//------------------------------// // Chapter 13: The Dire Penumbra of Things // Story: Antumbra // by Ice Star //------------------------------// In the centuries since the first error, Hasad had perfected so many aspects of his forbidden arts. No longer was his magic fit for the manifestations of mania spirits who were unaccessible to him. Now, he was sure that this time everything would be perfect. In the legends of the world shortly before his time, Lumina of Magic was not always the high queen. She and her future husband and family were Harmonia's Bearers, wielding the six magical Elements that linked them and made them known as true companions. With the Elements, and before their own divinity was realized, the six young Alicorns had journeyed to the farthest reaches of the frozen north. It was the framework for one of the world's greatest legends, song, art, and almost any aspect of culture had caught some fragment of the epic-length tale. Lumina led her party to the unknown wastes, past rumors of crystal kingdoms and yaks to defeat a great Sorceress. She encountered a dark legion and a couple of very peculiar creatures: demons. They were a peculiar couple of beings, mere footnotes in history, and their mysterious nature was... terribly inspirational, in some way. Magic-forged beings who, with every fact he learned about them, grew more elusive. They were too shrouded in time and legend for anything of substance to truly be gathered about such smoke-and-mirror beings... but like smoke, he was drawn to some aspect and nature of these past failures - for they just had to be failures - and yearned to perfect... something. He needed to think of that something, and be haunted by it. These demons were history's shadows - he had not learned of them as anything but 'Lumina's foes' and this and that about them, and their dark powers, until he was much older than a mere colt. Hasad was torn between a stagnant indifference, the dullest intrigue, and some sort of sick shadow of obsession with these curved-horned creatures, and it roiled about in him from time to time. Demons held an answer. Their ancient names, Antumbra the Brute and Penumbra of Woe might mean something to him. ... It was the same tear leading to the gray and lifeless place where he stood. In his opaque magic, a stone tablet floated. The surface was like that of a book on which Hasad had decided to emblazon with a small circle of spikes surrounding the image of the Spark of Marecca, for irony's sake. The new project was bound with clasps of enchanted metal to keep each tablet together, and it opened like a tome of paper. Hasad was sure that by now he had perfected envy. And if he hadn't? Well that is where his latest 'revelation' came in. Envy was obviously jealousy, and up until the recent centuries Hasad had no reason to envy Stellaura. But really how different is envy from greed? That it what he asked himself over and over, until he decided that he would create something so much like the first spellbooks, yet the roots would lie in something else. Emotion was such a fickle thing, but Hasad was sure with enough of his warped efforts he would succeed. He would. All he had to do was change the seeds of his project and watch as a whole new plant began to grow. This magic would not focus on brooding and jealous desire or the lust for what others had but the insatiable want for more of anything shallow, petty, or utterly unnecessary. Anything so utterly material that only the shallowest and most selfish of all creatures would proceed to seek something out. Something of the sort. That had to be what would lead him to success, what could found this great magic and it would only get deeper from here. Even if Hasad wanted to back out such a thing was no longer possible. He would try to keep the way this magic worked similar enough so this power would be brought out through incantation as well. Hasad had discovered so many ways to fail, and gotten rid of many ideas. and other pointless drabbles that never amounted to anything. Surely, this one would, for how many smaller trinkets were obliterated in the shadow of what Hasad had been willing to become his magnum opus? During the time Hasad had been planning this he tried to think of the single best way to capture greed. Sometimes, greed and envy could be one in the same. Who has not envied the great minds as they show their great works: poets, painters, thinkers and the like? Who has not wanted to be them, to have knowledge and skill like they do? To have such an ability to create something both of and beyond their selves. To be inspired. Then the second side of the coin: the artists themselves. How many have gone into a fury as the realize their sculpture, verses, or craft has not turned out as they intended? How many take their hooves or talons to their projects abandoned partway through because it wasn't quite right? Some desert their medium all together and such a failure while many others are to afraid to try to create because of what others and the most critical of all - the artists themselves - might say. Such sorts do not attempt anything because they believe they will fall short of perfection. It didn't go as planned. It went different in their head. It was supposed to be different. But what if it could manifest exactly as intended? So Hasad writes the words of greed and envy in the stone, every character carved with his magic: From in the head to out in the world, every thought to action. Hold close this book and through its spell, you'll start a chain reaction. Projecting forth whatever beauty you see. Only when true words are spoken will you finally be set free. The contractions of the commoners followed by a... well, the last part was almost a joke. Who will tell you your own mind is gone when you create such glory? What kind of pony would tell you the truth when all you present are gilded lies and paint over all your problems as your heart, mind, and soul are caught up in such strife? Who would even want to be near you, to bother to look for anything behind your eyes when they might as well be envious themselves, or to have a perverted and obsessive love with every aspect of what was once you, now so surface deep? After all, why have your own dream when you can want the dreams of others and sabotage them? Perhaps, one might even base their dream on the pain of others by using what they believe to be a gift to rule of others. ... When Hasad had finalized the last bits of the enchantment he held up his latest creation. He felt no pride in what he was doing. This artifact was a mere tool to his mind. It was worthy of being created well but this was just an artless trinket to him, meant only to further his own pursuits. His magic took on a different color: a bright vibrant green, opaque and cloudy compared to his normal magenta. The tablet clattered to the ground with a dull thud. He could create anything he wanted... Anything... Hasad's horn glowed brighter. His eyes were tinged with a purple glow, the green irises now red, green smoke puring from his eyes. He tried to focus. He really did. What was it that he really wanted? He knew. But could it really be conjured with a spell? Did he really think that this would be some kind of loophole? No. The glow in his eyes faded, he'd have to work on concealing the change in aura color later. This magic might prove to be useful in the future, since the spell wasn't going to be reversed anytime soon. However the source of such power was no longer useful to him. Hasad's regular magic reappeared as the tablet was picked up. He would dispose of this one the same way he disposed of the spellbooks that made up his previous projects. But perhaps he could try something different with this one... by getting rid of these rather incriminating objects in such a fashion Hasad was not only ensuring that he wouldn't be pinned as the source since he was the perfect prince but that some pony could find these and use them. Misery loved company. Sure, an Alicorn could stop them without even lifting a feather since none of these projects were particularly powerful yet and the wielder of Hasad's scrapped projects would still be mortal but it was worth it it just to see if one might grow anarchic and famous enough to become word worthy. The tablets vanished to whatever destination Hasad envisioned in his mind. He didn't really care so long as it was devoid of creatures living there and unlikely to be found. He needed to start over. Again. All he needed to do was create the perfect corruption with the perfect price and roots. It didn't matter how much he suffered in the process, because if he got what he wanted. that was all that mattered.