//------------------------------// // 15 - Of Rituals and Rejuvenation // Story: A King's Return // by Maulkin //------------------------------// “So, that's what you were planning,” Luna muttered darkly, the world dissolving once more. Oh, yes, she was still there. I'd forgotten, she'd been so quiet – she was probably learning just as much as I was, if not more. She understand the context better than I, after all. For instance, she had that annoyingly knowing look as she watched my past self cautiously tread through darkened halls and noisome air. “What do you mean?” I asked after I couldn't bear it any longer, even as I kept trying to piece together what I knew from the memories I knew from the show. She paused as if reconsidering what she was going to say, then shook her head. “You'll see soon enough,” she said dismissively, her mouth set in a frown. I rolled my eyes at her elusive answer and tried to match her dismissiveness; begging for the information was only a little more infuriating than her knowing she was withholding something from me. Instead, I tried to focus on the scenery of the new memory – or, rather, the lackthereof. It was certainly the kind of place where one would expect to find a tome of dark magic, and the air itself seemed to resonate with malevolent intent. Upon consideration I realized that it could very well be the case; just as the Crystal City was saturated with natural Order magic that sought to bring structure and regularity to nature, and the Everfree with its rampant Chaos bringing forth uncontrollable weather and strange creatures, it seemed that the cave Sombra found himself in was steeped in dark magic. The unpleasant energy crawled under his skin, raising gooseflesh and sending shudders down his spine. He resisted the urge to hurry, however; the place was riddled with traps, and his reflexes weren't getting any better with age. A scorch mark had already made its home on his flank, and his heart was hammering in his ribcage; another close call like the last one and he wouldn't have to be fatally injured, a heart attack could very well do him in. No, even though the place left his nerves frayed and his teeth ground to nubs, he would take it slowly. He wouldn't let it kill him, even if it killed him! And if that led to a peculiar contradiction of thought, well, he had other things to worry about. Luna, however, seemed unperturbed by the malevolence of the cave. “Well, this is new,” she said, knitting her brow as she examined her surroundings with naked curiosity. “I've never seen the likes of it... But these walls are not natural – they were cut into the stone by magic, I'm sure.” As interesting as all that was, both me and my past self were fixated on the pedestal in the next – and seemingly final – room. It was dimly but evenly lit with a crimson glow, but there seemed to be no source. The air itself seemed reluctant to part before him, as if it had been kept locked away for too long and had forgotten how to flow. The walls, too, reeked of age, odd symbols and glyphs smoothed by time to near illegibility. The only thing that didn't seem to be older than the foundations of Equestria itself was the single book laying in the center, upon a simple stone plinth. “Sombra, what is this?” came Luna's urgent voice, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. She wasn't looking at the book, however; she was focused entirely on the wall, or more accurately something on it. I frowned, reminding myself that this was a memory, and despite my memory's trepidation I strode across the room to see what she was seeing. “What's what?” I asked, somewhat off-put by the intensity of the query. “That!” she snapped pointedly, stepping aside so I could see the vague symbols. As I moved closer, however, they seemed to swim and warp before my eyes, only growing more uncertain the more I tried to concentrate on them. “Should those be doing that?” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut from the vertigo. She gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “No, not if you'd seen them properly when you walked these halls in the flesh. Even a careful glance would have been enough – dreams can oftentime remember details that the conscious mind cannot. But no – you did not even stop to examine them, did you?” She pondered the implications of this, slowing to a stop as she knitted her brow. “Tell me... does it seem odd that someone admittedly curious and intelligent would pass by such strange writings without further thought? Would you have willingly left without a second glance, let alone a charcoal rubbing or carefully drawn picture for later analysis?” I had already felt my past self's curiosity pique at the sight of the ruins, and though his attention was still fixated on the book he was already making a mental checklist of what he had on hoof to trace the symbols for later study – ink and vellum was more his speed. But if what Luna said was right, I had never actually scrutinized them. “...No. No, I would not have left this place until I had discovered every secret I could safely uncover,” I said slowly, looking around the room with growing unease. I could 'hear' him prioritizing things in his mind, even telekinetically 'feeling' about for his supplies – yet he never actually got around to doing it, or we would have seen them clearly. What had stopped him? Even as I watched my old self approach the book and pedestal, practically salivating over the wealth of knowledge contained within the room, the shadows seemed to deepen. My horn itched as something... stirred. His ear flicked, his breath shortened, and though it was only a memory I felt terror of my own. What in Equestria was that place? What made Starswirl hide a book there, of all places!? Just as memory-me slid the book into his satchel, resolving to come back later when he had the nerve, the air around him burst into a maelstrom. There was no wind, not from a natural source at any rate; the corridor to the surface twisted and turned, allowing not a breath of fresh air to enliven the tomb-like stillness. Something was making the air come alive around him, to churn and froth like a beast chained. There was a malevolence in there, he could feel it like an ache in his horn, just behind his eyes. There was something in there, and he had disturbed it. I watched, my own heart pounding as my past-self fled in terror. He'd had enough; he didn't know what that thing was, or what it intended, but he had no intention of finding out. It was fortunate that he had disabled all the traps on his way through, or he would have certainly fallen victim to any number of them as he stumbled to the surface. When he finally reached fresh air and sunlight, he fell into a dead faint and knew no more. I turned to Luna, hoping for an explanation, but she was just as astonished as I was. “What the buck was that?!” I asked in alarm, forgetting my earlier annoyance at her. As it turned out, we were both equally ignorant. “I have no idea,” she admitted with such bluntness it took me off guard. “It's completely outside of anything I've seen or experienced before.” Surely she had to know something – she counted her lifespan in centuries! “You have no ideas, at all? Nothing?” I asked, certain she was still holding out on me... She frowned, biting her lip, and shook her head. “I don't think so, no. If you had understood the writing when you went in there, you would have subconsciously remembered what they said and we may have gleaned more from that ill-fated jaunt. Sadly, there was no meaning in the memory – just vague, half-remembered shapes. But maybe...” She frowned, thinking hard, and a moment later I found myself standing back in the ruins. I blanched, starting to panic, but caught myself. It wasn't a memory – at least, not like the terrifying one I'd had earlier. It was more like a memory of a memory – and one Luna apparently had complete control over, as she moved it about and manipulated it with ease. “I think I may have seen the words for 'order' and 'chaos', and perhaps 'binding',” she said quietly, almost to herself as some of the symbols resolved into vague shapes, “but even those are uncertain.” The princess continued to scrutinize the wall for several long moments, then gave a mirthless laugh. “Just when I though I'd solved one mystery, you posed me with another. If nothing else, this little traipse through your memories hasn't lacked for excitement.” I grumbled at that, hoping for less 'excitement' in the future, or at least excitement that wasn't so pants-fillingly terrifying without even the benefit of some certain knowledge. We had no more time to ponder the enigmatic specter, however, as Luna waved away the mental construct and took us to a memory of... Well, me sitting at the desk in my study, planning and scheming. Again. Just as I had when I planned Discord's binding, just as I had when I planned out the Construct, just as I had when I poured over the first tome Discord sent me after... Half my life seemed taken up by my next 'grand plan'. It was a wonder I hadn't spontaneously grown a greasy handlebar mustache and cultivated a villainous laugh. I pushed the thoughts aside once more – the old sins of someone else, that's what they were. Even so, I could definitely commiserate with his desire for secret knowledge and power. Indeed, those tomes were more dense with information, my past-self scarcely knew where to begin. We both practically drooled as we poured over the dusty old pages, the scholar in both of us delighted by such a find. However, I wasn't the only one in my mind, and the other occupant was apparently not privy to all of my past-self's thoughts. “We do not understand... How is this significant?” Luna asked, peeking over my shoulder. “All of the other memories were great turning points, or events of import. Why aren't you doing anything... interesting?” She frowned and prodded at the book, and I resisted the urge to wave her off. She had a point – it seemed that every memory that was mundane would fly by, integrating into my own mind with ease, and only those of great importance and choice seemed to linger. Why this one would be so special wasn't as easily apparent to an outside observer, I suppose, but I was 'in the know'. I smirked, sharing his relish as he realized how very close he was to his goal. His thirst for vengeance was infectious, as was his hunger for power – and both desires tantalized, like a breath of wine before the sip, or the sizzle of meat before the meal. Oh, to be finally rid of his frailty, and of the Princesses who had cast him aside like an old garment – to take on his rightful mantle, and– “OUCH! What the hell, Luna?!” I growled, snapping out of my reverie and wondering if she'd left a hoof-print in the side of my head. She glowered, eyes narrowed, her hoof still raised to give me another sound whack if it was warranted. “I might not be able to see his thoughts clearly,” she growled, “but I can still read thine own as clearly as thine tome!” She huffed, disgusted. “Different person, indeed... You were enjoying that – you were reveling in it! Have you no remorse at all?!” I glowered at her, trying to dismiss her words. “Of course I have remorse,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes “I do feel bad about what my past-self did, and, believe me, it won't be happening again – different person, remember?” She glowered at me for several long moments, eyebrows raised. “And what about just now?” she asked impatiently. “Nothing to say for that?” I glowered at her for a long moment. “For what, exactly?” I asked stonily, suspecting I already knew but not wanting to give her more ammo if she didn't. Hopefully, she was just angry at what my old self was doing, and- She glowered, frustration and anger bringing an ugly flush to her face, raising her hoof as if to strike me again, before abruptly lowering it once more. “You know EXACTLY what, you dolt!” she nearly shouted, advancing on me, and was soon snout to snout. I backed away quickly, realizing I'd miscalculated – she was definitely angry at present-me. She continued her relentless tirade, forcing me back further and further until I ran into a wall. It might have been humorous, if I hadn't been on the receiving end. “You... You were wallowing in it! With him!” she jerkily pointed at my past-self, . “You were thirsting for such wretched, vile things... How can you seriously think you're ANY different?!” I stopped cold, my traitorous mind actually considering that. How was I different from my past-self, really? The answer came easily after a few moments, however. “Simple,” I said, oddly calm. “I didn't make the same mistakes.” The Princess of the Night stared at me for several long moments, at a loss for words, then sighed and closed her eyes with a little shake of her head. “Why do I even bother,” she muttered, sitting back and giving me a bit of breathing room. “You'll never change... You didn't make the same choices, not because you're any different, but because you never had the same opportunities to do so. Be honest,” she said, unnervingly frank as she took a few steps back and regarded me warily. “Be honest, at least with yourself if not with me – if you were in his hooves, wouldn't you have done the exact same thing?” That... struck far too close for comfort. I glared at her, trying to shake it off... And huffed, deflecting the issue altogether. “Who are you to look into a person's mind and judge him for it?” I growled, fuming. “Who put you over me, to judge my heart?” And there it was. She just stared at me, looking... tired. “I can't help you,” she said, bags under her eyes. She sighed again. “I will keep watch over you for this ordeal, and I will help keep your mind sound if needed – for the sake of your brother and your friend – but as for you... She just shook her head, and was gone. I looked about, bemused, half thinking she'd come back a few moments later with an “And another thing!”, or some parting shot, but... no. She was gone. “Good riddance,” I muttered, with more rancor and bravado than I felt. I was effectively alone to face the memories, and from what I'd gleaned from the show and from Luna's own reactions... I hadn't seen the worst of it. A little worm of fear curled in my stomach, and I wondered if I'd regret my stubbornness later... My past self continued to pour through the pages, completely oblivious to the drama that had unfolded around him. He had already skimmed through much of the dusty tome, and while he'd found a great deal of new and exciting things to further research, his main focus had been for rejuvenation and life-extending spells. He'd found the spell Discord had described, and already had it planned out. Now, he was looking for something else... “Let's see,” he muttered quietly, a hoof gently tracing a few faded letters, “how to get the upper-hoof on those two ninnies... Can't use that on the Sisters until I'm much, much stronger... My victory must be assured... Oh yes...” I sighed, delving into my past-self's stream of consciousness to get a better idea, and nodded as my suspicions proved correct. More plans. I watched over his shoulder as he methodically worked his way through the book, page by worn page. He was already working out a plan of action. Like most uncertain or dangerous experiments, one had to start small and work one's way up – and this was no exception. Going directly for his ultimate goal – the immortality of an alicorn – would require him to somehow separate one of the Sisters from the other, itself a dubious prospect, and then perform the ritual upon her. How he could contain a single alicorn notwithstanding, he would still have one very angry and desperate alicorn to somehow prevent the other from murdering him with great prejudice. There was no way he could do that in his current state, he realized – he was simply too old, and too weak. There was, however, an alternative – a stopgap measure to give him back his strength and vigor, so he might at least stand a chance. He set aside the book, and picked up a different one – 'Exotic and Legendary Fauna', the title read – went through each of the entries he'd marked earlier, one by one. His mind was already made up, but he wanted to be sure. The old unicorn once more went over the entries, one by one... The phoenix had potential, as a creature of endless rebirth. It was his goal, after a fashion – to be born anew in an immortal body, never to know the kiss of death... But the creature was not sentient. He had no idea what effect it would have on his mind, and there was no certainty that the consciousness persisted from one regeneration to the next. The next bookmark was illustrated with a wispy blue stallion, galloping upon what seemed to be an artistic rendition of a winter wind. Wendigos, too, he considered, and were indeed immortal – or, at least, no one had ever seen one die. Command over elemental winter magic would certainly be a boon, of course, but there was one fatal drawback; they were incorporeal. They had no physical body of flesh and blood, and would likely be incompatible for the ritual – to say nothing of the dangers of trying to combine a creature that relied on a body for continued existence with one that appeared to be mostly magic. He skipped ahead through nearly half of the book, coming to a rest upon what appeared to be an amalgamation of sticks and leaves in the form of a wolf. Certainly their regenerative properties would be a great boon, as would their ability to compose a physical body from random detritus... But, like the phoenix, they weren't sentient. Indeed, he didn't even know if they were alive; the popular theory was that they were more like golems, animated by the chaotic magic of the Everfree. No, no, definitely not... The next was difficult to discern, at first; it appeared to be a patch of night sky in the shape of a bear. The Ursa Major was also a possibility; like the Wendigo, no one had ever seen one die. Unlike the Wendigo, however, this was more likely due to a lack of research on the subject, as they certainly had cubs. Even still, they might have worked out if not for the fact that no one had actually lived to study their biology in-depth, and he didn't know if they were some sort of flesh-and-blood creature or a being of magic, or something in-between. There were simply too many unknowns; he reluctantly dismissed that option, though not without promising himself to research them personally in the future, even if he had to kill one to do so. The last entry might have adorned a fantasy book; it certainly wouldn't have raised any eyebrows on the front cover of a Monster Manual. A great lizard sat upon a mound of gold and jewels, its eyes faintly glowing, trails of smoke trailing up from its nostrils. The dragons might not be immortal, but some of the dragons alive in his time were older than the Princesses. They were potently magical, and their hides were resistant to both magic and mundane – particularly in the form of heat – and their mastery over arcane fire was unmatched. Even so, they were creatures with real, physical bodies, with flesh and blood and bone, and they were entirely sentient and intelligent, roughly equal to ponies in that department. I stared at my past-self as he chuckled quietly to the emptiness of his study, watching as he closed the book and set it aside. “Let's see now,” he mumbled softly to himself, humming as he unrolled a bit of parchment and filled a quill with ink, then started penning a letter. He wouldn't be hunting the dragon himself, oh no – that would be far too dangerous, far too many chances for polilitical intrigue, not to mention the potential loss of his mind-slaves and the catastrophic danger that would spell for his rule. No; he'd make a dragon come to him. He would spread rumors of vast riches and hordes of gold and jewels, making sure that those rumors spread far throughout Equestria, guarded only by a weak little kingdom far from aid and rescue. How could any dragon resist such a hoard, ripe for the plunder? I snorted, pulling back from my past-self's gloating and smirking, and snorted. “I'm nothing like you,” I grunted – to who, I don't know. I was alone with myself; only silence greeted me. *** Things were coming to a head; I could already feel my past self growing impatient, desperately wishing to extend his life and compound his power to wage war against the Sisters and achieve real immortality. An image from the show flashed through my mind, a memory of my human life and not one of my life as Sombra – ponies in chains, hopeless and enslaved to a tyrant, and later too terrified to willingly remember what they went through. As terrible as my past-self was before the transformation, I knew he would get worse – hundreds were enslaved by that point in my memory, but the city itself was largely unmolested. Not everything had come to pass, not yet – but the differences between the Sombra depicted in the show and the Sombra I saw in the memories were growing both fewer and smaller. Every dark deed I had committed was being paraded before me by my own teacherous mind, and I could no more stop it than I could stop thinking. He had started by militarizing the city – subtly, so as not to attract undue attention, though the patrols were better armed and armored overnight – and continued his research and experimentation with the Heart. It wouldn't do to allow it to be used for its fixed purpose; a fully-powered blast would have devastated him as well as whatever was attacking the city, if the test-run was any indication. No, he realized he'd have to make it a directed, coherent beam of purifying Order for it to be of any good use. Several days passed in the memory without incident, and my past-self soon had an experimental prototype. I looked down at its schematics, then at the contraption, then back at the schematics... and groaned. Either by coincidence or by some grand design beyond his knowledge, the thing looked like a death ray from a bad 50's sci-fi novel. “Wonderful,” I muttered distastefully, “it seems I channeled the spirit of a mad scientist... That settles it – I can't possibly be him any longer, I have too much taste.” He certainly looked the part. My past-self's graying hair, lab coat, and protective goggles did nothing to dispel the 'mad scientist' airs he had going, and the unquestioning obedience and servitude exhibited by all ponies present certainly didn't help matters either. Any humor I might have had about the situation, however, was quickly dispelled; even without the telltale signs of a mind-slave, I could remember every face and every name of those present, as well as the exact moment my past-self had killed their free-will and made them his own. That mare there was from a rival team of researchers, and she was one of the first. That stallion had criticized Sombra's methods, and tried to go above the unicorn to get his plans approved – another early slave. That one was the head of the budget committee, and tried to cut funding for some of my past-self's projects. That one raised prices on their produce when Sombra let slip that he needed it; that one splashed mud on him as they drove by in a carriage; that one didn't say 'please' and 'thank you' for some polite social niceties... Not a single pony present had a will of their own, all were bent to Sombra's. It was eerie to think that he had been the only 'real' person there, the rest just perverse little marionettes following his every whim and desire. Of course, my past-self hadn't been bothered by any of that at the time; Sombra only cared about the results, and he would get them no matter how many 'little people' he had to step on to do it... Progress continued with my past-self's usual level of care and efficiency. Everything was going like clockwork; they'd have the weapon fully operational by the end of the day, at that rate. They had just begun the preliminary tests, charging the crystalline capacitors and batteries across the network, when the doors flew open and a pegasi guard in full battle-gear crashed-landed before Sombra. Annoyed, the unicorn glowered and levitated the gasping pegasus to eye-level. The pegasus's armor was badly dented and scratched, and some of the feathers on his wing were singed. Sombra cared not. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he asked testily, horn flaring and ready to attack if there was treachery involved – but no, it was a guard of the city, not one of the princesses' puppets. That one, too, was under his control. Mostly under his control, at least – something had spooked him badly enough that his instinctive terror was overriding some of Sombra's influence. “Dragons!” the guard gasped, wincing and struggling to stay standing. “They're attacking!” No. That couldn't be right, Sombra thought. He must have misheard. Dragons were greedy creatures, surely they would not be willing to share the spoils with others. One dragon, that was the plan – only one should have shown up. “...Dragons, plural?” past-me asked with a sinking heart. At least his over-planning had paid off – the Construct could handle a few dragons as well as one, it certainly had enough stored energy and output capacity to take on- “We... we couldn't count them before we had to retreat, sir!” Sombra's mouth went dry as his heart hammered in his barrel. “Estimate, then,” he forced himself to say, already dreading the answer. “At least 300, possibly 500, sir!” All thought of further testing and calibration fled; there is nothing quite like an impending dragon attack to rubberstamp a project's completion. “RAISE THE PLATFORM!” Sombra shouted, carelessly dropping the injured pegasus as he climbed onto the device. He sent out orders rapid-fire, not bothering to watch as mind-slaves scurried about to do his bidding, making everything as right as it could be. If he was lucky, nothing would blow up in his face. If not... Well, the energy output of the device would probably kill him and everyone in the room too quickly for him to feel much pain. In retrospect, it would have probably been better to make sure the super-weapon was ready BEFORE trying to lure a great ugly lizard into his City. That's hindsight for you. Finally, with agonizing slowness, the Projector rose into position and, with a low and steady hum, began to charge. And not a moment too soon – the dragons had nearly reached the edge of the city. The guard had not been exaggerating – there were hundreds of dragons on wing, all heading directly for the castle. With a sinking heart, he realized he'd made yet another critical error – the rumor he'd started hinted at the gems being in the castle itself... 'No time for regrets,' he thought frantically, turning the weapon to face the flight of ravenous dragons. Far below him, the ponies of the city looking toward the castle with wary hope in their eyes; as threatening and imposing as the veritable army of dragons appeared, they were confident in the power of the Duchess and the Construct. They'd all heard the stories, about how much raw power the thing contained – surely that would be enough. They waited in silence, watching to see what would happen, little bubbles of hope feeding the power of the Construct. Sombra fiddled with the controls, adjusting the focus to lay down a wide arc of magic, hoping to incapacitate enough dragons that the city guard could deal with the rest of them in short order. It was designed to stun – his original intention, after all, was to capture one alive. He watched the charge indicator climb with agonizing slowness as it accumulated energy from the entire city, drawing it up and into the Heart, and from there into the capacitor arrays. Finally, it was ready – and hardly a moment too soon. He didn't have to wait long before they were in range... When he finally bellowed the order to fire, a massive, blinding burst of white light flew from the weapon's barrel with the suddenness of lightning and the report of thunder. The city watched with trembling anticipation as the wave of energy spread and raced towards the dragons, who were already faltering and struggling to avoid the strange phenomenon. Seeing the dragons so terrified, the ponies below cheered and whooped as the waved rushed over the invaders, overcoming them, repelling them... At least, so it seemed, for a moment. The wave passed over them, stunning many and dazing all, but the power of the Coherent Order Projector had to be spread over a mile of dragons and the empty air between them. Imagine, for a moment, a shotgun shell full of sand; up close it would be devastatingly lethal, and even from a short distance it would do serious damage, but at ten yards it would do little more than annoy the target. So it was with the Projector; as much energy as it released, it had an even greater area to disperse it over. The dragons were quick to recover, and were much, much more angry than before. He had failed. Order broke. “We're all gonna diieeeee!!!” a lone voice shrieked from far below, and the guards could not stop the ensuing panic. Ponies ran to shelter, screamed for loved ones, or just sat down and cried as they lost all hope and prayed for a quick end. Some raged at the ones in charge, livid that they'd been deceived, fighting the very guards who continued trying to defend them. Some broke into storefronts and began looting, though where they intended to flee with their ill-begotten goods was anyone's guess. Still others simply... snapped. Overcome by the terror and madness, they ran and ran and ran, heedless of what they ran into or how they hurt themselves or others, snapping and kicking at anyone unwise enough to stand in their way. There was no more confidence in the City and the Construct; there was only fear, anger, and madness. But mostly fear. Palpable, tingling fear. He could feel it at the back of his neck, crawling under his skin, he could taste the bitter tang at the back of his throat like blood and bile, he could... Wait. The weapon was recharging. He looked down and found the charge-meters glowing once more, brighter and brighter as they measured vast stores of energy climbing quickly, almost exponentially. How were they doing that? Was it malfunctioning? No, the other meters were displaying the same inexplicably climbing charge. Where were they getting their power? The natural Order magic of the City had been depleted, he could feel that himself, and would take time to replenish. What was going into the capacitor arrays? He looked about, confusion and curiosity momentarily overcoming his worry, and saw the ley lines in the streets glowing as they channeled energy to the central nexus. But they weren't glowing their usual pale white, no – they were charged with something else, something that glowed sickly green and purple, something that squirmed and writhed and sought only to escape its confines. No, no, it couldn't be Order magic, Order never felt like that... Then it dawned on him. The Construct drew energy from the ponies of the city, and they were practically radiating fear. A single pony's fear might not do much, no... But an entire city of terrified ponies, crying out in despair, breaking and braying and brawling and bawling and trying to do anything, anything, to stave off the coming storm for even a moment... Well. That was a different matter entirely. A different magic entirely, too. The Projector was already overcharged – dangerously so. The entire array was rapidly approaching its maximum safe capacity, to say nothing of its suggested capacity, and would turn into into a very expensive and destructive thaumic bomb in short order. If he didn't do something soon, it could have very well taken out the entire castle and several surrounding blocks... And still the dragons continued their relentless advance, roars and peals of laughter growing steadily louder every moment, already thinking the battle won and the city theirs. He narrowed his eyes and snorted. 'This is MY city,' he thought savagely. 'These are MY subjects, and no one's going to hurt them but ME!' He glowered down at the “Fire” button and, with a burst of magic, pressed it remotely. Another wave of energy burst forth from the Projector's barrel, boiling and roiling like a storm of fire, green swallowing purple swallowing black swallowing green again as the magic struggled against itself, tearing itself apart even as it clung together like a mass of rats on driftwood. It was not the unified power of Order, nor was it the capricious whimsy of Chaos; it was Fear itself. And where Order could only command and purify... Fear could destroy. And destroy it did. Just like that, the battle was over. The screams of the ponies below fell into silence, the rumbling of a thousand wings stilled, the uproar and rioting in the streets brought to order in a single instant. The dragons caught in the direct blast... there was nothing left of them but a fine red mist. Death was instantaneous. They were the lucky ones; those who only caught the edge of the wave were a much more grisly sight, and will not be described here – I'll leave the details of a half-alive dragon to your imagination. Only a very few escaped mostly unharmed, perhaps with a tattered wing or a few inches missing from their tail, but those few 'lucky' survivors had already turned tail and fled. The enemies of the Crystal City was either dead, dying, or retreating; he had won. The silence in the City was punctuated only by a few halfhearted cheers, mostly from ponies far from carnage who hadn't fully realized by what manner they had been saved. Perhaps they thought the dragons had been teleported away – they were doubtless in denial. A few empathic souls were were even trying to help and comfort the grievously wounded creatures, hopeless though it was. Most of the rest, however, were still. No, not 'still', that wasn't the right word – they were petrified. They continued to give off massive amounts of fear, still charging the capacitors even though the threat was neutralized. He looked about, fearing there were more dragons nearby, but there were none in sight. Was there a new threat? No, there didn't seem to be – there was stillness in the streets, and nothing sought to harm them. He considered again that the Construct was malfunctioning, that the readings were erroneous, but all the readings agreed with one another. The capacitors, emptied by the blast, were already a quarter charged once more. He sent the order to disengage the Projector from the Heart, all the while trying to figure out where all the power was coming from... But it was the same source as before; the ponies of the city were terrified. Looking down at their faces, he soon worked out why. Whereas the dragons inspired a blind panic, the natural reaction of prey towards a predator, he had engaged more than just their basic instincts; he'd inspired fear in their hearts and minds. And, of course, it is in the heart and mind that their true magic resides. It was only natural that they keep billowing that fear energy like heat off a furnace; he held a metaphorical sword to their collective throats. Most of the ponies in the City hadn't been born during Discord's reign, but everyone had heard the stories of the terror and pain and madness they'd endured at the hands of the chaotic tyrant. But Discord had been defeated and they'd rebuilt their civilization from the rubble, and thought themselves free once more. They thought they were in control of their lives once again. When he turned the Construct against the dragons, however, when he'd shown the kind of power he had, that comforting little delusion melted away like fog under the sun's harsh glare. Everything they owned, everything they did, was once again subject to the will of someone else. He could have destroyed them all with a single command, if he wanted, and the reality of it was finally dawning on them. And they were afraid. I shuddered, pulling away in horror as my past-self took it all in with unmasked relish. The quiet of the city was the hopeless stillness of a conquered people, their upturned faces all etched with fear as they realized, one by one, that they were no longer free citizens; they were subjects. They were his subjects. And he was loving it all. A ghastly grin stretched across his face as he surveyed his city – no, his kingdom. Aw hell, he already planned on usurping the Princesses, why not surpass them as well? It was his Empire. His beautiful gem, his Crystal Empire. Still, there was much work to be done, my past-self thought – and the first order of business was to handle all the dangerous buildup of thaumic power those little fear engines were generating. It was time to put the Construct through its paces. “Shunt the excess energy out to the network, I want a steady bleed-off. Might as well do some capacity testing,” he said airily, feeling several years younger as he hopped off the Projector. Enough power to vaporize a wing of dragons in-flight... Perhaps he would be ready to wage war against the Princesses after all. All he needed was a dragon's essence to perform that dark ritual, and he could stand a fighting chance. Ah, the fly in the ointment. Though he had won that battle, the entire purpose was spoiled. No dragons. None captured alive, at any rate, and a corpse wouldn't do. The one thing that could dampen his spirits, the thought of dying, still haunted him. That maddening, unresolved problem. Perhaps, if he was quick, he could send out an order to capture one of the survivors alive for 'interrogation'. Surely that wouldn't attract too much attention, he thought – it was perfectly understandable for the Duchess to seek out answers and retribution for the unwarranted attack on the city... Fortune seemed to smile upon him for once, however. A pegasus guard, one under his control – not the one from before, that one had fallen unconscious from exhaustion some time during the attack, and Sombra hadn't cared enough to take notice – landed before him and gave a low bow. “Sir, we have captured one alive.” He didn't dare believe his luck at first – surely he'd misheard. “You what?” he asked softly, his traitorous legs trembling with suppressed glee. The pegasus nodded. “Yes, Sir! It was wounded, but not fatally – the blast tore off its wings, and it couldn't escape with the others. We've herded it where you commanded, and it's ready for you.” To be young again, strong again – to no longer worry about his body failing, to no longer go to sleep at night and wonder if he would wake up the next morning, to no longer fear an ignoble and inglorious end as a helpless invalid... The very thought sent a shiver of delight down his spine. He would be the immortal, all-powerful ruler of all of Equestria. All he had to do was perform a little ritual, snuff out a single life, and he would be set on that golden path to glory. “Take me to it. Now.” *** The dragon was younger than he had expected – either just entering adulthood or at the end of adolescence. From what little light the torch sconces permitted, its ashen gray scales and deep crimson fringe of spikes glittered faintly, their sharp edges clearly defined even in the dimness. Easily twelve feet long from tail to snout, its wings would have filled the room if they hadn't been reduced to ragged and singed stumps. Even so, it might have been a more impressive creature if it wasn't bound and chained, immobilized on the floor, its vulnerable chest exposed. It grew active at the new arrivals, straining against the chains to no avail. It could still move its mouth though, much to Sombra's displeasure. “Please,” it begged in a low, rumbling voice, its eyes darting about while its head was held immobile, “I'm sorry. I was just following orders – please, let me go...” Sombra ignored its pleas, and turned to the unicorn jailor in charge of securing the prisoner. “Why is the creature's mouth not bound?” my past-self growled, displeased. The jailor, under Sombra's control, winced and levitated a heavy set of chains – or, what was left of them. Great chunks had been gouged from the dull metal, shorn away as a knife through clay. “It's a warp-dragon,” the unicorn explained nervously. “Its breath can tear small holes in space. We tried to seal its mouth shut, but it kept jetting fire out between its teeth and, well...” “And did you not think to use spell-resistant steel?” Sombra asked testily, unimpressed. He surrounded the ruined length of chain in his magic and unceremoniously tossed it aside. The jailor paled, realizing the obvious mistake, and gulped nervously. “N-no sir... Shall I get one now?” he asked, adopting an annoyingly ingratiating tone even as Sombra turned away. My past-self simply snatched away the jailor's key ring and passed it to another guard. “You,” he growled, glaring at the earth pony, “you're the new jailor. Pray you don't fail me like this one has.” The new jailor looked less than pleased by the 'promotion', but was wise enough not to say anything. “And as for you,” he turned back to the terrified ex-jailor with a glower, “You're on cleanup duty – and you would have been well-served if the dragon had taken a bite out of your flank.” He snorted with disdain. “When I tell you to secure the sacrifice, I mean it.” The great lizard froze at the last part. “Wait... Sacrifice?” it asked, panic creeping into its voice. “What do you mean, sacrifice?! Let me go!” It renewed its struggles, making the chains rattle and creak ominously. Sombra just chuckled at the pathetic sight – from a safe distance, of course. “You there, failure of a guard – check its bindings. If it's going to break free and kill someone, I'd rather it be you.” The unicorn blanched and trembled, but didn't dare disobey – nor could he. Even so, his instinctive terror at the thrashing, struggling dragon couldn't be completely stamped out, and it was with trembling hooves and faltering magic that he examined the dragon's bindings. He was a sweating mess when he finally finished, and doubtless looked forward to something as safe as corpse-disposal. “I-it's secure, sir!” he squeaked, several octaves higher than normal, and practically fled the room. Sombra paid no attention to any of that, of course – beyond making sure that the dragon couldn't break free and lunge at him, his investment in the other unicorn's problems consisted of 'jack' and 'squat'. He didn't even bat an eye when the terrified unicorn fled, having no more use for the slave at that moment. All of his attention was on the thrashing dragon before him. “Now, where was I... Ah, yes. You're to be sacrificed for the good of my City – and soon, for the good of my Empire.” He chuckled grimly, striding forward confidently as he anticipated his renewal. He levitated a sword out of a nearby guard's scabbard, carefully examining its length for soundness. “Such an honor, I'm sure.” Real fear crept into the dragon's eyes, but he was helpless to resist – my past self had made sure of that. “What?! No! No, you can't do that! I have rights!” Perhaps the dragon was just starting to realize who he was dealing with... and I was beginning to see the full depth of evil I had reached. Were the dragon in the custody of Celestia or the captain of the guard, he would have been let off with a slap on the wrist and a firm warning. Indeed, if he had been held in a foreign land by a stern but just ruler, he would have stood trial and paid for his crimes in the manner prescribed by the courts. Even Discord might have treated him better, toying with his mind and memories before letting him go, changed and deranged but alive. But I had been none of them. I had been a tyrant, a slavemaster... and soon, a murderer. And, God help me, I had enjoyed it... My past-self paused for a moment, savoring the power he wielded, and languorously polished the blade with an oiled cloth. He could afford to wait, to drag it out as long as he wished – no one would hear them, no one would know. The dragon was completely at his mercy, and some dark and twisted part of him had enjoyed the fear he sowed; he was just starting to learn the sweetness of it, and was eager to sample it again. I watched as my past-self toyed with the poor thing, made it suffer for his own amusement while it slowly came to realize that it would never leave that dark and oppressive place, would never see its family again, would never fly through the sky under the warm sun ever again... “Please, don't make me see this,” I groaned, not realizing I had said it aloud until the words were already out. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it did nothing to stop the terrible knowledge from being burned into my mind. Luna, however, was nowhere to be found – whether she refused to help me or was even listening, I didn't know. The moment was approaching – I could feel my past-self's impatience growing, and knew he would not wait much longer. He ran his hoof down the blade to check its sharpness, nodding in cruel satisfaction. “I own you, traitor. I own everyone and everything in this city, whether they realize it or not. And soon, I'll own everything and everyone else. I will rule as Celestia and Luna could not, dared not, craven cowards that they are.” He let the light play across the length of the blade in full view of the dragon, the creature's eyes locked on the sword as its breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. “I will bring justice where they allowed lawlessness to flourish,” he continued implacably. “I will bring order where they permitted chaos rein.” He casually pressed the blade against the dragon's chest, the tip right between the heart scales, and pushed it through the creature's heart. The dragon gasped, unbelieving eyes fixated on the hilt of the blade. It groaned pitifully, unable to speak or die quickly – again, dragons were hearty creatures, and despite the fatal wound its heart still tried to beat on. My past-self smirked, anticipating the same tenacious vitality with relish. I only felt sick. “Empty him out entirely – I don't want a single iota of that creature's essence wasted,” my past-self said, quickly moving into position while his mind-slaves buzzed with activity. They knew what to do. The unicorns present bowed and concentrated, their horns lighting up the dim room as they wove their spell in unison. A web of light spread out through the floor, a complex enchantment nexus activating directly under the dragon, absorbing its vital essence as its lifeblood ebbed away. The sickly green glow spread out below the ponies present before converging on the other side of the room – directly under my past-self. I watched as he so calmly stood there, unmoved by the fact that it had tormented and killed another living thing even as it begged clemency. Now that it was over and the creature succumbed to its fatal wounds, its eyes growing dull and lifeless, I wondered – was that part of me really gone? I felt guilt and horror over what I had done... But wasn't there a part of me that took pleasure in vengeance? My skin crawled as I pulled away from the thought, but a worse one came. If I was in the same situation – if I could do it again, bring myself power by killing another – would I do it? I considered the fear I had felt at my own mortality, and the desire to have my strength and vigor back... And I didn't know. I continued to watch, trying not to think about it. The rest of the 'ritual' went as smoothly as a black-magic sacrament of living sacrifice could be expected – that is, it did exactly what it was supposed to do, and hurt like hell doing it. The chaos magic bound into the stone tooth had been surprisingly potent, and when it was finally set free it went work with a zeal. It fundamentally changed my past-self's body, burning and ravaging his old frame like a wildfire through an ancient forest. It was not careful, it was not logical, it was not even symmetrical; it was raw chaos magic turned to a specific purpose, and even within the most careful logical structures he could devise to contain it, it still found a way to do what it wished. My past-self's skin crawled as he felt it worm its way through him, and gasped in agony as it twisted and morphed his body and ground his bones. He even blacked out at one point, only to come back to full consciousness with a shout of pain as his horn seemed to melt and flow into a long, smooth spike, a parody of a dragon's spike-fringe and a unicorn's horn. When the effects of the ritual finally subsided and the chaos magic fled to greener pastures, Sombra staggered to his hooves. He was abominably weak, yes... But it wasn't the weakness of age and infirmity, just the natural effect of a powerful spell's toll. Indeed, he was already recovering from it – far faster than he usually did those days – and in moments he felt... wonderful. He felt strong again, as keen and sharp as the blade that pierced the dragon's heart. He unceremoniously yanked it out and slid it, uncleaned and dripping, back into its owner's scabbard. “Did it work?” he demanded of the gawking mind-slaves. “Where is my physician?!” An old unicorn in a smart suit calmly stepped forward, and without a word began examining him – his physician. The unicorn looked him over calmly with a practiced eye, taking out various instruments of his profession and using them with familiar ease. “Hrmmm... Skeletal structure and bodily proportions are mostly unchanged... Internal temperature is... Well, higher than this instrument can read. I can only assume that's a natural side effect, you don't appear to be suffering from heat stroke. Let's see, your eyes – yes, they're definitely-” Sombra was rapidly losing patience. “Cease your prattling – did it work? Have I cheated death?” The physician hemmed and hawwed, his horn glowing as he examined Sombra's altered body, and shrugged. “You are no longer old,” he said simply. Sombra stared at him, thoroughly unsatisfied with that answer and wondering at the unicorn's blunt boldness. “Explain,” he growled through gritted teeth, unperturbed by their sudden sharpness. “As I said, you are no longer old,” the physician continued implacably. “However, I do not know your relative age – I have no frame of reference. Your physiology is like nothing I have encountered before. I can see that your organs are healthy and strong, that your blood is clean, and that your magic is potent. Beyond that, I cannot tell you anything that you don't know yourself. So, I can only conclude that you are no longer old.” Sombra glared at the implacably calm doctor, instinctively preparing the spell of mental domination... And then remembered that the doctor was already under his control. Everyone present was his slave. He pressed in, feeling the unicorn's mind, and realized the problem; it wasn't a lack of control, it too much control. The doctor could feel nothing on his own, do nothing on his own. Without fear, he could not cower; without thought, he could not proactively serve. His glare turning into a frown, Sombra did the opposite of what he'd habitually done to anyone who annoyed him during his years of ruling from the shadows – he loosed his grip on the unicorn's mind and will, holding on just enough to maintain the pony's loyalty and desire to serve. The effect was immediate – and much, much more satisfying to my past-self. The physician gave a start, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time, and his eyes shrunk to pinpricks as they darted between Sombra and the dead dragon. “I-If that will be all, s-sir,” he mumbled, quickly averting his gaze. Sombra stared a moment, considering... then gave a curt nod. The physician fled just as the ex-jailor had, whimpering in terror and eager to leave his presence. Sombra watched for a long while, deep in thought. “So much to do, so little time,” he crooned, quickly covering himself with a feature-obscuring cloak and trotting out of the dungeon with renewed vigor. I could only watch, wishing it was over.