Prompt #501: "Guess Who's Back!"
"The fourth return."
As clouds clash and anger pours from the skies, I slip through the night of Canterlot. It has become known to me that I am needed. A collision of the timeless is set to occur, and such a gathering, ordained as they are, is not something one such as I can decide to leave off of. I come up to the castle, the streets behind me dark as the sky above, and enter.
I move, and I am where I must be.
"Hello," a voice says--not to me. I am not one that can be spoken to. The voice speaks to the other in the room. There are three of us here. The speaker. The spoken. I.
Whirling, Princess Celestia of Equestria confronts her late-night visitor. Taking in his appearance, her face darkens with anger. "I had forgotten of this destination," she says, and her voice quivers as she does so. "And I am grateful, as I would've been loath to prepare for its occurrence."
The visitor laughs cruelly. "It has been quite a while since last we entwined... What shall I call you now?"
Celestia opens her mouth to reply, but her visitor seems to have decided for himself.
"...hmm, I always liked Wormwood," he says. Celestia's eyes narrow.
"That name ceased meaning far before this world even existed," she retorts.
"Ah, but you are once again in the company of those who shall outlast even you, Wormwood," the visitor says. "But I suppose the real question is, what should you call me? I have not needed a title, where I have been. I suppose if I am returning I shall use the name originally bestowed to me..."
"Death," Celestia mutters.
"It has such bitterness behind it from your utterance, Wormwood!" Death says. "But I suppose I am forced to concede that much. We exist enemies, after all."
"You say you are returning," Celestia says. "Should you not be the last of your kind to do so?"
"Oh, but I am. My kin are here already," Death replies.
Celestia's eyes widen. Her jaw sets. "Liar! Equestria was promised amnesty! Permanent amnesty!"
"As you have said already, Wormwood, the world has not always been Equestria."
The room is extinguished, the candles that once lit it quenched. "That is an utter technicality," Celestia says after some moments.
"It is existence," Death responds. "I am come to announce myself to you purely because it has been said to be so. I do not mean to warn you, nor to prepare you. There is nothing to prepare for. The end is ordained. It is as sure as this conjunction."
"You are wrong," Celestia said. "Equestria is better than what came before it. I have made it better. I am the protectorate of this age, and I will not see another usurp it."
"No. You will not. Your time is expired, Wormwood. You are a leftover piece of the destruction of a previous essence of life. You cannot remain. The new dominion approaches."
The lights resurrect, and Celestia is alone. I retire once more into the brief respite of the night.
Brief to one such as I, and to those such as they.
From where we stand, Equestria is already as ash.