WARNING: The following contains minor spoilers for the Dresden Files up to Book Fourteen (Cold Days). This chapter is some slight backstory for Obsidian during the events of False Masks, and is actually canon to the Dresden Fillies. Shake well and enjoy.
Obsidian Journeys
Lord Obsidian Spire, the former Prince of Unicornia, shuddered as his heart beat within his chest.
What had once been a sign of life was now alien and unpleasant. The black vapor that coursed through his veins in place of blood surged at the call of the entity that had gifted Obsidian with his unnatural life. The various creatures that served the unicorn lich recognized the signs of his displeasure and scuttled away from him in fear.
His Mordite heart pulsed, sending vibrations coursing through his body. When they reached the bones of his inner ear, they became a voice that he alone heard. “Abandon your search for now. I have another task for you.”
Loathing rushed through him. Once, he could have refused that command. Once, he would not have even heard it. But with each new life, each new body, he fell more and more under the Walker’s sway. “Do you wish that I return to the Gates? I already have sentries waiting there should any part of their defense weaken,” he replied stiffly. The sound of his words resonated in his chest, reaching his heart − and through it his master.
“No. An opportunity has arisen elsewhere. A door was opened to the world of your birth, and I discovered something very interesting.” The voice turned hard, and pain − another almost-forgotten sensation − swept through Obsidian. “Why did you never tell me that the Banished Sisters had settled in your world?”
Nausea gripped Obsidian in addition to the torment wracking his body. “I don’t know them!” he forced out, straining against his treacherous heart. He cast his mind back, remembering what little he knew of Equestria from each of his returns. “You mean the Royal Sisters?” he guessed. “How do you know of them? Alicorns are native to my world, and uncommon even there.” The pain ended, and Obsidian staggered upright with a gasp. Old hatred flared within him at such treatment.
“Of course you would be blind to the truth,” He Who Walks Behind mused.
“The truth?” Obsidian asked. “They were strong, yes, but I have killed alicorns before. I even stole the magic of one and bound it within an amulet. Why do those two concern you?”
“It is not your concern. That was not the opportunity to which I referred. The Starborn has left his world for theirs.” Knowledge of an alien world and the path to it entered Obsidian’s mind like pickaxe driven into his skull. He bit back a howl of pain, gritting his teeth hard enough to chip a few of them. “Visit it. There will be someone to help you cross over at the specified place. The Gatekeeper and other, lesser wizards will confront you. Kill them, but let one of his mages survive to tell the tale. I want the Starborn to know that you did this.”
“And what will I get in exchange?” Obsidian asked. Without warning he was immersed in enough agony to make his earlier torment seem like a mild ache. Minutes or hours passed; time was lost to Obsidian as his mind was occupied with pain. Eventually, the torture stopped, and he dropped to the ground like a discarded toy.
For a few minutes, he only lay still. Then, hurt but undaunted, Obsidian spoke again. “For centuries I have searched the Astral Plane for my world so that I may take my birthright. I have assaulted the Outer Gates at your command, fought the Gatekeeper time and time again, and died many deaths for your cause.” He struggled to his hooves, refusing to show weakness even before a power that could crush him. “If I do this, you must guide me to my world. No longer will I wander this benighted place.”
Obsidian braced himself, but the pain did not come. “I could erase you this second,” He Who Walks Behind stated. Not threateningly, but as though explaining a simple fact to a slow student. “I could drown you in pain and give you an eternal punishment that even the most damned of souls would shudder at. Would you still seek to defy me?”
“You could, but if you do,” Obsidian replied. “You lose one of your finest pawns.”
Obsidian’s heart rumbled with laughter. “Hardly my finest, yet you are not without use. The Sisters have guarded their new home well, and another opened the door to me, so I still do not know its exact location. But I can give you knowledge that may lead you to your world. Of course, only once I am satisfied will I share it.”
Obsidian’s muscles spasmed and twitched, his long-dead nerves on fire. He fell to the ground and writhed there, helpless to stop something far worse than mere pain. His heart beat in a frenzied rhythm, sending waves of acid washing through his veins. Obsidian gasped and choked, primal fear eclipsing any other emotion he might have felt. When it was over, however long that took, he was frozen in shock, paralyzed with terror. For the briefest of moments, He Who Walks Behind had connected their minds, and Obsidian had gotten his first true look at the master he had served for so long.
“But remember,” the voice whispered possessively. Obsidian could almost imagine dark tendrils twining around his form as He Who Walks Behind spoke. “You are mine, and even a useful tool will be unmade if it refuses the master’s hand. Do you understand?” It was a long time before any response came.
“Yes,” Obsidian whispered, burning with fear and hatred.
At last his heart slowed and stopped. The connection between them was severed, for now. Slowly, he rose to his hooves, carefully testing every part of his body. There were no wounds, which only made sense. He Who Walks Behind would not damage his tools before setting them to their work.
Obsidian barked an order, his voice reaching far and wide. Creatures of every description – most of them predators and parasites of one sort of another – assembled before him, twitching nervously. He inspected his demonic horde carefully, checking that none had run away during his episode. Those who did would be hunted down and killed before any other move was made. It was an excellent way to vent one’s spleen, and Obsidian was in dire need of such an activity at the moment. However, there were no deserters this time. He would have to relieve his stress another way.
He reviewed his troops again, disregarding any that were especially valuable for their intelligence, strength, ferocity, or other attribute. Eventually, he settled upon a creature that looked like a stick insect mixed with a praying mantis. It was made crystal and chitin, and the anticipation of that material breaking under his hooves calmed his nerves considerably. “You,” he said, dragging the demon forward with an ebony aura. It screeched in fear as the rest of his creatures closed ranks, preventing any sort of escape.
Obsidian’s aura disappeared, and the stick-mantis rose to its considerable height, some fourteen or so feet. Obsidian waited patiently until it was ready. The lesser demon glanced behind itself at the nearly silent crowd. Hopefully, it would know better than to try running. He began with a light beam of magic, enough to hurt and enrage without dealing any real damage.
The lesser demon hissed and screeched, but refused to be goaded. Obsidian shot another, then another beam, each one a little more powerful than the previous. The mantis dodged the second and third, skittering in a quick zigzagging pattern, but Obsidian tracked its motions and scored a direct hit on the fourth. It screeched again, but this time the fear was tinged with more anger. Good. It wasn’t any fun until they fought back.
Obsidian charged, roaring as he did so. The mantis flinched but stood its ground against him. The moment he came within its considerable reach, it struck out with barbed and hooked claws. Those long legs allowed it to attack from half a dozen different angles. A shield spell guarded his left side, and he stabbed out with a needle thin lance of energy on the right. Two of those limbs withdrew quickly, but the third wasn’t fast enough and snapped like glass at the second joint.
A pillar of crystal and stone shot upwards from the ground, hoping to catch him by surprise. As though he hadn’t seen that coming. Never pausing, he leapt over the attack and body-checked the mantis demon. Once, he could not have done that, but his resurrections within the Astral Plane had changed him. He was a head again taller than his original body, and had been gifted with a wider, stronger build. The spiral in his horn was no longer delicate fluting, but a trench more similar to the blood groove of a sword. His mane and tail had changed into living flames, cool to his own skin, but blisteringly hot to any other. Predatory fangs sprouted in his mouth, and the hairs of his coat were covered in hooks and barbs like the skin of a shark.
Waiting patiently for the mantis to rise again was difficult, but he forced himself to do it. Once the lesser demon had staggered upright, it let out a hiss of rage and rushed him without reservation. This time, it feinted right, then twisted and threw several stabs from the left. The shield spell Obsidian used was a version of his own devising. Instead of starting from one point and spreading outward, it started from six separate points that each bloomed toward one another. It wasn’t nearly as fast as a simple shield, but that was part of its purpose. His enemies had just enough time to thrust at him before his shield closed like a vise on their limb or weapon. Crystal and chitin splintered and broke as the fields of energy sheared off five stick-thin arms. The mantis screeched in pain. Obsidian smiled as some of its ichor splattered on him. Dismissing the shield, he strode forward, no longer bothering to hurry.
The crowd roared in approval and his creatures beat their chests or carapaces or whatever they possessed, egging him on to the finale. The mantis tried to move, but it had lost too many limbs. One or two desultory attacks were deflected with minor bits of telekinesis. A jet of acid sprayed towards his face, but a quick wind spell hurled it back into the lesser demon’s mandibles. Its hisses turned soft and garbled as the caustic liquid ate away at its mouthparts. Obsidian grinned, knocking aside the last feeble attempts to harm him. The last of its resistance broken, he settled in to finish it off with his bare hooves.
Long ago, he would have considered such a brutal way of fighting beneath him, fit only for mud ponies and half-bird freaks. Time had changed his tastes considerably, and defeating an opponent in such a visceral manner was one of his few joys these days. Crystal cracked and chitin shattered beneath his hooves long after the cries of pain had died off. His own followers had grown silent in that time, the more intelligent among them cognizant that they could have just as easily been the one he chose.
An imperious hoof tap brought forth a furry hide, which Obsidian used to wipe off the worst of the ichor that covered him. There were no fine linens or towels in these hinterlands, but the hide did its job well enough. Once clean enough, he stabbed one hoof towards the tree line of a distant forest that bordered the moors they currently roamed.
“We march!” he roared to his creatures, and they howled, screeched, and grunted their approval in reply. The scouts loped or flew ahead and the rest shambled back to gather the few items and food of their primitive encampment. Obsidian considered their numbers. He had a few dozen at the moment, neither the least nor the most he had ever commanded. It should be enough. Far from the Gates, the Gatekeeper would lose the bulk of his strength. The clever old ape would still be a force to contend with − the lich was not so foolish as to belittle his enemy’s abilities − but it would be manageable.
His palanquin came forward, carried on the shoulders of his most brutish demons. He teleported on top of it and began to plan strategy. With any luck, they would find a few demons that could be pressed into service on their way to this world. These wild places were full of freaks and monsters that were neither strong enough to claim their own territory nor attached to any of the civilizations of the Astral Plane. Still, he could not plan to gain any more than a hooffull of followers.
The Gatekeeper should be able to sense his presence and his alone. The old ape might bring a small group with him, counting on speed and surprise over pure strength. Such a group could be easily overwhelmed. However, the Gatekeeper might choose to marshal an army and march in full strength. In either case, Obsidian needed an isolated country; one that would be difficult to approach unseen, but not so empty that he could not hide his own troops.
Should the Gatekeeper attempt a surgical strike, Obsidian would act as bait and his demons would flank the wizards, cutting off retreat and their heads. Should an army threaten them, Obsidian would merely retreat from that field, having the more maneuverable force. From there, he could assault unfortified towns and such. It would be simple to wreck them, slaughter the population and move on to the next before the Gatekeeper’s army could pin him down. The Gatekeeper’s soft heart would force him to garrison those towns against such attacks, and then… Well, it was best to keep such plans fluid for now.
Time worked strangely within the Astral Plane, and not even centuries of life here had fully adjusted Obsidian to its whims. All too soon, they reached the indicated point, having met little in the way of resistance on their way here.
The Way was being held open by another ape. This one was lean and wolfish, a predatory glint in his eyes. He was not as tall as the Gatekeeper, but Obsidian had seen few of these ‘humans’ that were. Stepping from the Astral Plane into a real world again was strange yet familiar, like using a spell he had memorized long ago for the first time in decades. A tingle washed over him, and his body shivered at the life of this new world. Once he was through, and satisfied that his warriors would survive the transition, he waved them on. One by one, with growls and curses and shoving, they filed through.
They were somewhere in the mountains, thick coniferous trees filling the valley around them. Knife-edge ridges stretched towards the sky, and though the season appeared to be late spring or early summer, there was still a chill in the air. The first step to a successful campaign, as his tutors had told him so long ago, was knowledge about the field of battle. Obsidian turned to the native of this world to extract exactly that. “Greetings, I am Lord Obsidian. Have you been told of my purpose here?”
The ape reacted calmly to him, though Obsidian could sense an undercurrent of fear in his posture. Those small eyes paled slightly, fading from light blue towards a more silver color. “I was merely instructed to open the Way for you by my Master, but he did tell me to render any reasonable aid necessary. You may call me Malvora.”
“Very well, Badeater,” Obsidian said, ignoring the glare from the ape. Just like the mud ponies and half-birds, his kind would know their place soon enough. “Do you have maps of this area?” The ape did, proving his limited worth.
Obsidian took them along with a compass made of an unfamiliar material. From there he began to plan. The country appeared perfect for his purposes, plenty of cover but limited means of entry. True, this area lacked any towns, but ‘British Columbia’ to the south seemed to have enough, should an army move against him. His strategy soon secure, all he had to do was wait.
It was only a day later when his scouts reported the Gatekeeper’s presence. He had taken the bait and brought a laughable number of his fellow apes to confront somepony of Obsidian’s power. A mere four had entered the valley, two of them without the slightest aura of magic. Of course there would be other wizards with them, hidden somehow, but it would not have been possible to smuggle more than eight or ten of them without notice.
The course from here was simple. Obsidian would confront the four of them and wait until they sprung their trap before revealing his own. Orders were sent to his creatures, which concealed themselves. Obsidian chose to wait at the end of a large clearing he had prepared. The ground had been razed down to the bedrock and every piece of cover eliminated. They would have to face him here, upon the field of his choosing, or he would simply set fire to the forest and laugh as they burned.
The Gatekeeper was the first to emerge from the concealment of the trees, three apes following his lead. They were shorter than him, but each of them was a brawny specimen. The shorter mage was a wizard of no small means, but a puppy compared to the lich he faced now. The other two were mere mortals, and carried themselves as such. One was dressed in shining armor with a sword slung from his belt, for all the good such toys would do. The other, darker ape carried not only a sword, but a sort of compact crossbow called a ‘gun’. Badeater had explained such armaments before leaving, but Obsidian had no doubt that he could curse such a thing into useless scrap before a single ‘bullet’ could be fired at him.
“Obsidian,” the Gatekeeper said, sounding tired. Obsidian grinned. So much was always hidden beneath that hood, but he could read the age and weariness in the clever old ape’s voice. In some ways, time was Obsidian’s finest weapon, as it ground all but him into dust.
“Lord Obsidian,” he corrected, as the other three flinched at the sound of his voice. “Four little apes are all you brought? Has age enfeebled your mind, or dulled your senses?”
“I am fine, thank you for asking,” the Gatekeeper replied with the barest hint of humor in his voice. “Years of fighting, and finally we come to our last battle. How many times have I killed you before?”
“Do you forget my title, ape? Have you forgotten that I am Obsidian the Undying!? This will be our last battle, but this time, victory shall be mine. We are far from your precious Gates, and the faeries cannot save you here.” He drew upon his power and darkness swelled around him. “This ends today!”
“So it does,” the Gatekeeper said quietly, power thrumming in the air around him. “At whatever cost, this chapter closes.” Obsidian knew the cost. It would be measured in the blood and bones of these apes.
And then the magicless humans drew their swords, unleashing a light so pure that it was painful. Shading his eyes against the glare, Obsidian began to wonder if he had made a mistake.