It was a dark and stormy night… somewhere.
But on Nightmare Night in the Crystal Empire, that statement would be empirically untrue; it was a clear, full-moon night and actually quite pleasant given the location and time of year.
It is not the night that is the focus of the tale of terror, however, for in the depths of the kitchens of the Crystal Castle a terrible power lurked in the darkness as there were no sources of light outside of the weak glow of a lazily cast fae fyre spell, the barely shimmering orb drifting through the air like a drunk breezie.
The particular behaviors of this spell were ignored by the sole inhabitant of the kitchen, the former King of the Crystal Empire-sort-of-but-not-actually — look, explaining that mess is going to take at least another whole phase, so just look for that later — Sombra Crepúsculo. He sat on his haunches at one of the island counters, pointed nightcap on his head, alone and scarcely paying attention to his surroundings. Vaguely, as if through a heavy curtain, he heard the sound of a clock striking midnight, and the witching hour began. It was the perfect time for terrors and horrors to stalk the night in search of blood. It was also the perfect time to not do anything to help Sombra stay awake.
For the Nth time, his head nearly dropped onto the countertop. He was barely lucid, operating more of vague instincts than actual thought, and worst of all, he was hungry. It was for this very reason that he was in the kitchen at all, struggling to stay awake: At any moment, the toaster was going to finish its cycle, and then he could eat and go —
BOMP!
At long last, his toast was ready! Just in time for him stomach to rumble, lightly rousing him from his almost-slumber. With a yawn and without opening his eyes, Sombra raised one hoof and placed it atop the toaster to serve as a guide for his magic.
It hit the counter: Missed, but no problem; he just underestimated the distance. He slid his hoof along the counter until it contacted the side of the toaster, and then raised and placed it on top to serve as a guide for his magic.
It hit the counter: Missed, and that was strange; he knew exactly where the toaster was. Finally opening his eyes just enough to see in the dim light of his fae fyre, he turned his head and looked at the toaster and, once he ascertained it exact location, lifted his hoof and placed it atop to keep the confounded thing from moving again.
It hit the counter: The toaster slid away from him and started skipping and shaking across the countertop like a jitterbug, rapidly becoming more and more violent in its movements.
Sombra would be the first to admit that he wasn’t exactly up-to-date with this ‘modern’ appliance — although really, toasting bread in a tiny box with metal coils that get hot? How 1,000 years ago! — but he was fairly certain that what it was doing was definitely not one of its standard functions.
With a definitive slam against the counter, the toaster came to a stop, ejecting the sliced bread inside up into the air. The toast landed perfectly on the plate Sombra had set out, but his attention was focused the nothing that was coming out of the toast after the bread left. It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything coming out of the toaster; there was definitely something coming out, and it was nothing. Cloying, oppressive nothing the ooze and flowed out of and into the toaster at the same time. It filled the kitchen completely and used no space at all, taking on shapeless form as the air wept, soundless lamenting the violence visited upon the spaces betwixt.
And from that cloying nothing, It appeared.
It was bland and incredible all at once, diminutive and gargantuan: All that was, all that is, and all that shall be, entirely beyond describing. From behind Its grand and terrifying iron mask, It focused all of Its attention on Sombra.
What is this? A poor, little pony, separated and alone! It intoned in a thousand, thousand voices, each at once more terrible than the one before it and after it. Your time is now. Gaze upon your ruin, little pony! Its appendages seized the mask, and opened it. Gaze into the Face of Fear!
Sombra obeyed and gazed up at the Thing. “Two out of ten,” he said, still very much half-asleep.
W-what?! Two?!
“Ok, ok,” Sombra said again, this time with a heavy yawn. He propped a hoof up on his elbow, and rested his head on it. “Three.”
But-! But-! The Thing was flummoxed, and gestured vaguely in the direction of Its visage, probably. It was kind of hard to know for certain, what with It being indescribable and all. The Face! Of Fear!
“It’s a bunch of distended, disembodied eyeballs around a squid beak inside a folding iron mask.” Sombra didn’t even bother looking up when he spoke now. “It’s not scary.”
Silence descending upon the kitchen, interrupted only by the sound of infinite realities being rent asunder and stitched back together instantaneously.
Not even a little bit? It asked.
“Nn nn,” Sombra mumbled.
Well, then maybe I’ll go horrorize someone else and not let them share with you!
“Mm hm.”
The entire universe sounded a bass note and rumbled from foundation to firmament. And then, all was quiet. Drifting near unconsciousness, Sombra cracked his eyelids opened, and saw that It was gone. His gaze traveled down to the plate of toast, still steaming and looking surprisingly evenly toasted, considering what it had been through. Weak, red light covered the counter as his telekinetically slid the plate closer, and then levitated one of the two pieces in front of his face.
“Aw… it’s all covered in ectoplasm.”
Sombra pondered his toast for a few seconds more, and then took a bite, barely awake enough to begin chewing.
BOOM!
Sombra paused, ears perking up.
My eyes! My eyes!
“Shiny, what did you do?!”
“I-It was coming right at us!”
Sombra resumed tiredly chewing.
”Do something! Call a doctor!”
All I can see is white and blood!
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Sombra swallowed his bite and then looked at his ectoplasm-covered toast again. “Hm. Seven out of ten,” he concluded sleepily.
He took another bite.