As the day came to a close, the crystals that lit the halls of Vulcan Colony began to dim. There was no sun anymore, yet somehow the crystals still knew what time it was. During the ‘day’, they glowed brightly, and during the ‘night’ they faded to a dim, shimmering blue.
Scorpan did not know what magic allowed them to know, or even to change, but he always found them beautiful. Often, before he went to sleep for the night, he would take a walk through the gardens, admiring the crystals and how shadowy and mysterious the plants looked in the strange night. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he could find some flowers that only bloomed at night. They always smelled the sweetest, and their ghostly whiteness was a marvel to behold.
As Scorpan walked, admiring the trees and flowers, he whistled. He whistled because he was happy. Much of his life had been marred with hardship, but he rather enjoyed being Draconian. He was most certainly not a dragon, but the others hardly seemed to care. Ordinary dragons were greedy and unpleasant, but those that Spike had collected were actually pleasant to be around. They joked, laughed, and endlessly debated the spells that they were trying to learn. Scorpan was happy to be with them.
Vulcan Colony had its own perks as well. The garden was one of them, but there was also the library. Scorpan himself had lived a long time, far longer than any pony, but Crimsonflame had lived for much, much longer. During that time, she had accumulated thousands of texts from across the ages, as well as a number of intricately wrought artifacts, many of which were now on display in the museum wing that Scorpan had helped to construct.
Ironically, Scorpan had met Crimsonflame twice in his life. The first time was when he and his brother had quested to the Colony in search of a powerful artifact. Even then, Crimsonflame had been ancient. She was blind, and had only one arm- -and even with Tirac’s power, she had managed to repel them soundly. Apparently, absorbing the magic from a dragon was nearly impossible- -especially one who had literally hundreds of thousands of years of experience using it.
The second time had been far later, when Spike had brought Scorpan to Vulcan Colony. Back then, Crimsonflame had been in the process of dying. Even weakened from age, she had still been so strong. Her strength was not just in her magic, but in the way she moved and spoke. She had been a good friend to Scorpan, and he had cried when she finally joined her people on the other side.
Scorpan paused, and ruminated on that thought for a moment. The tales of the Draconia of old had been passed down for generations by the centaur species, and he knew what had become of them. The original Draconians had been eradicated, wiped away in a single cataclysmic event. Crimsonflame had been the last survivor, continuing her kind’s legacy alone for one million years. Now the new Grand Magus was restoring what had been lost. There were now thirty three Draconians, including Scorpan, and even after so long the ancient race of dragons was returning. This fact gave Scorpan great hope.
He smiled, and started walking- -only to stop once more. Something was wrong. The air felt strange, as if a foul odor of death had wormed its way between the sweet floral scents of the trees and flowers. In the distance, he thought he heard voices, but they were not speaking any language that he recognized.
Carefully, he listened and slowly followed the voices. Even after they stopped, something else continued: a grating sound that he could not identify. The sound seemed to be coming from the hidden grove where that Spike spent so much time in- -the one where the grave of the pony Rarity was kept.
Slowly, he pushed his way through the foliage until he came to the edge of the clearing. Then, gently, attempting to make no sound, he pushed away the leaves.
The sight that he witnessed was horrifying beyond belief. There, standing where the perfectly manicured grave had been, was the dirt-covered skeleton of a pony. Her embalmed flesh was still clinging to parts of her body, her empty eye sockets staring blankly. She was even wearing the same dress that she had been buried in, but it too had been rotted and soiled from being underground so long. She was dead- -she had been for centuries- -and yet now she moved again, standing over the grave that she seemed to have pulled herself out of.
She was not alone. Standing beside her was a much larger unicorn stallion, his white skin stretched tightly over black and silver metal. He reached out a hoof, and helped Rarity stand. Scorpan saw him smile, and saw the glint of his deep blue eyes.
“What are you doing?!” he cried, ignoring his fear and bursting out from the shrubbery. Scorpan knew how important Rarity was to Spike, and although he was terrified- -he knew necromancy when he saw it, even if he could not comprehend how a necromancer had managed to sneak into Vulcan Colony- -he knew that he was doing the right thing.
Both of the corpses looked at him. The stallion moved quickly, grabbing Rarity’s skull and snapping it free from her body. His horn charged with pink light, and he fired a powerful bolt into Scorpan’s chest before surrounding himself in a sphere of light and vanishing with a small explosion.
Without its head, Rarity’s corpse collapsed to its knees. Scorpan looked down at his chest, and at the wide and still smoking hole that had been burned deep into him.
“Well,” he said, collapsing to his knees. “At least I get to die in this beautiful place, and beside you, Ms. Rarity.”
Then he collapsed in silence.
The Grand Magus swooped around the top of Vulcan Colony, feeling the powerful updraft tearing at his leathery wings. Like every night since he had visited that cursed archipelago and seen the horrors that dwelt there, he found himself unable to sleep. The world around him was collapsing. The creatures with the glowing eyes- -the Humans- -and Thebe were both tearing apart Equestria, burning it to the ground in their war, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
So, like every night, he traveled through the rocky, nearly lifeless mountain range, feeling the frigid wind and checking the perimeter defense spells. Even if he should fail to protect Equestria, he would die before he allowed Draconia to fall. For all he knew, that might be all he could protect.
He dropped downward, descending from the mountaintop where the ruins of the ancient Aurasus colony still stood, skimming over the steep, impassable slope until he reached the ornately carved opening in the mountain. He shifted his wings, and felt himself surrounded by the crystal-lit darkness of the cave.
On either side of him, lining the great walls, were the Draconian golems that had stood guard since Crimsonflame had constructed her home here. They had not moved in centuries, not since he and Twilight had come here seeking Crimsonflame’s aid during the Choggoth War. Now they stood as a testament to an older time, when golems belonged to dragons instead of Thebe, and represented the hope for the future.
Below him, he saw another dragon moving quickly over the floor. Spike spread his wings, slowing his motion, and both of them landed. Even in the dim light, he immediately recognized her.
“Incendiary,” he said. He saw the pained expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Grand Magus,” she said, sounding out of breath. “It is Scorpan. He has been injured. Very badly.”
“Take me to him,” said Spike, maintaining the illusion of strength even as he felt so cold inside so suddenly.
Incendiary nodded, and they both took flight. Normally, the Grand Magus seldom flew in doors. His flying ability was weak compared to that of the other dragons, and he tended to bump into walls. This, however, was an emergency.
They arrived quickly to the infirmary. Vulcan Colony’s medical facilities were by no means anywhere close to a hospital; dragons were uniquely durable, and there was little need for more than a bed or two and some basic medical supplies in case someone were to crash-land or try to eat one of the illumination gems. They were not equipped to handle severe injuries.
“I have mostly stabilized his condition,” said Incendiary. She sounded tired, even shaken, but reported quickly and efficiently. “The wound was severe.”
She drew away the curtain that surrounded a bed in the farthest back corner. Spike momentarily had to look away. His friend’s chest had been torn open, exposing the broken fragments of his ribs. His skin and fur were charred badly, and there was further evidence of necrosis spreading rapidly over the wound- -far more than there should have been.
Even in Scorpans condition, it was evident that Incendiary had taken good care of him. He was surrounded by runes glowing with her violet fire, maintaining the healing spell that was keeping him alive. Several tubes were connected to his chest, leading from machines that had been built as proof-of-concept models of medical devices but never intended for use.
Although the sight was grotesque, it was clear that Scorpan was not dead. He was breathing, if unconciouss.
“Scorpan,” said Spike, leaning over him. “What happened to him?”
“I am unsure. I discovered him like this in the gardens. He was bleeding badly.”
“Nothing in the gardens could hurt him this bad,” said the Grand Magus, almost too defensively.
Incendiary shook her head. “No. It couldn’t. This wound was inflicted by magic.”
“Magic?” The Grand Magus paused. In his mind he saw a flash of blood-red light- -or worse, one of colored flame from a hidden source. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Incendiary. Now she was sounding defensive, displeased by the Grand Magus questioning her judgment and analysis. “This was caused by pony magic. But the spell is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s far more vicious, even corrosive. Usually they just use beams, but this…this is something much worse. If he had been anybody else, even one of us…I don’t think he would have survived it.”
“Can he be cured?”
“Probably,” said Incendiary. “This wound is grave, Grand Magus. I have done my best, but perhaps you can help him further.”
The Grand Magus looked at her. “Incendiary, your healing spells are much stronger than mine.”
“That may be true, but would not two spells be superior to but one?”
The Grand Magus nodded, and both of them stepped back. Spike spread his claws over Scorpan and cast the spell, allowing green fire to drip from his mouth. It spread away from him like a fog, condensing into pale smoke. Under his direction, it fell into the circle already built around Scorpan and ignited green runes complimentary to Incendiary’s violet ones.
“It is done,” he said.
“Then the third part falls to him,” said Incendiary.
They both stepped back, and Incendiary moved to close the curtain- -but the Grand Magus suddenly stopped her.
“Wait,” he said, looking back at Scorpan.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure.” In fact, the Grand Magus was not even sure if he had seen anything at all. For just the briefest fraction of a second, he had seen something flash inside Scorpan’s wound, only to vanish. Carefully, he approached Scorpan’s unconscious body, watching carefully.
Then it flashed again, like a fish bursting from water. Spike reacted quickly, charging his claw with magic and reaching into the wound.
“What are you- -”
Then he drew out a long, shimmering, semi-invisible worm and heard Incendiary gasp.
“What- -what is that thing?” she cried.
Spike held the creature in his hand, watching it twist under his grasp, desperately trying to escape. He understood how he had not seen it before: as it moved, its body shifted in and out of perceptible range. The dim light of the infirmary could not light it, because it had no material form.
“An Incurse,” he said, lifting the creature. It rather disgusted him, even more so than seeing his friend with his chest opened. Spike had never liked the Incurse, and like Scorpan, he was old enough to remember the long and bloody war that they had issued against Equestria.
“But I thought- -I thought they were all dead!”
“No,” said Spike, “they are still here.”
“How did I miss that?”
“Because Incurse are normally imperceptible. Ponies cannot see them, or feel them. Neither can most dragons.” He looked to Incurse, who looked equally disgusted at the squirming creature. “You are have even more talent than I thought.”
“Oh,” she said, blushing slightly. “Thank…thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Um…was that put in there by the spell?”
“No. This has been there for a long time. Far too long.” He frowned. “Which means she has been watching us. This whole time…”
“ ‘She’?”
“Thebe,” growled Spike. “The Incurse are her soldiers now, her spies. But to do this, to my friend, to one of my people- -she has gone too far this time.”
“Scorpan was…he was not the only thing we found…”
Spike looked up at her, and projected a new spell, forming a flaming cage around the worm. It squealed slightly, but the cage was necessary- -both to keep it from flowing into a new host and to keep it alive, if only for a few hours until a new host could be found.
“What?” he asked.
Incendiary could not look him in the eyes. She instead turned and pointed toward another bed, one that was still surrounded by a curtain.
“Someone else was injured?” said Spike, suddenly concerned.
Incendiary shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
Spike set the contained Incurse down next to the blood-stained instruments that covered a surgical cart beside Scorpan. He stood slowly and crossed the room. Something felt wrong, and he stopped for a moment, frozen by fear. Deep within him, an instinct told him not to continue- -that if he looked past that curtain, he would not like what he found.
He continued, though. It was the duty of the Grand Magus to know, and to understand what had been so important that a pony had decided to hurt his friend.
Spike took the curtain in his claw, and once again paused. Then he pulled it back.
“Oh Celestia!” he screamed. His knees became weak, and he felt himself falling- -but Incendiary caught him.
It had been the dress. That was the part he recognized first. He remembered it well. The love of his life had designed it for herself, fully aware of its purpose. It had been her final work, and in Spike’s opinion both her most beautiful and her most sorrowful piece.
The thing inside the dress, though- -it was not Rarity. It was a skeleton, with strips of embalmed flesh still clinging to it. In some cases, beneath the dirt and grime and rot, he could still even see her pure white coat, and the upper edge of one of her cutie marks.
He was about to scream at Incendiary, to demand why she had brought a corpse to the infermerty- -but then the unthinkable happened. The corpse raised one of its skeletal hooves, its body twitching, propelled by a malignant mechanical mass that was clinging and growing over the bones. Rarity was dead, but something had resurrected her corpse, if only in an incomplete, mindless state. Incendiary had brought it simply because she must not have known if it was alive or dead.
“Rarity,” said Spike, dropping to his knees beside her. “What…what have they done to you?”
The corpse shifted slightly, as if it recognized his presence- -even though it had no head.
Seeing that was what finally drove Spike over the edge. He broke down into deep sobbing, unable to control himself. Incendiary knelt beside him, and he put his head on her shoulder, unable to face Rarity. In the part of his mind that was not overwhelmed by seeing the thing he had loved most in the world perverted into an undead abomination, he wondered what kind of monster could have been capable of such a thing.
One name came to his mind and stood above the others. That name was Anhelios.