The mare in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed. The gunslinger, a diamond dog, was amazed at her evasiveness. Every well-aimed shot he would fire during the pursuit, she managed to dodge without even glancing back. It didn’t make a lick of sense, all things considered.
Upon the mare in black’s back was a rucksack. Without anything in it, this rucksack would impede a pony’s speed and maneuverability. This specific rucksack contained an ancient tome, one that the gunslinger strongly believed to have great power and knowledge. He wanted this book. Badly. Not to use it, but to destroy it. The mare in black also had to be punished.
Another factor to the chase, which should have made the mare’s chances unfavourable, was her black cloak. It was midday in the desert. Deserts are generally unforgiving at any time of day, but at this point in time, the sun was directly above them. The gunslinger had been brought up in these parts, so he was used to the weather and learned in the ways of surviving the terrain. The mare in black should have fallen victim to dehydration by now.
Unbeknownst to the gunslinger, the mare in black was quite capable of surviving the desert. The cloak was in fact made of a rare material, imbued with magic, capable of reflecting the sun’s rays without the consequent shine. Not only that, but under her hood she had a tube up against her mouth which was connected to a water supply in the bag with the tome.
Of course, none of those things explained her ability to dodge bullets. The truth was, Cliff Jumper, the mare in black, wasn’t dodging the bullets. They were most certainly hitting their marks. The problem for the gunslinger was, he was killing her. Should Cliff initially survive the hit, she’d stumble, the gunslinger would catch up, and finish her off. Cliff would then find herself back at the moment when she had a chance to dodge, know where the bullet was headed and act accordingly.
Such was the curse she bore. The tome she carried was the source of all the trouble. Ultimately indestructible, the tome, otherwise known as the Mycrosia Multonian, cursed any who touched it, causing sufferers to see alternate realities mixed in with their own. It drove many a pony mad. Those who read it were worse off, unable to truly die, yet experience any deaths that should occur, as if in an alternate reality.
The book had been burned and its ashes scattered to the wind, but then the ashes gathered into small pieces of the pages, the primary stage of the curse spreading like some sort of contagion. Cliff had made it her job to gather these pieces, allowing them to recombine, centering the curse into a single object once more. She had succeeded.
Cliff Jumper and the gunslinger, Sheriff of Pawridge, looked into one another’s eyes. Beneath the pair were the remains of some form of ancient construction. It was here that Cliff intended to hide- no, bury the Mycrosia Multonian. The construction had once been a large tower, built so tall that anyone could see it, wherever they were in the desert. Eventually, the desert became less travelled, and the tower abandoned. All that remained was the worn away floor and the forgotten basement.
“Give it up, mare,” growled the authoritative diamond dog. “Run, and I will give chase, to the ends of the earth if need be. I will not rest until you are brought to justice and your accursed book is removed from this world. You ken?”
Cliff sighed. “I do, but more importantly, I don’t think you ken.”
“Spare me your excuses.”
The Sheriff raised his revolver, there being no possible way for the mare to avoid fatality from this range. The hammer drew back as the dog tugged on the trigger.
“You know you’re out of bullets, right?”
There was a momentary pause as the Sheriff mentally recounted his shots. Although short, this pause was enough for the mare. Cliff ditched her bag and rolled back over the trapdoor behind her, pulling it open in the process. It was heavy, but Cliff was strong. The thick wood shielded her from the Sheriff’s last bullet. The dog cursed loudly.
Throwing his gun to one side, the Sheriff lunged forward. Cliff had to act fast. Locating a loose stone, she lifted it up over her head and the wood, flinging it at her assailant. The projectile struck the Sheriff’s muzzle head on. The lunge was hindered, redirecting it into the trapdoor, and the diamond dog subsequently fell through the opening.
The dog’s mixed roars of pain, anger, and fear faded as he fell further than Cliff expected. There was a sudden thump, simultaneously accompanied by a sickening crack, and the roaring ceased. Cautiously, the mare took a peek over the edge of the opening, finding only darkness.
“What the heck kinda basement is that?” she asked, getting no reply. “Guess this place’ll work after all.”
So, Cliff opened up her rucksack and double checked the contents: the Mycrosia Multonian, her water supply, and some dynamite she had pinched from the Sheriff’s supply. She removed the water, using the additional straps it came with to hang it on her back. Next, out came the dynamite, which she laid out around the tower remains, tying their long fuses together.
“That should do it.”
Drawing a match from under her cloak, Cliff struck it and lit the fuse. After quickly tossing the bag with the tome down the hole, the mare galloped as fast as she could to a safe distance. She’d given herself plenty of time and stopped when she believed she was far enough away. Turning around, Cliff waited, wanting to see the end.
In the process of turning, a hoof came into contact with something other than sand. Looking down, Cliff saw something horrifying: stone, not unlike the stone where the dynamite lay. The reason for this became abruptly clear to the mare. The basement was far wider than anticipated.
In a flash, she was galloping again. The fuses ended, dynamite exploding with such might that the basement ceiling began to collapse. Cliff could feel the ground shake as it fell away behind her. A quick glance told her she wasn’t going fast enough. More power was put into her legs.
“Come on, dammit! How wide is this thing!?”
Immediately, Cliff regretted speaking, the act affecting her breathing. Another glance. Right behind her. She felt a rear hoof push off a sinking stone. She leaped. The ground continued to fall, below and beyond.
“Stupid sand.”
The mare in black fell.
As always, Cliff Jumper found herself alive and well. For her, it was like time had rewound itself, only the rewind button appeared to have got itself jammed. In front of her lay the Mycrosia Multonian, closed, tattered, covered in dust. Just like it had been when she first found it.
“You have been warned!”
The magical image of the alicorn, Mycrosia, vanished. Cliff hadn’t noticed it at first, too focused on how far back she’d come. Surely that last death could have been avoided at a later point on the timeline? That said, Cliff didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. All of her problems would start upon making contact with that tome.
“Talk about learning from your mistakes,” she said to herself, retracting an outstretched hoof.
Everything around her was just how she remembered it. Mycrosia’s armour lying to one side. Pillars, some intact, others broken. On her back rested the almost empty rucksack, meant to carry the Multonian. Now, it was mostly useless, containing only some medical supplies and her research notes in several side pockets.
“Fat load of good those notes are now.”
Then, a second, cheery voice spoke up, “Well that’s not a very nice thing to say about them.”
Cliff yelped in surprise and leaped into the air. The shock almost made her bump into the Multonian. Realising how close she came to it, Cliff gave a relieved sigh, then turned her attention to the source of the new voice.
There stood a pegasus stallion, who beamed at the mare. His unkempt mane was almost long enough to cover his eyes, and his tail was equally as long and messy. His colours were simple but faded, with red fur, blue mane, and green tail. Cliff found it odd that his mane and tail had independent colours. Lastly, he had the same wall eyes as the Ponyville mailmare. His were yellow, too.
“Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry! Hi! I’m Sukie Doo, but you can just call me Suke! Everypony else does!”
‘Suke’ continued to stand where he was, maintaining the mildly worrying smile of his.
“Alright then… Suke… Are you also here for the book? Because I should warn y—”
“Nope! I’m here for you!”
“—ou that— Wait, what?”
“I am here for you, Cliff Jumper!”
Cliff just stared at the Suke, growing more uncomfortable by the second. His smile was unfaltering.
“Well… What do you want with me?”
At that, Suke began to approach. Cliff wanted to step backwards, but was painfully aware of the accursed tome resting behind her.
In a different voice from before, Suke announced, “I’m going to punch your face… in the face!”
The book forgotten, Cliff made to put distance between her and the assailing pegasus, but it was too late. A red hoof made contact with Cliff’s face and the lights went out.
A soft yet disgruntled moan escaped Cliff Jumper’s lips as she came to. Her face ached more than she cared for. She tried to open her eyes, but the eyelids seemed to be stuck in first gear, taking a horribly long time. As light made its way into her retina, everything was blurry. That said, she could still make out someone or something moving, standing over her.
Eventually, things began to clear up, and Cliff ascertained that the thing moving was a kindly looking zebra, tending to the cuts and bruises received from her climb to reach the Multonian. Seeing this, a stinging sensation all over the rest of her body became apparent, causing her to hiss.
“Ah, the princess awakens,” the zebra observed, the tone in his voice soothing.
The mare wanted to comment on being called a princess, but when she tried to speak, all that came out was wordless air.
The zebra chuckled. “Apologies, but your voice box was damaged when Suke punched you into this reality. Do not worry, though. I have already applied the necessary actions to fix the issue. You will talk again, trust me. Besides, a story with a mute hero is difficult to pull off.”
That last sentence earned the zebra an odd look.
“Where are my manners? My name is Zavine. I am The Writer’s caretaker.”
Zavine held out a hoof, which Cliff shook.
“I should apologise for Suke’s actions. He is a bit… special… if you get me.”
Cliff nodded.
“At least he got you here.” Zavine took a step back from the bed Cliff lay upon. “Could you try standing?”
The request seemed easy enough. Without a second thought, Cliff slipped off the bed and onto her hooves. Her legs felt weak, almost making her collapse, but she managed to hold herself up.
“Oh, good, the drugs are wearing off. Suke had hit you rather hard, you see, and I had to administer painkillers while repairing you. Hopefully, the pain will have mostly left by the time feeling completely returns. Now, I know you want explanations, but I can provide all the exposition you need while we proceed upwards. Follow me, please.”
Currently, they stood in a basic shack-like house where everything was in one room. Save for a good few piles of books, the place barely looked like it was really lived in. Zavine was one tidy zebra. Speaking of Zavine, the stallion was exiting his abode. Cliff trotted after him.
Immediately after leaving the building, Cliff was frozen in awe. The shack she had awoken in was right next to a tower. This tower was the tallest construction the mare had ever seen. It made her think back to the ruins she died in just before rewinding back to the start. That tower was supposedly the tallest thing ever built. Maybe this one she looked at now was based on it?
“Impressive, is it not? It is such a pity about the rest of the area.”
Cliff scanned the area Zavine spoke of. In every direction was the crumbled remains of a long dead civilisation. There was no colour, with no plant life to speak of. One could barely make out where the town ended, and even then, there was nothing to see there either. Life had simply ceased, as far as the eye could see.
“Cliff Jumper, I welcome you to Canakanory. It is not much to look at now, but back in its heyday, this place was quite the sight to behold. The tower wasn’t always here, and the citizens were a happy folk. The township was self reliant, with enough resources to heedlessly welcome travellers. And the roses… the streets were lined with beautiful roses… I miss them…”
‘How old is this zebra?’ thought Cliff.
“But that is not the exposition you want, is it? Follow me into the tower.”
Zavine lead Cliff to a heavy looking wooden door at the foot of the tower. With but a light tap from the zebra, the door swung back, slowly but surely. He entered, as did Cliff right behind him. Once the pair were clear of the door, it closed of its own accord. Before them was a flight of stairs, keeping to the outer wall of the tower. Likely, it spiralled all the way to the top. Cliff hoped they wouldn’t have to go that far.
Starting up the stairs, Zavine explained, “I shall get straight to the point. You have a great amount of experience with The Book, which your reality came to call the Mycrosia Multonian. The Writer, at the top-”
Cliff cursed internally.
“-of this tower, is the one responsible for it.”
Anger began to seep into the mare listening.
“Do not assume that it was their idea to create such a thing. The Book had to be written. The Writer is just the medium, provided with the information required to make The Book a reality. This information has slowly driven them mad, however.
“I am sure you are already aware of the infinite expansion of the Multiverse, having been forced to see into many realities at once. The fact that you managed to maintain some sense of purpose, some semblance of sanity sanity, during your travels is a miracle. The Writer, however, suffers far more. They see not just the things their other selves see, but everything before, after and in between. It may be channeled in such a way that they can make sense of it and write it down, but that is a minor comfort that merely slows the onset of complete madness and corruption.”
As Zavine spoke, Cliff was taking note of the many metal doors they passed as they headed upwards. All were closed, with signs written in a language she had not seen before. Although without windows, she could sometimes hear movement or speech through the doors.
“I was assigned the title of Caretaker, my job being that I keep a watchful eye on The Writer. For a long time, they remained well. They were able to take breaks, roam the town, converse with the locals. Back then, what is now a tower was just a small manor. Sadly, they took fewer breaks, and the breaks became reserved for the task of eating and resting. That’s when the town started dying out.
“There eventually came a point when The Writer desired their food be served to them while they worked. I had been informed that, although these were indeed signs of corruption, it was too early to act. The problem was that the townsfolk were the ones who were meant to assist once it was indeed time to act, and by the time the truer signs became apparent, they were all gone. I had had the displeasure of burying the last few.”
Having lost interest in the doors, Cliff had returned her full attention to Zavine, and now she watched the zebra shed a couple of tears.
“Anyway… The Writer created the tower not long after the townsfolk died. Its presence seemed to poison the land, killing off what little life remained in the area. Then came ‘The Characters’.”
Just then, they walked past yet another door. Whatever resided behind it must have heard the passing equines and ran up against the door. A voice yelled cheerily through it, and although the words were muffled beyond discernment, Cliff recognised the voice as Suke’s.
The Caretaker continued without the slightest pause, “Sukie Doo here was one of the first. He should not exist. That goes for most of the creatures in this place. The Writer made them, and wrote them into this reality, experimenting with The Book. I only know this because with each one that is born, a room is added to the tower, increasing its height. They have no memories of being from another reality, though, like in Suke’s case, they can have knowledge of other realities. They are broken, incomplete, unbalanced… or as The Writer put it when I confronted them on the matter, ‘OP’.”
Cliff was finally able to speak up, “How do I come into this again?”
“Ah, the princess speaketh.”
“Not a princess, mate.”
Zavine smiled. “Of course. Well, I attempted to remove The Writer on my own, but as I had been told upon appointment, The Caretaker cannot relieve The Writer of their duties. Some sort of security. I tried using the more agreeable members of The Characters I had at hoof, but The Writer made them incapable of opposing their creator.
“It was then that Suke told me about you. He had been watching your adventures in the form of a good series of novels, so much so that he suggested I read about you too. I managed to convince him to tell me what he knew, and then, once I was sure you were what I would need, I had him summon you.”
Cliff was getting tired, both with the physical exertion and with Zavine’s explanation.
“You still haven’t told me what use I am to you.”
“Apologies. I want you to kill The Writer.”
“To kill- Are you serious!? You expect me to just… just…”
The mare was in such a state of astonishment that she couldn’t speak clearly, instead resorting to miming stabbing and making fart noises to emulate blood splattering.
“Yes. You are no stranger to murder, Princess.”
“First off, stop calling me that. I’m going to assume lots of those books in your house were fairy tales, but believe me when I say I am not a princess. Secondly, yes, I killed a lot of ponies, zebras, diamond dogs and the like in my efforts to repair the Multonian, but those were all done as acts of mercy or self defence… with a little bit of experimentation and false judgement.”
“Then consider it an act of mercy, for The Writer and myself.”
Something caught Cliff’s attention.
She raised a curious eyebrow and asked, “Yourself?”
Zavine stopped in front another heavy looking wooden door, where the stairs ended.
“We are here.”
“Hang on-”
As he began to push, this door turning out to be as heavy if not heavier than it looked, Zavine pleaded, “Their corrupted experimentation threatens all of existence. You have to kill The Writer, Cliff. Your time with The Book allows you to resist the forces that usually prevent approach.”
“But-”
A strong gust of wind blew in through the small opening Zavine had made. The zebra continued to push hard.
To Cliff, the wind did not feel physical, nor magical. Instead, it felt more like… for lack of a better word, ‘existence’. It tried to cancel out her senses. Just like the madness she had suffered through ‘The Book’, her reality became smothered, others overlapping it. As before, she saw through it as best she could, her own reality becoming the dominant one, her senses focused.
Zavine, clearly affected by the existential torrent, shouted, “Believe me when I tell you, Cliff Jumper, that when you see The Writer, you will pity them! You will have no qualms with ending it! Trust me on this!”
The thought of just turning around right there and then crossed Cliff’s mind. But then another followed that one, wondering how she intended to get home. What would she do if there was no getting back? It was then that Cliff realised she hadn’t planned what to do after dealing with the Multonian back in her own reality. Her whole life had been dedicated to that book, putting it back together. It was clear, now, that she needed a purpose beyond her own existence.
Cliff nodded firmly, and moved forward to assist in pushing the door open. With her help it was considerably easier to move. Zavine looked to the mare, right into her eyes, and they shared a silent, motionless moment of agreement, then Cliff moved away from the door. Zavine was suddenly made aware of the door’s desire to close once again, and the strain in holding it open caused him to close his eyes.
For a while, there was just the loudness of the ‘wind’. The zebra was beginning to slide, his strength leaving him. He opened his eyes. Cliff was a mere couple of feet from him, stood stock still. She stared into the large, long and dark barrel of some kind of cannon-like weapon. The wielder was a changeling, its body in the shape of a diamond dog’s.
As the newcomer inhaled deeply, Zavine saw what was coming, and the last of his strength disappeared. The door took control and slammed shut, throwing him down a good few stairs. That was that. He had failed entirely, and the Multiverse was doomed. But then something occurred to Zavine as he sat on a random step.
“That might work… but I still need Cliff… maybe I can… no… blast it all!”
Now was not the time to quit, and so Zavine got back onto his hooves and galloped to The Writer’s door. He pushed with all his might, but it wouldn’t budge. The zebra began to hammer the door in frustration.
He yelled, “Don’t die, Princess!”
For Cliff Jumper, death was no stranger. Over the years of her travels, she had come to welcome death like an old friend. Sometimes it would frustrate her and sometimes it wouldn’t surprise her at all. There were occasions when it made her laugh, cry, scream and everything else. But, as she stared it in the face once again, Cliff felt a fear she thought she’d never feel again.
Sure, fear was something irrational, and even in the knowledge that death would not be permanent for her, Cliff would often encounter it with the rest of her emotions. The current fear, however, was not irrational. Her life had reverted to its state before she read the Multonian. Reading that tome had given her the curse of never truly dying. This death would be final, and now that she was faced with it, after longing for it for so many years, she did not want it. Cliff Jumper wanted to live.
It was a pity, then, that the cannon she was made to look into was so fear inducing that she couldn’t even move. The one at the trigger had begun to take a large inward breath, and Zavine had been ejected from the room by the door. What little of her mind wasn’t fogged over by her rediscovered fear of death was screaming, ‘MOVE!’
A rear leg managed to take a single step back. The changeling/diamond dog hybrid took no notice. The other rear leg stepped away, along with a foreleg. Very, very slowly, Cliff succeeded in moving backwards. The attacker noticed this, returned to regular breathing and maintained the ridiculous small distance between the cannon and Cliff’s face.
Then came the inevitable moment where Cliff found the door blocking her progress. At first, the cannon kept coming closer, forcing Cliff onto her rear legs, pressing her back against the door. She felt Zavine start hammering upon it. The cannon halted, the wielder recommencing its large inhalation.
Zavine yelled, “Don’t die, Princess.”
For a brief moment, Cliff broke free of her fear induced stupor.
“Not a princess, dammit!”
The hammering stopped, as did the inhalation. The changeling/diamond dog’s chest was puffed out. Then it opened its mouth.
In a voice that was half singing, half announcing, it sang/announced, “Cannon Ninjaaaaaaa!”
It was about then when it fired the cannon.