Act I: Chapter Eight:
Rising Perils
" . . . What just . . . ha-happened there?"
"Ugh, my head . . . head hurts . . . "
"What's all this glass doing here?"
She struggles to get herself off the floor, brushing off the snowflakes of glass scattered around her body. She doesn't remember having broken that much glass in her seizure, only one small cup that she'd drank from just minutes before it happened. So where did it all come from?
Hot, sharp pain jars through her foreleg as she picks herself up, nearly stumbling again from the sudden sensation. It feels as though someone had poured acid on it. Terror surges through her as thousands of preposterous and unlikely explanations shut out logic and reasoning.
But she looks down to find that none of these are true. The terror is still very much there, but with less of an impact upon seeing a deep cut laced across her leg, a long, straight line of red painted across purple flesh. But no knife did this; the skin outside is torn, as though the weapon's edge was unevenly jagged.
She finds herself looking at the shards of glass on the floor and understands immediately. Whoever did this to her used one of these pieces of glass to cut her! But why just the foreleg? Most assailants would prefer to leave lasting wounds on their victim, wounds that would disable them, if they weren't aiming for straight-up murder. And where did the excess glass come from?
Forcing deep breaths to calm the rising panic and to think clearly, she goes to the journal. Perhaps clues can be found there. Whoever did this to the both reviled and praised Doctor Twilight Sparkle wouldn't be able to resist gloating over this assault by writing in these pages.
The book lays open, on the same page of her own entry before blacking out. She is meticulous with her search, though. She scans each page thoroughly before moving on to the next.
Nothing. Just the entries of her progress throughout the last eight years.
She eventually comes back to that last entry, but something odd catches her eye. She didn't see it upon picking up the book the first time, so she investigates. Some of the words in her own entry are crossed out with red ink, but there's an entry of its own to this unknown writer.
The words are sloppy beyond belief, but she can just make out that there are only the date stamp--six minutes after midnight of September fourteenth--and three words, that 'all is well'.
And a name.
Sensing a familiarity in this blood-red ink, she is met with reluctance--it becomes clear to her that whoever had cut her also had used her own blood to write this. Bile rises in the back of her throat in disgustful horror. The sick bastard who did this would hang if Princess Celestia ever knew who did this. And, quite honestly, she wouldn't protest against a harsh sentence.
But in gathering her courage, she leans forward and reads the name.
And regrets doing so.
The name, 'Nightfall Hyde', recoils at her, dark memories of the previous night lunging at her. A shard of glass slicing through her foreleg. Blood spurting from the wound. A glittering black ribbon of shadow spinning around her. Galloping through the streets and slamming her body through the front window of a fashion store. Tearing fancy dresses and tuxedos into piles of strings.
And the most haunting eyes, jade-green of color, and thin, curved slits instead of round pupils.
All these come back to her like a waking nightmare, and the next thing she knows, she is screaming.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Twilight blinked slowly as the memory receded back into the depths of her mind, bringing her back to the living room couch, where she sat with a cup of cold oolong tea resting in her hooves. With how often the memory replayed itself, reminding her of that dreadful morning, she had almost become indifferent to it. She thought almost, because the only thing that she hated seeing the most in it was the set of eyes that were her own.
Or, rather, her darker self's eyes.
It didn't matter. They were still her own eyes, but they truly belonged to a part of her that she thought she'd kept hidden away for good. They were the eyes of her anger, her arrogance, and her need for perfection. These were the eyes of the so-called 'Nightfall Hyde'.
The doctor glanced down at the tea that remained untouched, then, with a resigning shrug, got up to go to the kitchen. She was more than awake now, so she poured the contents of her cup into the sink and set it aside. Her work had taken a hit on her vitality and, by extension, her patience with anything that distracted her from her work, especially now that she had a second consciousness in her head.
There was not much she could describe about Nightfall Hyde due to her lack of knowledge of this sort of thing, besides the obvious of it being made of her darker self. This thing showed little restraint in its actions, judging by it vandalizing Hoity Toity's Fashion Emporium and the use of those faceless shadows, but there was little more to discern about it. Her first transformation into it was so clouded, as if seeing the memory through a fading dream.
"So what if it's some kind of amnesia-inducing monster that came from the Alicorn Amulet?" Twilight blinked, then conceded, "No . . . that's ridiculous. I know the Amulet was in my control. It couldn't have possibly thrown off my formula, because I ordered it to selflessly increase the potency of my formula. So it shouldn't have backfired, right?"
Whatever the reason behind the formula's outcome, finding that out wouldn't change that 'Nightfall' was real, and that it and Twilight were technically the same pony. "That night proved it was so right there. What other explanation could there be to say otherwise?"
The night she referred to, exactly the third night after all this had started, was when she discovered that what she was seeing wasn't a dream, and it wasn't going to end by her denying the truth.
At the time, she had been in her study reviewing her notes in an attempt to find out what the 'side-effects' of the TS8 Formula meant; the fatigue and headaches were surely from her overworking, but there had to be a logical explanation behind her sudden seizure, since never in her life was she prone to them.
As for 'Nightfall'? She was a doctor of science, for pony's sake! What she'd seen in that nightmare was obviously a fabrication derived from the Formula taking its intended effects! Besides, it was nothing short of silly to think that she actually now had a separate consciousness in her mind.
And the glass on the floor, and the haunting journal entry? If she were right about her assailant, they must have also wrote in the journal and spread glass over her body to make her think that. Just a elaborate prank meant to frighten her.
However stubbornly she wanted that theory to remain true, Fate's hooves had another thing coming to her.
The seizure had come out of nowhere; unlike the last time, where it slowly developed from a tiny prick to searing pain, it exploded with little warning and knocked Twilight onto her side. In either an act of the Alicorns' mercy or just the suddenness of the seizure overwhelming her, she had lost consciousness in mere seconds this time.
Then the dream began.
Just like the first time her memory was muddled. Her sight and hearing faded in and out, as though she were struggling to stay awake. There was not much to discern through the dreamscape, only that she was descending the staircase of her study.
In one moment when the dream became especially vivid she tried to reach out, perhaps gain a sense of what was going on, but all she succeeded in doing was lift her right hoof, which trembled violently and knocked over a vase by the steps, before she was pulled back under.
A dying fire. A few resilient flames jutting out, refusing to die amongst the charred wood. Voices; one masculine, sharp with anger and fear, the other, feminine and soft and tranquil, but also dark, as though a threat loomed on the edge of her voice.
But it was impossible to know what they were saying. Their words slipped away into the abyss as soon as they were spoken.
These memories appeared then vanished like the flickering smoke of a candle, leaving her no time to think as one image was replaced by another, until, finally, it all went away when she woke up on the small staircase inside the study.
Even after waking up bits and pieces of the dream washed over each other like repeating echoes on an endless loop. A part of her had believed that it had felt so hauntingly real; what kind of dream imitated the small jolts that ran up your legs when you walked and the wind caressing your mane?
But Twilight, being the doctor that she was, was about to dismiss the idea of the dream, just as she had with the owner of those jade eyes and the glittering shadows. But that was when she remembered the vase. It had tipped over in her efforts to move herself; at least, it did in the dream. So did that mean that all this, not just the vase, but the shadows and the pair of eyes she so feared, was real?
She eventually decided that there was absolutely nothing to lose from a simple test. If the vase was standing upright, then great! That just meant she was right, that all of this was just as she'd said, just a part of the Formula's effects. If it was laying on its side . . .
A heartless chill ran through Twilight. It almost convinced her to just stay inside and check the vase later. But she had to do this. If there any way to settle her fears, this was it.
So she stepped outside and scanned each vase that adorned the flight of stairs, all upright. Then she'd reached the bottom, about where she remembered hitting the one vase. Not only had it fallen on its side, but dirt and flowers had spilt over the remaining stairs in a chaotic-garden heap.
Panic had sliced down to the very core of her heart. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as she looked at the daisy petals that had been scattered on every step. She had hardly known she teleported until after she was back in her study, and when she did, she broke down, crying back into sleep right on the staircase.
From then on, the doctor had stayed as long as she could in the study, only coming out when she absolutely had to. Her tower now her sanctuary/prison, it was the only place she knew she, her mother, her work, and her reputation were safe from Nightfall's antics. If anyone knew what had happened in the last week, it would be fortunate if she weren't arrested for her actions. She did use the Alicorn Amulet against her mentors wishes.
But she couldn't stay locked up forever. As Applejack had proved with her visit, everyone would start to get suspicious. So the best way to go about fixing the problem was first learning all she could about Nightfall until she found a solution that disposed of it for good.
It was simple, really. Nightfall was a consciousness of her nature of Evil, meaning she was purely evil. The TS8 Formula's purpose is to balance the two natures by eradicating the excess evil in one's heart. Therefore, drinking the formula would wipe Nightfall out of existence; all she had to do was make it again. Although, perhaps not with the inclusion of the Alicorn Amulet's magic. She still didn't know why it had acted the way it did, but it clearly was the reason the test had failed like it had.
But why did it backfire on her? She was using it for the desires of others, not her own! Magic, regardless of it being light or dark, obeyed whoever used it, so the same should have been said for the Alicorn Amulet!
"That's a mystery to be solved for another time," Twilight muttered to herself. "For now, I just have to make sure this thing doesn't take over again." Then she sighed, "It won't be easy. Waiting a whole week with this thing lurking in my head, I'll just be glad when Zecora gathers the ingredients."
On the pages she'd given Spike, who would then pass them onto Zecora, she'd ordered the ingredients of the TS8 Formula, including the Mirror water. Unfortunately, Zecora getting all of these would take several days, and that didn't include the water, which the pool's entrance had been closed by Twilight herself.
So, all in all, Twilight was to remake the TS8 Formula by waiting a week for the ingredients, while trying to keep Nightfall at bay, then eliminate the creature, and, at last, prove her theory to the Governors to finish her work and free her mother.
All of this without letting her friends, mentor, or anyone else find out the truth.
"The only problem is, the Governors are coming tomorrow," she groaned. With them haven found out about her testing the Formula behind their backs, they had arranged a meeting in which they would decide whether or not to shut her work down. And it was painfully obvious what they would choose, regardless of if they let her defend her case.
Although, and this was just her thinking hypothetically, it really wouldn't hurt anyone if, after this conflict was ended, the Amulet was taken out one last time; just a simple spell to slip a suggestion into the Governors' minds to officially reinstate her work. Then she'd bring it (somewhat reluctantly) to Celestia, who probably had some secret vault beneath the city.
"Hello? Twilight, are you home?" A series of hurried knocks suddenly followed a stallion's voice.
The doctor felt her knees buckle. But . . . but I thought they weren't coming until tomorrow! But the voice sounded naturally hoarse compared to Fancy Pants' or Blueblood's. No noblepony would dare visit another with their voice sounding anything less than classy.
So, who . . . ?
Not like it mattered. They would have to be sent away. With Nightfall here, there was no telling what could happen that would lead to it being discovered.
"So I'll greet whoever's there, tell them that I can't stay, and just return to the study," she told herself, fixing her mane so it didn't look as messy as before.
And after smoothing out the kinks in her sweater, she went to open the door. Sunlight pierced into her eyes as she stepped outside, blinding her from being so used to being cooped up inside.
"Oh, good, you're home." The voice sounded relieved, more than a visitor passing by should have been.
Twilight blinked, her vision clearing up as she found Soarin of all ponies at her doorstep, gazing at her with those emerald eyes, although they looked lackluster in a fashion derived from overexerting himself, and maybe a lack of sleep. He had a dark cloak clasped around his neck that covered most of his midsection. It looked like one of cheap quality and made with a scratchy material, and a disconcerting splotch was on the left shoulder area that emphasized that he must have picked it up off the street.
Before she could even ask about the splotch that was bothering her, Soarin spoke up again. "Sun got your eye?" He playfully gave a grin almost bright as the sunlight that had blinded her, almost making her forget that he sounded panicked before.
". . . No, it didn't," she answered slowly, shielding her eyes otherwise. "Well, technically yes, it did, but . . ." She didn't have to see to know his smile was growing as she stumbled over her words, so she started over. "Never mind. Good morning, Soarin." Now to excuse herself. "I appreciate the visit, but I . . . have my own errands t-to run. I hope you understand."
As she started to step around him, Soarin mimicked the motion, replying, "I get that. But . . . um, you remember saying that if I ever needed a friend? 'Cause I--"
"Yes, I remember, Soarin," she said impatiently, "But my hooves are tied. I can't help you." She attempted to teleport past him, except her aura flickered and the spell fizzled out.
Getting desperate at seeing her attempt, Soarin's words became extremely rushed. "Look, this isn't a casual visit. I wouldn't have come on one of your busy work days if I didn't need your help, bad." Barely, just by a split-second, Twilight saw his eyes flicker at the splotch.
Something was up, and she had the feeling that Soarin didn't have anyone else he could turn to. Somepony has to help him, even if medical aid isn't my main education. "Alright, Soarin," she answered him, "Come in, quickly." She stepped back inside, leaving the door open for him. I just hope this won't take too much time, she thought with dread.
As she led him into the living room, Soarin looked around, almost in awe of the utter lack of jewelry dripping off the walls and the simple furniture. She could imagine what was running through his thoughts: how plain the place was in design, compared to many other Canterlot homes. As a Wonderbolt, he was, without doubt, invited to a countless amount of lavish parties hosted by the richest of Canterlot, so the subtlety of her home must have been a breath of fresh air to him.
Soarin followed her into the living room, and, after gesturing him to do so, took his place on the sofa.
Ready to just get this over with, Twilight requested, "Now, what is it you need my help with?"
Showing a look of intimidation by her bluntness, Soarin undid the clasp around his neck and bunched up the cloak, careful that the splotch was under layers of the fabric.
It had given the answer away, so the shock wasn't as effective, yet horror still shivered in Twilight's bones at seeing the shiny pink gash that ran below his left shoulder blade, just close enough to his neck that he couldn't decently bind it himself. The only good thing about it was that it had stopped bleeding some time ago; the cloak, while possibly meant to staunch the flow, was also responsible for the pus that was setting in. Bile threatened to rise at the back of her throat as she inhaled slowly.
"It really wasn't this bad last night," Soarin said, glancing at the wound. "It was only bleeding, so I figured I'd be okay without help."
"Then," Twilight started to ask, her stomach settling, "What made you change your mind?"
Soarin blinked, looked at the cloak, and shrugged, "It got infected."
"I see," Twilight deadpanned, going to pitch the cloak into the garbage, highly possible where he found it firsthand. Once the thing was gone, she went to the kitchen and grabbed the necessary things to clean and bind the wound from a cabinet above the stove--these included hydrogen peroxide, several disposable washcloths, and a small box with medical tape, ointment, and a thick roll of gauze.
There was still hot water left over from when she made her oolong tea so recently, so she poured it and some of the peroxide into a small bowl, then put everything onto a tray, which she carried on her back.
"I'm surprised you were fine with doing your own binding, considering," he remarked to her as she came back. "For me . . . ehh, it's just an 'If-you've-seen-one-you've-seen-'em-all' kind of thing."
Twilight instinctively glanced down at her right foreleg, where the binding had started to slip off. She could make out a brownish stain of dried blood on the inside of the gauze, and her wound started to burn after so long of being under layers of the material. She resolved to put fresh bindings on after tending to Soarin.
The pegasus watched as she balanced the tray and set it down beside him. "Why don't you just levitate all that stuff?" He looked like he wanted to list her feats of magic to drive his point home, but he refrained, most likely because he knew she would only send him home with more injuries than he came with.
"It's a long story." The answer she gave was so overused, but she wasn't about to say that her magic flickered so often now, and occasionally made her drop things, that she preferred not to try using it. That would only bring more questions than she'd care to try to explain for.
Soarin, again affected by her blunt response, shrugged in defeat and dropped the issue. So Twilight set herself beside him, grabbed a washcloth, and went ahead with cleaning the wound. As she brushed away some of the pus, she slowly realized that this was an assault wound. If the depth of it wasn't enough, the way it was jagged--as though the assailant had used a shard of glass--convinced her.
She looked worriedly at Soarin, who didn't notice. He was too busy wincing from the peroxide, so she focused back on her task.
The infection, although ugly on the outside, was very weak, so purging it didn't take much effort. And maybe only one or two doses of ointment would brush it off for good. More likely, it would be binding it that would be more worth the trouble because of the position on his shoulder.
"You're lucky to have come when you did, Soarin," she sighed, getting up. "I just wish you came sooner, before it had gotten infected."
Soarin shook his head. "Like that would even help. It was almost past one o'clock when I had gotten back to the Altrotta, away from that mare."
"So why come to me, when you could have just reported her like everypony else would have?"
"Well, she didn't exactly give out her 'Arrest Me!' card," he answered sarcastically. "It was way too dark to tell what she looked like. The most I could say was that she was a unicorn and had this dark cloak, so I couldn't tell what her cutie mark was. Oh, and I could tell she wasn't from Canterlot."
Twilight blinked. "How do you know that she wasn't from here? You've hardly been here yourself. And actually been here, not stopping for a noblepony's party, I mean."
"Ouch." He feigned a blow, even setting his hooves over his heart and sticking his tongue out. "But seriously, it doesn't take long to know that it's considered a travesty not to know the simplest magic spell when you're a unicorn and a resident of Canterlot. And this mare could hardly shoot out more than a few sparks from her horn." Then he smiled slyly, "I think she was trying to show off."
"Oh, do tell," Twilight deadpanned as she began unwinding the roll of gauze. Typical of Soarin to think that, if what Rarity said was true.
"Yeah," said Soarin, unaware of her sarcasm, "As if it wasn't impressive enough that her aura was this cool jade color."
Twilight stopped, the gauze slipping from her hooves and onto the floor. Jade?
She tightly swallowed. No, it couldn't be it, could it? Twilight dared to ask, "S-soarin . . . did you . . . ever get her name?" Please . . . Alicorns Above, please don't let it be--
"Oh, sure. I couldn't forget it if I tried to: Nightfall Hyde."
" . . ."
Soarin, in hearing her whimper, tried to look back at her. " . . . Twilight? You okay?"
The doctor had stepped back, far enough away so that he couldn't see the fear that crossed her eyes.
Nightfall did this? No, I did. But . . . but that doesn't make any sense! I didn't dream about it, and Nightfall's only vandalized different parts of Canterlot! So . . . why . . .?
"Twilight?" Soarin was still waiting for an answer.
So she admitted, "No. I-I don't . . ." Her hooves kept her frozen in place; really, the terror running through her was the only thing keeping her from escaping back to her tower once more. She didn't know what she could do without breaking down into a panic, or tears, or both.
Soarin must have thought that she'd become ill, because he then said, "I can just take it from here and leave you be, if you'd like."
It was too easy. All she had to do was say 'yes' and she'd be rid of him. But after inhaling a sharp breath, Twilight chose otherwise. "No, I can do this," she said, to herself and Soarin.
She bent down for the gauze, brushed it clean, and cut through the material and folded it into a thick rectangle--all in slow shaky movements. After applying it, she tore two strips of tape off and finished binding the wound. "That should do it, Soarin. Probably two more does of this ointment, and your wound should close."
Soarin got off his seat and accepted the small tube from her. "Okay . . . thanks."
She didn't respond back, but took the medical supplies and began working on her own wound while she thought through what had happened.
So she, as Nightfall, had attacked Soarin. But why? All Nightfall ever did was smash windows and tear dresses, and, to the extent of her knowledge, was perfectly content with that. So there was no reason for it to suddenly hurt another pony.
Except . . .
Twilight then berated herself for being so dense. Its personality was solely derived of her evil; it only made sense that this meant it was a living influence of her negative emotions towards equine; every boastful thought, every rebellious act against higher authority, and every angered retort that had ever crossed the doctor's mind were the blood, skin, and bones of Nightfall Hyde.
And in being raised to be the best pony she could be, it was natural that these were shut away to make way for being a model of propriety. Albeit, ponies like Fleur de Lis, Blueblood, and Octavia all lacked said propriety, making it difficult to keep these dark thoughts underneath a façade of indifference, if not serenity.
But what if that was what caused Nightfall to do this in the first place? It wasn't just born of those negative emotions; it was her negative emotions, so it had technically been caged its entire life solely for existing. And, like Twilight in suppressing those feelings to preserve her reputation, it had grown restless in being little more than a caged animal, one that didn't realize it existed until after Twilight had drank the TS8 Formula.
So when she did, the gate to Nightfall's prison was thrust open, freeing it to vent her frustrations without consequence.
But in putting Soarin into the equation, it occurred to Twilight that maybe Nightfall was getting tired of just vandalism. She despised the cynics of Canterlot, so maybe it now realized it could unleash her bitterness in a much more satisfying way--by directly attacking those who'd wronged her.
Then again, Soarin did no wrong to her. He was someone in need of friendship, and one who Twilight accepted as a friend. There was no reason for Nightfall to hurt him. But the wound said otherwise.
So now more than ever the situation was direly desperate. The TS8 Formula is the only thing that can kill Nightfall--it scared her, that she was really thinking of it like that--But all the ingredients will take anywhere over a week to recover! So should I look for the ingredients myself? No, no! That means putting everypony in danger to my darker self! So do I just stay in the study the whole time!
"Your foreleg's gushing out," Soarin spoke suddenly, staring wide-eyed at her.
Twilight gasped, looking down and seeing her wound was bleeding again, probably from all the stress she had just put on herself. I can't start panicking now, not with Soarin here, she scolded herself. "Yeesss, so it is," she smiled awkwardly.
Somehow, he could sense her fear and went beside her. "It's okay, Twilight. You just have to calm down and focus."
She blinked. He meant about the wound, but really, it was also him comforting her from her fears of Nightfall. In a way, he was briefly taking Spike's place as a foil to her all-out panicky quirks.
He's right. I can't figure anything out unless I just breathe. So after a slow breath, along with some comforting thoughts from Soarin, she began calculating her predicament. I'm risking so much with either choice. On one hand, I could lose my reputation and my work if I stay here and wait for Zecora. But saving them won't matter if Nightfall hurts more ponies like Soarin! No . . . beforehand I considered my work more important to save, but that was before I realized the real danger behind Nightfall. I have to stay here . . . I have to hang on until Zecora gets everything I need.
"There you go. Looks like you've got the hang of it," said Soarin, noticing her calm visage returning. "I used to wonder why that whole Want-it-Need-it spell thing happened in the first place, but I guess I get it now."
Twilight groaned. "Don't remind me." She borrowed the ointment from him and applied it while he stepped back, sat down, and watched her work.
This was but a mild annoyance at first, but she slowly progressed into feeling uncomfortable. Weird curiosity flickered in his eyes whenever she glanced out of the corner of her own, but despite her discomfort he seemed perfectly content to watch.
He's free to leave whenever he wants, she thought, descending into irritation. Preferably right now, before Nightfall takes over again.
But still he didn't budge. Twilight sighed, trying to distract herself by thinking about the scientific explanation of how a unicorn shoots a beam of light.
Picking up the roll of gauze, she dropped it into her free hoof, then proceeded to twirl it around her leg to bind it. Pressing the edge of her chin onto the strip, she started to perform her task . . . only to get halfway around before her legs crossed.
She tried to toss the roll upward to continue unwinding it, but overshot it, as it fell onto the floor and completely unraveled down to its cardboard tube.
The doctor face-hoofed, groaning.
"Want some help?" Soarin asked, in an innocent kind of cheery way, and went to retrieve the gauze.
Twilight stuttered, trying to find some way of saying that she wasn't so incompetent to be unable to mend her own wounds. But she clearly couldn't do this on her own, unless she wanted use her magic in an attempt that would most likely lead to her aura flickering out and bringing her back to square one.
So in reluctant submission she sat back as he rolled the gauze--however clumsily the task looked--back. Then, with her instruction, placed the side of the gauze that hadn't touched the floor onto her wound and steadily twirled it with both hooves, although in each cycle one would stop to hold her leg steady then go back to unwinding.
The contact made Twilight pray to Alicorns Above that her face wasn't blushing.
But with how neatly-done his handiwork was, she couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten the experience in binding wounds. "Since when were you a medic?" she questioned.
"Hm? Oh, right, the binding. Well, it was a class I took at the Wonderbolts' Academy." In seeing her perplexed look, he laughed, "What, you thought we were just one-trick--" He caught her glare, as if she was telling him not to go there "--Erm, I mean, showoff stunt flyers?"
Twilight then shook her head. The most she knew about the team was that they were indeed stunt flyers with a vast history spanning just after Princess Luna's banishment, and that Rainbow Dash was obsessed with them. In fact, she was sure she'd give her an hour lecture for daring to think that they were just stunt flyers.
"Okay, maybe they sort of are, but we're required to pass four stages of training before we're considered fully-fledged Wonderbolts, and the whole course takes two years, so . . ." He trailed off, biting down on the medical tape to tear a long strip off. "But, yeah, there's flying, obviously, but there's also espionage, medics, and combat, all of which you can probably figure out for yourself."
"So you--and every Wonderbolt ever--are essentially Swiss Army knives."
"Yeah, yeah, kinda fancy way of putting it, but at least we're not one-trick ponies then."
Twilight glared him down.
"Ummm, hey, look! Your wound's bound up!" He darted back before Twilight could say anything. The doctor held her stare for a few seconds more, then decided to test her bandage. The binding was evenly wound, twirled diagonally around her leg, a much better job than her own work several days ago. It clearly showed that he knew his trade well.
She tested her weight on her leg next, finding no further pain nor discomfort from how it was wrapped. Bending the knee would provide some limitations, but that was only something she'd get accustomed to in time. "Well, thank you, Soarin."
"It's really nothing special. Everypony else on the team probably knows this sort of thing better than I do." He glanced sadly behind him, to where Twilight's eyes followed. And instead of his cutie mark of two wind crests rising towards a lightning bolt, there was a blank palette.
Twilight gasped, "Soarin, your cutie mark!" She walked around him, confirming her surprise. "When did that . . .?"
"Really, you just noticed now?" he laughed bitterly. "It's been gone for over a week, ever since Spit abandoned any sense of staying true to her morals by lying to me."
She didn't say anything for several moments. She'd seen something like this in her studies in the lost secrets of magic, something that happened more often in the Pre-Celestian Age. While it was very rare to happen in these modern times, cutie mark loss was still something that could have happened to Soarin. "When exactly did this happen?"
He glanced up at her. "I dunno, maybe right when I'd accidentally eavesdropped on Spit and Fleetfoot." Shifting closer and spying her cutie mark, he asked, "Why, you think you know something about it?"
"I think so. There are times when a pony's passion and the circumstances in which they follow that passion can no longer be coincide, so the cutie mark's own purpose for existing then becomes moot."
Soarin blinked several times.
"Ugh. Alright, let me try a simpler explanation. We know ponies get their cutie marks when they discover their destiny, or special talent. It represents who they are, and what they're meant to do. But . . . there are times--very rare, almost unheard of, even--in which circumstances stack against somepony from using their talent, even to the point of permanently. In that case, their cutie mark has no reason to exist if one can't use their talent anymore.
"Take for instance, Princess Celestia. Although her talent is controlling the sun's orbit, we all know that stars can die one day. So when that happens, Celestia has no sun to control, therefore she can't use her talent, and her cutie mark will eventually disappear."
Soarin brought a hoof to his jaw. "The Wonderbolts aren't just about flying or defending Equestria's safety. We're meant to inspire its citizens to maintain honor, respect, and loyalty. But they violated what they stood for by lying and betraying me."
"Exactly. You must have realized that even if you made it back into the Wonderbolts, you could never trust them again. You know they don't stand for those things anymore. That's why your cutie mark disappeared."
"Okay, but what do I do? I can't just stay a blank-flank for the rest of my life, can I?"
"Not necessarily. That talent is still very much there. You just have to reignite that passion, or that sense of loyalty and honor. If Princess Celestia had found a new star that could sustain Equestria's life, her cutie mark would return. Really, a cutie mark isn't your capabilities, only a symbol of what you're capable of."
The pegasus groaned. "Thanks, Twilight, but I don't think I'm getting my cutie mark back anytime soon if that's the case. The Wonderbolts aren't going to let me back onto the team anytime soon." He gave a bittersweet smile. "It's funny. Just before I was referring to the team as though I were still a part of them. Now what does that say about me? That I'm stuck in the past?"
"No, of course not, Soarin. I think you see them as family, even after everything that's happened." Hearing him laugh again, she asked, "What's funny about that?"
He looked back at her, incredulous. "You really don't know jack about the Wonderbolts, do you?" When Twilight answered with silence he elaborated, "We aren't . . . weren't just like a family; we were family. Maybe not all by blood, but we treated one another as though we were. Every party we were invited to, every show we performed at--even our days off when we just hung out at home--we spent those times together.
"Of course, the whole Wonderbolts team is divided in different branches like the reserves and the combat-only groups, but we, the main team, were all as family as family gets."
"How you describe it," Twilight pondered, "It reminds me of Applejack's family, and all their reunions."
"Applej . . . oh, right, the pie vendor. Nice mare. Very pretty, too. Yeah, I guess that's a good comparison."
She waved the distraction off. "But what happened to you? What changed that made Spitfire hate you so much?"
Soarin scoffed, going back to the couch. "Wasn't a matter of hate. Even after everything she did, I heard her say that she really did regret lying to me. Trouble is, though, she often forgets that we're not just a team that entertains for a living. For her, if somepony's performance scores are dropping, that means it's their time to leave.
"I was a pretty decent flyer there. Got a lot of ponies cheering for me. But, I dunno, three, two months prior, I just started declining. Then that one show happened, where I crashed, and that was it."
"And instead of just talking about it and trying to work through the problem together, like a family should, they took a shortcut that had too high of a personal cost," Twilight finished, then letting her eyes drop to the floor as her own hypocrisy sank in. "Trust me, Soarin, I would know about that more than you realize. Maybe if I'd thought about that myself I wouldn't even be in this mess."
She hadn't meant to let that slip in. It just happened. As she was talking about what should have been done, she realized her own error in judgment. Perhaps it was because her own guilt fueled her sympathy towards Soarin.
The pegasus faced her. "Hey, it's alright. I got by being alone, so long ago, so I think I'll get by doing it again." He cocked his head. "Besides, what are you talking about, you knowing the situation yourself? You're nothing like those Wonderbolts, certainly not like Spitfire, either."
"Maybe, but I still made a horrible mistake . . . probably one I can't fix so easily," Twilight sighed. It was too late to take it back, so she might as well have elaborated. "You would think that friendship is the easiest thing to come by, but so many ponies think of it as the same as being faultless. Well, it's not. Friendship is something so complex and vast that even the best of us make unforgivable mistakes. Even I have so much left to learn about it."
Soarin had suddenly gotten close to her. His emerald eyes flared with kindness as he said, "So work through it together. Talk about it. Those five seem like they haven't given up on you yet. And unlike Spitfire, I don't think it's too late for you to fix it."
She glanced away. "It's not so simple, Soarin. Like I said, friendship, however magical it is, is so complex. If any one of them knew what I've done, they wouldn't see me as you might."
"Okay . . ." he raised an eyebrow, "But you have to try, right?" He lifted her head with his wing. "You can tell me, if you want. Whatever you say can't hurt me all that much."
Before she was even aware of it, he'd leaned in and pecked her gently right on the muzzle before brushing a strand of her mane back. She would have backed away right there, but for the first time since the testing and Nightfall's appearance, she felt secure.
She didn't let herself think about it before she returned the kiss, which required her to stand on the tips of her hooves due to his height over her, but she didn't care about the effort. She felt heat rise up her spine as Soarin's wing released her chin and closed around her in a small hug. A smile crept along her face as she--
Twilight gasped, clutching her midsection as she fell backward onto her flank. Everything she felt, the calm, the warmth on her lips and where Soarin had his wing, warped into a sick sensation of constriction and venomous heat pouring into her bones.
"Twilight? Are you all right? Twilight!" Soarin's voice melded with a pained whine as her darkness tore through her will to stay conscious. She drove out all thoughts of Soarin and clenched her eyes shut, imagining a steel cage forming around the creature. She could feel a mindless rage from it tearing through her, but she held strong as she could. Normalcy eventually returned as the pain it brought on her faded away. "Twilight, what happened?"
"I can't . . . this can't be happening," she whispered to herself. Nightfall couldn't come out now, not with Soarin here! Her transformations were supposed to be random, so why did it almost happen now, of all times?
The scale . . . It was like the scale she'd shown Soarin back at the Altrotta, how one's actions or inactions tilt the scales to either Goodness or Evil. It may have been the same here; these transformations were likely going to happen randomly, but her actions or inactions may become an influence of when they would come.
And what I felt with Soarin . . . Nightfall almost took over then . . .
Whatever the reasons for it attacking Soarin, they weren't out of spite; perhaps a stronger, more violent, especially vicious, version of whatever this was. Of course, Nightfall wasn't like everyone else, ponies who weren't split into two personalities solely made up of their natures, so maybe it couldn't express its emotions like them, and instead resorted to affection through violence.
Which meant Soarin was in far more danger than any uptight noblepony in Canterlot was in.
The pegasus had spent the whole time of her reflection on Nightfall's motivations watching her crumble, and listened to her whispers of disbelief as realization slowly crept onto his face.
"I'm so sorry, Twilight," he apologized after a long pause. Helping her up, he sighed, "That was wrong of me. I should be treating you like a respected pony, not like those mares I've wasted my time with."
Clearly misunderstanding, Twilight tried to recover. "No, Soarin, it's not you. I just--"
She only succeeded in convincing him further, because he stepped away from her, smiling in a bittersweet way. "It's okay, Doctor Sparkle." Twilight winced at the sudden usage of her title. "I get it. You have a reputation to protect, for your mother's sake. You can't go ruining it by . . . consorting with the likes of me." He started to turn away. "I promise I won't ever do that to you again."
As he started towards the door, Twilight almost stopped him, about to explain why she had freaked like that. But her mouth stayed shut. This was the perfect chance to get him out of the crossfire. If she had nothing more to do with him, then the Nightfall in her would eventually lose interest in attacking him.
You can't hurt what your enemies don't care for. Regrettably, that meant breaking the same friendship she'd offered him only a week ago.
"Y-yes, Soarin," she stammered, trying not to word it too coldly. "I just can't . . . consort with ponies like you, n-not when my work's at stake." She stiffened, taking on an air of seriousness. "My offer for friendship is still open, but I can't have anything more to do with you. It's for my family, so I hope you understand."
"Yep. Gotcha, Doctor," he said back, receding towards the front door. He pointed at his shoulder, "Thanks again for helping with this thing, so I owe you big. So, see you around?"
Twilight nodded, unable to say anything else without risking breaking her façade. Her eyes followed his movements of opening the door, slipping outside, and closing it just as quietly. For the second time that day someone had left because of her harsh words against that someone, but this time she knew they were said for the better.
But . . . her heartbeat still raced, and she felt like her face was flushed, as though embarrassed. Struggling to breath, she began to wonder if this was some new side-effect that was brought on by her corrupted formula. "I'll just have to keep recording these effects until Zecora finally has those ingredients," she told herself. Then, everything would be fine. There was nothing to worry about, right?
She sniffed, rolled down the sleeve of her sweater over her bandage--Soarin's bandage--and went back to the study to work.