His body hung limply, emotionless gaping maw and empty eyes staring into the gaseous green abyss where the library once stood. Physical presence was unachieveable in all the tasks he was to undergo. So, for hours, he let his consciousness drift from runed monument to runed monument, directing the local mana manually. The stretched out, familiar vessel was left for placid observation of the most important task of all, and the least bothersome one. When the commotions had all been directed, something individually inspiring would be optimal to greet him into his persisting carcass.
For the time being, though, there were issues to handle that that carcass could not attend to in time.
There rarely was so much to do. He swung from one task to the other, following the lead of the rhythm. It was all so similar to the invasion routine back at the homeworld, but while that was routine, this was a fresh movement. Playing against the clock, strung between spots, directing, orchestrating.
The persisting issue to correct was the local undead representative. The fallen king felt like a good addition at the time, and strategically, he still did. With that assumed, however, the amount of dissonance his presence alone was causing in the conversion streams of the main production Tombstones went far over the accepted limits. That was his presence alone - his continuing attempts at struggle made it no easier.
“HOW” shrieked a chordless noise. It was left with no response. The mental agony of persevering life was a vital part of the process. At least, the Undying made it so. This was never done before.
A vessel to be controlled - not by the King, but by a directed, sound whole of the high command - was well underway, watched over by the Wright. The procedures underwent by the sentient spirit were simply an accumulation of its most needed properties. To increase the damage to the living, to enhance the impact of the performance, to sharpen the edge of impression. It would have been much easier to simply emulate what they required - certainly not a poor plan in itself - but that solution did not have the same… feel to it. No soul to it - in both the literal and the proverbial sense. Passable, but not acceptable.
If there would be a scaremonger to upset the quickly brightening heart of the realm, it would best perform its duties with the legitimate imprint. Not an emulation of something that he believed they would fear - but that soul itself, boosted in multiple ways, all while regaining the self. Same general idea, but better execution. The more usual invasion routine the general oversaw, the more frequent this direction was becoming. What they did before, they could now do better, and to pass the opportunity up was unacceptable as far as he was concerned. His concern stretched far.
Not quite far enough, however, to grasp the bigger cities looming out of visual reach, especially not with his consciousness contained within the area secured by Tombstones. He could see bands of his undead marching through the woods and down the roads, headed towards the nearby settlements, formed into collectives by his second in command. Normally, directing those assaults would require his proper involvement. With the changes made to the millennia-static rules, that issue was gone.
All that was required of him to keep the assault on the three big cities to the south, west, and east of the city was to leave a reminder of himself in the Wright’s consciousness. Perhaps, an inkling of pride would sting him to take personal control - but it was a new, untested feeling that he derived from watching her succeed. That she did, in every regard, with every task given to her, at least thus far.
It had barely been enough time for the cities to receive proper fortification. The nation had not taken part in any warfare for a long, long time, and what showed. Sent out were miniscule amounts of troops, but, upon fleeting investigation of the cities from the distance, he saw that they were a proper fit for the terrain.
One city to the south-west, past the formerly haunted forest, was inherently the most hard to breach location. The local living called it… Appleloosa. What made it special, aside from the complicated geographical location, was the trail of train tracks. Cargo traffic coming from the south, the other realms, would pass through there. Although this nation did not depend on transport of goods nearly as much as some others, cutting that line was vital. With the denser population, tough terrain, and high quantities of cargo to demolish, the Wright sent out the largest undead at the army’s disposal, as well as multiple bands of those bearing acid. Comparatively few, but specialized, and unlikely to be stopped.
Another, to the far west, was the sea port. Its name was, apparently, Baltimare. A much more built out settlement. Higher population, naval presence, and a train track to the rock that the recently shielded off capital city rested on. A long forest, a mountain range, and a lake distanced it from the army’s main camp - the issue was not in dealing with it, but in getting there. For that purpose alone, the bulk of the mostly intact undead were used, sent ahead in a rush, the winged ones exhibiting a natural speed higher than the rest. A few dozen of elongated, muscular, enclawed ones leaped ahead of them all, crossing major distances at more than acceptable speeds. They got to the relatively distant port in less than a day.
The last was a specific spot at the southeast. When he had noticed directed movement towards that particular location, the general was about to doubt his faith, but the intention soon became clear. What the locals dubbed Las Pegasus was a city located primarily in the clouds - held up by an innate magic that he was yet to fully comprehend, it only had several quarters on the ground. Cheap houses and other elements significant of a poor quarter of any attempt at community the living constructed. With a clear lack of undead capable of flight in his army - a matter that he knew was being seen to - it would have been suboptimal to divert resources only to harm the slums. It became clear, though, when only the most damaged and the least valuable were sent. In combination with how the racial majority of that city was the most militant among the dominant species, it made for an effective show of their enemies’ fighting prowess in a fight not utterly hopeless. Poor leftovers were sent to Las Pegasus to see how its denizens would retaliate, and have them spread the panicked word along to the other cities.
Management and planning were things the Wright was more than adept at, and that brought the Undying, the Wright’s direct creator, a sense of accomplishment.
That sense made observing the eventual goal, looming over the horizon atop a mountain, less of a bittersweet temptation. A much easier plan would have been to decapitate the government, and then ram through the rest of the realm. The recent influx of intense magic in all areas surrounding the capital, however, made that less than possible. They took in living still - for specific reasons unknown to him - but only in short lines, clearly observing the line. It was not one he or any of his could cross. Breaching it would require significant power, that which he did not yet have, albeit he tried still, sending shockwaves against the barrier that only with his consciousness disembodied he could see - but it was no major issue.
There were many other large cities and small settlements strewn all over. Should it come to it, he would simply devour them, and his already strengthened powers would turn for the more constructive. What other secrets lay dormant, waiting to be untapped… would definitely be seen. Unplucked souls and many other natural mana sources were strewn all over country, with objects ripe for runing and turning into Tombstones being more than duly present as well. The longer the march lasted, the louder his song would become.
His song was going to be something never before seen. New factors, new ideas, new spins on the old. A new downfall of a new regime of the living. If not by brute force, amplified by their own sterling magic, then by their own pressure, as they lock themselves in their capital city and watch all that is remained crash, burn, decay. As they are haunted by that which they so long feared, and as they realize the futility of their resistence against the Almighty Dirge. And his own Song.
So he saw to all that. Disembodied, he coursed through the runes on the Tombstones, he channeled through the green winds, he observed the growing army, he set up markings for more Tombstones, and watched the camp expand. Few issues remained, like the necessity to bring corpses back within range in order to gain new followers, or the debilitating mist having begun to circle around the haunted forest. None of them vital.
And none of them comparing to the barely explained emotions he felt on sight of what his eyes opened up to.
“The Undying…” The Undying grumbled, revisiting his body when all outside work was done, and greeting the shape at the bottom of the runed, vined, pulsating green pit.
Rarity leaned weakly against the railing, looking at nothing in particular. Below her was a dark street, once a crossing between Luxurious’ Lustrous Lamps and Polyester’s Divine Drapings, now a freshly rubbled and stained pathway from one cluttered patch of ponies to another. Quadrants M-3 and M-4 in the official register. She looked at them from the elevation of quadrant M-6.
Before, it was an elegant, artistically designed street. When on trips to Canterlot, she would pass by this elevated patch above the road and sit down on the benches by The Gem Cache, watching the shadows play off the high buildings, sipping a moderately priced drink.
She lived in The Gem Cache now.
At the given moment, though, she was hanging her front hooves and head limp off a railing, and staring at nothing in particular. For close to an hour, she just hung limp and felt late night change for early morning, heard the streets go from panicked and stressed to loud, panicked, and stressed, and was subjected to faint, dull sunlight. She held no worry that one of the numerous griffon guards would come up to her and take any sort of advantage of her limp state, or that someone at all may have been coming for her. Rarity held no worry at all.
And that, in a way, worried her the most.
She dangled a sweaty, patchy, botched up lock of hair with a forehoof, and watched it dangle in the air. Untreated, unappealing, most certainly unattractive by this point. Again, it was worrying how little that affected her. The longer it went on, the more likely became the probability of it being merely the prolonged effect of the suffocating pall that fell upon her and the others as Ponyville came to ruin. It was a… pleasant assumption, in all honesty.
All the ponies she had lived next to for years were dead, or worse. Her home was gone. Her career was gone, with the quarter she would have operated in being repurposed for refugee holding. Her whole body went through such stress that it no longer registered basic irritants properly, pain and exhaustion numbed to faint shades.
Her sister was dead. Rarity juggled that thought here and there a few times. It occurred to her back when her and AJ were pulling muscles trying to carry the rest to Canterlot and away from the horrifying wave. She cried back then, she roared, she did some other things - she could no longer recall. Now, all she knew was simply that her sister was dead. That was just a fact.
Rainbow Dash was dead. They never even saw her go. She just did. Pinkie Pie was dead, too. The officer in charge ripped her to shreds and forced them to watch. The officer in charge, in fact, could easily walk by and maul Rarity where she stood, and that would surprise noone, least of all her. Applejack tried to protest and got an eye torn out. Those were just facts. That was life now. In all of it, she struggled to find anything else to be emotional about aside from the fact that none of those things got her emotional any longer.
What point was there in continuing if what felt most probable was that this was all a nightmare that refused to stop? She could as well just stand in place until the end. Nothing much mattered any longer. Alternatively, she could just drop all the way over the railing, and hope to land head-first so that her neck would give.
Rarity leaned a little further forward and examined the drop. Far enough. Could be done. It was something - better than the nothing that she was starting to consider.
She took a deep breath. Then another. Then, another. Shut her eyes tight, rubbed them hard with her limp hooves.
Then, she hit her head against the railing repeatedly, gasping out with each strike.
“Enough of this, enough of this, enough of this!” the mare chanted to herself as her head met the metal time and time again, eyes opening wider and wider. She did it again, and again, and again, and finally, pain kicked in.
That was when her nervous system and basic senses triggered her to cry out loud, breathing sharply inbetween takes. Ponies and containment griffon soldiers scuffled all around, too busy to notice her. Good for her - she needed to get herself to think properly.
“What… No, no, no, this is not going to go,” the mare held a forehoof against her forehead, where blood was pouring out now. The degree of pain that settled within her head called with itself all the other senses that had been repressed until then. She was exhausted, hurting, hungry, thirsty…
Livid most of all.
“Enough,” Rarity said to herself. “Enough. Enough, enough, enough.”
She could not afford to just hang limp and watch everything she treasured get picked and broken apart. That was not happening. Granted, a lot of things that “were not happening” happened - that was beside the point.
In a choice between despair over what happened and denial of how meaningless she was when not part of the Bearers, Rarity would adamantly choose the second. The combination of stress, pain, shock, and exhaustion brought her to the edge, but when she nearly considered suicide, that crossed the line.
“I am not going out like this,” she spoke sternly, stammering for a moment, upper jaw caught on a lip bruise. “I’ll just…”
The mare shook in place, her weak legs giving out under the pain and pressure they suffered. She had not slept ever since her loss of consciousness at their “meeting” with “sergeant Guildenstern”. As a matter of fact, she had spent the whole remainder of the night against the railing, looking, but not watching, at how the quarter was being filled with pony refugees. In all of that, she had not once thought of what exactly she would do.
“...one thing at a time,” Rarity concluded, and set her path towards the building she was to live in, according to the guard.
There was no shortage of things to do, now that there was thought given to it. They were surrounded by refugees, ponies who had lost their belongings, who had to suddenly be packed into tight homes without much comfort - there was so much they could help them with! It baffled Rarity how she thought it hopeless.
No, all they needed to do was get themselves - Applejack, Fluttershy, and herself - together and in order, and then they would open a new page in their lives. After all, it had to have been for a reason that together, they had quite literally saved the world a number of times.
Yes. They had a goal to work towards now. Together, they would make it right. A weak smile crept up on her messed up, sweaty face. Her knees buckled down immediately afterwards, and sent her bleeding head-first into the stone.
Small setbacks. Any undertaking had them. If only she had it in her to get up, though… Or at least open her eyes.
With the pain she had invited into her head to clear it out, came realization of her bodily state. Now that that body was laid on the ground, uncomfortable and aching all over… It lulled her to sleep, in penance for the hours it had spent ignoring those duties as she stood in shock over the railing.
The last attempt at opening her eyes graced her with the visage of a disgusted orange mare staring right at her. They exchanged looks for a faint second, Rarity taking a while to notice a large bandage covering the right eye.
She failed to say anything about her inspiring plans, and dropped her head limp back on the ground. A cool, wet blob hit her on the chest, a loud “hrrrk”following along with it, and a set of heavy hoofsteps had the other mare distance herself.
In all this, Rarity was at least worried.
“Easy, now… Easy…” Princess Celestia whispered with effort, straining her hind legs. “Shhh.”
With a heavy puff of breath, she strengthened her telekinetic grip on the revolting purple mass protruding from out of Twilight’s mouth. Hunching and struggling as if the labor was physical did little to help her in productivity, but at least it made her feel as if something was being accomplished. It was psychological tricks that kept her going.
“Just… a bit now,” the weary alicorn assured the unconscious unicorn that the purple tendril sprung from. “Just a few more of these… and you should be clean.”
Celestia took in a sharp breath, squinted her eyes, and increased the pressure, adding in heat. The sound and smell of the procedure instantly cast reactionary tears from her eyes, and what little she ate more than twenty hours ago squalled for frontal release.
“This… is worse… than when Disc—” the Princess’ attempt at self-conversation had her inhale an amount of purplish smoke, which sent her head to a carousel ride around an extended spectre of putrid aromas. Her lungs revved with irritation, and a long, loud chain of coughs followed.
During recovery attempts at breath and emergency airing of the chamber where Twilight lay observed by herself hour after hour, Celestia considered what she said while making small talk with the unjustly afflicted unicorn. Naturally, her intent was to comment on the smell that the now bi-hourly growths of the abhorrent matter emitted whenever they had to be removed. The magic used on the ill mare forced the alien influence out much faster than her inborn immune system otherwise would, and, true enough to her word, a few more growths pulled out would solve this particular problem. It was just that the process of dealing with them was less than hygienic. A mild annoyance, in the end.
That brought Discord up in her mind. Firstly, that made her think back to the statue in the garden, now likely forgotten in the panic and chaos. A few thoughts crossed her mind, and were immediately blacked out, her forehoof stomping down on the chamber floor.
Secondly, there was one thing she realized about this particular onslaught of misfortune and terror that befell her and her realm.
“See… Should be a lot better now, shouldn’t it?” Celestia spoke to the limp unicorn on a bed of freshly changed sheets. The old ones were fully soaked with disturbingly purplish sweat, calling for a half-daily change.
What piqued her interest was that this disaster was… a catastrophe. She tried to search for a bright side, and found nothing.
A millennium and then some was spent guarding Equestria and the bordering nations, to more than average success, if she had to evaluate her own performance. The amount of crises that had to be fended off was in dozens if not more. It felt almost funny to think that, but this time… This time was vying for the first spot.
It had been less than a fraction of a single week, and so much had gone wrong. So much was lost. And her?
Celestia did not want to get started on her. Herself.
She did know one thing, however.There was never a situation utterly hopeless, never a disaster with no mode of aversion, never a spot so grim there was no bright side to it. That was not how things worked, plain and simple. An established fact. All that lead into one conclusion, one the Princess wished was not so plainly obvious.
Something was very, very deeply wrong with her.
“Really now,” she spoke silently, brushing a hoof against where the many cuts used to be before her inner vitality took care of them. “How didn’t I notice?”
She wanted… She wanted to be afraid. To panic, to bargain, to drop down. But instead, she simply realized. Something was wrong with her, and it was when by no means could she allow herself such a frivolity.
Even with how her task in their upcoming victory plan was significantly less stressing than that laid upon her sister, or that demented, perverted… creature they were graced with for an ally. Still, it was not one that felt right to be given to someone whose subconscious was slowly growing quills and setting her all ablaze.
There was enough evidence so that even Celestia’s own self, an inherently biased party, could see where it was going. She was considering options that her usual self would smack her hard enough to break even an alicorn jaw for.
"Can't afford that," the Princess mumbled to herself, staring out the window and into chaos as virtually automatic magic cleaned up residual stains from the growth. "I'll be talking to her within less than a day, won't I?"
Meandering around her thoughts, Celestia raised a weak eyebrow upon stumbling on a particular thought. The prospect of meeting what that thing was voluntarily turned into felt somewhat pleasant. Primarily the part where it was introduced to the proper meaning of pain.
“No, no, no…” she argued back at her own thoughts. “That will not end well.”
Her eyes drifted to the unicorn laid on the bed, shuffling in restless sleep, the last portions of the malevolent, despicable disease still boiling within. That was not what she intended for her all those years back. Not even at her most cynical, with acknowledgement of what, in technicality, she and her friends were for, did she ever want that. Now, though, this outcome seemed rather logical for the path that Twilight was put on. By her.
“And what will?” Celestia raised a counter-argument to Celestia’s statement.
“...”
“Delaying the inevitable? That’s a mark of desperation. Desperation is not a good thing, not at all, and you know that.”
“It’s necessary.”
“Necessary to whom? To all the ponies you’ve ordered to turn their lives into a living torment? To the Griffon Empire and their silver platter we’re so eager to fetch for them now? To whoever else you’re so ready to open up to? Maybe if only to further what you set in motion? Really then, if you could justify why this has to keep happening, then you could—”
The Princess stomped very loudly on the floor, forcing her own mouth shut.
In all of this, it seemed that it was only fair that she had a personal struggle of her own. This time, with someone truly deserving of the title of Princess Celestia's Own Adversary.
Herself.
"...Princess? Would you pardon us?" a pair of strained, confused voices sounded from the creaked open door into the "medical" part of her chamber.
Celestia's eyes widened, her ears dropped flat against the head, and her breath ran sharp. The guards she had assigned to message her with recent developments if she was ever not present. In the mess of having to take care of Twilight and, naturally, argue with herself out loud, they were plain forgotten about.
“I apologize,” she spoke out quietly, almost unassumingly. “What has happened? Is it urgent?”
Urgency would have been good. Something to let her leave her chambers and do something but stare at her failures and mistakes. Also to wash away the realization of how she was quite clearly caught arguing with herself by her ponies.
“It is… news,” one of the guards said, never advancing further than a peek’s length through the creak in the door. “Should we leave a written report and leave you to it?”
“No, no need. I… I am listening,” Celestia replied in a voice as serene as it has ever been to anyone who was not herself.
A heavy silence hung for just a few seconds. The other guard audibly gulped and relayed what had happened.
“The cities of Baltimare, Dodge Junction and Appleloosa have gone quiet. The data teams… The data teams say they have been massacred. We received the news less than an hour ago. Evac teams have been dispatched, but from what we are told, probability of success is low.”
“I see,” the Princess answered plainly.
“Las Pegasus is sending distress signals. The local police department had been entirely mobilized by the officials, but the acting government is requesting that the city be allowed to fly under our protective barrier.”
“I... “ Celestia pressed a hoof against her forehead. “I…”
“And, as you had requested… We remind you to remind us that your decision is not final, Princess Luna’s is.”
“Thank you,” she answered with a heavy breath. “Is that all? No progress in identifying anything specific in the invaders?”
“None, unfortunately.”
“Then that will be all. Notify me what Princess Luna’s decision ends up being.”
“Understood. The detailed reports will be on the writing desk,” the guards’ voices from behind the crack spoke one last time, and relative silence fell.
The Princess stood in the middle of the room, digesting what she had been told. That proved too dangerous a task, and she focused on repressing the knowledge of what had happened instead, and all the implications of it - if even financial and infrastructural ones alone. Twilight’s rising huffs and gasps of restless slumber helped survive through the trudge.
“Easy now, easy,” Celestia whispered, looking into the window. “It will all be fine.”
“No, it won’t.”
“I’ll need a detailed breakdown of what exactly these things are made with,” the dark blue alicorn stared intensely at an incorporeal image of a disgustingly stretched out equine with extreme burn marks at around the neck and mouth.
"Will be done ASAP," an analyst officer replied.
"Spread the order to stations One, Two, and..." she paused for a moment, closing her eyes. "...and Five. Get them on these, and Five in particular to try and trace where exactly the transformation process originates from. This can't be a casual mass enchantment, this is something that needs a focal location. Have them find it."
"Affirmative."
"Then that is all. Keep me in check."
Princess Luna left the main data station with a start, shoving the door open, and nearly knocking over the guard that stood in front of it. No time to readjust push strength, not in her position. There was no time for anything, and even with all the efficiency she was squeezing out of herself, there was not enough.
She was needed to settle issues with the griffon higher-ups, she was needed to relay orders to the analysts, she had to keep watch over the castle, she had to maintain the barrier they had finally established, and then more. Teleportation, a pair of wings, and approximately forty-three hours left until absolute physical collapse did alleviate some of the impossibility, but they by no means made it easy.
Still, Luna liked to think she was doing a fine enough job. Granted, just a bit less than a day of so doing already had her feeling like her own tail was teasing her from behind a corner, but the situation retained the ability to get worse. For as long as it kept the same level of intolerability, it was fine enough.
Running a checklist of things to do in her mind, top priority being the detailed lowdown of the situation over at Los Pegasus. She could already guess that it was bad, worse than bad - everything seemed to be heading in that direction. Chances are, whatever her choice ended up being, it would lead to disaster.
The worst thing one could possibly do in such a situation, however, was focus on that element. Luna offered herself a simple ultimatum - all she does is make the right decision and then deal with the consequences. No second-guessing, no overthinking. Not the time for it.
Her path went through a few blocks and up the headquarter stairs, not too far away from the main data analysis center. Too cramped up inside to be freely teleported into without causing potential damage to the equipment and staff. So walking it was. Her legs felt unnervingly stress-free, but that side effect of overclocking the internal alicorn mechanism was probably going to become familiar sooner than later.
“What is—” Luna froze for a second and shook her head after her eyes caught something behind a corner. “No, is he…”
She was quite convinced that she had just literally seen her own tail slip by. Trotting up hastily, she was wondering whether that thing had actually managed to break free of the control spells included in the ritual that was used to settle it among her ponies. She still beat herself up over that. To cope, a few thoughts of punishment for that fact, provided it was possible to dispense it on such a creature, emerged in her mind.
When Princess Luna had reached the corner her own tail slipped past, her eyes registered nothhing out of the ordinary, expectedly at that. A mild magical influence, enabling her to scan the area for recent magical manipulations of the subconscious sort, detected nothing just as well.
“Could still be masking it…” she muttered to herself, eyes squinted and head tilting left to right. “Who knows that thing.”
For a few seconds, Luna stood in place, awaiting the damned thing to creep up in her mind and spit some venom over her last remark. When nothing came, she could only sigh deeply, and condemn the ill practice she had gotten the several times her mind was already tampered with. Having learned to anticipate clearly villainous entities, she ended up expecting them to overperform there where they could not.
Atropos - Bane - was either planning something else, something she had not yet figured out, or plainly unable to break out of her control, remaining properly subservient until his time came. She doubted the latter intensely, if only from the knowledge of the creatures with mindsets such as his.
Regardless, what this concluded with was her wasting over half a minute staring at nothing, and being reminded that in roughly ten hours, it was, in fact, his time.
Part of their agreement was that he had to remain functional. He needed someone to feast upon. Luna offered herself, and he agreed all too happily.
“Well, at least sleep no longer seems like a good idea,” she said to herself with false pluck, and shook her head. There was still a lot of things to do, and important decisions to make, before they would meet again, face to face, in the home realm.
Things were not going to be very good, but, in the end, current struggles were all for the sake of eventual success.