Diary of the Dead

by AppleTank

27: Liches Make War

Wally rested, floating in a pool of grey translucent goo. The tank had multiple pipes leading inside, a gravity powered pump pulsing air bubbles into the biological soup. Every thirty minutes, a clockwork mechanism dumped recycled nutrients into the soup.

His eye lights were dim, his body half curled into a fetal position. Though he seemed completely motionless, his inner heat burned. The strands of magic that was his existence twisted around his bones. His own personal army of reanimated flies buzzed in circuits as he exercised his control.

A few hours passed in near silence, muffled footsteps from beyond his confined walls.

Then, he heard a trio of knocks against the wood of the barrel he resided in. “Come on Gramps, it’s time to move out,” said the voice of his granddaughter.

He hissed, faint bubbles coming out of his beak as he stretched his talons and hauled himself over the edge, cloned cells dripping off his partially regrown feathers in clumps. Old wounds bubbled and fizzled, the squirming masses jamming themselves deep and copying the protein signals of the neighboring cells.

He rolled onto the ground with a wet splat, glancing at the label on the barrel. “Phylactery Mk1 v6.” He rolled his shoulders, crackles of magic glowing between the joints, pinpricks of light dancing over his tongue, as he walked over to the exit.

He paused along the door. On a hook held a mask, one he once wore with pride, then self-loathing, then resignation.

He stared at it silently for a few moments. Few would remember his face, especially in the state it was in now. However ... “The presentation calls.”

The bone white mask slipped over his eyes, a single red line going over his left eye socket.

---

Quartave sat at her own workbench, a hilt, a crystal, metal tubes, and a collection of wires before her. For a moment, her talons hovered over the parts, hesitation gripping her. Then, she closed her eyes and took a breath, feeling the waves of magic flowing through her, and let long buried instincts guide her, as it once did a lifetime ago.

When she opened her eyes again, only a metal handle was left, the rest of the components assembled inside, with a small coil of exposed wire poking out of a tiny slot. A series of flat braided cloth wrapped around it, giving her a comfortable grip to hold onto.

"Don't want too much output coming out of this thing," she mused, holding it to her eyes and testing the weight. "Balance is probably going to be shot, for now...."

She reached across the table and screwed on a small water pipe, then waved it around. “Not going to be the hardest hitter, but that was never what I was going for.”

Preparations mostly complete, she put on a few pieces of armor she had bought or traded for a few months ago. The weapon, now finished, she carefully leaned it against the table. She stretched her talon through leather gloves, clenching into a fist to test their flexibility.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

Quartave made for the exit, pausing to slip on a cloak over her ensemble. Hanging on a hook was a scratched, worn mask, the one she first wore on the raid of the cult. It had been repolished and cleaned, and marked with a small eye in the center of the forehead area and with expensive purple ink, along with a thin ring of purple around both eyes..

She held it in front of her, brushing a claw over the tiny pock marks and scars, whenever she felt an urge to be overdramatic. Can't afford to do that, now, she thought with a grimace. Need a good impression out there. Focus, focus!

She twisted her wrist and glanced at the gauntlet on her arm, glaring at the reflection of yellow veins in her eyes. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then stared, closed her eyes for another count of ten, then finally stared again until the acid yellow fury sank beneath her natural purple irises.

“And stay that way,” she hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing her blade and pushing it into her belt. As she moved towards the door to the workshop, she paused at the entryway, glancing back down to the weapon hanging loosely at her side. There was no sheath, as there was no sharp point after all.

“This creation ... needs a name. One of few that will exist on this plane.” She slowly pulled the hilt up towards her slightly, glancing at the torchlight reflecting off its surface. “... You are ‘Monster’s Bite’. Get ready for the war front, little one.”

She let it go, the blade sliding back down to rest on its hilt, and pulled the mask over her face. Quartave took a deep breath, then moved out. Her cloak was pulled from a hook, and the hood cast her eyes and mask into shadow.

---

Dimi sat in her office, slowly rolling a bottle of grape wine in her palm. A map was laid out in front of her, dotted with rough patches of previous moisture. She had made several trips to the Crystal Empire in the past month, flying around the magical barrier that kept the snow out, and stealthy stake outs at the eight towers that bracketed the Empire.

She was disturbed by how far Sombra had gone with the meager pickings the Club had given him. He was a true genius, but unbound by morality or the sense of cooperation. A perfectionist, one who’s will dominated both ponies and magic itself.

“That’s not what this was supposed to be about,” Dimi griped, claws digging into her head. Now, she had to find weak spots the Lich could best exploit.

The Crystal Empire was indeed massive, a small city within its dome. While this may make it harder to watch every border, Sombra seemed to have procured an absurd number of armored guards watching everything. The towers were also of some concern, but unlike the Empire itself, they seemed near abandoned. In the weeks she spent spotting the castle, she saw nobody ever go visit the towers. The only notable thing she could detect from the towers was magic chained beneath heavy wards.

If they were watch towers, they would need to see if there was a way to bypass or subvert them. If not, they were probably going to rip out anything not nailed down, and then the bricks the nails sat on. A meeting where they discussed the towers had ended up on an unanimous conclusion: Whatever Sombra had made, discovered, summoned, it was best it stayed forgotten. What they didn’t agree on was how to dispose of them.

Quartave was very interested in collecting everything. Gladas was adamant that everything Sombra touched was tainted, and that his legacy should be burnt to the ground. Eventually Wally cut in and told them that they’ll investigate on a case by case basis, which mollified Quartave a bit, though Gladas was left still seething.

With a sigh, Dimi packed several rolls of parchment into her bags. There was going to be a lot of cataloging ahead no matter what.

She grabbed her mask,

---

Gladas and Evens were together in the lab making their final adjustments.

Custom sockets were fitted to the stump of Evens’s stump. Sinew sutures held the connections tight. Evens’s bones were also carefully carved to socket onto the new limb. Leather straps held the entire contraption in place.

“All connections in place,” Gladas said, pulling the sutures tight. “Structure secure. Internal temperature is still nominal. Blood vessels cauterized, pressure stable.” There was a faint smell of burnt flesh in the air. “Ready for activation?”

Evens nodded. “Do it.”

Gladas pushed a small cylinder of glowing crystal into a slot on the limb, and pushed the skin over it. Evens flinched as a surge of tingling shot up his foreleg. His hoof, no, claw, twitched. He slowly turned his wrist until his new palm faced him, and clenched his fingers into a fist.

Gladas leaned over his shoulder. “How does it feel?”

“A bit tingly,” Evens replied with an eager grin, fingers wiggling. “But ha ha! Look at them go! We can iron out the fluctuations later. Let’s get going, I want to play with these.”

“Sure, but blast anything the moment anything goes wrong with that claw,” Gladas said, moving towards a shelf. “Don’t want anything getting the chance to get the drop on you.” She picked up an old mask, covered in dust. She blew it off. Like most of the others, it was shaped in the rough outline of the upper half of a griffon's head, with a personalized touch of a black ring surrounding the gold trim around the eye-sockets.

Evens picked up his own freshly carved one with his new hand, also that of a griffon’s head, with a blue ring around the eyes. “This should be fun,” he said with a giggle.

---

I was sitting in my room, my head bowed. I gently shook the varnish brush against the bottle before I capped it. My shiny, polished mask sat in front of me, the paint just dried.

When I had first received my mask, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to represent myself, something that stood for my hopes and dreams.

In the end, it was pretty simple. Though the Honeycomb Club took me in, and taught me to be who I was today, it was always in service in keeping my heart, my home, alive.

A yellow-orange ring around one eye, paired with a green stripe over the other. Sunny Pines. I reverently picked it up and hooked it over my face.

Yeah. That’d do.

There were several knocks against the door. Evens. “Hey kid, you ready?”

“Almost! Go ahead, I’ll meet you at the front.”

It was a bit of a rush job, but we pulled a few favors to speed it up. I strapped a set of enchanted armor over my torso. The plan we’d settled on hinged on my ability to stand and fight.

Right. Let’s do this. I finished writing down my thoughts in a notebook, then closed it. I gave a small smirk at my reflection. “Be seeing you.”

Author's Note:

surprise

Comments

[Sapphire Lotus]

"In the end, it was pretty simple. Though the Honeycomb Club took me in, and taught me to be who I was today, it was always in service in keeping my heart, my home, alive.

A yellow-orange ring around one eye, paired with a green stripe over the other. Sunny Pines. I reverently picked it up and hooked it over my face."

Semi-confused about the color of his mask. I'm assuming this is Cycle's, and in the next chapter his mask is described to be like Deadpool's but black and white.

Apologies if I completely read wrong!

[AppleTank]

11064836
Haha, yeah. Uh, You notice how this chapter is numbered differently to the next? I'm going through an overhaul, and decided to make one more symbolic to Cycle than just another reference.