The Time Has Come

by Commissar Rarity

Hidden Past

The bar was dark and empty, save for a lone figure sitting in a booth to the side. Her hair was long and a pretty shade of soft blueish-white. She gazed with her purple eyes into the now-empty bottle and sighed.

With a quick gesture, she beckoned the bartender over, hand dispelling the still-thick smoke. The bartender walked over, rubbing his hands with the cloth he had been using to wipe down the counter. He was a hulking seraph, snow-white wings folded back.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he rumbled, snatching the bottle from her hands. “After all, you’ve been in here for–”

There was a knock on the door. The bartender sighed, and bade her to wait. Stomping over to the door, he pried it open a hair, and peered out.

“We’re closed–”

The door burst open, knocking the seraph insensate. A griffon flew in, screeching a warcry. It skidded to a stop in front of the booth with the girl.

“Flock off, featherbrain,” the girl said. “I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“And here I was thinking you were great and powerful.” The griffon peered at her with a yellow eye. Snarling, it brought a fist crashing down on the table. It broke in half with a raucous noise, splinters flying into the air.

The girl jumped out of the booth, somehow snapping out of her drunken daze and doing a flip. She slid to a halt, and flipped some hair out of her eyes. “Like I said, flock off.”

“Nice moves,” the griffon said, applauding. “You really are a Lulamoon.”

Trixie Lulamoon sniffed disdainfully. “And what of it?”

The griffon wrung its claws, and let out a whistle. “Oh, maybe the Lulamoon tradition of being demon slayers. I may be in need of a demon slayer.”

Trixie frowned, but didn’t say anything. She brushed aside her navy blue coat, keeping one hand close to the magical catalyst that hung from her side, ready for another attack. Finally, pursing her lips, she spoke. “I’m not a demon slayer. I’m a drunk who used to be somebody.”

The griffon sighed, and scratched its head with a claw. “Well, I’m afraid it’s come to this.” With one swift gesture, it withdrew a sword from a scabbard on its back and flung it at Trixie.

The blade struck home, neatly piercing Trixie’s stomach. Blood sprayed from her back, and Trixie’s mouth opened in a surprised O. She stood for a moment, clutching at the sword. Then she collapsed backwards, head striking the wood floor hard.

There was a pregnant pause before the griffon slowly approached Trixie’s corpse. She hadn’t wanted it to end like this. She sighed, and reached for the sword. Trixie obviously wasn’t a true Lulamoon, otherwise–

The thought never reached its conclusion as a burst of purple magic knocked the griffon backwards into the already destroyed booth.

Trixie rose from the floor, smoking catalyst in one hand, the other hand perched on the pommel of the sword that still protruded from her body. Putting the catalyst back in its holster, Trixie grabbed the sword’s hilt with both hands and pulled it free. Her blood dripped from the blade, which trembled in her grasp. She had no idea her blood was so bright. Or that so much could exist in one small body.

She dropped the sword, and threw up. The putrid vomit mixed with the red of the blood and the resulting viscera made Trixie want to purge herself again. She was about to when she felt a now–familiar claw on her shoulder.

Looking up, she saw the griffon, who extended a claw. Trixie took the claw and stood up on shaky legs.

“I was wrong,” the griffon said. “You really are a Lulamoon. Nobody else could take a sword to the stomach and come back.”

“What in Tartarus does that mean?”

“Oh, man.” The griffon didn’t sound pleased. “You don’t know? Ugh, I hate exposition but I guess I can give ya the short version.

“You – Lulamoon girl. Lulamoons – fight demons. Demon hunters blessed by Celestia. Special magics. Prolonged life and stuff. Therefore, you – demon hunter. Which means I need you.”

Trixie shook her head. “We were travelling magicians, not demon hunters.”

“Well it skips a generation. Look, I’m Griselda and I need your help. A castle, my home, in my homeland of Gryph has been overrun by demons, and the only demon hunter bloodline left is yours. You’re our last hope.”

“Yeah, well I’m about to be no hope. I’m a stage magician, not a – not a demon hunter, or whatever you think I am.”

Griselda’s face fell somehow, beak defying logic and forming a frown. “Trixie, please reconsider–”

“Nope,” Trixie said, still cradling her stomach. “I’m just a small town girl. Nothing I can do.” With that, she kicked open the ajar door, and ran out of the bar, leaving Griselda and the unconscious bartender behind.

***

Trixie sat atop her wagon, legs hanging off the side. In her mouth hung a limp cigarette, smoke drifting off into the night. She took the cigarette out and blew a smoke dragon. It slithered away, dissipating in the distance.

She couldn’t get her mind off the griffon. Sure, they were brutish, stupid animals that had the gall to talk like people… But still, that poor girl’s home was gone to demons now. And if what she said was true, Trixie had to power to right that wrong.

Coughing, Trixie flicked the cigarette stub away. She hated the things, but had become addicted to them since her little incident with the alicorn amulet. The thought of the amulet’s wet presence in her mind made her shudder and close her eyes in terror at the memory.

“Excuse me?”

Trixie shrieked, and fell off the wagon, landing face-down in the dirt. With an annoyed grunt, she raised her head out of the dirt and spat out a clod of mud. “You again.”

“Yeah.” A sheepish Griselda rubbed the back of her head. “I was hoping you’d changed your mind.”

Trixie almost replied in the negative, but something held her back. Frowning, she stood up and leaned against the wagon. “You say my family’s some kind of demon hunting family?”

“Well, yeah,” Griselda said. “In fact my sword belonged to your grandmother. When they left the mountains of Prussia, she left it in my family’s care. I don’t know why, but she said to give it to you.”

The blue-haired girl frowned. The gift of foresight was common in the Lulamoon family, but not to such an extent. Still, it was possible. Stranger things have happened, she thought.

Still frowning, Trixie held out a hand. The griffon unclipped the scabbard from her back, and offered it to Trixie. She took it and withdrew the sword in one fluid motion. It would be child’s play to see if it had been used by a Lulamoon.

Taking out her catalyst, Trixie tapped it several times against the top of the hilt. A few sparks flew out, scattering across the length of the blade. Purple electricity arced along the edge, down the hilt, and into Trixie’s hand.

The magician gritted her teeth, trying to fight her way through the pain the memory spell was causing. It felt like a handful of grimgoblin miners were picking away at the front of her skull. After a few tear-filled moments, the pain vanished, and Trixie was left gritting her teeth and gripping the sword and catalyst tightly.

Tilting her head back to allow the memories flow better, Trixie closed her eyes and let them wash over her.

She could see a faint figure wielding the sword against dark shadows. Squinting her inner eye, Trixie could make out more of the figure. Long blue-white hair… glowing purple eyes… The hallmarks of a Lulamoon, alright.

A massive shadow blotted out the rest of the memories, sending the memory of her grandmother fleeing. Trixie felt her breath catch – her actual breath, not the simulacrum of a breath that existed in the memories. The shadow was gigantic and formless, some sort of beast from deep below Tartarus. The shadow turned towards her, and she saw a brief glimpse of a horrible face, indescribable in form. Two faint green eyes twinkled at her–

–And Trixie stumbled back with a strangled cry, dropping the gnarled catalyst and the sword on the ground. Her heart pounded, and she put a hand on her bosom, breathing deeply to calm herself. Her mind was still reeling from the shock of the shadow’s appearance. It had seen her in the memories. Memories weren’t supposed to do that – they were supposed to be simple things, dumb things!

She coughed, and straightened herself, glancing sheepishly at Griselda. “Sorry about that. You know how magic is.”

“No.”

Trixie chuckled at the griffon’s bluntness. “Well… you’re right. It does belong to someone in my family, but…”

But I can’t take this job went unspoken, not by choice. Trixie found her tongue tied. She made an effort to get the words out, but nothing emerged from her mouth.

You really should, came a quiet voice from the back of her mind. Surprisingly, Trixie found herself agreeing with it. Whatever memories from her ancestor that had crossed over to her were making themselves known, strong-arming her into accepting.

“But of course I can rescue your castle.” Trixie blinked in surprise at the words coming out of her mouth. She raised a hand to cover her mouth as the shock set in. It wasn’t her that had spoken; it was her ancestor that had spoken for her. She shivered at the thought, heart heavy with dread. What if the ancestor decided to do that more often?

“Thank you!” crowed the griffon, embracing Trixie in a tight hug. Trixie squirmed, trying to avoid ripping her good clothes on Griselda’s claws.

“Please refrain from hugging the Great and Powerful Trixie until after she saves the castle, will you?”

***

“The castle is called Fortnight,” said the gruff griffon colonel, peering out at the mountains far beneath them. The airship rumbled quietly to itself in the background. “It was the first capital of the Griffin Republic, before it was moved to the Castle Altair deeper inside Prussia.

“They say King Fortesque performed many occult rituals in the depths of Fortnight, calling forth devils from Tartarus. If so, the veil between our world and Tartarus would be thin indeed, which would explain why the demons were able to capture it so easily. It’s entirely possible occultists are living there as well. You will need to be on guard at all times. There’s no telling where attacks may come from.

“However, in two days, the army will use their mortars to shell Fortnight to the ground to prevent demons from escaping if you don’t cleanse it.”

“Oh, fantastic. Anything else Griselda forgot to tell me?” Trixie asked.

“Yes, take this grimoire. When you encounter a demon or monster, consult the grimoire and it will likely have an entry on it.”

Trixie accepted the grimoire wordlessly. Her red kerchief blew into her face briefly as a strong gust of wind rocked the airship.

Below them lay the castle Fortnight, and its harsh denizens.

Trixie knew, in her heart, that she wasn’t ready. But here she was. She rubbed where the scabbard met her back. Her ancestor’s sword would protect her.

“When you’re done, use your magic to signal us and we’ll come by and pick you up. This is a solo mission,” said the colonel. “Any questions?”

Trixie shook her head.

The colonel nodded. “If need be we’ll contact you via your crystal necklace.” Trixie glanced down at the necklace they had given her. The crystal was milky white and plain. “Only you can hear what we have to say. We shouldn’t have to contact you, though.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Trixie said, pulling her dark blue coat tighter around her. “Might as well get this over with.”

The colonel produced a large backpack. “This is an army-issue parachute. You use this strap to release the chute. Glide down to the castle and contact us when you land.” He saluted her. “The future of Prussia is in your hands. Now go!”

Trixie gulped. The time had come. With help from the colonel, she put the parachute over her sword, and the two made their way to the outer ring of the airship. The wind was bitter cold and biting. Trixie winced as a particularly brutal gust hit her.

Trixie grabbed the railing, and looked below her. Castle Fortnight was there, waiting for her, an obsidian gauntlet of evil. She glanced over at the colonel, who simply nodded. Trixie closed her eyes and swung herself over the rail.

Comments

[WeldedSteel09]

Nobody else could take a sword to the stomach and come back.

That's almost like taking an arrow to the knee. And I was going to ask about OC's in the story, but you said that Trixie is on a solo mission, so that idea was killed before it was born.

[Shifter489]

“The castle is called Fortnight,” said the gruff griffon colonel, peering out at the mountains far beneath them. The airship rumbled quietly to itself in the background. “It was the first capital of the Griffin Republic, before it was moved to the Castle Altair deeper inside Prussia.

That's subtle.