The Magic of Old Earth

by Dress72

Mortem’s Memory (re-paced)

Mortem forced a smile through the slight discomfort he still felt from earlier, “Fine - your sister couldn’t beat me and soon I will make her mine completely. Try not to disappoint me,” the caster taunted.

The scythe head seemed to dislodge itself from the ground and soar the several meters to where the dark pony was standing, just to lock its arm-length handle with that of a twin scythe; another flash of light was seen circling this pony as they connected. Moments later, a similar flash appeared around the demon’s arm, imitating the original. Time disconnected itself from reality during the tense moment before half the arm was displaced several visible meters into the air, cut in the opposite direction that the flash indicated. The suspended half crashed onto the other, causing a tremor as it slid slowly at first, the demon spending copious amounts of energy to try to keep the arm together. Unable to heal quickly enough, the arm finally fell with a charcoal smoke indicating its de-materialization back to the dimension it came from.

Many armor-clad ponies emerged from the forest as if on cue to surround the now free princess. They worked to dissolve the flame that bound her, yet the methods they tried only served to strengthen the flame’s hold. Too weak to stand, the same pony could only rest on the ground, unable to form any commands due to the restrictions of the flame. The rest of the ponies, ranging from earthen, to unicorn, to pegasus, to a bat-winged pony - which the caster had never seen before - all gathered around the other princess and her opponent.

“Now this ought to be fun,” Mortem responded to the ambush, “Transmittere scientiam meam, *Transmit my knowledge,*” and copied most of his battle and protection spells into the minds of his five followers. “Now fight,” he commanded.

The small group attacked the mob in a frightful display of power and coordination, keeping the newcomers off their master with ease while Mortem and his moon gifted creation stared silently at each other. It was the pony with the scythe that attacked first, closing the distance instantaneously. The caster was forced back by the sheer speed of the attack, barely able to keep up, and ended up hitting a frail wall that crumbled from the impact. Another push forced the caster to balance upon the uneven stone, exposing his vitals to an easy pierce. To Mortem’s surprise, his opponent had leapt back instead of taking advantage of his exposure, causing a wicked thought to flash through his mind as it stole his next move, causing him to tumble away from the broken tower.

“Father!” Mortem heard his creation cry as she jumped off the tower, throwing her twin bladed scythe into the surrounding melee to catch him.

“You need to be less predictable my lovely creation.” Mortem easily worked free from the caring grip he was in and flipped onto his ‘captor’s’ back. Forcing the pony’s wings shut, he forgot his previous discomfort by this pony as he drove her into the ground, jumping off moments before impact.

An eerie silence seemed to permeate throughout the battlefield, emphasized by the panting of the pony laying on the ground before the caster, several broken bones protruding from her skin. “Sana adversarium, ubi ponat omnia, hoc est de jure suo. *Heal the adversary, where she may lay all, that is her right.* Face me again when you have grown. You have great potential, but you need to throw away your doubt and hesitation. Only then will you be able to honestly face me. I won’t give you another chance after this,” Mortem proclaimed as he walked away. Hovering over Celestia, he turned to his creation that was forcing itself up, “Now tell me your name.”

“Luna, father, my name is Luna.”

“Luna, moon. Your name within itself carries great power; more than the fake name your sister chose for herself. I will remember it.”

“You know my sister doesn’t use her true name?”

“Of course. Celestia is a foolish, power hungry name. It was quite obvious that her name is fake, considering your name, her power, and her origin. Now if you will excuse me, Ianuae Magicae Vestibulum me et ex me. Trahere Sol. Nunc autem adducite mihi domum ad meam nostalgia. * It's a teleport me and from me. Pull the sun. But now bring me a house to my nostalgia.*” The caster disappeared from the battle along with Celestia and the five ponies he controlled. The amount of energy that the caster used throughout the last hour alone exhausted him, and he felt this as the seven ponies appeared before a cave, high atop a mountain.

Looking at this cave, he sighed, homesick and longing emanating from him for the first time in his life. This was not the shallow, small cave he remembered from his colthood, yet this large, expansive cave, atop this ridiculously tall mountain was the same one. He forced himself to accept his new world, and walked in, the five purebloods that dragged the fallen goddess by a flame rope followed.

He went directly for the back of the cave, where he curled up and dismissed his soul bound ponies, leaving him to face Celestia. “Imperium Sol, flectere animum cogere voluntatem ad id proderit mihi, et irritum facerent. Instaurarent fracta voluntatem dirigit, ut videamus et turpis. * Empire of the Sun, to bend their minds to that force the will it profit me, and I should make void. Repair broken the will directs me to see the film.*” With the spell woven, Celestia started to contort, struggling to remain herself and keep dominance over her mind.
***

The sun finally rose back into the sky and Celestia walked out of the cave in a trance, nothing showing from her past battles as she took flight to go about her daily routine. The caster was in the back of his cave, laid down, nearly depleted of all energy, and ready to sleep and recover.

Yet sleep eluded him; memories that had been dragged up when battling over Celestia’s mind clung to his. He longed for his old life: the shallow cave, the thin blanket, the dying forest. But all of that was beyond him now. The best he could do was cast a spatial spell that projected his remembered cave around him, and rummage through the memories that haunted him.

'The ground was covered in snow around two feet deep. The pegasi made sure that the conditions this year was cold and that the ground was frozen, just like they did every year. He wished that the three tribes would learn to respect each other, and get along. He wished that with that, came acceptance. He thought that somehow, someway, they would just get along. But he also knew that it was a hopeless wish. And so he kept foraging through the deep snow for something remotely edible.

He was struck by the image of that book that had appeared to him three months ago. He thought of it often since then. That day he had found the most sustenance he ever had before, and ended up filling his small pot and was forced to use his blanket as a container as well. That expedition had held him over and this was the first scavenge since then.

Now, along the edge of the forest’s center, he stood, hoping that as he ventured further, he would come across the book - associating it with plentiful food. Several minutes passed before he dared move. Entering the clearing, there was no change of environment as he made his way to midst.

Slightly disappointed, he resumed his digging through the snow, placing the few things he found into the pot he carried with him. He made his way back to his cave, only a few measly scraps of food within his container.

Arriving at his home, he found that his blanket was misplaced at the entrance, hanging by a single corner. Because of the deep snow, it was difficult to see inside, so he snuck up the best he could. He was startled by what he found inside; a pegasus with a volcanic ash colored coat, sleeping to one side of the cave, and a large, leather-bound book.

He was about to touch the book when an image flashed before him, followed by a warning that echoed within his mind, ‘Don’t open the book.’ He hesitated just long enough for the ash colored pony to stir and look up at him. The acute blue eyes of this pony held immeasurable knowledge, but also a deep sorrow seemed trapped there as well.

He stared into the eyes of this somehow familiar newcomer. He felt as if he knew who it was, but he wrote it off. He once again looked at the book and was struck by a sudden urge. Reaching out, he found the book to be extremely light as he lifted the cover to reveal a blank page.

Movement within his peripheral vision caught his attention. The ash colored pony stood up, and walked past him out of the cave, taking three more steps before it started to evaporate and disappear into runic letters at the forest’s edge.’

Mortem opened his eyes. What he just remembered confounded him. Each time he went over that memory, he had just seen the book. So why now did a gray pony accompany it? Was it because of his mental battle with Celestia? He stood up and walked away from the back wall before casting a spell that engulfed the area. He watched as his memory replayed before him. He saw himself walking up to the cave, blanket asunder. He saw the book laying within the cave. What he did not see, was the gray pony. His spells rarely ever went astray at his level, so he trusted it. And yet, somehow he mistrusted the result; he felt uneasy at the prospect and implications that arose thanks to the abnormality. A sense of loss now haunted his being as he tried to write it off.

With nothing to do but try and ignore the memory, he decided to explore the land that he now found himself in. It was then that he left the cave and walked through the mountain’s slopes, memorizing the scriptures and locations of hidden spells long since carved and hidden in the rock. It revealed the time since his absence and he explored the possible outcomes and meanings behind that which he didn’t do. Hours passed before he made the lower regions of the colossal rock-face. With the time that had passed, he witnessed several activations of distortion spells as he activated and disarmed them. And yet, as he continually surveyed the skyscape of the giant castle that lay in the distance, he made out a flying speck that shifted with the patterns of the air currents as it grew ever closer. His trained eye found an army advancing through the trees in accordance with the air unit.

With time shortening, he decided to abandon his current location in a new form. The unease he felt disappeared as he took on the form of the ashen pegasus. Ground in with the idea, his companions shaped themselves similarly, their fur doing much to distinguish themselves. With their disguises ready, they departed from the mountain, away from the approaching army.