The volts slammed into the monster, holding it solidly in place as the energy continued to scorch and zap it unmercifully. He felt a rush of excitement as the troglodyte moaned in pain from his magic, the bloodthirsty beast finally beginning brought back down to size by one much more powerful than it.
Suddenly, breaking his hold on the creature, an unseen beast swung at him from behind with a clawed arm, striking him across the face and sending him sprawling to the ground. He could feel the sting of a cut across his face and tasted the bitter iron of his own blood dripping down his face.
Gritting his teeth in rage, he felt the power within him swell as he rolled back to his feet. Channeling the magic back into his fists, he swung forward in his own strike and decked the attacking beast in the chest. The energy-infused punch exploded against the snow troll, as well throwing it backwards from sheer force.
Still feeling the rage pound up through his body, he peered viciously for the beast he’d been electrocuting prior. He spotted it, weakly bounding back toward the distracted figure, who still was keeping a crowd of five other trolls at bay with her single sword.
“No you don’t,” he growled, knowing all too well what the monster was attempting to do, “I won’t let you.” Seething with anger now, he darted forward in a magic powered sprint and leaped at the troll's unguarded back. Grabbing two large tufts of its gangly fur, he erupted a wave of electricity through his hands and into the troll’s body.
The beast screamed in pain as its body was encased in a solid burst of energy. He could see the creature’s skeleton flashing in and out of focus as sparks jumped wildly off the edges of its body. A slight burning smell came from where he stood; still savagely clutching the monstrosity that had attempted to hurt his friend.
He knew that the creature was done for, yet he continued to send the electricity through its body, the hate towards the single solitary creature pushing him to limits he’d never yet felt. The power that he held in his hands, the rush that went through his body, it was exhilarating, powerful, and utterly fresh to when he normally attempted magic.
----------
Thing first thing I heard was the rapid clanking of train tracks as I awoke with a jolt, panting heavily as the real world slowly came into focus. I brought a hand to my pained chest in an attempt to calm my startled heart. Gradually, I was able to calm myself down, and slumped back in my seat as the anxiety passed.
Another dream, another recollection, this one different from the others. It was typically from the ordeal just a few months ago but this time it was all they way back from my assignment to the Griffon Kingdom, nearly a year ago. My gosh, where has the time gone?
I looked down at my hands just to check I wasn't as old as I suddenly felt. Nope, some fair hands attached to the same fair arms. Was that a relief? Maybe. I'd be seeing these same hands for I didn't know how long so possibly there was a familiarity to them. I don't know, maybe I'm just getting too sentimental.
I glanced out the window and saw that the grassy rural plains had become a mildly wooded forest in my absence of thought. There still wasn't all that much to look at from before. Just blurs of trees after more blurs of trees. But it continued for longer than I'd expected, meaning I was going deeper into this curious forest than I'd originally presumed.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out from it a folded slip of paper. Scrawled across its front by yours truly was:
7:32 AM, Departure time
Sunset Grove
Train Line 25, Westbound
And on the other side:
1280 Ballybeg Ln.
Prof. Neuro Paraprax
I ran my thumb over the name and address, smiling slightly. It felt like ages since I'd last seen that name, even longer since I read it out in my head. It was amazing all that had happened since we last met. I wondered if he'd even recognize me after all this time...
No, he would. Despite the inner old man in my soul saying otherwise, I knew it had only been two years since we'd seen each other. He probably still was the same spectacled orange stallion, and I(in his eyes at least) was still the same wide-eyed kid with emerald pupils and chestnut hair. I hoped my eyes had receded at least slightly.
But it was painful being reminded of everything that had happened so long ago, in the honeymoon period of my life if you will. When I'd been such a dependant guy, needing other people just to feel good about myself. Any once those people were gone...I was lost with who I am.
I've trying to get better at it, being all by my lonesome. I don't like (as you'd expect) but it doesn't bother me as much. I've gotten used to not saying much in a single day, only conversing with my mind whenever the situation called for it. I entertain myself through smaller activities and do whatever I want to do. It's liberating as well as depressing.
When I'd been too dependent on people for my own sense of security and not properly equipped to handle the carefully constructed life I built for myself crumbling down around me. It had happened before, which was why I was in this realm to begin with.
So speaking with someone from that stage of my life, a stage I'd rather forget, and having them treat me the same way they had only made the memories more vivid than I'd care for them to be. I knew we'd both be able to adapt but the process of getting there would be another push through my own emotions.
The train whistle sounded a few cars up and I could hear the familiar shriek of the brakes against rails. I lurched slightly in my seat as we slowly decelerated the closer we got. A few moments later we had slowed into a crawl, chugging gingerly forward along the uniform chugs of the train's engine.
I slid my suitcase out of the overhead carriage and hopped out of my seat in a single energetic bound. I wasn't excited about being here but I might as well act like it. 'Fake it till you make it' as the peculiar saying went.
I stepped off onto the platform from the top step, nearly tripping over the metal steps that led down. I could see that only a handful other ponies were getting off at this stop. Even before we'd all cleared off the asphalt strip the train's engine sputtered back to life and zoomed off as if it hadn't even stopped.
I watched as it pushed further into the brightened forest surroundings until it disappeared around a corner, my only way out gone for the time being.
It took a few moments to realize that the few other ponies had already stepped off the platform and into the miniscule station that served this sleepy little hamlet. I did the same, finding an equally emptied station. Only a few employees stood around, chatting amongst themselves as I hovered past.
I discovered upon my walking out that the roads in this town were entirely dirt paths, with, although an exception to the larger clearing by the station, were narrow enough that I could actually touch the tree branches if I stretched my hand out. I'd heard people call Ponyville a sleepy town. But this? They didn't know the meaning of the word.
The sentiment hit me as I stood there that I had no clear start in my search for 1280 Ballybeg Ln. These roads weren't quite as accessible as the masonry grids I'd grown so accustomed to, but I'd lived in a land without roads long enough to remember finding my way without a structured guide.
Starting however...was left to chance. I took the path closest to my right.
The walk was quite enjoyable. The afternoon sun shone overhead and the forest was alive as Spring finally arrived. There were a few breaks in the trail with crudely marked signs leading to different roads, so I wasn't as lost as I thought.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been going until I noticed the sparsity of trees begin to increase. Grass became more common and I swear the road itself expanded with each step I took. I could see a lake across the ways to my left, flat as a strip of steel and emitting an almost luminescent blue from its fresh looking waters.
A house was in the distance, situated close to the lake, with a near-golden outside finish, white rimmed window panels and several windows to go along with the panels, it looked as if a solid construction taken directly from the sun itself. It was larger than most homes I'd seen and just a tid bit imposing from its sound construction among the rest of its surroundings. And the fact that I could see all of this from the position I was standing only exemplified just how grand it was.
As I approached it along the road, I began to question if this was the house I was looking for. Neuro had never struck me as a pony for high-refined tastes but our relationship hadn't been one of mutual understanding between us, meaning that there was still loads of things that were a mystery to either of us. Still, it seemed unfitting for the messy Professor to own such a giant place.
But once I was close enough I could clearly read the address sign sitting by the road. 1280 Ballybeg Ln. written across a wood panel in neat black cursive, the marking of a well-educated pony with a disdain for print writing. Yes, this had to be his home, unless he'd moved away just a few days ago.
I stood outside for several moments, just looking at the house before me. Not so much as inspecting the house but more so in contemplation on how I was going to introduce myself. That was going to be the hardest part.
The last time we'd spoken in person had been upon...shaky ground. I don't want to get into specifics but it involved an aggressive psychological practice that had rendered my mind helpless to external suggestion. It was a violating process and I would have beat the Professor senseless if he hadn't left the day prior.
He sent me a letter weeks later, apologizing for his actions and explaining his motivations behind them. It had all been for scholarly reasons, his hunt for answers regarding the exact nature of the select individuals who appeared in Equestria once in a generation. He hadn't tried to justify what he'd done, which was admirable, but more begged for my forgiveness in what he'd done.
His regret had almost been palpable on what he'd written. I truly felt sorry for him and wished I could have responded to it, accepting his apology with open arms. But he hadn't supplied a return address and said he'd contact me again only once he felt emotionally equipped for it. After two years that either meant he wasn't or he was trying to forget the thing entirely. I couldn't tell which.
Which left me with nothing left to do but find out for myself. Without a rehearsed greeting or opening speech, I boldly strolled across the road and onto the brick walk that led up to the home's front deck. Climbing the small flight of stairs, I stopped in right in front of the home's main door.
I waited just another minute and knocked against it twice. I waited patiently for a response.
----------
10 minutes earlier...
I am a quite scholarly individual. From my earliest years I can recall I higher desire for knowledge among the questions of the world that went unanswered. At least, this was in my younger years were I'd hunt ghosts in the forest behind my home and construct convoluted plans to capture the elusive creature named 'the Snipe'.
But these childhood ambitions drained over into my adult academics that flourished the older I got. And this of course was not only assisted by the several degrees I accumulated over my lasting years in universities. More so, on how I held my own lifestyle and principles. Not once did I ever back down from a challenge that I openly embraced. If it would take time out of my livelihood, disturb my day to day comfort then so be it!
And speaking of my ambitions pertaining to how I lived, this could easily be seen in my home. Take for instance, the study I sat in at the moment. Every flat surface, floorboards included, was dotted with some stack of literary text or journal with stray papers and writing utensils wedged between every space I'd placed my hooves.
My desk was even worse than the rest of the decor. Practically no open space could be used minus the small rectangle I kept clear (for the most part) to conduct the work that was in front of me. This included everything from planning my next lecture to my own publications that circulated through other scholarly journal circles. But at the current moment, I was constructing something mildly different from my established forte.
It was a diary of sorts to put it plainly, a sort documentation to my own activities as well as feelings for that day. I'd gotten into the habit while on an extended research trip up to the Arctic Circle two years ago. The trip had lasted nearly six months and I quickly realized upon my arrival that more than half of the time that would spent there was simply sitting around while one waited for a blizzard or some other ghastly weather to pass. The boredom had been one reason to motivate me to start writing but there was another reason as well.
At the time, I'd been plagued by a guilty conscious even before I'd arrived by boat. I don't want to get too close into details but I'd done something...unwarranted and had gotten off without even the slightest amount of punishment. I hadn't even apologized in person as I should have, but instead just sent them a letter weeks later. That eased some pain but made me feel more like a coward.
I'd been able to convince, at least as performed the procedure, that it had all been justified in the name of science. I was uncovering a scientific and even magical phenomena that had gone unanswered for a thousand generations. Perhaps it was the pride of being the first to uncover the mystery that had got to me or maybe it really was a desire for knowledge. Either way, I was lying to myself to hold back my own morality. I still hadn't gotten over that.
Which left me where I was today, writing in my daily journal with only a few creaks of mid afternoon sunlight creeping in through the drawn shades. Today was a fairly flat entry. No emotions to tie into the words. Just a recount of my progress into the study of criminal minds and the differing states of conscience between them.
Once I was finished, I rose from my desk and maneuvered out of the room, careful not to knock over any of the piles I'd haphazardly constructed wherever they needed to be. I strutted down my hallways and briefly began to fix myself some lunch in the kitchen. And it was as I ate that I was struck with an extraordinary thought in the absence of my typical mental breathers.
I realized just how utterly alone my home was! It seemed for the first time ever I'd stopped and considered just how distant this house was to me. Here I was, munching away on a sandwich, surrounded by pile after pile of my own work, with only the large building's oppressive silence to greet me.
It had been apparent to me when I'd bought the place for my own reasons that it was bigger than most in Sunset Grove but only now was I comprehending it all. I was a small stallion in a much wider world.
Had it been my pondering of the boy that had brought about this? Or simple revelation? Whichever it was, I immediately found that I didn't like the thought one bit. It sounds childish to even say this but the first temptation I had was to rush outside and see something that wasn't these high yellow walls or spanning hardwood floors. I was scared to be quite honest and upon further contemplation, it probably was my thoughts about the boy that brought such emotions.
His initial appearance had sent shock-waves through how I'd seen things and now it seemed even thinking of him brought about the same results. I must be prone to external influence more so than I thought if this was true or perhaps he had some sort of power whenever another mind did such a thing. There was no way to tell with him.
Needless to say, I was even more frightened when I heard a sudden knock against my front door, briefly followed by another. I could feel my blood run cold at the sound of it echoing down the hall. It was like a nightmare. Was this him? The postpony? A horrid amalgamation of the two?
I wanted to just stand there and wait for whatever conflict that was standing at my doorstep to pass but knew that life simply didn't work in that manner. I would have to go out and see exactly what was plaguing me. If I didn't, it would surely come back later, possibly at an even more disruptive time, such as while working. I surely could not have any of that!
I rushed along my hooves down the hallway and practically skidded to a halt in front of the door. I regretted my decision in never purchasing a peep hole in the center of it and made note to do so the next time I got a chance.
Without another thought or consideration, I threw the door open with a single thrust of my right hoof.