Night Angel in Equestria

by Diokno44

Prologue: Dammit, Dorian!

Bitter tears were sliding down Kylar’s weathered face as he openly wept.

It was something that had happened a lot, since his wife, Viridiana, had died of old age. He was only a few years younger than her, but because of his magical ka'kari, he had stayed the same for the past half century. As far as he knew, he would live forever, always unchanging, unless he used his magic to change himself.

He remembered standing by her deathbed as she lived her last, smiling gently, looking him in the eyes as her life bled away. Every night for the past week had been spent either wandering or simply staring at the ceiling. For a month before her death he had spent every moment possible with her. Since King Logan had died and his son, Logan II, was born, Kylar hadn't had much work, because the kid hardly trusted him.

When Kylar remembered the suspicious looks he always got from the new king, he chuckled. It felt good to laugh, so he kept doing it, and continued with his quiet laughter until his lungs were empty. Then he realized just how much he'd changed in his lifetime -- from a little gutter rat in the Guilds to a close friend of the King and savior of the world. He laughed a bit more.

For once, Kylar was free of pain.

After a few minutes, though, he stopped, realizing again where he was. His smiled died, to be replaced by an expression of sadness. He searched his memories, and realized that the last time he'd felt this sad was at the death of Elene.

Elene, who had been his first love. Elene, who had sacrificed herself for the sale of the world. Elene, forgotten Elene, charming Elene, who so few still remembered. Everyone attributed the saving of the world to him, but it was Elene who had trapped a goddess using love and all Kylar had done was summon the courage to stab her and end it. It had taken all of his willpower to do that, even with Elene herself urging him to kill her. A tear rolled off of his cheek and onto the bedsheet below him, and on the brink of sleep he heard a very familiar voice, one he’d not heard in decades.

I hate to say this, but you need to learn to get over this kind of thing. It will happen a lot, what with you being immortal.

Kylar sighed, still thinking of Elene. Still mourning her. He’d never gotten a proper chance to do it, as he had to act as a diplomat between Cenaria and the Godking in the north immediately after. The sudden shift from assassin to peace-orchestrating government official was jarring; thankfully, the Godking had realized that the diplomat sent to him was new and forgave many of the errors he made. The two had become fast friends, especially once Kylar realized that the Godking used “normal” magic, and not just the power of the magical parasite, the vir.

Thinking back on it, he had really filled most of his time with Viv or with his biggest new hobby of learning languages. His old master, Durzo Blint, had left him with a short quote, and he’d been trying to find the language in which it was written since then. He reviewed it in his mind once more, as he had countless times in the past half century. He muttered it under his breath.

As always, he couldn’t translate it. He had no idea what it meant. After fifty years, he had yet to hear a language even slightly similar to it. He felt a pang of longing for Durzo, and a second tear fell to the bedsheets under him.

Suddenly, he heard the door handle twist. Pulling on his magic, he made himself invisible, then silently leapt off of the bed and pulled his sword, Iures, from its scabbard. The door opened to reveal no one but a servant, who appeared extremely confused when he didn’t see Kylar in the bed. With a start, Kylar realized it was nearly morning, and that the servant had likely been sent to wake him up to speak with his advisor, Asylria Greyhall. She was the grandniece of his friend, Count Drake, and had volunteered to help him.

With an aggravated sigh, Kylar set down his sword and made himself visible again. “I’m here,” he said to the servant, who spun around and hastily bowed. Kylar nodded in return and the servant quickly walked out. He fully recognized that he was in a time of great peace, but his instincts could not be worn out. He supposed it might one day come in handy, so he continued to spar with the best the world had to offer, but it was times like these when he regretted it.

That continued training was hardly necessary to dispatch the assassin that jumped in through the window with a loud shout. Without looking, Kylar brained him using a convenient candlestick, sighing in depression at the idiocy of the assassins sent to kill him and the idiocy of their sender, the nephew of the old King Gunder IX. The king himself was dead, courtesy of poison. The king had been a foolish boy in an old man’s clothes, and he tried his best to rule a kingdom that he didn’t understand, and he succeeded to some extent. His heir, Logan Gyre, was far more successful, and his son, Logan II, was just as popular and still competent. “At least better than his cousin, what was his name again? James? Jeffry? It doesn’t matter.” He chuckled darkly, shaking his head, as he stretched. Kylar had replaced his Wetboy greys, which lay in a trunk at the foot of his bed. He donned a black coat, trimmed in gold, with the Ursuul insignia embroidered over his left pectoral muscle.

He walked through the hallways and was about to turn to enter the Godking’s throne room, when he stopped, seeing something out of the corner of his eye. That “something” ended up being the blade of a knife, which buried itself in his leg. Three assassins rushed him.

Kylar drew the ka’kari into his leg and cut off the knife by using the magical artifact to eat through the blade. Once that was done, he left a tiny portion covering the wound and formed the rest into a knife in his hand. He stabbed the first one in the neck, nearly severing his head and causing a fountain of blood to erupt as he fell sideways. It splattered over the second assailant, who tried to stab Kylar. The diplomat grabbed the assassin’s wrist and twisted, breaking it and dislodging the shortsword from his grasp. He caught the sword and jammed it through the assassin’s leather armor, killing him. He dimly heard someone gasp behind him, and a scream, and a deep voice shouting something in a language Kylar didn’t understand.

The final assailant was burned to a crisp by the Godking’s magic. While still completely mad, his ability to see through the rivers of time meant that he was the best for the position, so the parliament he’d formed elected him as head. The information flashed through Kylar’s mind as he realized that the bolt of magic had also gone slightly astray, and burned through half of his torso. Kylar raised a hand, blinking, then raised a single finger. Opening his mouth slowly, he said, “I don’t think Logan will blame you, King Dorian,” then collapsed, dead.

He awoke, as he always did, in the Wolf’s chambers. The insane wizard was shaking his head, frowning. As he was wont to do, he got straight to the point, once Kylar was responsive.

“You don’t have any way to get back to your planet.”

Kylar blinked, unsure of what he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t--”

The Wolf cut him off. “You didn’t love anyone enough for the sacrifice to bring you back.”

Kylar was still unsure. “So, you mean that--”

“No, you’re not stuck here. But you can’t go back to where you’re from.” The Wolf grinned. “I can, however, send you to where I’ve been passing the years.”

The ka’kari whispered, Yeah, but it needs a form change, right?

The Wolf looked peeved, admitting, “Yes, it does.”

Kylar had turned his concern elsewhere. “And where were you when I was about to get stabbed?” he demanded. “I thought you didn’t like it when people died, and now it looks like I have!”

The ka’kari responded, quietly saying, Because this other world needs you, Azoth-Quicksilver. And the only way to get there is for you to die, old friend.

Kylar stiffened at his old name. It brought back too many painful memories. At the same time, he remembered a promise he’d made, just after Doll Girl, no, not Doll Girl, Elene’s death, to help those who needed him. He still had a question before he left.

“And why can you hear the ka’kari, Ezra?”

The mad mage grinned. “Kid, I put so much of my magic in that thing that I would be surprised if I couldn’t.” He sobered. “Now, are you ready to travel? It’ll be a fairly long trip.” He grinned. “Thankfully, you can go to sleep now and you’ll wake up there, so you don’t have to do as I will and experience the space between worlds.” He looked at Kylar expectantly.

The assassin nodded. “Ready.”

The Wolf smiled wrly again, and said, “Lie down. I’ll put you to sleep and then, you should wake up there. Try not to die again, I’d rather not have your ugly face back here any time soon.” The man cackled, and Kylar felt a strange, soothing, calm. He was out before his head even hit the floor.

“Sleep well, little nightingale, you’ll need it.” The Wolf smirked, as a rune appeared around the “young” man before him, and his body glowed a faded red. “Now then,” His eyes turned almost blank, the pupils disappearing, leaving a molten gold ring surrounded by milky white, “No, that version will never do, no, too dead, no, too cheerful, the prime world will do.” He muttered, as a swirling black void appeared behind Kylar, and two black tendrils wrapped around his still form dragging him closer to the Void. Once his body vanished from sight did the Wolf drop the incantation. His eyes returned to normal, and he slumped against the nearby wall.

Sighing, the Wolf took a swig of his wine, “Well, It looks like I’ll be paying Solaris and Laurel’s two guttersnipes a visit. Along with that blasted niece of theirs, and Celestia’s lover, that Twilight Sparkle.” He grumbled, taking another long drink, smashing the empty bottle against the wall, as his form shifted, into a great, grey wolf, golden eyes glowing like the sun, “How I despise this form.” Ezra the Mad grimaced, cracking his back, as he opened a portal to Solaris and Laurel’s old chamber, the two having long gone to rule in some other plane of existence. “They get to rule some paradise world, and I get locked in a forest with Roygaris Ursuul.” He hung his old flask from his neck, and trotted through the portal.

Author's Note:

Let me know what you think! Point out any errors. I think I caught them all, but I doubt it.

Also, let me know how I could have done better! Keep in mind, though, that this was written with fans of Brent Weeks' trilogy in mind, so some things are guaranteed to be confusing if you haven't read them. You can buy them online at Amazon, Audible, and/or Barnes And Noble.

Comments

[Theswishful]

A great series and a nice intro, keep up the good work!

[xbox432]

I'm surprised to see this actually. I enjoyed the series but didn't think I'd ever find a good fanfic of it, glad to see I was wrong.

for the sale of the world. - for the sake of the world.

[Hekate Sketch]

Just replying to the A/N. Looks good to me, though it's been quite a while since I've read the books. They kinda.......fell apart from how often I was re-reading them.

Also, Ezra's wording slightly made it sound like he made the Black Ka'kari. He just studied it, and made 5 others. Said others were more or less just knock-offs. Enough bickering from me. Tis great, and was a minor nit-pick that My brain got over after re-reading the sentence a few times.

[ClosetKnight]

...i cant believe i havent found this earlier.