//------------------------------// // Day Forty Two, P.2: Blue Blood // Story: Paper Prince // by JLB //------------------------------// Prince Blueblood did not immediately recognize what had happened, or what it was that went through his head. In body terms, all that concerned him was holding a forehoof against the side of his chest, and staring directly forward - at nothing in particular, merely giving his mind space to think. There was too much information to process, far too much for him to reach any reasonable thought. And he needed one, ideally soon. The information in need of processing consisted of raspy, pained screaming, swears in the Norse language, frenzied wailing of the wind outside, and a droning hum and whisper. None of them good signs, and none of them at all helping in his desperate attempt to ignore the rending pain in his body, or the puddle of liquid that was staining his bunk linens. That made it all very difficult, but he took on the challenge. It was one thing to play yourself down and cool when diplomacy was your one way out - even if it ended up not being so - but another was to accept hopelessness for real. His life had purpose, reason, meaning, and he could not let it just… slip away for the sake of a foolish impulse. It seemed odd. Unfitting. He felt the pang in his heart and mind, but his soul was merely confused at best. He tried to speak out, if only to feel a sense of progress. In the lowering temperature and the audio-visual assault on the senses that was the VIP cabin, it was direly needed and probably vital. Yet nothing came of it, no wise words to restore harmony, at least - nothing but wet coughs. The stallion’s brows furrowed, dropping beads of cold sweat off themselves. Certainly his main weapon would be diplomacy, and what good would unhygienic blood splittle add to a barely proven maybe-sort-of-not-exactly-a-Prince’s argument? None at all. By when he had taken care of the blood that irritatingly kept trying to fill his mouth, he realized that he had not kept much track of the chaos. With unfocused, oddly blurred eyes, he looked the way of the three intruders. He was surprised, which caused another attempt at speech, which ended up in another spit of blood. Left standing was only the massive, torn-up, weakly twitching, intensely, dangerously radiating goat. The two mares lay on the ground, motionless, their snouts and limbs… “Oh de—” the unicorn had managed his first two words, but instantly had to cover up his mouth, and enter a realm of absolute pain. To be exact, the breakfast and dinner they had with Raven came all the way out his mouth - as well as quite an amount of blood. The former was disgusting, the latter was excruciatingly painful. As his nervous system recognized pain, it remembered that he was, indeed, suffering from a large weapon having been stuck in his side, and responded accordingly. He did not recover soon - despite all his best efforts, which, he had to admit, were not much, his body’s pain threshold was far too low for all that. As the pain mercifully went numb with the cold, and his mind drifted away into vapid, icy unconsciousness, the utter mess of body liquids surrounding him was joined with tears - the ones that did not freeze before dropping. The errant thought of the secretary stung deeper than he had anticipated. It was all so much for the notion that a Prince stands steady and fast in face of even his most trusted one’s passing and going. She was gone, he knew, and the fate that the mare must have met outside made him feel horrible - but truly atrocious made him feel the fact that he somehow expected her to save the day. In the direst moment, when it had to have been him to rise up to the challenge, all he accomplished was putting himself out of working order, utterly misjudging the other one’s chances of salvaging it any better than himself. Raven had done so much for so long, he had grown to believe that she could do anything. It was only reasonable, he thought. It was all so much for reason, too… The thought to cross his mind next was that he had completely forgotten about the fact that he was nearing death - something he immediately reprimanded himself for, as remaining alive had to be his main priority. There was no one else to salvage the situation in the Frozen North and Equestria both, after all. Nobody knew! Nobody reliable, that is. Nobody you could not expect to leave you for dead because you outmatched expectations. He threw himself around, more mentally than physically, desperately trying to catch any train of thought. Eventually, all of them had departed so far away that he lost grip on even the freezing, crashed cabin. The stallion’s mind coursed through years and years of his life, and it was all so depraved and disgusting that he focused more on the jagged red line that lead him through the thoughts than the thoughts themselves. An occasional burst of sanity or two occurred, of course, but it appeared to have been some time until a complete word left his mouth. Coincidentally, that was when he felt something else than the dull, usual pain in the left side of his chest. “I— I have to—” he mumbled to himself, and found that blood no longer leaked out of his mouth whenever he spoke. That was curious. “No, I think I’m the one who tells you what you have to do, Prince,” a low, bassy, familiarly accented voice answered him. With the reminder that sounds existed, Blueblood also heard many a hum and a drum and a distant echo all around him, all blurry and incoherent. It was only her voice that was clear - by the end of the sentence, he had successfully realized that it was simply being repeated in his head. Telepathy, very simple. It was score one for him, a workable guess. “But where— who—” he attempted to converse further, but his already unsteady speech was shaken further when he opened his eyes and felt intense physical pain from the bright lights. Many of them, multicolored, being passed over him. Although, for a correction, he quickly realized that it was him who was being passed under them. As soon as his body was able to feel movement, anyway. “Well… Where I thought your stupid ass would never get to at this rate, honestly,” chuckled the female voice in response. Blueblood had regained control over most of his body, and found himself laying on a thick, furred platform, wide enough for him not to fall over as soon as he turned on his side. Despite his eyes still taking their time to readjust, abnormal time at that, the stallion could feel a physical presence right in front of his snout. It was big, hot, and smelled… odd, very odd. It was all very odd. “And how do you—” the Prince spoke again, just as his eyes finally readjusted to see more than simple shapes, but was again bereft of vision as a stark, painful, thick red line crossed it. This time, however, his eyes kept themselves open, and Blueblood had ample time to see what the line did not cover - an arching, old, stone hall above, ruined statues to the sides, decrepit stained glass, bright red torches on the walls, as well as similarly colored tapestries hanging every other turn. Lastly, he saw the line take shape. It was at the side now, and moved slightly as the voice said: “Aha, look who’s up and working again. We’re almost there, too. How nice.” The large shape that the red jaggy line tilted. “I don’t think you need the collar anymore.” Suddenly, his eyes blinked on their own accord, and the odd vibration and hum and discomfort that would so often accompany the peculiar line disappeared. What hid behind the eldritch, disturbing, invasive thing caused the Prince to jolt where he lay. “You’re still a wimp, Blueblood. You’re the best of your kind that I’ve got, but you still remind me why I’m doing all this in the first place. And, really… thanks,” spoke the… pony?.. It had to be what the two that attacked them spoke of, and the longer he looked at it, the more he realized that they had a point. He was in the company of something plain foul. It was large, massive. Bigger than even other Northfolk. A large, wide head, which resembled more that of a predator than a herbivoral equine. Thick, visibly sharp fur, colored on the brink between brown and red. Muscular lines and veins popping out far enough to be visible even through the fur. Huge, almost sparkling, barely blinking owl-yellow eyes positioned even more frontmost than any pony’s. A fiery red mane tied into two long, thick tails which hung off the sides of the sharp ears. When it… she?.. spoke, the teeth would be visible, and there were more than ever needed to be. Some of them had pointed ends. The neck that the head was attached to was proportionately thick. “What is… the meaning of this?..” the Prince managed a sentence, but did not manage to hold back the utter terror that having that near his face caused him. In particular after he realized that what he had considered to be possible construction works far away - somebody had to have renovated the clearly ancient place they were in, after all - was simply the thud of the… mare’s… hooves. “Well… Right now it’s a pronoun, I think? Sorry. Not that great at the mess you speak in down there.” She… smiled. Grinned. Blueblood’s irises shrunk, eyes unable to look away from her mouth, which she seemed all too glad to show off. There were multiple rows of teeth. The smell became even more unidentifiable - not foul, definitely nothing like a bad mouth. But most certainly something unbearably wrong. “That was not exactly what I mean,” he said, breathing quickly and deeply, having to balance between primal terror, regular terror, confusion, anxiety, diplomacy, curiosity, and several metric tons of pent-up complaints and shouts. “I’m worried, well, considering where I last recall myself… and the rest… oh dear. Just, um. Why am I here, where is my crew, and… uhmmm…” Blueblood took some time to finish the sentence, accidentally having looked the… mare… in the eyes. “...how can I help you?..” “You’re here because I don’t have it easy, your crew is nowhere good, and you can shut up and look for yourself. We’ve arrived.” A hoof the size of his entire head tapped him on the shoulder, tattering his clothes. He was invited to leave the slab he was laying on with the motion of a monstrous head, but took some time. While his mind was definitely in disorder, he was sure that his suit - his body, in fact - had to have a large hole in it. Both were missing, and, well, he was not in horrible pain either. That lifted his spirits for a moment, as evidently he was required in one piece. Less reason for them to harm him. So far. “Take your time, I’m only about to punch you in the face,” spoke the… mare… with a very overt tone of impatience and despisal to her voice. The proposition seemed less than welcome, and Blueblood did his best to leave the slab gracefully. Once he got off, he saw that he was being carried by four regular-sized Northfolk in thick furred clothing and various markings that seemed to radiate in the perplexing mosaic of colors created by the stained glass windows. No northerners he had seen had any of those, let alone all over their bodies, and no stained glass he had seen cast light as odd and hypnotizing as these. Him having left the slab, the four stretched their now comparatively regular bodies, and rather quickly disappeared to the sides, before he could get any better a look - far faster than anyone of their size should have. Blueblood’s gaze shifted rightwards, to where the one they left him with stood, and how quickly… she... turned around to stare at him indicated that no matter the size, movements this quick seemed to be rather common. He saw now that, indeed, proportion was in order for all the deformities and bestial oddnesses. The thing in front of him was huge. Massive. Gargantuan. He had been to a museum once, where various extinct species were scaled life-sized compared to ponies. If not for the obvious advantage of the top-heavy body, this… this could have beaten a minotaur. As it stood, only a few heads’ worth were missing. It was almost amusing to imagine just how many animals had to be skinned in order to make appropriate clothing - wolves, rather familiar ones, judging by the sharp texture of the bright white fur that adorned its… her… shoulders. The thought lost the inkling of amusement once he looked at the rest of the body. Legs covered in intricate, ornamented, thick metal, oddly shaped patches attached to the flanks, over the cutiemarks - if the northerners even had any. Many other details too, and just off-putting enough to not make sense for a suit of armor, yet fit together all too fine. Bad as it was, it turned even worse once he looked at the forelegs, in particular the chains wrapped around each one lumps on the sides. Those were no lumps, those were sheathes, and contained in them were… weapons, that was for sure, and the bottoms of them were chained to the forelegs. That seemed… alarmingly intricate. “I said look for yourself. Not stare at me,” came the annoyed order, and one of the pillar-like forelegs moved to point him somewhere behind herself and to the right. The chains on the leg rattled as she did so, and, under the new angle, all the metal on it looked thicker yet. And yet, the movement was quick, swift, almost careless. “...right,” he said with a gulp, and nodded. His head moved, but his eyes remained on the… mare… for a few seconds more. When they finally detached, he saw what he was being pointed to. They stood in front of a large, long, wide hall, filled with broken benches, and a once-precious pedestal at the end of it, with the hugest stained glass to be seen yet at the far end of it. It was all surrounded by tapestries - and yet, it was all blank, the glass, the fabric, all of it seemed… void. Perhaps fittingly so, as between the two of them and the far end of it were nearly countless wraiths. Some faint, some nearly living-looking, but all of them standing still, looking directly in front of themselves, and, stranger yet… None of them looked right. It was unpleasant to recall, but Blueblood did not take long to realize what it was - somehow, none of them were the sickly green of the wraiths he had seen before. They were all at least a faint red. “Recognize it? They read you stories about him when you’re little, don’t they?” came a question his way. With the added consciousness, Blueblood realized that although the voice no longer sounded in his mind, its real world application still reverberated in a disturbing manner. “Ummm… I… don’t think I see what you would mean,” he answered honestly. The reverberation came out hard with a loud sigh. “There. The pedestal. Or are you nearsighted too? Who knows how far they’ve inbred your lot…” Quick to not soil the already shaky relationship between the two nations any further - common sense told him that whoever he was talking to had to be important - Blueblood squinted to look at the far end. Indeed, he saw an object. A large block of ice, slightly blending into the featureless stained glass, and a curved, black and red stone inside of it. Although… not a stone. Only a second of thought rang an anxious alarm bell in the stallion’s mind, as, indeed, he did recognize it from the few childhood memories that counted as memories. The few happy ones, quite surprisingly. Albeit the subject matter for them was less than happy. That was a horn. A unicorn horn from an age when unicorn diversity was somewhat… broader than it was in his age. And despite how silly the thought appeared, Blueblood had no one else to think of upon seeing the black of the horn and the red of the ornaments on it. “Don’t hit me, but… That… Would look like King Sombra to me. Just… a guess,” he spoke to the one who awaited an answer. It came, too, in the form of several quick consecutive quakes. Some effort was required for him not to fall. That was a short applause from his… host, gently knocking one of the massive hooves against the floor. “Not all of him, thankfully.” The huge body turned to face where Blueblood was facing, instead of staring right at him. “And, gods willing, we’ll keep it that way.” “Holy heavens…” the stallion could not help but whisper, hearing his own voice echo out to him from the corners of the hall. “But how, and why?” “It wasn’t easy, you can be sure of that,” came the response, coupled with a clattery shrug. “But worth it. High risk, high reward, right? Sometimes you make a weapon out of one enemy to kill another.” The head turned, and flashed Blueblood another two-rowed grin. “I like that the one time your kind does something right, it’s that that kills them all.” “So you wish to see Equestria dead, is that right?” he risked a question. “Eh-heh, little Prince. I don’t wish to see Equestria at all,” answered his… captor?.. and turned her owl eyes to him, piercing him through and through. “I know you do, though. And how, oh-ho, yeah. I’m in your head even now.” Blueblood’s snout curled into a grimace, but he shut his eyes and sighed. No, he was definitely needed alive. “Then you’d know that it’s a familiar sensation.” “Well, I’m not as good as the damn serpent was, no. I make up for it with my looks, though, don’t I? All of us do up here.” It… she flashed him a grin and a mockingly coquette tilt of the head and bend of a leg. The thick tails hanging off the mane swung a little, hitting bits of the armor, making sounds as if an entire tree trunk was being smashed against them. “You know how we came to be? Northfolk, you call us? Thank your ancestors, colt. Maybe I wasn’t there when it happened, but when they cast us after it turned out that your Tribes wanted to be together, they probably thought we’d all die out. The one place that didn’t thaw out. Sent your own kin there for your own petty reasons. We lived, though, didn’t we? And how.” “Another villain, aren’t you? Equestria’s had many. It’s still there,” Blueblood said, wary of the implication, and trying to coat it just a little. That seemed to fail for a moment, as the mare turned to him and began to slowly walk his way. He attempted to back out, but that only lead to him being forced to backpedal toward the pedestal, through a few turns. The beastly thing was predator enough to know to herd. The yellow eyes pierced his entire skull. Again, a coy grin flashed the terrifying teeth. The eyes went half-closed, and the head tilted even more teasingly. A chuckle escaped the wide mouth. “And you know what it’s like right now, little Prince-nobody-cares-who. Let’s cut the shit, right? I’m sick of remembering words all the time. You’ve already figured out who I am and what I need, no?” “Umm… you…” the Prince thought fast, having no actual idea up to that point. He began to add up clues. To his surprise, something did manifest. “You… have been leading us around this frozen hellscape, haven’t you? Or… well… no, Raven or those turncoats, they never saw it… What you kept stuffing in my eyes with your…” He had to think, as “magic” was barely the word for what their lot appeared to be using. “...arcanery. No, I’m special to you for some reason. You… oh. Wait, no… Oh, that… That simple, is it?..” “Yeah. That simple.” “So it’s your… your kind that are the… rebels. Not the others, they’re not all with you, are they? That was why they sent me here, wasn’t it. To discuss you. Whether you exist at all or not. And you want me to stay silent?” A slow shutting of the eyes and a deep, rumbling sigh suggested otherwise. “Well… for what you are… Almost right, yes. You see, famous Equestrian Princes don’t show up here all eight days of the week. Here you come, though. To the Jarl, that’s a problem. And to me, that’s an opportunity. Let me explain…” threateningly, the warped eyes stared straight into his, and a forehoof ordered him to move alongside. They walked, slowly for her, almost running for him, down the incredibly lengthy hall, apparitions to both their sides. “The one who wants you silent is the Jarl. Our - well, their - own leader doesn’t want your lands to know that we even exist. Them, and us. “Northfolk” and, ah-heh, “rebels”. Keep the Frozen North a boring chunk of snow and ice at the head end of the continent, please nobody care. Wants nobody to know that we’ve made pacts that make your fur stand on edge. That we’ve been there for centuries. That we have eyes and mouths in more of your cities than you’d like, and that some of your government already… knows we’re there. Or that, simply saying…” With an abrupt stop, they halted barely halfway to the pedestal, at a peculiar round shape in the wide carpet that lead to it. Blueblood dared not speak, as his whole coat did, in fact, stand on edge. The odd, inexplicable smell began to intensify, and soon afterward… the red line came back. But not over his eyes - over the mare’s forelegs, instead, and her mouth. Her body began to twitch abnormally, almost painfully, and her mouth began to make noises - noises that the Prince already somehow knew were words. Even hearing them made his ears hurt, and imagining them being said caused his tongue to curl. An equine mouth was not made to pronounce these sounds. It was all so wrong that he could but watch. It was so wrong that he could not even come to question whether it was real. Something this warped could not be hallucinated. Even with what he had gone through, he was not that insane, nobody could be. Time’s passing became abstract, but it felt all too soon that a flux of dark red erupted from the center of the carpet. With the same unsettling speed, a limb emerged from it. A limb, just that - Blueblood had no way of describing it. No expert in fauna of any kind, but he would bet that something like this - a twisted sickle with leech-like lumps, damp tumors all over, and tiny needles surrounding the cracked, red carapace - could only be reserved for something that Equestria shuddered to bear. Yet more of the limb’s owner followed, and all much the same. At least the Prince could sensibly explain what it was - it was a gaping mouth on multi-jointed legs. The inside of the cavity was… an abyss, one Blueblood felt he would rather not look into. “...simply saying, this is what we’ve got on our side. I’m not this pretty because of good genes, or adaptation, or evolution, either,” the… barely a pony… reminded the stallion that there was more to life than just averting his gaze from where it never should have treated in the first place. “How do you think are your ponies going to feel about it?” “Oh you blasted—” he said with a gasp, finally shutting his eyes and lowering his head as far into his shoulders as he could. “Not very well, no, no, no. This is all wrong, this entire place is wrong, yes, but this, oh holy sweet mother, no, this is, nonono—” A foreleg got stretched out in front of his face, and the threat of getting his whole snout pointing out the back of his head was still not enough to make him unsee what he had seen. It somehow got worse the more he thought about it. After a short while, the leg shook a bit, rattling the chains that kept the sheathed weapon in place, finally breaking him out of the catharsis. It was then lowered, and nothing was where the summoned thing used to be. “Yeah, ugly, is it, huh? You don’t like it, do you, little colt?” “Not one bit, no.” “But you don’t like Equestria either. You like it even less, Blueblood.” “You can’t—” “In your head, remember? Let me phrase for you. We’re nasty, mean, wrong. They? They could be nice, kind, right. And instead they… well, they look prettier. You have horrible taste in mares, too.” “I… I— you—… well… maybe,” he lowered his head in defeat. It never worked out at all, did it?.. “So… got it yet?..” Alongside the question came a quake to signal that they were moving again. “M-maybe you should… I think I… no,” Blueblood struggled to complete a sentence. He was met with a sigh and a grumble. “If someone that at least a few of your stupid ponies recognize from the funny pictures suddenly comes up and starts speaking about this… You think they’ll like it? You’re a Prince, like it or not. I don’t want you to hide us, Blueblood,” the damned thing spoke with a massive grin, tasting the words like fresh meat. “I want you to advertise us. Let them all know. Let them try to come for us, or prepare. Let them rot where they stand if they like to. Let them throw blame around and see who to banish this time. But, no matter what, I want them to know, when they try this hard to forget. You didn’t even know that there were ponies here before now, did you? And now you’ll have everyone know.” The stallion took a while to comprehend what was being said. In particular that he was walking side to side with something that aimed to - and was well on the way - to outmatching that which he was cautioned with as a foal. Worse than the chaos of Discord, the betrayal of Nightmare Moon, or the tyranny of King Sombra. And the worst of all… that it had a point. He almost slapped himself, but it did. There was no denying himself, and he knew it. Ridiculous as it was, but the evil plan at work… was to safely get him home and let him do exactly, precisely what he wished to do anyway. He, Prince Blueblood, was already on their side. As he reached that conclusion, another stop had his… lead… give him another quick series of applause quakes. “Smart idiot colt. So?” He… Prince Blueblood… was already on their side. Only… only. Only… his mind had begun to race, full and proper. Scratches, tears, mumbles, cries, tears, wails, pleas. The stallion’s nostrils flared, the eyes enlarged, the mouth hung open, the head shook. Hopelessly, he tried to utter a stream of “nonononononono”, and yet his mind was already on the train of thought, and there was only one station to reach. “I’m not a Prince,” he said blandly, muttering. It took some time to be understood, as the reply came only some seconds later. “What, you psycho now?” “I’m not actually a Prince. None of my bloodline are. Haven’t been for generations. We’re illegitimate. Some four hundred years ago, my quarter-grandfather faked documents, staged a coup, ended the Unicornian dynasty, then it was us. Nobody noticed. I’m a Prince only on paper. I’m…” He began to giggle, his head shaking. His mind went back to the start of the horrible journey, when he was weaker than even now, finding solace in that which ponies he thought could be trusted left there for him so that he be less of a problem. So that he think less. “...I’m a paper prince. And…” He turned his head to the giantess, now grinning himself. “...I’ll tell them that.” All of his being yelled at him that that was the worst idea of all. Yet, in some way… it felt right. The sense of righteousness, the obscure thing, was the only thing that did not scream and yell at him. So he listened to it some more. “You’re just… just scaring me, you’re just scaring me. Oh, you’re going to tell me your entire plan. Yes, yes you are. Tell me everything, I come back home, I tell them it all, probably exaggerate, too, and there is panic. Riots, death, murder, we kill ourselves for you. Yes, you’d want that. Oh you’d want that. Don’t want to deal with these things that you just pulled out of nowhere neither, no? No, this is your plan. You know what we are like. Fragile. We’re all fragile. And riots, oh-ho-ho-no-no-no, Celestia and Luna can’t stop them by sending those BLASTED mares at something mean and nasty, no? And after we’re on edge after the changelings, they can’t campaign for peace all that easily, no, they have to take action! Or they send them at you, and you murder them all, you will! Or - they take action, and the only action is tyrannical, so they give them cause to rebel! And even if not - you’ve perverted Equestria further than it has you! Ha! Ahah! Hahaaaaahahaaaa! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” The stallion danced in place, throwing himself all around, and galloped forward, to the pedestal. He knew full well he was not to be killed, and even if he was, it was only him to be in danger. Blueblood… was… free. “You’ve thought of everything! You have ponies in the government who know, but aren’t important enough! They don’t have “Prince” stamped on them! Ahaaahaaaahahah!” He nearly pronked up the circular stairs to the pedestal that held the ancient, dormant king’s preserved horn. “Because... because without them, they’d just shut me up, or throw me to the loonhouse! But… now… nonono… aha… No, you… You’re… you’re all so… so wrong, wrong, wrong, but you… You think…” “What the fuck are you—” “You… think… like… US. Vile! Calculating! Two-faced! All a facade! Bleeding heavens, the Griffon Empire has more dignity than all the ponies combined! Run away, drop me off to fit a straitjacket, ramble on about harmony all we will, but...” Blueblood continued to rant even as he tripped and rolled down the stairs. “ You, you mutated freaks… think… the same! Centuries living in frozen hell and nothing has changed! Oh this is all so simple, I had to have been mental not to see it ever before!” “You are crazier than I thought. Shit. ” “Look, who’s, TALKING!!!” he pointed a hoof at her while trying to get up, and fell down again. “My world… all of my world… so stupid. I can do what I want, you know.” He finally got up, and walked forward, slowly, grinning obscurely. “You… need me… for something else. Wait, no… got it.” “Din... inavlade... kuksugare.” “You didn’t just… get half a thousand wraiths in here for no reason. Ohhooo. You won’t be showing it off to me if it wasn’t working, and it isn’t, nonono. These aren’t even moving. You… You’ve got them… but not all of them.” He reached the pedestal, which, by then, the giant beast had followed him to, and leaned against it, laughing still, and coughing. “There’s some ritual you want me for, don’t you.” Suddenly, he was roughly grabbed, and held to face her snout to maw. His tired, crazed grin against her terrifying one. “Think you’re smart. Look at me, I’m a Prince, I act crazy and know everything now, and you’re all stupid. Well, good pony,” came a compliment, and his head was gently patted. The bruises made it a little hard for him to open one eye. “Only I’m a bit not stupid. I do know a thing now. You’re a paper prince. That’s what it says.” “That’s what… what says?..” he asked, taken aback. “You don’t have to know,” she spoke with venom, grinning even wider, and her teeth could take up three pony heads. They would chop them right off, too. “But you… You’re still like them, you know. You want to do good, no evil. Want them to live because it’s better or something. Well... “ He was forced to look at the hundreds of red shapes, past the block of ice with the horn. “...an army of wraiths is a good backup if I can’t kill you all by irony, hm? You’re smart here. I need you for this. You made it easy, actually, thanks.” “How…” “Four times a grandfather, hmmm? Funny, I know Equestrian history. Exactly three Unicornian Princes before you, one disappeared and never came back. They tell you why? No, they haven’t.” By then, he simply listened with his mouth open. His rattled, addled mind was comprehending the fact that his outburst… failed. And his innards were being squeezed by a hulking monstrosity, too. “He studied too much, he knew too much, he did magic, and one day… he found out.” There was a grin. “That in the North there were bad things, and that Jarlinda Runa of the Frozen North Provinces was up to no good. He left, came here, and…” The grin managed to show a blink of emotion - amusement. “...actually did something to me. I don’t show the years, though, do I?” Blueblood’s eyes widened, and had begun to try out bit by bit. “We were already in deep with this… arcanery… as you call it, back then. It was some time after the rocks went away,” Runa nodded at the encased horn. “So he found a loophole, the bearded bastard did. Those that I took in… the dead hated them now. No way to control, only… ah… expunge, that’s what you say now. It was exorcize back then.” “Ohhh…” “Rohhh. We’ve been working on that, though, haven’t we? And then it turns out that the freak learned from us and bound it to his blood.” Disturbingly, very disturbingly, the mouth widened further yet, and the odd smell became intolerable. “I liked him, a little. He got it. It takes stuff to learn blood ties. He did it, though, it was that bad, he thought, and he was a smart little colt. Even smarter than you, Blueblood. Only ponies go away, but I don’t.” The startling growl blew the surviving parts of Blueblood’s mane back like a strong wind. He was covered in spittle, faintly pink, and hot on his skin. “So… We won’t need to rob Unicornian graves and look for flesh and blood to regrow now, huh? We won’t need Unicornians at all.” “Oh dear.” “Not so smart now, no?” “No.” “How do you feel?” “Empty.” The paper prince stared into the alien eyes for almost a minute, and soon there was only one grin to go around. It added in subtlety - now it could only chop off two pony heads. “I’ll do what you say. I’ll come back home. I’ll tell everyone, your spies keep me out of trouble. Equestria will fester and rot. Maybe they’re already having it do that, maybe we’re doing it on our own, maybe both. Maybe. Maybe… I’m too much of an idealist,” he conceded to reason. “Smart pony. We’ll get you to Pierce Heaven. Don’t try anything funny there. I WILL get your blood, I mix two drops, and I’ve got all this running errands for me. The bastards at the fortress won’t kill you even if you try your best to fuck up. They won’t want to be found either,” said Runa and released him from the grip. Everything ached all over. The hulking Jarlinda turned around and cast a glance at the apparitions. “Kanske senare,” she mumbled under her breath. Sighing, the descendant of the one who once did something, simply stood in place. Grieving, but realizing that the painful talk was over, he risked to ask: “Can I know where my crew went after all? I… can’t see them in there,” he pointed at the crowd that he took a few glances at. Oddly enough, their faces seemed all so clear. “They’re barely ponies, but then… are there any ponies for what I think they should be?” “After we got our little hounds to stop your cars? Well, I don’t know if many of the colts from the big one with the guns lived. Funny, I know some did. That’s weird. I sent very weak ones, yeah, and they were far away, but… your guys were tough. Don’t often see anyone prepared for this place. These, almost,” Runa told him, almost casually, as if not an abomination upon the world. The stallion thought back to the supposed engineers, and sighed at how he imagined that him and them were becoming something of a functional crew. He was being humored, and then he was being sent to the scrap heap for misbehaving royalty. To think that the escapee had such a good point. But then, had he listened, what then, what difference? No point. No point in any of it. “And… Raven?.. She was with me when we were… held up.” Blueblood’s ears tried to hang, but one still hurt, and the other was a little frozen. Oddly, even that seemed forced. Obliged to feel remorseful or sad, more so than being genuine. Raven manipulated and most likely wholly despised him, and would have seen him wrapped in blankets and chomping on a pacifier if she had her way - not for his sake, but for her own. It was her task, and all the care she provided was so that she feel good about herself. Amusing parallels arose. Raven was quite a pony in that regard - nearly a living manifestation of Equestria’s attitude to those it thought to keep in its harmony. Living or not, though? By the end of that thought, Blueblood realized he cared remarkably little. “Don’t look at every death we get. But I know she wasn’t anywhere, and she was alone. Unless her and those guys found each other? Froze to death by now.” “Right.” He cared, indeed, so remarkably little, that he was simply blank, eyes staring as if painted onto his face. And with that, Blueblood took the quickest action in his life, and lunged at the block of ice on the pedestal. “Vad?!...” the dumbstruck beastly mare shouted, not comprehending the utterly thoughtless, reason-depraved action of the unicorn. It utterly slipped her telepathic overwatch, and when she lunged after, it was already too late. The block of ice… He had absolutely no idea, or thought at all, about this. The ice could have been too thick, for one. And then there were a thousand thousands of things wrong. And yet, through the neatly cracked ice, he took the horn, and, seconds before Runa reached him, stabbed himself in the chest with all the strength he could muster. Momentarily, a roar erupted from inside the once-bodypart, and black smoke filled the hall. It twisted and twitched, albeit in much a different way than the oddities surrounding Runa’s summoned beings, and… gained a face. It stared at them with empty eyes and fangs sharp for but a second. In that second, Blueblood gained understanding of it all, and the perverted Northfolk Jarlinda flung her weapons out - two tools similar to a lumberjack’s axe, but curved, and with actual teeth on their chopping edges. The chains that held them levitated in the air by themselves, acting as tendrils to the already eldritch thing that their wielder was. Once the second passed, the smoke drained from the room and upwards through a negligible crack in the ceiling. In so doing, it screamed, deafeningly, but one word: “CRYSTALS” The terrible things inside the hall remained where they had been. Blueblood simply stood up, a large, gaping wound in his chest, much like before, while Runa threw her head left and right, searching for words, failing to find them in her own language. She turned to him, owl eyes filled with fury, and the pony looked back at her. She was left with her mouth open. Blueblood, rather casually, ascended back up the stairs, while Runa remained below, whispering to herself. Soon, she followed after him, and he felt the massive hooves try to hold, crush, restrain him. He… slipped through. “These are my last words. There is… no rest,” he said quietly, with a cough, but the hall transferred his words loudly, with an echo. “An aimless spirit in a broken body.” The wretched language erupted from the mare’s lips again, but the lonely, beaten, self-abused paper prince simply leaned against where Sombra’s horn used to be, and looked into the crowd. Fearful energies surrounded him, dark red, pink, sickly purple, the familiar jiggly lines, and yet he still saw. He saw old nobles turn their heads to him. He saw recent casualties of the North Patrol stand at attention, and, some distance from them, over a hundred of older ones do so as well. He saw Vårenträd and Vildefløy, Viskavind and Vänsterfält stand in a row of other large Northfolk ponies and look his way. He saw Morozov and about a dozen other goats raise their heads. He saw Jean-Luc de Sade Jr. open his blank eyes, and, next to him, Oswald Krueger, head of a long lost Paranormal Division squad, join him, much like many other griffons, be they masked or not. He saw cows, deer, zebras, thestrals, kelpies, and kin that he never even knew of, he saw capricorns and seaponies, all aim their eyes at where he stood. At least four dragons of varying build and size, a few dozen changelings, even a centaur. Some odd, tall, twisted, almost spidery dark shape at the very back end. In the middle between the rows, a limping, old, tall, bearded horse tried to find a standing place, and weakly shook its hoof when none would budge to let him through. There were so many names, and suddenly, it was as if Blueblood knew most, if not all of them. He even waved to his grand-grand-grandfather. “The horn is in pieces. The King… is loose. Our spell is shattered, but life had drained off, long ago. There is no sunrise, I fear.” His voice was almost eaten up by the spastic attempts of the accursed warlock, and yet he knew he was heard. His vision was nothing but horrid red, but he saw that red was anything the apparitions were becoming. “Everything is rotting. Flesh I had is rotting. I’m… left here with you, I fear. You don’t have to listen. The spell tells you to, maybe, but you don’t have to. I will speak anyway.” Somehow, the wraiths had all gathered - they looked right at him, over a thousand of eyes, all focused on the fake prince who only ever spoke off a paper in public, and even then failed miserably. Not even at beauty contests that he had been rigged to win could he ever say a word right. “I can’t give you back your lives. I can’t turn time backwards. I can’t take you to your loved ones, not unless they died with you in here. We are accursed, and there is only oblivion. The harsh reality.” Slowly, the substance of the wraiths had begun to change. Subtly, steadily, they went blurry - perhaps, indeed, exiting. In the corner of his eye, however, Blueblood saw, over the veil of horror, that the tapestries and stained glass… began to change as well. He gave not even a shrug. “But I can make you free. I… have learned… something. I am Blueblood, an Equestrian Prince. You hate me, most of you would. I know something you don’t, however. And… you listen.” Idly, he raised his head and took in an empty breath. The words came to him simply, easily. In the span of a few seconds, he reviewed his entire life. It fueled his words efficiently, substantially. He looked to his side, staring at Runa, surrounded by unspeakable entities, who threw her head side to side, saying words that Blueblood could neither understand nor care to hear - he saw enough. Then he looked through the walls of the old great hall of the thrice-previous capital of the Frozen North, now the center of deadlands so off the map that not even the main Equestrian bastion in the area would know how to get to it without ruthless casualties. He looked at Equestria, at Canterlot, and at the Princesses. He gave a bored, breathless sigh. Then he raised his head and stared intensely at his audience, tearing right through the warped curtain around him to put his hooves on the lectern. “Broken… Abandoned… Forgotten… Brethren. In a mere half dozen of weeks, barely a breath for that which circles this chunk of celestial soil, I, an Equestrian Prince, have crossed this frozen hell. I have learned the meaning of purpose, dedication, integrity, loyalty, and leadership. Though it was a quiet road, some have told me, were I to come home and drench my words in lie, I would have been made legend. I have been taught lessons by outlanders, old villains, mere animals, and things beyond all of our comprehension. And what was it that I was taught, that I learned, that started with me blind like a newborn and ended with this? What is this lesson which you have gathered to hear me teach you as well?” Many other Northfolk wearing odd apparel, and bigger than their already oversized compatriots, have entered the hall, but were separated from their leader by the hundreds of wraiths. With each second, their glow, a stronger by the second blue, pushed them further back. “It is nothing. There is no lesson. No reason, no integrity, no loyalty. It is mindless, pretense. This world is mindless. No cause, no consequence, only a string of events that we scramble to put together. One thing leads not to another, one thing leads at all, if it even is. You are dead, you all are, and you are young, and old, and strong, and weak, and innocent, and guilty, and honest, and deceitful, and so on - but no. You are nothing. I am nothing. All a nothing, a big great nothing, perhaps not even separate. We are information, at best. You know it, all of you do, and for longer than I have. You know that there is no difference. We are dead. They are alive.” The hundreds began to raise their arms. Combat-ready, they started to salute, all in silence. “All are naught. Plain differences, but naught nevertheless. And in my difference, I wish the best, the simplest, the most peaceful. I wish… for harmony. I now know where it is. Not under the yoke of the ones who warp themselves to gain identity, and not in oblivion of surrender. It is in action that may… be meaningful.” The old nobles unsheathed their antiquated blades from their sheathes, if even from each other’s bodies. The North Patrol cocked their weaponry, and stomped their fortified hooves against the floor, leaving blue, sizzling crackles and sparks. Vårenträd and Vildefløy, Viskavind and Vänsterfält, many other Northfolk took their weapons and soundlessly banged them together in unison. Morozov and the other goats manifested with a variety of firearms, unleashing rapid volleys into the ceiling, emitting ghostly, yet tangible, blue particles. Jean-Luc de Sade Jr. raised his javelin high, and with him near a hundred other griffons saluted too, and Oswald Krueger launched a festive barrage upwards, joined by at least ten more similarly clothed avians. All other species rumbled in unison, and eventually, they gained a voice. “WE ARE A NOTHING! THEY ARE A NOTHING! LET! EQUESTRIA! FAAALL!!!” Blueblood shouted at the height of his strength, and far outdid his vocal chords. The headlights of blue that shone from his eyes and chest threw themselves spastically, drawing shapes on the ceiling, as he trembled in ecstasy. “FEALLAN!” came a cheer from the nobles. “FALL!” cried out the ponies. “FALLA!” yelled the Northfolk. “ПАДЕТ!” screamed the goats. “TOMBERA!” chanted the griffons, joined with a “WIRD FALLEN!” By when the rest had joined in, the hall was a perfect, shining blue. What parts were decrepit had been restored with a new, blue glow to them, and the tapestries and stained glass all gained in image. They now showed many an image, but each all too familiar to that which Blueblood so disregardingly recalled. That which called for his attention, however, was the centerpiece of each. A turn of the body showed that the biggest tapestry and the biggest stained glass of them all, right behind him, bore only that. A crystal compass, covered in blue liquid. He had his hoof come near his mouth and his chest. Blueblood looked at his new, blue blood. “BLOOD!” again he shouted. “BLŌD!” cheered the nobles. “BLOOD!” cried the ponies. “BLOD!” yelled the Northfolk. “КРОВЬ!” screamed the goats. “SANG!” chanted the griffons. “BLUT!” “BLOD! BLOD! BLOOOD!” wailed Runa as her own weapons tore into the flesh of her face, the eldritch summoned creations standing by her side and looking at her twist and tremble. “JAG SKA GE ER BLOD!” The cold, empty chaos almost obscured the earthquake that the reemerging Crystal Empire caused the Frozen North. In all the depravity, death, and decay that happened daily in the Equestria’s chilly old attic of forgotten, unnerving, unneeded memories, it was merely a few quakes, and then it was back to normal. Less so for Equestria itself. And that thought made Blueblood’s radiant veins and the vacant spot on the left of his chest glow a little warmer, as warm as something of the Frozen North could be.