//------------------------------// // Successor of Fate, Part I // Story: Equestrylvania // by Brony_Fife //------------------------------// Twilight groans, the air in her lungs billowing out as cold wisps. There’s the distinct music of foals’ laughter somewhere, playfully fluttering by her ears. She hears somepony run by—but she doesn’t feel it, strangely. She doesn’t feel the presence of another pony or set of ponies, she doesn’t feel their body heat as they brush by. There’s the laughter and the sets of hooves, and they are but sounds. She opens her eyes with the same effort one would if they were just waking. The blurry colors before her swim aimlessly before melting back into something familiar. Much to her shock, Twilight finds that these colors form an image more familiar than she expects: the hallways are the same as when she’d left, and the tapestry is the same as when she’d left, and even the sterile smell is the same as when she’d left. Sunlight sprinkles through the windows of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns… …Just like it did the day she got her cutie mark. More sounds. The music of foals’ laughter, the murmur of teachers’ discussion, the encouraging words of parents. But there’s nopony around to attach these sounds to. It’s all so ghostly. “How the heck…?” Twilight places a hoof against her temples, her other three holding fast to the floor. Numbness grips her body and spins her head. How did she get here? With some effort, her mind finds her spilled puzzle box of recent memory, and gets to work putting the pieces back together. She and Spike had just dipped the Pan’s Needles into the modified ink. That much is clear. Spike had said something that made Twilight flinch, but she can’t recall what it was. Might have been something she took too seriously, might have just been Spike opening his mouth without knowing what he was really trying to say. Then there was a small argument over that. Over what exactly, she can’t really remember. Her mind pushes that thought away for now, and focuses on the book Charlotte had sent. The Blank Book. It was thick, with empty pages yellowed from years of disuse. The hard cover, baby blue with a silver lion’s head roaring silently, silver leaves all around the edges. It had a look of ancient significance to it, in spite of its apparent lack of content. She’d spoken to it, using the strange words Charlotte had written… …and then everything else was blank. “Did I…?” Twilight dare not finish her sentence. But it’s true, isn’t it? That she’s been sucked inside the book? But that doesn’t explain… Twilight walks through this hall, taking in the nostalgic sounds and the misty environment. Her hoofsteps are inaudible, as if paradoxically she is the unreal one. She sees the door up ahead—the door to the room where she’d taken the entrance exam. A voice pierces through the clamor around her. Her father’s. “Are you ready?” he asks, in his rich Germane accent. “No turning back now, Twilight.” “Settle down, Nightlight,” returns the voice of her mother. “You’re going to scare her!” “I’m not scared,” says a younger, more innocent voice. Her own voice, years ago. It’s shaky and uncertain. There may be no image, but Twilight remembers the way her mother wrapped her into a hug. How her father smiled. Their warmth. Their comfort. Everything. “It’s okay to be scared,” her father continues. “Really, it is okay. Your mother and I are going to be here. You’re going to do fine.” Twilight remembers her mother giving her a kiss on the cheek. The memory of it makes her eyes grow moist. She hadn’t stopped to think about it before, but she really misses her parents. And with everything the way it is, now… No. Don’t go there. Maybe it takes an hour for her to collect herself, maybe it takes a second. Or maybe it takes a lifetime. With her wits gathered, Twilight opens the door and walks through. She gasps. Where there should have been an auditorium, there instead sits rows of books and spiraling staircases and books lying open on the floor and windows that cast squares of sunlight onto the walls. Isn’t this place…? “Spike!” she hears herself call out from upstairs. “Spiii-iiike!” “Coming!” comes Spike from someplace. “Just a moment!” “You better not be reading those books I told you not to!” Twilight’s surprise is traded for a snort of laughter. She remembers that: the way she’d caught Spike, red-clawed and red-faced, reading books Twilight wished never ended up in her library. “No, I’m not,” Spike says earnestly. She hears Spike walk up the stairs. Out of curiosity, Twilight follows. The stairs, like the floor, are decorated with open books, dog-eared and highlighted entries aplenty. There, at the top, her old room. The bed, the books, the telescope, the books, the… more books. Everything is in its proper place. “Okay, I’m here,” Spike says. “Ready to assist!” “Good,” comes a curt reply. “I need a test subject for this next spell.” Twilight rolls her eyes and decides to leave before “past Twilight” tries to turn Spike into a mouse. She still remembers how Spike would wake her up in the middle of the night, bawling his eyes out because he had a nightmare where he was being eaten by a cat. Well, either that or he’d occasionally get a strange craving for cheese. She goes back down the stairs, the doomed transformation spell above becoming quieter. She opens the door— —and back where the hallway should be is instead the Ponyville Town Hall. The sounds of ponies chattering, the decorations here and there… This must be the night of the Summer Sun Celebration. Twilight finds another door across the room and walks toward it as she hears the thunderclap of Nightmare Moon’s dramatic entry. Nightmare Moon’s booming voice proclaims how the night shall last forever as Twilight walks through the door. Through this door, her last birthday party. Rarity’s excuses whisper ghost-like through the jubilee before she disappears again. Through that door, Dodge Junction. The thunder that follows Applejack’s escape-wagon is deafening. Another door. Celestia’s School while Twilight was in her teens. Yet another door. Canterlot. The shuddering sound of Changelings crawling everywhere. Another door. Her parents’ house. The luminescence of Celestia’s morning sun beaming in from the windows casts stark shadows on the walls, causing even the small things to stand out and glitter. The smell of her mother’s cooking is intense and delicious, wafting in from a nearby kitchen. There comes the sound of playful foals tumbling down the stairs. “No fair!” cries a tiny voice. Her own voice. “Oh, come on,” returns another voice. “Twily, you’re never gonna win this game with that kind of an attitude.” His voice is strong and warm. Twilight stops. Everything inside her stops: her blood, her heart, her brain. His words come crisp and loud into her ears, brushing by her thoughts like a breeze across wind chimes, then leaves, becoming quiet. Her bottom lip quivers as her eyes grow hot. Instead of listening through the rest of this memory, she darts for the nearest door, tearing it open and barreling through before the tears can even wet her face. The hallway to the Castle is long and foreboding, occupied with a chill that bites bone. A legion of armors built for alien creatures to wear sit silently in neat rows amongst ruined walls. Marble-white sculptures and effigies and paintings observe Twilight as she walks down the corridor. The chatter of Roaring Yawn and his comrades buzz about like mosquitoes from far away. Then she hears her own voice. Then Shining Armor’s. His voice is strong and warm. Again, Twilight pauses, this time listening, and at the same time wanting to escape, to find an exit. She wipes at the moisture gathering around her nostrils, sniffling as her eyes travel out the windows. Instead of Canterlot, there is white. White and trees and frozen lakes and sounds of joviality and merriment. A song bounces playfully against the Castle’s window. The Winter Wrap-Up? Twilight’s hooves make no sound as she nears the window. The muttering conversations behind her fade into white noise as the song outside grows and grows and grows. It’s beautiful and nostalgic, just like all her other memories. There’s a part of Twilight that longs for these days again—a part that takes her hoof and rests it against the window’s glass. Nostalgia… is that the point of the Blank Book? Can’t be. Didn’t Charlotte say that Twilight would meet someone here? Twilight wonders how much longer she must navigate this memory-maze until she can find this person… The window bursts in front of her with such force it knocks her backwards. Shards of glass rain down on her, their jagged little teeth sinking into her belly and forelegs as she lands on the carpet with a thud. There’s a repetitive, waving sound—the swinging leather of bat wings. A shrieking cackle is met by screams of terror and stampeding hooves and war whoops and the hum of unicorn horns and the angered barking of a voice usually so warm and strong. No image. No bat. No ponies. And suddenly, no sound. This must be the point in which Twilight panicked and fled. Slowly, she stands back up, cringing with the effort. Looking down at herself, Twilight finds little red mouths grinning here and there, one or two with a glittering fang of glass sticking out. Twilight inhales a deep breath before closing her eyes, focusing her magic, and removing the glass from her body. They slide out easily enough, but with such a sudden jerk it makes the smiles open wider. They drool blood, however slight. More focus. The smiles become thinner, thinner, thinner, until finally they close. The blood still speckles her lavender pelt like morbid constellations. That’s when Twilight notices something else. There’s a cold breeze coming in from outside the broken window. Snow wanders inside, fluttering whimsically, tiny white dancers in a wind-tossed ballroom. Carefully, Twilight clears the glass shards from the window and climbs up and out. The snow had apparently piled up until it touched the lip of the castle window… or rather, it’s the ground that touches the lip. Twilight’s hooves settle on that ground, lifting her up and out of her memory of the Castle. A glance behind her reveals that the Castle’s windows sit not against any wall, but rather against the open air. Curiously, Twilight walks around the line of windows. No matter from what angle she looks, each one gives her a glance inside the Castle, casting her own moving shadow inside, cautiously tiptoeing within the light spit onto the floors. “This place,” Twilight says to nopony in particular. “Where am I?” “Inside a magical book” is no longer an appropriate explanation. This is a place governed by dream logic and subconscious thought, where up is down and down is whatever it wants to be. Any law of gravity is overruled, every law of physics appealed in favor of mind-warping absurdity. Twilight assumes this is what the world must look like to Discord. Then she looks up. Planets hover above and all around, each one a unique shape, never round or spherical. Houses attach to castles attach to forests to theaters to battlefields to circuses to factories to deep beneath the oceans. So many of these deranged planets—all suspended midair by some unknown force (can’t be gravity; that’d make too much sense) against a vast, darkly kaleidoscoping void. What catches Twilight’s eye the most is how each planet is held by a length of chain, anchored to a single point inside the void. Whatever that single point is, it is much too small for Twilight to make out from here. There’s a chain that runs from that point to close by... Astounding. These planets must all be made up of memories… Between each planet swim worming rivers that carry things that are too small to see from where Twilight sits, tiny black flies swarming inside a turquoise tube. These rivers curve and spiral and twist around each planet, the small black things moving forward forever. Twilight observes these awesome sights—and observes—and observes. Hours might be passing, but since everything else is topsy-turvy, who cares? Eventually, she feels a numbness growing in her flanks. She only realizes now that she’d sat down to view these magnificent planets, forgetting the snow beneath her. Quickly, she stands back up, shaking off the cold. She only notices something is awry when she fails to hear the sounds of ponies at work or in song. Everything has fallen into total silence. Twilight looks about, her dark mane and tail whipping in the sudden gusts of wind. There, walking amid the trees, is a figure tall and cloaked. It moves on a long pair of slender, black-booted legs, with what must be arms tucking their hands into pockets. The baby blue hood pulled over its head doesn’t hide the locks of golden hair spilling out from its mouth. The creature’s stride is slow, calculated. Disciplined, actually—and rather masculine despite its slight figure and feminine curves. The figure weaves through the trees, through the brush, through the snow. Twilight watches and waits, nonplussed at what exactly this figure is, and what its intentions are. Could this be Charlotte’s “Boss”? When the figure finally stops just four feet in front of Twilight—standing tall enough to cast a shadow over the little pony—she stays where she stands, her breath fuming from her pointed nose in cold clouds. Twilight can see a pair of pretty lips underneath the hood, but aside from that, nothing else. Finally, the figure cocks its head to one side. Its voice, droll and maternal and painted with a unique accent, forms a question that bounces off Twilight’s head. “...The hell are you?” The pause that follows is palpable. “…C-Come again?” Twilight asks awkwardly. “What, are you deaf?” the creature asks impatiently. She folds her arms, the drooping blue sleeves of her cloak forming curtains in front of her torso. “I asked you what the hell you are.” Twilight blinks, clears her throat. “Uh, m-my name is Twilight Sparkle; I-I’m a unicorn.” The creature nods. “Greetings, Twilight Sparkle I’m A Unicorn. I’m Sypha Belmont. I’d shake your hand, if you had one.” There comes an awkward silence, but when she gets the joke, Twilight smirks, deflated. Sypha takes a few, slow, oddly masculine steps around Twilight, as if getting a good view of her from every angle. Twilight raises an eyebrow awkwardly. “I take it unicorns aren’t a common sight where you’re from?” she asks. “Not really,” Sypha answers, finishing her circle and coming to a stop. Twilight leans her head away from Sypha, their eye contact unbreaking, a strange twist forming on her lips. Just what is this creature’s deal? Wait, is she… “Are you…” Twilight clears her throat and tries again. “D-Do you know someone named Charlotte Aulin?” A pause. Sypha takes her hood and folds it down, revealing gold curls and a face that could catch male attention (and likely a fair share of female attention) like flies to honey. Her eyes, an intense royal blue, analyze Twilight more closely. Then her lips—which so far could only scowl—suddenly break into a smile. “You know Charlie?” Twilight nods. Sypha looks around for a second—this way, that way, smiling—before asking, “She here?” Twilight shakes her head. The smile vanishes from Sypha’s face just as quickly as it had appeared, becoming a dismissive sneer as she looks angrily to one side. Sypha mutters something Twilight can’t make out besides its short, terse tone. “Uh, sh-she gave me a note,” Twilight adds, summoning it in a pop of magic. The page hovers in front of Sypha for a second before she snatches it rudely from the air. Twilight silently wishes people wouldn’t grab things still in her telekinesis like that—it gives a sensation like having your brain tugged at. Sypha’s intense royal blue eyes analyze the letter, a look of haughty indignation combing her face. Suddenly, she looks up from the letter at Twilight, her lips pursed. Her chest heaves with a sigh, her face frozen in that haughty indignation for a good minute. “Is something wrong?” Twilight asks with some earnestness. Her lips slide from pursed back to almost a sneer. A breath exits her nostrils in a slow, rolling haze. Then the note is burned away, a single plume of white smoke dancing upwards as tiny embers descend to the snow. Sypha’s face—almost-sneering mouth, analyzing eyes—remains unchanged. Twilight gulps. Sypha folds her arms again, leaning forward as if to really analyze Twilight. Twilight stares back. Sypha leans forward more, her royal blues blazing with intensity. Twilight stares back, her worry growing by the second. Finally, Sypha blinks. There’s a pause that lasts forever, followed by a sigh. She stands back up, her arms sliding out of their fold and placing one hand on each hip. “If Charlotte has sent you to me, then that means two things.” Sypha brings up one hand and, curling all the other fingers, jerks up a thumb. “Number one, Dracula has invaded your world and wasted no time setting about to destroy it. True?” “Yes,” Twilight nods. A pointer finger joins the thumb. “And number two, Charlotte sent you to me for training because it turned out Dracula’s forces were too much for you to handle on your own. True?” “It’s not that I don’t think we can’t handle him on our own, but—” Sypha waves a hand quickly, almost smacking Twilight. “Don’t change the subject. Is it true? Yes or no?” Twilight blinks in shock at Sypha’s rudeness. “Y-Yes.” Sypha returns her hands to her hips and launches into another masculine stride around Twilight. “You got here by Charlotte’s own recommendation, and you will remain here under my own good graces. I will teach you to the best of my abilities. What you get out of this will be what you put in. So don’t waste my time.” She stops and looks at Twilight, weirdly turning her head but not her whole body, making a motion with her hands. “Now obviously, you wouldn’t be here if you had no capacity for magic. Have you had any formal magic training where you’re from?” Twilight’s whole face lights up at her opportunity to boast. “I was lucky enough to find myself under the tutelage of Princess Celestia herself—she’s the ruler of my homeland—and I’ve mastered a variety of spells and potions and—” “You know any curses?” Twilight blinks, her wide smile stuck on her face. “…What?” “You heard me,” Sypha says, now turning around to face Twilight, her arms again curling around her middle. “Curses. Do you know any curses?” “Uh, n-no…” “Transmogrification?” “Haven’t been successful with those yet,” Twilight says, her eyes darting away as her smile fades. “How about hexes?” Sypha asks, now slowly walking forward, her intense eyes stabbing Twilight’s. “Spitting fire? Freezing an object? Creating a portal? Stopping time?” Twilight, her dusky eyes wide, begins backing away from Sypha. “W-Well, I know some of those…” “Some isn’t good enough.” Sypha stops, then snorts a sigh. “I’m sure you’ve already met some tough customers by this point. But I can guarantee that what you’ve experienced was only a taste of what Dracula’s army has to offer.” She shakes her head. “What comes next is gonna eat you alive if you don’t have the skills to thwart them. “You’re gonna learn the magic I know, and since Charlie trusts you, I trust you. Don’t let me down.” Sypha eases off Twilight, breathing a relaxed sigh now that her introduction is apparently over. Twilight stiffens, eager to prove her worth to her new mentor. “Now obviously,” Sypha continues, “since Dracula is already in your world, we don’t have a lot of time for you to learn. So we’ll begin with a review of what you already know and then move on to the harder stuff. You ready?” Twilight nods. “Ready.” Sypha nods back, but with a grin that injects Twilight with unease. She takes all of one step forward before she flicks her wrist, launching a fireball the size of Twilight’s head from her hand. Twilight gasps, dodging the fireball with a shocked sidestep. “What are you—!” is all Twilight manages to squeal before Sypha takes another step, launching yet another fireball. This time, Twilight teleports, reappearing behind Sypha. Twilight runs at Sypha, attempting a charge as her horn glows. There’s a sound like a whirlwind, Sypha’s blue cloak whipping all about as she quickly turns around, one hand balled into a fist and glowing white-hot. That fist is sunk into the snowy ground with a thunderous crash, causing the whole area around Sypha to erupt in a geyser of fire and earth and the hiss of melting snow. As if she’d expected it, Twilight teleports again just before connecting with the geyser, once again appearing behind Sypha. This time, there’s no charge—instead, Twilight takes aim at the dull, smoky outline of Sypha Belnades and fires a bolt of pure unicorn magic. It penetrates the fire, breaking it apart, its embers becoming a swarm of burning butterflies that flutter and dance upward before fizzling out. The breaking fire reveals no Sypha. Suddenly, the snow beneath Twilight becomes a mouth, glacier teeth snapping just under her hooves. She bolts from the wintry thing as it closes with a snap. Then another mouth opens beneath her, then another—and another! Twilight makes it back to the windows from before, jumping through the broken one just as the snow beneath her would have taken a leg in its crocodile jaws. Curiously, instead of landing back in the hallway of the Castle as she expects, Twilight finds herself in the chaos-torn Ponyville from back when Discord had first broken free. The checkerboard ground and floating windmills and cotton candy clouds and warped houses and other absurdities are painted in the same dark, silent blues and greys of the other “memory areas” Twilight had been before, the nostalgic whispers of the events that had transpired here buzzing about. The obnoxious chuckling of Discord himself sticks its fingers in Twilight’s ears. She jerks her head in its direction—her eyes widening as she sees Sypha Belnades, apparently expecting her arrival, slouching lazily in the throne Discord had made for himself, the same wicked grin from before plastered on her face. As if impersonating the Lord of Chaos himself, Sypha snaps her fingers as Discord begins his boasts on the virtues of bedlam. The snap summons a bolt of lightning that shoots up from the ground just in front of Twilight, causing her to jump back. Then came another, and another, becoming a series of lightning strikes chasing Twilight around. “What a riot!” cackles Discord. Shut up, Discord, Twilight thinks irritably. Finally, Twilight’s patience with Sypha’s sudden acts of violence reaches its end. Her horn glows. “Going UP!” she shouts as her spell is cast. Sypha is suddenly surrounded by the same magenta light, her whole body turning upside-down and falling up. The look on her face is somewhere between amusement and mild frustration. Just as Sypha disappears from Twilight’s line of sight, there’s a sound behind her that shrieks and pops. She turns her head, and is met by Sypha’s sinister smiling face. Twilight’s heart stops cold for a second as Sypha lifts a leg and brings it down for a stomp that shakes the checkerboard earth beneath them. A spire of pure earth jettisons from the ground, thrusting towards Twilight, closing in on her face. There’s a pop of magenta light, and Twilight is gone, now a few feet away. The single spire of earth becomes a trail of them, forming a jagged spine of rocks that chase Twilight, each one erupting up just behind her as she runs for her life. Finally, a particularly large spire rockets forward, getting up underneath Twilight’s legs and carrying her upwards and forwards. In shock, she looks behind her, at this absurd memory-land now torn by Sypha’s magic—and at Sypha herself, who walks calmly, menacingly, up the spires as if they were a staircase, hands in her coat pockets. “You’re already into gravity spells?” Sypha asks as she closes in. “You’re better than I thought.” Her blue sleeves flap like bird wings as she brings her arms up, her hands glowing a sickening dark blue just before they spit dark bubbles that hum ominously. Each bubble is the size of Twilight’s head. They quickly float towards their target at the end of the spire. Too tired from so much teleporting—and therefore in an attempt to conserve her energy—Twilight weaves through the incoming bubbles of darkness. They drone in a loud, deep bass as they barely miss her head, the intense cold of their bodies brushing the pelt on her face, singeing the fine hairs. A well-timed jump rockets Twilight past a bubble threatening her legs. The spire beneath Twilight gives with a shivering sound, bursting into sedimentary confetti. As she falls, Twilight looks up to see Sypha, her blue cape fluttering behind her, her eyes wide and pulsing with excitement, her teeth clenched, her blonde hair rolling out of her collapsed hood as she reaches after Twilight. Particles surround her hand once again, just as an ominous boom rings above them. Sypha’s hand glimmers a dull white just before a tentacle of lightning tumbles into it. It takes her an effort, but Sypha manages to swing the lightning down—and only as it forms an arc does Twilight see the enormous ball lightning at the end of the bolt descend like a hammer-head. She barely manages to teleport to safety in time (safety being relative in this situation, of course). The checkered earth below the falling lightning-hammer gives too easily, bending underneath the blow, then erupting with a vociferous crash and flying debris and the hideous scent of ozone. Twilight tumbles, everything becoming one long shape and sound. Her eyes focus and she realizes only now that she is falling down a hallway. The moment she realizes this—predictably—gravity takes hold of her and throws her across the floor like dice across a game board. She turnslooks her head up sharply, taking in the stained-glass windows depicting her own adventures alongside other important moments of Equestrian history. The rug beneath her is dotted with the sounds of slowly advancing hooves, and the walls whisper of nostalgic conversation. A turn of her head to her right reveals to Twilight the locked safe door where Princess Celestia had once kept the Elements of Harmony. A turn of her head to her left reveals a gaping hole in the entrance of this hall, and cotton candy clouds and upside-down windmills that dangle just outside. A robed figure looks down into the hole in the wall. Her outline is a black shape, but her eyes twinkle menacingly from where Twilight stands. This unnecessary battle had been drawn out long enough. Resolving to emerge its victor, Twilight lowers her head, snorts, and paws at the floor beneath her. Sypha smiles as she drops down from the hole, gravity taking hold of her and correcting her trajectory as she enters the hall. She lands on the carpet flawlessly, her blue cape rolling like ocean waves. Almost dramatically, Sypha stands up. Her hands are once again placed on her hips, her strange and masculine stride carrying her at a slow, intimidating pace across the carpet. No words are said. Instead, Twilight charges, her horn glowing with her magenta light. Sypha smirks as she brings her now-glowing hands up. Twilight is only ten feet away. Sypha lifts her hand and readies to throw a fireball—but just as she fires, the charging unicorn before her vanishes. Knowingly, Sypha turns around, firing the fireball behind her instead. To her surprise, the fireball flies across the hallway and into the chaotic playground outside. She hears the crackle of lightning and smells the ozone just before she turns her head. Twilight had teleported someplace above Sypha, this time her horn creating its own lightning-hammer. With a bow of her head, Twilight brings the hammer down as she falls, its neck an incredible length and its head an incredible size. It crashes with a marvelous destruction, splashing the entire hall with blinding whiteness and deafening noise. Seconds later, the hall comes back to Twilight’s eyes. Ringing occupies her ears again, finally melting and giving way to the sound of her own tired breathing. All this running around and teleporting and use of magic has left her dry and thirsty and aching. But the victory is worth it. Or rather, it would have been a victory if Sypha hadn’t simply taken one step back before the lightning-hammer struck where she’d stood. The air crackles slightly, smoke rising from the crater, obscuring Sypha’s form until gradually it parts. Hands in her pockets, Sypha looks down into the crater Twilight’s spell left behind with curious eyes, as if studying something fascinating and exotic. Her intense royal blue eyes glance from the crater, to Twilight, back to the crater. “…Where did you learn that spell?” she asks quietly. “You just taught me,” Twilight answers, wiping sweat from her brow. “You generated energy particles around the tips of your fingers and forced them to magnetize the other particles in the air, combining it all into makeshift lightning. After you gathered it all into a spherical shape, you forced its main body away, letting the other attached particles form a hammer’s neck, with the body becoming the head. I recreated most of that with my horn.” She breathes heavily for a few moments as Sypha gazes in wonder. “I think yours was stronger, though. You have more finger-tips than I do horn-tips.” Sypha’s curious expression does not change. Twilight tenses her whole body, still shivering and gasping for breath, ready in case Sypha decides to do something else. In this pause, Twilight can hear the ghostly conversations of days past, and as Discord asks what fun there is in making sense, Sypha smirks. “We’ve only been fighting a few minutes,” Sypha says, cocking her head, “and you’re already this tired?” Twilight, unsure how to answer Sypha’s question, fidgets. “You show a lot of promise,” Sypha says, walking around the still-smoking crater. “But you lack endurance. If this is how quickly you tire out in a fight, Dracula’s stronger minions would have a clear advantage.” Sypha stops in front of the crater, analyzing Twilight still. Suddenly, Twilight’s lips curve into a smile. “Advantage,” she opines, “all depends on strategy.” There’s a sound like static growing behind Sypha, followed by cannon fire and a force like a tornado that explodes, shooting her forward off her feet, down the hall and straight towards Twilight. Her horn glows as her smile becomes impish. Sypha flattens against something invisible—a wall or forcefield, perhaps—for all of a split second before rebounding and being sent to the floor. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to recreate that lightning-hammer in its entirety,” Twilight says, “so I enchanted the particles into playing the part of dynamite: waiting a few seconds more before exploding.” “And by making them all go off at once,” Sypha says, “you create a hell of an explosion.” She runs a hand through her now-messy blonde hair as she sits back up. “That’s just…” She laughs. “That’s brilliant!” Twilight sits down, gathering her bearings, panting and sweating and fighting the urge to simply fall over. “…B-But you’re right on that endurance thing.” “That’s why you’re here, right?” Sypha asks. “You’re here to learn stronger magic. Don’t worry—better endurance is on the program. I’ll make a mage out of you yet.” Twilight smiles. Looks like she has another teacher.