Kamen Rider Kyma

by Meinos Kaen

Prologue

The happy denizens of Equestria weren’t new to the concept of danger. Indeed, with the sudden influx of boogiemen from ages long past and places like the Everfree forest and its many lethal denizens, Ponykind couldn’t very well be considered ignorant of the concept of danger.

And yet, ponies are almost always ill-prepared to face it, save for those few brave souls who find themselves incredibly gifted. That’s because while they may know of danger, facing it is nothing but a freak accident. They learned of it but they learn to avoid it, to stay away from what could bring them danger, harm, fight.

The denizens of the Wastelands to the north of Equestria weren’t so pampered. A harsh mother, the creatures born in this land fought for survival from the moment they were born. Against each other, against the very land, and they grew tougher and more deadly as a result. The only creature from those lands that ponykind had ever met was the Changeling, which was to the Wastelands what ponies were to Equestria.

A few ponies during the ages had come to known of the Wastelands’ chimeras, hydras and Ursa Majors. Those that went back to their homeland found it knowledge that they weren’t willing to share with the general populace.

And no pony had ever even come close to chance upon the Wastelands’ equivalent of the Everfree forest.

The Changelings called it the Dead Zone. Even the harsh terrain of the Wastelands held some semblance of life, but the black wound in their homeland’s breast renounced even those feeble hints of normalcy. A inky black depression which deepest point was found a mile under the normal ground level, it was made of nothing but onyx rocks.

Nothing lived in the Dead Zone. No monster, no magical creature, no plants, for the very earth sapped the life out of anything foolish enough to try and exist in it, and the deeper the point, the faster the process.

As one particularly stupid buzzard found out first hand.

He had been hunting, following a smaller prey bird. The Wastelands quickly dispatch any and all carcasses, and the carrion eater was hungry. But the smaller prey bird, used to the territory, knew to stay away from the Dead Zone. The buzzard wasn’t as knowledgeable.

Already weakened by his hunger, the large flier squawked and stumbled mid-flap, and started losing altitude, bit by bit. And the longer his descent, the more his strength was sapped. By the thirty-seconds mark, he was free-diving, right for the deepest point of the depression.

With a squawk, the large bird hit the ground hard, but his life didn’t end right there. He was reserved a prolonged death in complete darkness, a crushing pressure weighting on his body, his fluids exiting his body as if to escape from a sinking craft, his eyes bulging out of his skull, his breath being cut shorter and shorter…

Till he was silent. And died.

And then, something lived again.

In the darkness, a geyser of earth. Humus and rocks erupted, as a decayed equine figure screamed his shrill curse at the skies, his body tense and his eyes furnaces. The black earth cracked under his hooves as he smashed them on the ground, his head dripping rotten meat and wet earth as he observed his surroundings.

“Fynneunc! Fro tu oui cmispan?!” He roared, with titanic strength pulling the rest of its body out of its resting place, finding again his full height. “Fro tu oui lufan?! Frah ouin xiaah’c nacinnaldeuh ec yd ryht!” He raised his right forehoof and slammed it on the ground, and then did it again, and a third time, falling into a martial rhythm. “Ed ec desa vun oui du neca! Ed'c desa vun jahkayhla du pa ryt!

A second hoof joined in the stomping. And then a third, and a fourth, and more joined by the second. But mighty their numbers may be, to a bystander their chanting would appear muffled, as if coming from behind a thick wall.

“Ed'c desa vun dra umt pmuut du synlr!” Or, as incredible, as terrifying as the thought may be… “Fa crymm ryja TAYDR!” From beyond the grave.

They rose.

With a gasp, in a pool of cold sweat, a zebra, wise beyond her actual years, woke up.

Her eyes flittered from left to right, taking in the calming, familiar surroundings of her hut. She sighed in relief, realising that it had been just a vision.

Then, her eyes went wide as exactly what she had witnessed in her sleep sank in. She shot out of her bed, and headed for a specific part of her hut, intent on removing a floorboard. Using her muzzle she then fished out of the secret compartment a decorated leather sack, inside of which something was beating rhythmically. She set it on the ground, and sighed.

“The most dreaded of days has finally come.” Zecora whispered in the darkness of her hut. “The Lineage of Death again walks this world.”