but if she looked close enough, she thought she could see the tiny whirl of gears behind the violet film in the center...
Dr. Aurel sat on the bed cushion, distressed terribly. “It’s all my fault. I made this machine and I gave it directly to the people whom I’d invented it to try and stop. Why, God; just... why?”
“Do not be afraid or dismayed, be firm and steadfast. This is what the Lord will do to all the enemies against whom you fight...”
Both Twyla and Dr. Aurel were startled by the voice. It wasn’t harsh with the Inferi accent, but smooth and lulling, like a mother talking to a young child. They both turned to the clear door of the cell, where a cleric stood almost proudly, as if her words were true, though daring. She wore a red sash with her black robes, which Dr. Aurel recognized almost immediately as the symbol of a Lesser Prophet.
“Your Excellency?” she said reflexively.
She smiled weakly and raised a hand. “Do not fret; I am the Prophetess of Apologia, of the Court of Truth and Reconciliation.”
From Dr. Aurel’s surprise, Twyla assumed that in general, a prophet never really gave personal visits to people, let alone two women in a prison cell.
“Joshua 10:25,” she said plainly, “While many of my level have their biases, I think that all faith can learn from one another.”
Twyla raised an eyebrow. Where was the heathen speech; when will she start ranting out that they were the scum of the earth; or that only the Marker and all its divinity can lead to glory, truth, salvation, etc.? No; since she arrived, the prophetess had said a Christian-Judaian quote, nothing involving the Markers or the Church of Unitology.
She smiled. It was a strange sight for Twyla; she had never seen a cleric smile, only snarl or growl at her in disgust. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and Twyla instantly felt more relaxed in her presence. It wasn’t forced or artificial, but a genuine smile- and she liked that.
“What brings you to visit us?” Twyla wasn’t harsh, but she still wasn’t ready to completely trust the prophetess.
“I’m aware that you have been moving around a lot recently, but I’m here to prepare you, Twyla- if I presumed correctly that you are Ms. Twyla Spark- for our descent to the surface and into the Marker Chamber; on orders of the shipmaster of the Abinadi Ckes. It isn’t much: just washing you and dressing you in clean and practical clothes.”
“But why send a prophetess to fetch me for such a reason? Why not just have a soldier?”
The Prophetess of Apologia smiled playfully. “Ms. Spark- or Twyla, either you prefer- as you can see from your moving about, there isn’t much women on board; a commonplace fact on an Inferi starship. I can personally say that myself and Dr. Aurel here are the only ones on this particular voyage. It is absolutely improper for a man to help a lady of age wash... so here I am.”
Twyla could feel her eye whirling as she squinted at the prophetess. No doubt she understood that she was only trying to make sure she was telling the truth, after having been lied to and forced to since her imprisonment. The prophetess only stood there, smiling peacefully and patiently. It was almost hypnotizing: her smile and her words. She spoke clearly and without a single misstep or draw back; surely an educated person if Twyla ever met one.
“What about Dr. Aurel?”
“Dr. Aurel, I’m afraid, has to stay here. I will make sure that she is treated properly though, so you don’t need to worry about that?”
Twyla remained hesitant, looking down at Dr. Aurel as she sat on the bed cushion. “Don’t worry Twyla, I’ll be okay.”
Twyla nodded firmly and the prophetess opened the door for her as she stepped out of the cell and walked with her through the halls. This was the first time that Twyla had seen a full blooded Inferi female (Dr. Aurel was half-Inferi, a fact that she stated in the lengthy conversation that was kept out from a previous chapter, so she didn’t count). The prophetess was about the same height as most of the soldiers who walked past. The hood of the cossack was kept up by a length of snow white hair, tucked neatly into her clothes. The robe covering it was smaller, and more form fitting to her than the male clerics she had seen, with their robes loose; the robe she wore hugged tightly to the cossack under it. Her eyes were still a clear orange-white, and her face only had a minute few wrinkles from age.
The two of them walked in silence, neither striking up a conversation with the other. The soldiers who passed them didn’t disturb them in any way; every one of them were busy with their own task and responsibilities, and didn’t have to time to question why a prisoner was walking with a prophetess.
The room they walked to was akin to a private chamber. In the center, raised up from the plexiglass floor, Twyla saw a bath, obviously prepared for her use. Resting on a table to the side were several washcloths and a set of clothes for her to use when she was finished.
“I’ll be waiting outside the door if you need any help.” The prophetess gave another smile towards Twyla and closed the door behind her as she went out. Twyla looked at the door; she was still a prisoner on this ship. The only reason she was even still alive was because the Inferi still needed her. She was still a tool for them and their goal for destruction.
She blinked the tears forming in her eyes away. Why was she crying? Twyla felt her unbalanced vision giving her a headache, and she wanted nothing more than to take a bath. As far as she knew, it could have been her last, so she might as well make use of it.
Maybe it was because of his solemn appearance, or perhaps it was because of the headache, but Twyla didn’t become startled by the sudden appearance of a strange man.
“Hello Ms. Twilight Sparkle...” He spoke with a tone as solemn as his eyes. It sounded like one who was joyous beyond imagination, but trying to hold it all in inside. He was nearly completely bald, save some grey hair on the sides. He was aged, with experience, with a healed anguish, and he looked calmly above his pair of wire glasses. He wore the robes of a cleric, but it was tied at the waist with a white rope over a sash; written in white stitching on the chest were the numbers 16670, which rested on top of a red triangle with a giant “P” inside.
She felt... calm in his presence; it was as if she was looking at an old friend, or at her own father. She felt like he could be trusted, instead of just not feared. Even as the sound of her own name, it sounded like the way her father would say it whenever he wished her good night or goodbye; the sound of “go in safety.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am, who I am. You have been suffering Twilight, and God has listened to you and weeped at your pain. I am before you to tell you to be not afraid, for your actions are not in vain...”
Twyla was suspicious. “God? Why would God weep for the pain of one, if he existed that is?”
Her response did not anger him, the smile never fading. “What Father would abandon His child?”
Twyla felt like he was simply trying to trick her. “I have never experienced anything in my life to show me the existence of a God, let alone the God of Humanity. Even the Didact, the human, doesn’t believe, why should I?”
“Oh my sister, why do you have such little faith? Behold, the power of the Lord...” Without the slightest hesitation, the man plunged his left arm into the water and the water began to bubble violently and boil with energy. The water was transformed,  turning into a honey color and the strong scent of something sweet and tarry filled Twyla’s nose. He pulled his hand out, and the cloth of his robe had been dissolved into nothing, while his arm returned completely unscathed. Twyla instantly recognized it as carbolic acid, and she knew of no magic or spell that could turn water into it. As she stood dumbstruck, he walked over to her and placed his hand against her cheek. Not a drop of acid was on his hand, and there was a steady pulse and warm touch.
“W-Who are y-you?” she stammered.
“I am only a man; a man who believed and was rewarded with the treasures of the Lord...” He smiled. It felt different; after watching him perform that act, the smile seemed more like the smile of a closest friend, of someone who would try and protect you no matter what. “Trust in God Twilight, and you can do wondrous things; things even greater than what I showed you. The Spirit will erode even the most unyielding of stones, and no false idol can withstand the winds of God, for His love is a relentless storm...”
As he pulled away his hand, Twyla’s vision blurred for a moment, then grew in strength. He had balanced her sight and her headache was slowly going away. She was about to tell him ‘thank you,’ but he had vanished. The acid had been turned back to water, still steaming with warmth, as if nothing had happened to it in the first place.
Twyla walked over to the bath and placed her hand into the water. She could feel the cleansing water seeping into her skin and revitalizing her health. After a couple minutes of waiting and testing, Twyla willed herself to take a bath. It was exactly what she needed, the feel of water caressing her and of the dirt and grime of the past days leaving her made her feel as if everything was alright- everything was like it was before. Twyla thought that if she closed her eyes, she would open them to find herself back in her library, with Spike ready to help at a moment’s notice.
Spike. With all that has happened, she never once had thought of her number one dragon assistant. She wondered about him; where he was, what he was doing, and whether he was worried for her. She hoped that Spike was alright and that he’ll still be at the library when she got back. ‘When’, not ‘if’, when. She will get back.
“I will come back again,” she silently whispered to herself. “I will come back again...”
After letting herself sink in the water for a solid ten minutes, Twyla got out and prepared herself for the day. By the way everything was here on the Abinadi Ckes- by the better care, by the bath and by the clothes- she wondered whether the Inferi, deep down, actually believed that the Markers were their salvation to a glorious resurrection. Then she wondered if they were the ones who were right. It was chilling; she questioned whether it was the Didact who was here to bring destruction and harm to Equestria and that it was the Marker that would save them. She didn’t trust the Inferi; she couldn’t trust the Inferi, because they have attacked her and her friends too many times, but she felt willing to question whether the Marker, as an entity, was an ally.
The man had told her to trust in God, and while she wasn’t prepared to devote herself to a being she had never heard of before these times and she never believed in in the first place, she was willing to admit that the man wasn’t a normal magician, and that his words should be trusted. But who did “God” support; the aspirations of the Didact, or of the Inferi?
She was even more confused about the situation than before! Everything was deeper and more psychological than she could possibly keep track of. What compelled the Didact to go along with their plan in the first place? Was it so that she could live, and for him to be able to rescue her with everybody? Or was it because he, himself, wanted to see what the Marker would do? Did he even know anything about the Markers and Unitology? Was this “God” that has now entered into her life creator of the master plan of the Inferi, or of the Didact’s or even of some unseen third party?
No! Twyla could not start questioning herself now, not this late in the game. She had to continue going on with the hope of stopping the Marker, and that in this process she will learn whether it was right or necessary. Until then, the Inferi needed to be used as much as possible; Twyla needed them to let her access the Marker herself, or at least get her to the surface or in the Machine, so that she could help the Didact. He had helped Equestria enough times within the past couple days by stopping the Inferi, and several times helped her personally.
Twyla clothed herself in the garments provided for her on the table. They were made of a some form of silk, reddish-violet in color and smooth to the touch. It was nice to feel the smooth softness against her body as she moved. After walking around the room and reveling in the feeling for a few minutes, she moved towards the door and the now familiar sound of hydraulics hissed as the panel pushed itself into the wall and revealed the hallway. The Prophetess of Apologia sat next to the door, meditating for Twyla could only guess how long. As she finally stepped out, the prophetess opened her eyes and looked up at her calmly.
“Are you ready, Ms Spark?” Twyla silently nodded, and the prophetess stood up. “Will you follow me to the main hangar then?”
“What for?”
“To witness the divine Convergence. We are due to head down to the surface and to the machine in thirty minutes.”
Twyla only shrugged. She was indifferent; it didn’t matter whether she was there or not there, only that it was stopped, so she willingly followed the prophetess through the halls. They walked and continued walking, the officers and soldiers not paying a second thought to them, like before. The only difference from before were that the soldiers were moving with a greater sense of urgency and rushed past the two of them as quickly as each could. There was a heavy bustle about where the hallways joined, and voices were frantic in the spreading and sharing of information, orders and tablets.
“Prophetess,” Twyla called her, as she knew no other title for her, “what is going on?”
The prophetess quickly flashed her eyes around, making note of the situation before she reached up, donned her hood and covered her face in a magical darkness. “I do not know,” she said, her voice changed with the magic, “but I’m certain we must expedite our progress to the shuttle. Here, take my hand.”
Before she could respond, the prophetess grabbed Twyla’s hand and began to drag her at a brisker pace. Twyla continually had to catch up, the prophetess always moving faster once she did. Eventually they were in a full run through the halls, trying to keep up with the bustle and pace of the frantic soldiers who pushed past them and shouted with their urgency. Hallway after hallways; corridor after corridor; the prophetess let nothing slow them down, at least until they reached the bulkhead.
It had closed on them suddenly in front of them, the heavy metal crashing together and blocking their path. After a couple seconds, the prophetess barked out at another corridor and then dragged Twyla down it. Several more bulkheads closed around them, but none of them ever were in front of them anymore. It was as if they were the ones the Inferi were sealing away. The prophetess made a turn and ran into another hallway when a bulkhead closed behind the two of them. It became clear that they were now in the area the Inferi wanted to close off. Not a single being was in sight from where they were, and the halls echoed an eerie silence. It was so silent, that the sound of the ship intercom startled Twyla as it rang out its message.
“All combat-ready personnel,” the voice was in garbled Inferi, but Twyla could still understand it, “please report to hangar Alphalon.”
The prophetess frowned under her hood. “That’s the hangar we’re heading to. There isn’t time to waste...”
Once again she lead Twyla through the halls with a run. Nothing blocked their way and no soldiers pushed past them in a rush. The hall only echoed with their own footsteps, and besides that, there was silence. 
The two of them turned into another hallway and the prophetess stopped in surprise. At sight of the hall, Twyla herself became too stunned to speak. Littered about like discarded puppets were the fresh corpses of what could be a whole platoon of Inferi soldiers. Blood painted the walls and floor close to each of the bodies and everyone of them were presumably killed by a blade; a very skillful blade.
“Moroni’s wisdom...” the prophetess was careful not to step on any of the bodies and silently whispered a prayer to them all. Twyla herself only followed the prophetess in silence. It didn’t take a smart person to know who did this; the Didact was on board and was making his way towards hangar Alphalon.
After that, the two of them didn’t stop running until they reached the hanger. The Prophetess of Apologia rarely spoke, and when she did the kindhearted words from before had disappeared. Her voice became harsh and condescending, like the rest of the clerics Twyla met, and the prophetess was keen to push her around when it was necessary for her to do so.
The door to the hangar opened and the prophetess pushed Twyla inside. “There,” she said, “That’s the shuttle we need to board. Quickly!”
Twyla was forced to run, even though she was tired beyond anything else she felt. Her legs ached and her lungs burned, but the prophetess still pushed her on, refusing to let her rest until they were on the shuttle. A dim crash echoed in the wall as something hard collided with the metal. Twyla instinctively looked back to see what it was, but only could see that the hangar door was still open. The prophetess pushed onto the shuttle and forced her to sit down. She then made a gesture to a pilot and the door began to close.
Twyla looked out at the hangar as the door closed, and watched as an Inferi behemoth out in the hallway was killed in front of the open hangar door. The Didact appeared afterwards and, at sight of Twyla in the leaving shuttle, made a dash towards her.
The shuttle wasted no time in setting off.

***************

The Didact didn’t have time to lose. The Abinadi Ckes was a massive battleship, and thus was a maze. His battle with Chrysalis had burned his time and he missed the opportunity to catch Twyla in the brig. Luckily, he had found Dr. Aurel, and after her brief explanation as to the whereabouts of Twyla, and to his fears, of her companion. Afterwards, he freed the doctor and told her to take one of his pistols, commandeer a shuttle, then take it to the Ioseph Kaleir and to tell Celestia to take the ship down to the surface and to meet him at the Leviathan entrance with her father.
When Dr. Aurel set off, he moved in another direction, towards the hangar on the other side of the ship, where Dr. Aurel told him the Inferi had planned to leave from. With almost a thirty minute head start on him, he needed to reach the hangar and thus, Twyla and the Prophetess of Apologia, with haste. After his fight with Chrysalis, he was quick to simply dispatch the Inferi who opposed him and blocked his path; with the thought of killing his enemies safe, he let nothing really slow him down.
It was a long and tedious assault through the halls before the Inferi officers began to close bulkheads on him, trying in vain to guide him into loosely planned traps. Naturally, it didn’t work; each time the Didact approached a bulkhead, he would use his magic to phase through, completely undeterred.
Turn; enemies; strike; kill; sprint; phase; turn; turn; repeat. The process was simple and flawless in execution. Within reasonable time, the Didact had crossed the length of the ship and made his approach towards the hangar. By the time the large steel doors were in his sight, only two guards remained in his way. Unlike the ones from before, these two were behemoths: two meters of muscle and armor of bone and steel. 
“Well gentlemen... en guard.”
They shared a look with each other, seemingly not threatened by the human challenging them. Together, they stepped forward and pounded their fists together in a threatening manner.
“Was hadau noc dos heir?” one asked the other. The other only shrugged and bolted forward with surprising speed. With a great fist, he swung up and brought it down when the Didact sidestepped and flicked his blade upward, indenting in the the armor of the behemoth’s arm. With the same motion, he swooped the blade down with stronger force and then sliced into it’s arm, breaking clean through the armor. The behemoth reeled back, making a high-pitched sound of pain at the large gash in its arm.
Angry, it charged again, this time more conscientious with the threat in front of him. What he didn’t realize was that it didn’t matter either way; he and his partner stood in the Didact’s way, and nothing could stand in his way now. As the behemoth lumbered forward aggressively, he sidestepped and thrusted his blade upward into the its chest. The sharpened blade had some difficulty piercing the thick armor, but the result still ended with the blade protruding from the behemoth’s chest. The blade had then become useless, nothing more than a metal paperweight, unable to be pulled out, leaving the Didact without a weapon. He reflected back to his Krav Maga training. This was survival; the remaining behemoth was trying to kill him; to survive, he must do anything. The first week of his training, his sensei explained to him how hard it was to get past the grueling details that come with surviving an attack; what a person may be forced to do. All these years later, the thought had only just crossed him, and even then made his stomach twinge. The behemoth raised its fist to attack, and the Didact bursted in towards its chest. With a great leap, he pounced, securing himself by grabbing its shoulder in preparation for what he would do. Without winding his arm back or adding momentum from what he already did, the Didact pushed out his free hand, the mechanical claw of sharpened fingers, and jammed it into the behemoth’s eyes.
The response was instantaneous, and desired. Blood poured out onto the Didact’s fingers, mashed with gruesome matter, and the behemoth reeled back, screaming in excruciating pain. The Didact wasn’t done; with as much force as he could immediately muster, he jammed his fingers in further, pushing at the inside of its brain and ripped through before pushing the behemoth back and landing on his feet. As the behemoth cried through his remaining eye, slowly, painfully dying, the Didact decided to put it out of its misery. Without hesitation, he reached up and snapped its neck, cold and methodical.
Nothing else was in his way. The shuttle engines roared to life and the Didact turned to see the shuttle door closing. Sitting in the back, belted in to prevent her from standing up, was Twyla. For a moment they locked eyes, and the Didact realized he was so close. He set off at a sprint as the shuttle lazily lifted off the floor with a violent shake. It moved towards the hangar bay, but he moved slightly faster. He reached the end of the hangar shortly after the shuttle had made it outside, and he jumped.
Falling from this height would mean an almost certain death without intervention, but he did it anyways. He pushed out from the hangar and reached for the shuttle’s tail, grabbing on with dear life. He could feel that the ship became upset with his weight and his momentum. The engines sputtered; the shuttle circled about; the jets coughed smoke. He clawed at the smooth metal as the shuttle lost control, spinning wildly in a downward spiral. He could hear the computers inside, beeping crazily with emergency messages and malfunction warnings. The pilots couldn’t do anything to fix it; the shuttle was beyond saving.
As the fatal tailspin continued, the Didact’s cybernetic grip began to tear back with the magnificent force. The metal peeled with his fingers, and he tried desperately to claw his way back to relative safety. With a violent sputter, the engine finally exploded from under him, and he was sent flying out into the open air and began his plummet to the ground.

***************

The shipmaster of the Ioseph Kaleir came to with an ear splitting headache. His mind was on fire, and the slightest disturbance creating a persistent pain.
“Sister, the shipmaster is waking up...”
He glanced over towards the voice too quickly, and his head punished him for his sudden movement. “My head...”
The voice returned and he felt gentle hands on his shoulders. “Be at ease, shipmaster: I may have removed the spell on your mind, but you’re still suffering from lingering effects. Tell us, what is the last thing you remember?”
The shipmaster shook his head slightly, trying his best to do what the nice voice asked him. “I-I think, I think I was in a meeting... there were other shipmasters present and we were talking about... something. Then the Prophet of Truth came in and... that’s it.” His voice was not longer bloodthirsty or zealous, but still firm in his confusion. “Why am I on my ship? Where are we? Who are you?” He looked up at a woman with pastel colored hair standing at a vantage point. “And why is she standing at my observation platform?”
“Shipmaster, the Prophet of Truth had cast a spell on you so you’d do what he wanted you to do, which was to invade mine and my sister’s and my family’s country. I am Luna, Princess of the Moon and my sister is standing there because she is the only one of us who can really run this ship.”
“And why would you need to do that?”
“Because we need to stop the Marker from being activated.”
The shipmaster’s eyes widened and he brushed Luna away to stand up, even when it made his head feel like a hornet’s nest. “Truth that swine! So that was what he was after all along; undermining the teachings of Unitology and to use others to destroy the world. Even he should know that the Markers are too holy to be used by any mere mortal.”
“What do you mean?”	
“The Marker... Unitology proves to the believers that it isn’t a machine, or a tool, but a living thing. It sees, hears, breathes, speaks... It is sacrilege to release its wrath or to use it as if it was a puppet.” The shipmaster moved as quickly as he could, Luna following as the two of them ran up to the observation platform and stood besides Celestia. “Woman, please hear me out. We must protect it and destroy any way to get to it. The Ioseph Kaleir has the proper armament to do so.”
Luna blinked in surprise, “Destroy the machine?”
“Anything to stop Truth!”
The change in Luna was almost instantaneous. She became physically upset at his words, and she was filled with rage. “We can’t do that!”
Celestia reeled back at her sister’s outburst. The shout was loud enough for the rest on the bridge to hear here, each one of them equally shocked, almost scared.
“Luna.” Celestia raised her hand to her sister’s shoulder, but she shook it off violently.
“We can’t destroy the Marker! We need to use it ourselves; stop the Inferi with the very weapon they are searching for!”
The shipmaster shook his head in protest. “No, don’t fall victim to that delusion.  It will shine its wrath down on you too.”
“How can we trust you?” Luna shouted, her voice filled with anger, “You’re one of them!”
“Luna!” Everyone turned their heads to the new voice. It was Event Horizon this time, and he was unyielding as Luna was. Whatever rage Luna had was quickly dispersed, and she began to cower under her father’s gaze. “I’m sorry father, forgive my outburst.”
Celestia cleared her throat and made herself turn away from staring at her sister and remembering long forgotten times. “We won’t destroy the machine, or any place in the desolation. We have a person who is working to stop Truth, and I trust him.”
The shipmaster shook his head, but yielded to her confidence. “This person better be the best in the galaxy there is...”
Celestia smiled. “Don’t worry, he is.”