//------------------------------// // 26: Shadows of the Gilded Age // Story: Diary of the Dead // by AppleTank //------------------------------// ARC 2: THE MARCH OF THE DEAD Various points between 1078 - 1060 years ago I stood outside the doorway to my family home, a hammer dropped, forgotten at my hooves. There was a certain smell ... a stench burned into my memories from never-healed trauma. The first time I sensed it, I thought it was a nightmare. By the time I recovered, the scent was gone. I’m not letting you get away this time, I thought angrily, padding with every stealth skill I knew, on top of flaring a miniscule amount of magic to absorb the energy in vibrating air molecules. I sniffed the air, growling near silently as I followed the darting presence. flick-flick My ears snapped towards the sound, recognizing the flutter of short, buzzing wings that were forever etched into my memories. I broke into a sprint and pounced --! I stared blankly at the colorful, somewhat squishy ... creature in my hoof. It was glaringly orange, with large, blank eyes and a tiny mouth on its spheroid body. It seemed like an insect, yet didn’t really have an exoskeleton, nor segmented body parts. It looked like a vampire-sprite turned kid-friendly. Didn’t even have the fangs that were on the ... other ones. Instead there was a giant clump of leaves in its mouth. On top of how it didn’t seem to have much of a survival instinct, it seemed as dangerous as a particularly strange fly. “Damned magic creatures” I grumbled under my breath, mashing the pest into the floor before going back to my previous task before he got interrupted, the remodeling of Sunny Pines. Unbeknownst to me, a pair of blue-green eyes peeked through the underbrush, glowing faintly, before slinking away into the shadows. Evens had shifted to being a full time assistant for Gladas’s work on improving the Phylactery via the scant notes left behind by the undead cult. It weighed especially heavily on Gladas’s mind, because Wally Falcowolf was a blaring warning bell on what fate befell them all if this project failed. All of them have already long surpassed the short decade the Cult was active, but they had none of the resources.  Their minds lived, but their bodies still decayed. At over two centuries, Wally was way outside his species’s natural lifespan. Within a few years, it was likely Wally would be little more than an animated skeleton, though there was still a fate worse after that. The gems that served as their anchors to this world grew in size, if slowly. Too slowly. Too inefficiently. Mis-shapen lumps like pustules grew in random directions, running into each other and forming fault lines. The energy drain to keep moving, to keep living, ticked steadily upwards. Soon, there may be nothing left except a pile of sentient dust. Dimi too, was far past her prime. The only thing that kept her looking as well as she did was her much lesser contributions to brutal combat situations that Wally met in his youth, and strangely the regular consumption of alcohol she tested during the cider shipments she ran. Still, she too had taken up wearing more bandages as time went on to preserve what flesh she still had left. Gladas herself had reached a decade over her species’s maximum recorded lifespan, and looked to have barely aged from the time she joined the Club. But now, she was noticing her own decay. Feathers lost from molting were not getting replaced. Paper cuts more time, more energy to heal. All public missions were set on hold. They couldn't blend in like this.  Gladas herself had managed to invent a stopgap technique that could bring back the shine of healthy flesh, but like The Seer's own rejuvenation spells, these were only temporary. Skin could be grown externally in a process labeled as version 1.6 from sampled flesh, but the body they were applied to were incapable of feeding them. The cells soon starved and died. Wally Falcowolf only really went through the time consuming process of reapplication if he was scheduled for a public appearance. A new design needed to be found. She grit her teeth and pulled her focus back to the present. She set down the jar of experimental Arranite solution and gripped a soaked string. "Evens," Gladas called out towards the unicorn on the other side of her lab table, a thin needle pierced into his hoof, "tell me if you feel a spark." Quartave settled into her morning routine. Preen her wings, groom her feathers, clean her face. Obtain her bags, inspect the string of her slingshot, ensure the load of flares, brass bearings, and explosive orbs. She stood in front of her mirror and frowned. An echoing creak, a phantom pain in her breast. She went back to her closet and loaded up on more explosives, and strapped on a holster for two daggers and a tied set of throwing knives. Quartave inspected herself in front of the mirror and inspected herself again. Satisfied, she grinned and set out. Today will prove to be an interesting one. She moved downstairs, noting the lack of activity. Cycle was still out, and Dimi was out back undercover to her family vineyards. Oh well. She dragged out some pots and set them on the wood stove, watching the porridge slowly boil. By her estimates, Gladas and Evens would be up within a few minutes, so she set a timer and left the building. First item on her list was to purchase a newspaper and an apple. After decades of integrating herself with the local population, she was able to strike short conversations and greetings to most of the ponies she met along the way.  Quartave still easily made it to the newly constructed theater on time. Technically, it was open for the public, but shows had yet to be scheduled. She stuck the apple into her beak as she shuffled into the lobby, flipping through the newspaper. “Looks like the capital is taking hold. Advertising, advertising, reviews, trading posts, map making ...” She stopped as she pushed past the lobby doors, sticking the newspaper into her bag and retrieving a pocket watch. She closed her eyes, feeling her heartbeat synchronize with the quiet ticks. She opened her eyes, the world tinged red. Quartave dropped the watch back into her bags and sauntered down the stairs until she reached the base of the stage, then hauled herself up. She fumbled behind the curtains until she found the right cable, and opened the windows and mirrors that sent some light onto the center stage. The lamps weren’t fueled yet, it seemed. She moved into the center stage, tail flicking and wings spread. “One, two, three.” She reared up, grinning. “Welcome to my corner of the world! What can I do for you--?” The theater door moved, and stopped. Quartave dropped the watch back into her bags and moved down the steps. Lamps weren’t fueled and lit yet, leaving the seats only lightly lit by the half drawn windows upon the walls. She froze, the apple core spinning out of her mouth as she slipped a tagger in talon. “What the hell was that--!?” The theater door moved, but stopped. Quartave fell onto her knees, the world swimming before her eyes. A shot of cold adrenaline flew through her veins, forcing her wings to flap once to spin her around, smoothly drawing her slingshot and a red flare crystal, a second metal bearing between her claws, and a dagger clenched between her teeth. Her half eaten apple rolled down the seats, disappearing into the shadows.  “So that’s how it feels to have my timeline messed with right before my eyes,” she snarled, a cold sweat dripping down her face. “I hate it.” The heavy presence on the other side of the doors ignored her. “You appear to be just as perceptive as your reputation says you are,” he said. “And you are pretending to be much weaker than what you can actually do,” Quartave shot back. “Who are you, and what do you want.” There was a pause, as if the speaker was surprised Quartave didn’t know already. “You ... do realize that your actions will have consequences on this world, right?” Quartave groaned, rolling her eyes despite herself. “Oh please. Don’t tell me that the planet itself sent a hit on me.” The silence that followed dragged on her nerves more than she wanted to.  “... Not exactly,” the speaker continued. “But you are causing ripples. Destructive ripples.” “Seriously? Just by keeping old Falcowolf alive?” “That, and more. You think your ambition will not lead you further? Have you not looked at today’s paper? Look at the reports of the Crystal Empire, and actually think about yourself, for once in your life.” “Not with you over my shoulder,” Quartave said, sling still aimed at the theater doors. “... Fine. This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.” With that, she heard retreating hoofsteps, then,, for lack of a better word, a brief grinding noise followed by a pop of displaced air. Quartave’s arms trembled as she gasped, sucking in vast gulps of air. She stowed her slingshot and held the dagger as she shuffled over to the door. A moment, then she nudged it open with a wing.  Nothing, except for faint imprints in the carpet and the scent of ozone. “Dammit,” she snarled. “Didn’t expect competition so soon ...” She stared at her reflection on a piece of glass advertising, the rictus of hate and anger. Heat burned in her chest, and she ducked back inside the theater and yanked out the paper, flipping through to the back.  Branches of hypothetical goals, motivations, available knowledge, ambitions, weaknesses, danced through her mind as she read the article. She squeezed her eyes shut and slid down the wall. “You arrogant fool,” she spat, clutching her face, breathing heavily. A moment later, she wiped her face clean and clamped down on her emotions. There was no time for regret, she needed a plan of action, now. She shoved her blades back into their holsters and stomped out of the theater. Barnabee held out a paw, letting Stuard and Hellcat hop off and dart into the crawl spaces nobody ever expected spies to roam. They had entered the Everfree city from far beyond the city limits, burrowed deep through the ground via Barnabee’s monstrous claws. Considering Appleton was likely going to be visited by diplomats from Equestria, it might be prudent to collect information on how they were going to present themselves to the rulers of the land. From the first stakeouts, they had found that the two sister alicorns had garnered quite a reputation for feats of magical strength. Via sneaking into the closed library at night, Barnabee was able to confirm that they were instrumental in ending the damned mess of chaos magic, and supposedly now personally in control of both sun and moon. This made Barnabee rather nervous, considering he was tasked with infiltrating their stronghold. He hoped he could get by via being completely unknown. This was how Barnabee and co found himself digging through the bedrock beneath the Everfree Castle, carefully moving bricks around to open crawl spaces big enough for either of the Antibodies to slip through. Vents were the best, since there were no structural risks at all. It had taken them days of night time maneuvering to reach the throne room, leaving the infiltrators a few hours to wait for the morning court.  Ponies filed in, greeted by the brilliance that was the solar alicorn. She stood on top of a dias, wings half spread with a neutral expression. Then court began, with an assistant calling out the petitions for the day, the current events, the progress of their expanding borders. A few hours passed, Barnabee was about to doze off when he heard: “Presenting, representatives from the Crystal Empire.” A luminous pony fell to her knees, trembling.  “A dark mage has taken over the kingdom. He has enslaved over 30% of the population for labor camps, and mana batteries. Please, you’re our only hope!” Ah, Barnabee thought. This is a problem. Gladas placed the quill down, stating loudly, “Now testing the second prototype of Project Lamprey.” She looked over at Evens with an exasperated sigh. “Are you sure about this? Once we cut it off, you’re not getting it back until the prototype is perfected.”  “Yes, I am very sure,” Evens said, eyes almost bugging out as he stared at the floppy griffon’s talon. Quartave had donated a bit of flesh for this, since she was the only griffon with blood still undamaged by time. The flesh had then been the focus of several heavily modified healing spells, and now rested bubbling quietly in a nutrient-oxygen bath.  "Even though we only need to remove the skin and muscles for the proof of concept?" "Claws." Gladas sighed, pulling over a clay pot to her front. It contained a wooden talon embedded in soil. "I wired all the joints for this thing Cycle made for you. Better thank him after this. So, I will warn you that this amputation will result in quite a unique pain.” Evens nodded as Gladas hefted a cleaver checking once more, then ... THUNK Evens winced, but frowned at the slowly bleeding stump. “Ok, that hurt, but not especially-- HURK.” Gladas was peering into the stump of Evens’s dismembered hoof, tapping around with a scalpel, before suddenly slamming it through. There was the crackling, popping noise of shattering crystals. The unicorn groaned as he sat up. "Felt like my leg exploded." "Indeed. Just as the arcanite resonance allows you to sense and manipulate a dismembered limb, so can others," Gladas explained. "It is not as fatal as losing possession of your Phylactery, but most would prefer to shatter the connection than risk it." Gladas reached over and lifted Evens's stump. She batted away small sharp points off the fractured vein of arcanite poking out.  Next, she plucked the talon out of its pot and pushed it tight against his exposed bone. The stored magic alit, roots growing around and into the bone. The fleshy talon was pulled out of the nutrient soup and carefully shuffled onto the wooden talon. The two arcanite stubs were held together, tied together with copper wires.  Evens jolted as he felt an icy pulse shoot through his blood, before an alien weight became apparent to his perceptions. He carefully lifted his foreleg, mindful of the still fragile attachment, marveling the grafted limb. “... This is amazing. Talons of my own!” “Can you move them?” Gladas asked, prodding the claws with a glass rod.  Evens looked at Gladas’s talon, then his own. The talon turned to face him, then slowly closed into a fist. “I ... can’t seem to get them to move individually.” “Right,” Gladas said, lifting the talon to her face and placing a scalpel down. “I’m going to try to rewire this thing so you have a better sense of the different muscle groups.” Evens stared at her, then at his foreleg. “... Hey, you cut my stump!” “I warned you that you’d have a missing leg for a while,” Gladas said, rolling her eyes. “Be patient, will you? You’ll have more talons to play with later.” “Ah, I see,” the unicorn nodded in contemplation, then lit his horn to pick up a bone saw.  Gladas reached over and slapped his horn. “No.”