//------------------------------// // Chapter 28 // Story: Beyond the Portal II: Flames of War // by Firestar463 //------------------------------// “What?! Impossible!” “It is true, master. The Eredar has failed. The Monk yet lives.” A savage growl was torn from Zinju’s throat as the stainless crooked dagger was deposited on the table before him. His glowing-red eyes lingered upon the weapon for a moment before returning to the messenger - his trusted servant, Sarnak the Voidwalker. Sarnak seemed to realize Zinju’s murderous thoughts, and wisely floated backwards away from the table, out of reach of the Troll’s hands. With Sarnak out of range of his fury, Zinju’s head whipped towards the next closest creature to him - the miniscule cloaked figure, its face still concealed beneath its hood. “Dis be your fault!” Zinju snarled. “Ya told us dat Slater would be powerless! Dat de corruption of de land would stop him from using his Chi!” “And stop him, it did,” the unnaturally deep voice echoed from beneath the hood. The figure seemed unfazed by Zinju’s fury, even as the Troll towered over it. “Mihalun was not slain by Chi. This is quite obviously the work of a darker power. One I doubt even Slater was aware of until it was unleashed.” “And ya didn’t tink dat was worth tellin’ us about?!” “As I said, I doubt even Slater was aware that this would happen.” The cloaked figure turned its head towards Sarnak, who had wisely kept his distance from his enraged master. “Tell us exactly what you saw.” “Mistress Mihalun had the Unicorn on the altar,” the Voidwalker began. “And was about to slit her throat, as with the other prisoners. Slater fell to the ground, clawing at his head. Just before she could draw the blade across the Unicorn’s throat, Slater moved. He was fast. Faster than I’ve seen any Human move before. The Mistress was caught off-guard and pinned against one of the pillars. And then…” “And then…” “The room became cold. Very cold.” At this, Zinju raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with the hooded figure, his fury apparently forgotten for the moment. Voidwalkers were known to be highly resistant to both heat and cold, barely feeling even large swings in temperature. If Sarnak had been able to feel the room chill that much… “Continue,” Zinju ordered. “Black and white energy seemed to race down Slater’s arms and into his hands. And black fire erupted from his fingers. Mistress Mihalun screamed. It must have lasted… two minutes? Perhaps longer. And then it stopped for a brief moment, as he moved her from the pillar and pinned her to the floor, and then resumed for another 35 seconds. During this time, Slater taunted Mistress Mihalun endlessly. He seemed to draw great pleasure from her pain. Very much unlike how he was described, if I may add.” “What happened then, mon?” “Slater froze for a moment, and then spoke again. ‘What a shame.It seems my time grows short. Perhaps my host will be merciful and end your miserable existence. I hope not.’ He slumped over, paused for a moment, then drew one of his hammers and split her skull open.” “Very interesting…” The cloaked figure mused. “Tell me, aside from the damage caused by the hammer, what did Slater’s attack do to Mihalun?” “Where the fire had left his fingers on her neck, the flesh was scorched black and badly blistered,” Sarnak began. “The room was affected as well. When he laid her on the ground and began attacking again, the ground beneath them began to char black. The boundary between the scorched and unaffected areas was well-defined by a glowing white ring.” That seemed to catch the cloaked figure by surprise. It leaned forwards towards the Voidwalker, whipped its head up towards Zinju, and the back to Sarnak. “A white ring?” it demanded. “You’re certain?” “Yes.” “Very peculiar…” The figure reached one gloved hand underneath the hood to rub its chin. “It would seem our dear friend Mr. Slater is the host for a Sha.” “A Sha? Dem Old God spirits?” Zinju asked. “I t’ought dat he killed dem all.” “Not him. He could barely lift a finger against those things. His little Pony friends were the ones to destroy them. It seems, though, that they missed one.” “And why it gonna help him like dat, huh? I t’ought dey only cared ‘bout demselves” The figure shrugged. “Perhaps Slater’s situation was opportune for the Sha to strike. “And dat’s anotha ting. How did Slater let dat ting loose?” Another shrug. “Perhaps his mental distress at Filwin’s death and the impending loss of another dear friend unleashed the monster. Or maybe he knew more about it’s presence than we believe and he intentionally loosed it upon Mihalun.I can’t say for sure.” “Well you better find out, mon,” Zinju hissed. “I already lost me base t’ one o’ ya failed schemes. Dat was de perfect base too. Perfect place t’ keep an eye on tings, hidden outta sight... It was even startin’ t’ feel like home and everytin…” Zinju glanced around him, taking in the cramped quarters, dirt walls, muddy floor with small pools here and there… “... and now it be gone, and we be hiding in anotha stinkin’ hole in de middle o’ nowhere, and we be no betta off for dat sacrifice!” Zinju snarled and poked one finger towards the cloaked figure. “If ya tink I’m gonna go along wit’ ya damned plans again before we figure out everyting about Slater and dat Sha -” “Enough,” A ragged voice echoed through the chamber. Though hardly more than a whisper, the sound cut off the rest of Zinju’s sentance as he and the cloaked figure turned their heads towards the entrance of the small room. Another cloaked figure emerged from the shadows of the doorway, though the hood did not remain raised for long. Two scrawny arms emerged from under the cloak, revealing the figure underneath. “Lord Tirek,” The small cloaked figure bowed, a motion which Zinju quickly followed. “We are merely set back, Zinju,” Tirek wheezed. “Not wiped out. This is not the time to point fingers and assign blame. Slater was a secondary objective. Nothing more.” Tirek’s head swiveled towards the cloaked figure. “The rune,” he demanded. “Is it ready?” The figure drew one hand into its cloak and drew it back out a moment later. In its gloved hand was the polished stone it had been given earlier that morning. The symbol carved into its side was now no longer dull, but instead pulsed a faint, white light regularly every couple of seconds. “Yes, Lord Tirek,” the figure replied. “Their blood has activated it.” “Excellent.” Tirk’s face was stretched taut in a bony grin. “Mana of the planet, naturally absorbed. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken.  These we now possess.” “But de next two ain’t gonna be dat easy,” Zinju warned. “Liquid fire, from de heart of Dragon territory. And raw essence of de Titans. I’m hopin’ ya got a plan to get dese, mon?” “Leave that to me,” the cloaked figure replied. Zinju rolled his eyes, but neither Tirek nor the cloaked figure seemed to notice. “From what I’ve gathered, the Horde have set up a base near the Dragon’s territory. Perhaps they will keep the Dragon occupied. We’ll monitor the situation to determine the opportune moment to strike. And the Horde will certainly keep the Alliance at bay while we make our move.” “And essence of de Titans?” “It will take time, but we will have it.” “All we need to do for now is lay low,” Tirek added. “Surely Equestria and the Alliance will be hunting for us. We will leave the Everfree for now and make for the mountains. If your report is correct, they will not dare encroach on Minotaur territory.” “And then, when all the pieces have come together, we will strike. And all will know the might of the Legion.” --- Never before had Scootaloo seen her mentor like this. She’d seen Kyle stare into the face of death and bare his teeth. She’d watched as he charged straight at the end of the world and nearly single-hoofedly prevent the unleashing of an Old God. Half-frozen and barely able to stand, he’d not backed down from the ferocious Summit Prowlers in Kun-Lai. Even impaled on the Sha of Hatred’s leg, bloodied and dying, he wouldn’t surrender. Every time he got knocked down, no matter how hard, he’d leap back up fighting even harder For as long as she’d known him, ever since that fateful day in the Apple family barn, he had been a stalwart pillar of strength. Unwavering, unshakable, unbreakable. He’d taught her stability, both physical and emotional, and in her eyes he’d always been a shining example of how strong-willed somepony could be. He had the heart of a fighter. She’d always believed nothing could ever keep him down. So to see him so broken was terrifying.. He was just sitting there in a tiny wooden chair, a chair that was clearly too small for him. He didn’t seem to care. He might not have even noticed. His bandaged hands lay limply in his lap, and he sat slumped over in his chair. He hadn’t even attempted to wash up - bits of leaf still clung to his hair, a sizeable amount of dirt caked his face, his forearms were splattered here and there with blood… he hadn’t even changed out of his ruined dress shirt, revealing the bruised and scratched flesh beneath. But worst of all were his eyes. They were distant and empty. Hollow. As if the lively fire that had once burned within them had been forever extinguished. A movement out of the corner of her eye made Scootaloo whip her head back towards Kyle. He’d moved, ever so slightly.Now his hands were extended in front of him so that he was staring at them.. They were both covered in thick white bandages, but even still he managed to flex his fingers back and forth. He continued this repetitive motion for a full minute before suddenly moving them to his chest. He held them there for a brief moment before returning them back to his lap and returning his attention to the opposite end of the room. He’d been there since before Scootaloo had run in looking for him almost an hour ago, and in that time he’d barely moved. Aside from occasionally looking at his hands, his gaze was eternally locked on the bed in front of him. Or rather, the creature within it. Various tubes and wires were hooked up to the mint-green Unicorn, and an oxygen mask was strapped across her muzzle. Lyra, that was her name. Scootaloo had seen her and Kyle talking several times before. She’d even helped out during training once. How had she gotten so badly hurt? The sound of a door opening cause Scootaloo to jerk her head towards the entrance to the room. She watched as a Unicorn in a nurse’s uniform stepped into the room and over to Lyra’s bed, where she began to write on her clipboard. Kyle seemed unmoved by the nurse’s entrance. Or maybe he hadn’t even realized she was there. His eyes remained fixed on Lyra. A purple wing was draped gently over Scootaloo’s shoulders, making her jump slightly. She looked up to see Princess Twilight looking down at her. Scootaloo couldn’t read the expression on her face, but there was certainly no happiness in it. Twilight nudged her head towards the door and gently pushed Scootaloo with her wing, leading the young pegasus out of the room. Scootaloo glanced over her shoulder one last time at her mentor before the door was shut, cutting him from her view. “Princess… What’s going on?” Scootaloo managed to ask. “What happened? I thought we pushed them back.” “We did,” Twilight began slowly. “But their leader got away. And he took a bunch of Ponies and Humans with him. We were too late to save them.” “And what’s going on with Kyle? Why is he… like that?” Twilight didn’t answer for a moment. The two pushed their way through a pair of double doors into an empty waiting room, where the settled down against one of the walls. Twilight closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “Nopony does. He hasn’t said a word since he brought Lyra here. He didn’t tell us where they’d been, or why she was with him, or how she got so badly hurt, or how he burnt his hands…” Twilight fell silent as she glanced out across the room towards the clock that hung over the door. 9:07 PM. It had been easily six hours since Kyle had wandered out of the forest with Lyra’s limp form cradled in his arms. Six hours, and he’d not said a word to anypony. He just kept staring at Lyra, looking down at his hands, back up at Lyra. He’d refused all food, barely drank any water… He’d only let the doctors tend to his hands, and the entire time they were being wrapped up, he looked as though he were afraid they were going to explode. “I’ve never seen him like this,” Scootaloo finally broke the silence. Twilight shook her head. “Neither have I,” she said quietly. “He was always so strong… I can’t even begin to think of what must have happened out there in the forest to do this to him.” Twilight closed her eyes, exhaustion from the strain of the day finally catching up to her. Still, her mind was abuzz with activity. She’d have to send a letter to Princess Celestia about today, of course. She needed to be warned, in case something like this happened in Canterlot. That’d have to wait until tomorrow, though. She’d have no time to return home tonight. Twilight grimaced at the thought of leaving Spike and Owlawiscious alone for yet another night, but it couldn’t be helped. Another night… In all the chaos of today, Twilight had almost forgotten about the night before. Despite the fear and sadness that filled her, Twilight found herself smiling as memories from the Gala flowed through her mind. The stories, the laughter, the dances, the walk through the park. How she had nuzzled his hand, how he had scratched her cheek in return…And then the train ride home. “I’m not saying yes. I’m not saying no. I just… need time to think Alright?” That had been just before he’d run off to Ironwall. The last time she’d seen him before… whatever happened in the Everfree Forest. So where did this leave them? Her smile was gone by now, replaced by a look of confusion She was fond of Kyle, very fond. She’d admitted this to herself a while ago. But what about him? Maybe she should go talk to Cadence… Twilight frowned and shook her head. “No,” She mentally berated herself. “Now is not the time. Be logical, Sparkle. He said he wanted to remain friends. So friends we shall remain. Later down the road, once this mess is dealt with… perhaps. But not until after he gets better… if he gets better.” “I’m scared,” Scootaloo’s soft voice cut through the silence into Twilight’s thoughts. A brief pause. “I’m scared too.” “Do you think he’ll get better?” Twilight found herself wrapping another wing over Scootaloo, drawing her closer. “I hope so,” she murmured. “I hope so… For all of our sakes.” --- It had been hours since he had last moved. The last nurse had left the room ten minutes ago. She hadn’t even tried to make him leave, instead turning the lights off and closing the door behind her. The only light in the room came from the light of the nearly-full moon through the windows and the faint glow of the various beeping machines hooked up to the Pony in the bed across from him. Aside from her, he was alone in the room. But not in his mind. It was there. He could feel it there, in the back of his mind, like a tumor that he’d never noticed before, just waiting to spread and overwhelm him. The Sha. How hadn’t he noticed it before? How hadn’t he felt it growing inside him? His hands moved once again to his chest. The old injury where the Sha of Hatred had impaled him had healed months ago, leaving little more than a scar, but the echo of the wound now burned like a flame that refused to die. And speaking of burning… He extended his hands so that the moonlight fell across his bandaged fingers. He’d not even realized they were burnt until he’d gotten to the hospital. The salve they’d applied underneath the bandages was supposed to restore the charred skin within a week, but that was based on the assumption that he’d been burned by fire. Who knew whether the salve would work that well, or even at all, on flesh seared by the Sha energy that had been channeled through them. The memory of the Eredar’s final moments flew unbidden through his mind. Her already-red skin around her throat had been burnt black, blacker than the char on a grilled steak. His hands had done that. He’d felt the Sha’s energy surging up his arms and out of his fingers. But that hadn’t been him. It had been that… thing, that monster inside him. Without thinking, he began to flex his fingers, as if to make sure they were really his. And there it was again. The burning in his chest. It wasn’t sharp enough to draw a sound from him, but his hands moved to his chest in response to the discomfort. Was that how the Sha had gotten into him? When he’d been impaled upon its foot… Is that why it hurt? Slowly, the pain died away. Just as it had all afternoon and all evening, cyclical, almost like clockwork. And just like clockwork, his hands fell idly to his lap once more. With nothing to draw his attention now, his gaze flicked back to the motionless form in the bed across from him. Lyra. This was all his fault. He’d been too stubborn to stop for a few minutes and talk. Too careless to force her to leave. Too stupid to anticipate an ambush. Too senseless to not feel Mihalun’s Chi signature appear. And now Lyra was paying the price. Her entire right side was bandaged up, with thick padding forming a lump under the bandages where the blast had hit. Underneath the padding and gauze, her fur was burned away, her flesh burned to a shiny red, almost ruby-like. She’d yet to regain consciousness in the time she’d been in the hospital, but Kyle knew that when she finally awoke, her first sense would be that of pain. If she woke up at all. All because he’d been stubborn, and careless, and senseless, and stupid. And she wasn’t the only one who’d paid dearly for his mistakes. Filwin was dead. Along with dozens more of his men, and innocent Ponies, all slaughtered by Zinju because he, Kyle Slater, Commander of the largest Alliance outpost on the planet, had not taken the time to hunt dwn a lone Troll. And how many more would suffer because of him? Especially now that he knew what lay within him. The Sha. It was inside him. It had unleashed itself. It had saved Lyra, true, but not on purpose. Its sole objective had been to torture that Eredar until she begged for mercy. It had faded away and given control back to Kyle before that had happened, but what about next time? Would Kyle be able to wrest control back before the Sha did any real damage? Would he be able to retake control at all? And when would the Sha strike next? What set it loose in the first place? So many questions, each more dangerous than the last, with no answers. He’d sworn to protect the people of the Alliance, and that included the citizens of Equestria and the men under his command. How could he possibly do that when one of the biggest threats to their safety lay dormant inside him, waiting to be unleashed by some unknown trigger. Or perhaps no trigger at all. A new pain in Kyle’s abdomen pierced through his thoughts, dragging his focus outwards once more. For a brief moment, his hands moved towards his chest to cover his old wound. It was only a moment later that he realized that the discomfort had come from slightly lower in his abdomen. And then he heard it. A distinct groaning sound, one which nearly made his entire body shake. His stomach was growling. Loudly. For the first time since he had entered the hospital, Kyle began searching for a clock. He found one hanging just above the door. 11:48 PM. He’d been there for almost nine hours. No food. No water. Nothing. Instantly, he sensed the dryness in his mouth, the overwhelming need for something to drink. He rose from his chair, wincing as his knees popped in their stiffness, and moved over towards the bathroom door in the corner of the room. Kyle flipped the switch, and instantly the lights above the sink flicked on. A low hum filled the air as the electricity coursed through the four dingy bulbs, illuminating the tiny room - little more than a cramped toilet, a sink, and a mirror. A small dispenser on the wall above the sink held tiny paper cups, clearly meant to rinse a mouth out after brushing one's teeth rather than for drinking. Kyle pulled one out and filled it with water from the tap, downing it a second later. He filled it and had a second cup. And a third. And a fourth. As Kyle bent over to fill the cup for the fifth time, he paused. Had he closed the door behind him? He didn’t remember. But it was certainly closed now. Slowly, he reached behind himself and rattled the knob. It moved without resistance, and the door cracked open as he applied pressure. He shrugged and closed it again before leaning back in. Three more tiny cups of water he drank before his thirst was sated. He smacked his lips and let out a refreshed sigh as he deposited the cup into the wastebin beside the toilet. As he stood back up, he finally got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dirt and leaves matted his hair, his shirt was badly torn, the skin below was covered in small scrapes and cuts, and his face was matted with dirt. And his eyes… They seemed almost sunken in, with dark lines under them. Like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Man… you’ve seen better days…” He commented to the mirror, his voice cracking slightly from lack of use. “You’re one to talk.” Instantly, his eyes were wide open. He leaned in slowly towards the mirror, eyes slowly narrowing. The Kyle in the mirror followed suit. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that his reflection had just… Kyle froze. But his reflection kept moving. It stood straight up, cracking its neck with an audible snap! A dark grin formed across its lips as Kyle crept backwards, pressing his back against the door. “Boo.” Kyle spun around and flung the bathroom door open, jamming his back against the wall opposite the bathroom window. By now he was wide-eyed and panicked, his heart beating a million miles an hour and his breath coming quick. His reflection seemed rather amused, for it began to chuckle. Its laughter grew in volume and deepened as it stretched one arm out towards the mirror. And it reached through. Kyle could only watch in terror as the reflection drew itself out of the mirror, slowly but surely. First, it was only its hand. Then the entire arm. Its head. Its torso. The other arm now grasped at the opposite side of the mirror, pushing, straining. And finally, it was free, standing upon the sink, crouched down. Like a summit prowler, ready to pounce. Kyle blinked. In that one instant, that one brief fraction of a second that his eyes were closed, his reflection changed. Now, it was no longer his reflection. It was a silhouette. His form, his body, shaded completely black. As if an ink blob had risen and taken his shape. The only feature that stood out from the inky blackness of this creature were two yellow orbs for eyes. The creature hopped down from the sink The instant its feet touched down, a circle of ground around it turned pitch black, with a pure-white ring surrounding it. The creature glanced down at the circle and smirked before looking back up “W-w-what are you?!” Kyle finally managed to splutter. The creature grinned, showing off two rows of razor sharp teeth. “I am you, Slater,” it replied. “And you are me.” It lunged. --- “Gah!” Kyle let out a startled yelp as his right cheek hit smooth polished tile. He was instantly on his back with his eyes snapped shut, arms raised above his head to fight off his attacker. But no attack came. Slowly, he opened one eye. There was no black monster, no silhouette of himself waiting to strike. Just the ceiling. His arms slowly came down from his face, and he raised his head slightly. The chair he had been sitting in was lying overturned at his feet, knocked over by his flailing. The bathroom door at the far end of the room was shut tight. No monster presented itself as he slowly rose to his feet and righted the chair. Kyle’s head turned towards the clock over the doorway. 2:45 AM. Instantly, the fatigue of the day crashed into him like a wave. He was half-tempted to just sit back in the chair and fall back asleep. But no. Surely someone at Ironwall was searching for him by now. And he’d have to be up early to take care of the mess waiting for him. Someone had to tell the men what to do. “But can you tell them what to do when your very presence endangers them?” That thought echoed through his mind as he opened Lyra’s door and stepped into the hall, shutting it behind him. It stayed with him as he passed the night-shift nurses and custodial staff, not noticing their looks of confusion as he wandered past them. The thought refused to leave him as he exited the hospital and wandered down the deserted streets of Ponyville, out of the town, down the winding road towards Ironwall. He barely registered the night guard saluting him as he entered, nor the confused look that the guard gave him as he walked past. And it continued to haunt him as he collapsed across his bed and fell asleep.