Friendship is Scaleless

by Limescale

Chapter 62

Rarity grit her teeth, fearfully aware of how many seconds away she likely was from death. Her hoof remained hesitantly pressed against the dry, brittle black flesh of an infested barbarian’s stomach, which in turn had given the bloated, hulking monstrosity cause to halt in its effort to smash the bothersome unicorn with the giant boulder held over its head.

Even as she felt the heat of her newly learned pyromancy successfully spread from her hoof and infuse itself into the barbarian’s being, Rarity remained convinced this was to be her end. She’d given it a good run, having survived a not inconsiderable number of Lordran’s horrors, but now she’d officially pushed her luck too far. All the damned barbarian had to do was lower its arms and gravity would finish the job for it.

Silently, Rarity made peace with her demise, telling herself she’d done all she could with her life. As the seconds ticked down, she consoled herself that at least she’d not leave Spike hanging on where she stood in regards to his feelings, nor would anyone dare to say she died a coward.

The seconds continued to pass without issue. Rarity shivered and braced herself for the inevitable pain of several hundred pounds of solid rock reducing her body to bloody batter. She just hoped it’d be over quickly.

The barbarian retreated, stepping back by several paces to leave Rarity shakily holding her hoof out to thin air. Still, the unicorn held her pose of grim acceptance, only finally daring to open her eyes when she picked up on the sound of clapping.

“Very good, my student. A most acceptable attempt.” Quelana’s voice cut through Rarity’s apprehension like a knife, leaving her to wobble crazily as all tension, fear, and strength departed from her muscles. The unicorn keeled over to faceplant in the sticky webbing covering the shoreline.

“Mmmph...ergh...uhhh...oh Faust...EEEEWWWWW!” Rarity moaned as the revulsion of her situation did the job of giving her a needed second wind. She pulled herself out of the ground, frantically grinding her hooves across her face to tear the webbing off. “Oooh… okay… what… what just happened?”

She looked up at the barbarian again, finding it staring blankly at her with the boulder still held at the ready over its head. Fear again gripped the unicorn as she waited for it to do as its body was poised to, only for it to defy her expectation.

“You cast the Undead Rapport with sufficient focus. The lure of your flame has now made an ally of your enemy.” Quelana said while stepping up onto the shore. Rarity blinked as she studied the barbarian, noticing its eyes now burned with a brilliant white aura she was sure hadn’t been there previously.

“I… I did...?” She dryly coughed as the barbarian broke its gaze, distracted by the impact of another enormous boulder hitting it from behind. A lifeless groan echoed from the barbarian’s mouth as it turned to see one of its counterparts along the shore, pulling another boulder up from the ground with clear intent to take up the duty its partner had shamefully decided to slack off on.

Said partner duly showed its displeasure by turning to charge at the other barbarian, bringing its boulder down on the second one’s head, then proceeding to repeat the action again and again.

“So I did… well… praise Faust for that.” Rarity muttered, looking in revulsion at the carnage. Even if it was now thankfully being directed at someone other than herself, the unicorn still felt the brutality of her new ally rhythmically beating its own fellow being into paste was a bit extreme. Of course, at this point, with all she’d done to the other enemies she’d encountered throughout Lordran, who was she to judge?

“Again though, while I appreciate the value of this technique, I daresay it could do with a bit more… um… range. Possibly some promptness too.” Rarity commented as Quelana sat down beside her. “You’re certain this spell won’t work at ten paces? Maybe twenty? I have to trot right up to whomever I’m trying to charm, spend a good 30 or so seconds charging my power, then touch them?”

Quelana nodded softly.

“You are drawing upon the very harmony that links both life and flame, sculpting it into a form that will lure all those who covet such a perfect relationship. From my own efforts, I have determined this can only be done through channeling your internal fire into the most intimate and trusting of gestures.” The hooded lady replied. “Think of it this way, how have you greeted those you’ve encountered on your way down to the swamp? Did you offer a hand, or hoof, of friendship? Or did you raise your weapon as a challenge for battle?”

Rarity blinked, then lowered her head as she contemplated Quelana’s point.

“How did they react when they saw you? What do you think most of those that dwell within Lordran are more attuned to? Amicability? Or hostility?” Quelana continued, smiling in the shadows of her hood as Rarity cringed in realisation.

“Well, that’s not how every encounter has gone. We’ve made a few friends here.” The unicorn argued.

“Indeed you have, but by your own admission that is the exception, not the rule. Thus that is why the Undead Rapport depends upon you exploiting that exception. Prove you are more than another soul simply seeking to survive. Show you are willing to approach a foe in peace, and risk your own life to give them just the faintest show of warmth and kindness. It does not work on all souls, I admit that. But as you can see, it can earn you an ally at the most critical of moments.”

Rarity looked at the charmed barbarian again, noting it was done beating its comrade to death and had returned to its spot standing vigil by the shores of the swamp. Gradually the white glow fade from its eyes, and it pulled another boulder from the ground in preparation to murder the next unlucky being who wandered into its line of sight.

“Yes, but it seems only for a moment.” She groaned while brushing some of her sticky, webbed mane out of her face. “Certainly, it doesn’t quell my fear about what might happen if I’m against something that can move faster. Like the painting guardians, and the rats, and many of the other undead people around here, and most of the wildlife that’s around us right now...”

Rarity cringed harder as she ticked off just how many of the enemies she’d run into previously would’ve easily cut her down if she’d foregone fighting them and tried using the Undead Rapport on them. Quelana noted the unicorn’s tensing body and rested an assuring hand on Rarity’s shoulder.

“Do not lose faith so easily, my student. You have proven your aptitude with my pyromancies, now let us explore a more practical manner of applying them.” Quelana turned her attention to Rarity’s saddle bags, noting the faintest glimmer of a blue aura radiating from deep within them. “May I have a quick look through your supplies?”

Rarity cocked her ears in confusion.

“Uh by all means?” She replied, watching as Quelana searched through the gear she’d brought with her. Presently the hooded female lifted out a skull whose eye sockets and mouth were faintly glowing with the blue aura.

“As I thought. You have come well prepared.” Quelana smiled, which only furthered Rarity’s confusion.

“I guess? Miss Aurelia bought a few of those from a merchant and told me to take them with me. She called them… um… ’Alluring Skulls’?” Rarity shrugged. “They act like some manner of bait, I believe? Something to draw undead?”

“Quite correct. The lingering souls still trapped within the skull's fragile bone are an offer too tempting to resist for many who are now starved of even the faintest essence of life.”

Quelana rose to her feet and hurled the skull at the infested barbarian. Rarity quietly noted the hooded female had quite the throwing arm, as the skull sailed in a graceful arc to hit the ground and shatter just a few feet away from the barbarian’s far side. The barbarian duly turned at the noise, then upon seeing the faintly glowing mass of souls, it lowered its boulder and ran over like a hungry bear who had just sighted an unprotected pile of fresh goods.

“Try charming it now, while its back is turned and its attention focused solely elsewhere.” Quelana instructed.

Rarity hesitated, not wanting to pointlessly endanger herself again. Yet, she noted the barbarian indeed seemed to no longer care about what was immediately around it, and with its back to her, she did indeed have an opportunity to sneak up on it.

Swallowing in growing apprehension, the unicorn gingerly stepped over to the hulking undead, raising her casting hoof to charge the Undead Rapport a second time, while also madly praying to Faust that she was not about to squander her previous turn of fortune.

The barbarian shot upright as it registered something slamming into the small of its back, yet it did not turn around. Its hands trembled around the boulder as it slowly raised it back over its head. Rarity continued to pray as she held her trembling hoof against the undead’s body, only lowering it when the barbarian stepped away, turning to her as if in a trance, and revealing the brilliant white aura that had returned to its eyes.

Rarity held her breath as the barbarian took a step towards her, then walked past her to resume its station by the shore.

The unicorn let the air rush out of her lungs and leave her teetering on collapse again. Only a look down at the icky webbing covering the entrance to Quelaag's domain gave her the energy to remain on her hooves.

“You see? If it is your safety you fear for, there are ways to combine your skills with what resources Lordran still has to offer.” Quelana replied as she walked over to Rarity.

“Yes… quite.” The unicorn took a deep breath and let it out again to steady her nerves. “In which case, I shall have to ask Miss Aurelia if we can pay that merchant another visit. So I can stock up on a few hundred more of these, and also apologize for my less than pleasant reaction when she told me of their value.”

Quelana hmmed as Rarity did a count of the remaining alluring skulls in her bags.

“There is also a technique, known to sorcerers, that replicates the same effects. I believe they called it the ‘Aural Decoy.’” The hooded female shrugged. “I fear, however, that is beyond my own knowledge.”

Rarity looked up from her saddle bags, her ears listing as she finally found cause to smile.

“Well, perhaps we should take our leave of this place and bend Seath and Twilight’s ears about helping us with that.” Rarity brushed her filthy mane again. “We really must find Mr. Laurentius and regroup with our friends anyway. He no doubt will be enthralled to learn of what you’ve taught me, and while you’re at it, I simply MUST clean myself up!”

Quelana’s amusement slowly dissipated. Her mouth wilted from a smile to a thin straight line as she turned her attention back to the swamp.

“I fear, my student, you are again correct, though not in the way you intended.”

Again Rarity looked confused, and Quelana nodded for her to follow her gaze.

Upon doing so, Rarity was elated to see the distinctive hooded visage of Laurentius slowly making his way through the swamp towards them.

“Oh! Well that’s simply marvellous!” She said while trotting down to the shore. “Mr. Laurentius, I do hope we haven’t kept you waiting, wherever you were. In true form, no sooner did we give up on finding Miss Quelana than she found us!”

Laurentius offered no reply as he trudged closer to the shoreline.

“I also apologise that you thus went off on a wild goose chase. I promise I will do my best to make it up to you once we’re… we’re...”

Rarity’s voice tapered off as Laurentius drew near, allowing her to note something was off. He was not walking with the previous lively gait she’d noticed on him, rather he was shambling through the water as if unsteady on his own feet. His head was also bowed low, rolling from side to side with each step as if his neck wasn’t strong enough to support it.

“Uh… Mr. Laurentius?” Rarity said, her voice wavering as the hooded pyromancer stumbled. His body limply sagged to one side, nearly sending him into the water. Weakly, he adjusted his balance and found a stable purchase on the shoreline.

“Are you… okay?” Rarity asked as Laurentius slowly raised his head. The unicorn felt her body go cold as she beheld his visage was no longer that of a lively, bearded mid-30 year old. His skin was now of the same mottle brown hue and dried, rotting, mummy like consistency as the hollow. His eyes were now sunken black pits. His mouth lay frozen in a dreadful, silent opening.

“No...” Rarity whispered, right before Laurentius seemed to pick up on her state of cold fear, and sought to correct that by warming her with a fireball.

“No!” Rarity now screamed as she threw herself out of harm’s way, the fireball exploded against the shoreline, setting the webbing alight.

“What… what’s happened to you?” Rarity said in disbelief as Laurentius slowly turned to her, betraying no emotion, nor any sign of recognition as he hurled another fireball at the unicorn. Rarity scrambled back across the shore, her fur and mane curling in the heat of the projectile as it sailed past her and burned away more of the terrain. Laurentius raised his hand again to continue his efforts in ending the unicorn’s life, only stopping when the infested barbarian Rarity had charmed seem to take a dislike to his antics and threw its boulder at the pyromancer.

“What’s going on?” Rarity demanded as Quelana came and helped her back to her hooves.

“Exactly what I believed would happen. Time and purpose have at last expired for poor Laurentius. Either because he fulfilled his role in leading you to me, or because he lost his will along with his way, the curse has finally caught up with him.”

Laurentius made a half-handed effort to raise his cracked round shield, taking the brunt of the boulder as it nailed him in the side and sent him crumpling like a rag doll. Feebly, the pyromancer pushed the rock off him as the barbarian rearmed itself, and pulled his injured body back to a standing position, like a puppet being hauled up by strings.

“I saw the signs of this when he was leading you through the swamp. I waited until he had taken his leave before revealing myself, for I knew no good would come of our meeting.”

Laurentius raised his burning hand as the barbarian did the same with a fresh boulder. Clumsily, the pyromancer let himself fall to the side and dodge his enemies throw, before closing the distance and letting loose with a combustion attack.

“Now, however, fate has granted him one final boon: the means for you, Rarity, to choose what kind of a pyromancer you are.” Quelana stated ominously. Rarity looked up at her in trepidation. “This is your final test. Use what I have taught you to relieve Laurentius of his accursed existence. Judge his final fate!”

Rarity’s mouth dropped open in disgusted, disbelieving shock.

“End his… you can’t mean...” The unicorn protested, before turning to see the infested barbarian stumbling back as its body was engulfed in flames. Laurentius drew a hand axe from his belt and mindlessly sank its blade into the barbarian’s leg. The barbarian promptly fell to the ground, and Laurentius mindlessly pulled the axe free so he instead bury it in his opponent’s chest, again and again.

“There is nothing left of the man he once was in his body. He is as all hollowed are now.” Quelana said with relish. “Just as the many you’ve no doubt already killed in order to reach me.”

Rarity pulled from the sight of Laurentius hacking away like an automaton at his enemy’s burning corpse. She rounded on Quelana again. The hooded female merely placed her hands on her hips and silently challenged her student to tell her she was wrong.

“That’s… you… but...” Rarity kept protesting. “This isn’t the same!”

Quelana hmmed softly.

“Is it not?” She queried as Laurentius shambled towards them, his hand burning brightly with a fresh attack. Rarity duly threw up a barrier and winced as her face baked in the heat of another fireball exploding across the surface of her magic.

“Laurentius was more than kind! He helped us through our travels! He prepared me for my journey down here! He’s not an enemy!” The unicorn cried. She dropped her barrier and ran to the edge of the water as Laurentius got within striking distance. Quelana shook her head and tactfully backed away as the pyromancer began wildly swinging his axe at her.

“Thus, because you happened to meet him before this moment, you believe he is different?” The hooded female challenged, igniting her own hand as Laurentius continued to try and close the gap between them. “Do you also believe none of the other souls you’ve slain are the same?”

Rarity’s face twisted in confusion. Much to Quelana’s mild fascination she did not respond.

“Every soul touched by the curse was once as Laurentius! Every being you’ve killed once had a name, a past, a home, and a family!” The hooded female continued, betraying just a hint of alarm in her voice as she hurled a great fireball at Laurentius, only for the pyromancer to simply surrender himself to gravity and let it pull him down and out of the projectile’s path.

“Thus, I ask you again, my student, is this truly different?” Quelana intoned while watching Laurentius crumpled form. With a low, tired groan, the pyromancer pulled himself up off the ground again and clumsily regained his footing on the shore.

“But… he’s...” Rarity struggled to speak. Her throat clenched as realization slowly dawned on her. Laurentius weakly pulled his head up until his lifeless gaze met that of the unicorns. Again he mindlessly began shambling towards her, charing up another pyromancy.

“For every moment you hesitate, he will not stop in his attempts to join your fate to his own. You must decide on a plan of action. Do NOT make the same mistake I did in fleeing from my mother!!” Quelana ordered. Rarity paid her a moment’s glance, picking up on the desperation now seeping into the hooded female’s voice.

“Release Laurentius from his suffering, and I will reward you with the last and greatest of my teachings. I need only to know first that you are capable of wielding them as a far fairer and just soul than I!” Quelana insisted. Laurentius turned to her, as if her words had sparked some tiny remaining ember of his former self.

Judging by the way he then whipped around and tried once more to incinerate the hooded female, that ember was apparently fuelled by jealousy.

Rarity’s jaw tightened as she watched Quelana dodge the attack, striking out at Laurentius with her own fireballs, which just seemed to hasten the pyromancer’s desire to get in close again and bury his axe in her brain.

Indecision battered and tore at Rarity’s mind, while her muscles tensed and ached with the insane demand that she hurry up and at least do something! She looked at her casting hoof, her teeth baring as she fought and warred with her conscience.

Closing her burning eyes, the unicorn steeled her nerves, and finally made her decision.

“Laurentius!”

The hooded pyromancer paused, his axe held high in the air. He turned, apparently still cognizant of his own name, if nothing else.

Rarity exhaled slowly as she let Laurentius get a look at her, seeing her own hoof now held aloft with a truly immense ball of fire balanced atop it.

“I… I’m sorry.” The unicorn declared through grit teeth. Laurentius was unmoved, at least emotionally. Physically he moved quite swiftly, dropping his stance to evade Rarity’s attack and raising his shield as he charged at her.

Rarity promptly closed her eyes and focused on readying her attack. Laurentius had sighted the fireball, he knew what was about to happen.

This thus allowed Rarity to catch him off guard by blasting him instead with her own magic. The fireball fluctuated atop her hoof as she diverted energy from it to her horn, pouring all she could spare into the stream of magic.

Laurentius was promptly sent flying backwards, his shield exploding into splinters from the force of Rarity’s power. He crashed again onto the shore, losing his grip on his axe as his battered body was further damaged from the impact. He lay still for a moment, before amazingly finding the will to raise his head again and check if Rarity was still where she’d been standing.

Seeing she was, Laurentius made to drag himself to his feet again, pausing only when he tried to ready his weapon, and found himself empty handed. He looked for his axe, spotting it a foot or so away.

With a heavy heart, Rarity did not give the pyromancer a chance to rearm himself. She charged up her fireball again, and let it fly. Laurentius was knocked back against the ground as the searing flames exploded over him, engulfing his body in their inferno.

Rarity lowered her hoof, then did the same with her head as Laurentius let himself burn momentarily, then tried, against all odds, to get back to his feet. He stumbled as his body quickly began falling apart in the heat of the flames, yet either as a testament to his strength of will, or alternately to the Darksign’s ability to keep a being chained to life for as long as possible, Laurentius stood up. He took a step towards Rarity, then another. The putrid smell of flesh and fat cooking away filled the air as the pyromancer slowly managed to close the gap.

Rarity promptly retreated as Laurentius came within reach of her. Indeed, he extended a burning arm towards her as if to pull her in to join him in the flames. Burning skin and cloth flaked off his limb, exposing charred bones as he managed another step forward.

Rarity let out a terrified gasp as Laurentius then promptly crumbled before her. His body, it seemed, had finally endured all it could.

“Laurentius...” The unicorn whispered, blinking as she felt her face burning in the heat of the pyromancer’s corpse. She watched as the flames devoured all they could, until Laurentius at last faded away into nothingness. Rarity felt a sudden surge of energy rush through her body, catching sight of the tell tale white matter of a soul jumping from the flames to infuse into her flesh, before they too vanished.

“Impressive. Most impressive.”

Rarity felt herself jerked out of her momentary numbness by Quelana’s voice. She looked up to see the hooded woman approaching her with a look of… satisfaction?

“You hesitated at the moment of truth… but you did not back down. You exploited your enemy’s weakness, and held nothing back.” Quelana stated, sounding unnervingly placid.

“My… My enemy?” Rarity stated, scorn quickly filling her voice. “Laurentius was NOT my enemy! He… he… I mean....”

Anger promptly bashed against grim realisation as Rarity looked to where Laurentius had fallen. Not a trace of his body remained, not even ashes from what the flames had consumed. It was as if he’d never been present at all.

“Did… Did I have to kill him??” She demanded, not sure if she was asking Quelana… or herself. “I… you just showed me how to pacify someone! Make them friendly to me!”

Quelana nodded.

“That may have worked. Perhaps. Truthfully, I’ve never tested it on a fellow pyromancer. With our greater knowledge of the flames, it may very well have had no effect at all.” She theorised while shrugging. “Even if it had worked, as you have just seen, it would’ve been only a temporary solution.”

Rarity balked, blinking as she felt her eyes welling up with angry tears.

“But, I could’ve have just cast it again! Kept him pacified until… until...” The unicorn broke off as she thought her proposition over. “I would’ve had to contain him… and kept an eye on him until we knew how to cure him… IF we could cure him of the curse...”

Quelana nodded.

“Such is a possibility, but a risky one. What do you think Laurentius would’ve wanted? To be kept bound and tortured by the curse while you pursue an objective you don’t even know exists? Or released from his suffering at long last?” She charged. Rarity grit her teeth again as she tried to think of another way to protest. “Does this still strike you as different to every other death you’ve caused?”

Rarity shut her eyes as if further agonised by the hooded woman’s choice of words. Sighing, Quelana knelt and placed her hand against Rarity’s cheek.

“If you must see it as such, then think of it in this manner: this is different because you released a soul, one you trusted and embraced as a friend, from their torment. Before, you acted purely on self preservation, now you’ve proven you can make the hard decisions needed for a noble cause.”

Rarity was still unconvinced, tears falling from her eyes as she tried to reply. To say something.

“If it is any consolation, I am satisfied you are worthy of the final lessons I have to impart. I will hold nothing back, as I now see you are ready for whatever lies ahead.”

Rarity tore herself away from Quelana, sitting herself down on the shore as she felt her entire body shake and tremble in horror.

“I’m… I’m ready...” She choked out, finally placing both hooves to her face as she bitterly wept. “Faust help me, I’m ready.”

***

“So, that invisibility trick of yours. Could you… um, teach the Great and Powerful Trixie that?”

Priscilla looked down at Trixie in bemusement as the two headed back inside the Archives, having enjoyed a needed conversation in the courtyard.

“Thing is, at heart, Trixie is a showpony. She has to make her entrances and exits as grandiose as she can… and she still needs, um, a little help with that.” Trixie cleared her throat.

“If it is a flair for the stage thou speaketh of, I confess I am somewhat confused.” Priscilla admitted. “Mine own abilities art fashioned to hide myself and confuse mine enemies. What use could they serve for one that craves an audience?”

Trixie now looked confused at the crossbreed’s response.

“Uh, every use? That blizzard you whip up, the mist, the ability to hide yourself completely from sight? That’s the perfect package for a dramatic opener AND a closer!” The unicorn exclaimed, waving her hooves about animatedly. “Trixie can just picture it! The curtains draw back to reveal a pitch black stage. Slowly, one by one, lights click on overhead. Suddenly snow begins blowing about, covering the stage in white till it glows under the lights. Mist explodes out of nowhere! Then, out strides the Great and Powerful Trixie, invisible at first, but then she reveals herself from the very air!”

Priscilla cocked her head in intrigue as Trixie’s eyes glimmered in excitement.

“Trixie could use the Force Miracle she learned to blow the mist away, and also provide some more flashy effects. Maybe there could be some caged doves that could be released to fly all around her… assuming they went to the bathroom first.”

Trixie grinned.

“Then Trixie wows everypony with her magic, and her miracles, and then, as her closer, she does the entrance in reverse. Fades back into nothingness as the mist engulfs her. The blizzard covers her departure, and the lights slowly click off, one after the other. Curtain closes on the now pitch black stage, and then… nothing but deafening applause.”

Trixie took several deep breaths and lowered her hooves back to the ground.

“It’s an idea at least. For when Trixie gets back home.” The unicorn concluded. Priscilla leaned against her scythe as she regarded Trixie with newfound respect.

“Truly, it is more forethought than I hath given to my own future. Never once did I dream I would leave the Painted World, let alone reunite with my father. What comes after opens before me like an uncharted forest, promising any number of untold dangers.”

Trixie felt her enthusiasm slowly drain as Priscilla’s words neatly slapped a dampener on her mood.

“Yes, well… about Trixie’s original question?” She queried.

Priscilla swallowed awkwardly.

“The abilities I hath honed art now like second nature to me. I… I COULD impart what I recall of the teachings that didst first imbue me with power… however, thou dost claim thineself to be a worker of miracles already?” She asked.

Trixie nodded.

“Is the one who did teach thee such arts near? I would seek their counsel first on whether my abilities can be melded with thine own.” Priscilla admitted.

Trixie’s ears rose as did her smile.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, Priscilla. Trixie can bring you the one she originally learned from, AND the one he likely learned his skills from!” The unicorn looked at the hallway ahead. “If Trixie recalls, they’re both cooling their hooves in one of the side rooms somewhere around here. Give Trixie a few minutes to retrace her steps, and she’ll fill them in!”

The unicorn happily trotted off into the labyrinth of bookcases and study areas. Now that she had spent a while getting lost in them and learning the layout of the Archives, finding her way back came somewhat easier. Trixie just picked out the distinctive landmarks she remembered, one of the Harry Trotter like staircases here, an elevator there, a study desk overflowing with books back there, an open, discarded chest up here, and the unicorn was soon finding herself approaching the side room she’d left Petrus and Rhea in.

“Let us not deceive ourselves, m’lady. Without your family name, you are not worth your salt!”

Trixie furrowed her brow as she approached the door. It was closed, yet, she could hear all was not well on the other side.

“We all were warned of the dangers in our quest. The head priests minced no words about how little they trusted us to succeed!”

Trixie’s fur bristled as she stopped. Were Petrus and Rhea having an argument?

“And what does the little madam do the instant the slightest adversity visits us? She puts a foot wrong and falls off the giants' coffins into a hole!”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. She put her ear to the door, trying to pick up what she could hear under Petrus rather violent voice.

“Vince and Nico tried to rescue you. They DIED for you! And what was your response? You do as you’re doing now. Cowering and weeping helplessly.”

Trixie’s muscles as she picked up on the muffled sound of… yes, that was indeed crying.

“You are quite helpless. Helpless to argue against those who sent us on this damned suicide quest. Helpless to save Vince and Nico.”

Trixie shook as the impact of something echoed out through the door. Something hard, and heavy, striking against… well given she heard a very pained scream come soon after, it was no question what the something struck.

“Helpless to even save yourself now.”

The something struck again. Trixie slowly ground her teeth together as she started deducing what she was hearing.

“A pity. I would have died for you once. Now, however...”

Trixie didn’t wait to hear anymore. She stepped back from the door, channeled the force miracle through her cloak, then aimed it at the lock. The door shuddered as the mechanism that kept it closed was messily blasted off, allow Trixie to turn and kick it open with her back hooves.

“What the heck is going on… in… here?”

The unicorn paused as she beheld the scene. Petrus stood hunched over the prone body of Rhea, his morning star held high. Blood silently ran down from the spikes of the weapon, blood which Trixie immediately deduced, with a significant amount of nausea, was Rhea’s. The stains of red slowly spreading out over her white robes pretty much confirmed it.

“Petrus… what are you...”

The knight halted in his attack, turning to regard Trixie first in surprise, then grim resignation.

“Ahhh… how unfortunate.” He said in a voice robbed of any emotion besides apathy. “I’d hoped to finish the little madam off in peace. Maybe blame it on one of the creatures still lurking about.”

Trixie barely heard him, too shocked as she was at the sight of Rhea’s body. She was still moving, barely, yet given how much blood was quickly soaking her robes, she wasn’t likely to stay that way for much longer.

“So be it. You’ll both make fine hollows.”

Trixie heard that… if only because it was immediately followed by the concussive impact of another force miracle.

Trixie went flying across the hall, crashing into the wall on the far side. She barely managed to get her senses back in order before they were scattered again, this time by the introduction of Petrus' morning star upside her cranium.

“P-Petrus… ngh… no...” Trixie whispered after skidding to a stop on the floor. Her mind swam along with her vision. Her scalp felt wet, yet there was no pain. All she could gather is she really needed to get back on her feet, if only she didn’t feel so damn woozy and unsteady.

“You do understand, it really DOES hurt to have to dispose of a student as willing as you.” Petrus lamented. “But you chose to interrupt at the wrong moment. And Rhea can scarcely waltz in the infernal depths by herself.”

Trixie’s vision slowly managed to clear, just in time for her to see Petrus’ was walking towards her, his body composed and his face set in a calm expression of readiness for what he was about to do.

“NO!” The unicorn screamed before the second impact of a morning star against her skull silenced her.

***

“So, I can imagine you probably have a lot of questions, and several choice words for me.” Ciaran meekly said as she set her mask and helmet down, then made herself comfortable on the carpeted floor of the Archives’ larger reading rooms. Before her, the Chosen Undead stood with a stoic gaze on her face and her hands around the handle of her craggy dragon greatsword. Between them, Sif uncomfortably looked from one woman to another, recognizing this meeting for what it was, after Pinkie had appeared, quite surprisingly, by her side and said there was someone who needed to speak to her and the Chosen Undead immediately. The wolf’s fur bristled as she realized what was likely to result from this unexpected reunion.

“I only hope that once you’ve said them, you can understand I accept full blame for what’s transpired… so that we may hopefully finally be able to mend our relationship… before it’s too late.” The assassin bowed her head, bracing herself for the inevitable verbal beat down. The Chosen Undead let several heavy seconds pass by as she gauged the weary visage of her fellow warrior. Though Ciaran’s hair still shone as bright and pure as the golden rays of Gwyn’s sun, her features radiated only the tired, exhausted resignation of one who had seen far too much suffering for one lifetime.

“When I last left you, you were mourning Artorias. What happened with that?” The Chosen Undead demanded.

Ciaran shrank back, looking both wounded and dismayed at the female’s wording. Granted, she could understand why she’d phrase her question like that, but it did nothing to blunt the cutting tone.

“I did as I said I would… until circumstances decreed that Oolacile needed me for one final task.” Ciaran replied. “I happened upon a terrible revelation, but a necessary one.”

The Chosen Undead raised an eyebrow.

“There is a new menace there: a dragon, possibly of the same ilk as the everlasting. Its machinations threaten not only Lordran, but the realm that the ponies call home. I was tracking its movements, and its collaboration with Manus, until one of those ponies appeared before me, quite suddenly.”

Ciaran looked up at the Chosen Undead.

“She called herself Princess Celestia, and claimed to know you.”

The Chosen Undead reacted in shock.

“She does. We were met when I first travelled to their world to kill Seath...” She said, before noting Ciaran looking behind her in confusion. “She and the other ponies talked me out of doing the deed.”

Ciaran nodded and sighed.

“Well, I too was witness to her persuasive powers, such is why I’m here.” The assassin replied, much to the Chosen Undead’s growing concern.

“And where is Celestia now?” She demanded.

Ciaran clenched her fists and steeled her nerves.

“She told me to flee, that I had no hope against the dragon. Then she drove it off while I went to summon Gough for help… only...” Ciaran’s face fell again. “Only he too proved unable to fell the beast.”

She looked up again, and closed her eyes in acceptance of the Chosen Undead’s enraged expression.

“You abandoned her… you abandoned Gough… just like you abandoned me??” The warrior demanded. Sif whimpered in protest that that was laying it on a bit harsh. The Chosen Undead shot her honorary sister a scathing glare.

“No.” Ciaran said, neatly killing the argument before it could begin. “Again, I acted at her behest, even when I argued I couldn’t leave her. Gough likewise demanded I leave him to his fate.”

The Chosen Undead turned her anger on the assassin again. Ciaran fought to keep her head up and take the scorn like she would a battle injury.

“What I did to you… no, what Artorias and I did to you… that was different. It was… wrong.”

The Chosen Undead blinked, cocking her head as Ciaran continued.

“Regardless of whether Smough did poison the Lord Gwyn against you, or Gwyn, in his great wisdom, simply saw through our deception of presenting you as our pupil… rather than than our… our...”

The Chosen Undead narrowed her eyes, her rage rising with every second Ciaran proved unable to say the one word she knew she had to say.

“Aurelia… I know it seemed like we were going back on everything we’d told you while you were growing up. We said when the time was right, we’d reveal who you were. But then we heard the news of Seath, of what he tried to do with the Princess Gwynevere… and what had been done to punish him for his transgressions. We knew then that there was no chance you’d be accepted if everyone knew what you were.”

Ciaran bowed her head.

“A crossbreed of human, and demi-god. Able to pass as the former but with the strength and aptitude of the latter...” The assassin said, before gritting her teeth and mustering up whatever courage she had left to finally utter the phrase.

“Our daughter.”

The Chosen Undead’s brass armor clinked loudly as she dispersed the tension from her muscles. Setting the dragon greatsword against the wall, beside Sif's replica of Artorias' greatsword, she sat down in front of Ciaran and folded her hands, still staring at the assassin in scathing accusation.

“We had you because we knew such a legacy would be the perfect match to inherit our mantles. You would have been exactly what the Four Knights needed to light the way as things grew worse. You could have helped everyone in so many ways.” Ciaran said.

“And yet when the Great Lord deemed me unfit and ordered I be removed from his keep with all haste, you simply obeyed. Just like when I was murdered and became undead, you did nothing to stop Captain Siefer and his silver knights from arresting me! Binding me like a low level criminal, then dragging me to the Northern Asylum!” The Chosen Undead seethed venomously. “All my life you trained me and spoke of how I was going to be one of the greatest souls ever to serve our Great Lord. Yet at the moment of truth, did you fight for me? Did you stand by my side? Did you even have the slightest inclination that, for once, Gwyn was wrong in his actions???”

Ciaran looked to her daughter, seeing the rage, the sense of betrayal, the need to finally settle this most unpleasant score between them.

“Yes...” The assassin replied. “Yes, we did… well, I did. Artorias, I suspect he had his doubts, maybe, for a moment. He kept his thoughts on the manner well hidden, just like he did so many things.”

The Chosen Undead narrowed her eyes.

“Like your relationship? He was ever so apt at convincing everyone your feelings for him were one sided, at least out in the open.” She seethed. Ciaran, to her credit, did not argue.

“If you need confirmation as to whether it tore me apart, as your mother, to see you being rejected, killed, reborn as an undead, then forcibly removed from our lives… it did.” Ciaran looked to Sif. “You can offer better clarification as to how Artorias felt as he restrained you from attacking Seifer and his knights.”

Sif looked to the Chosen Undead, her fur rising again as she reluctantly thought back to that terrible moment. Her neck ached with phantom agony as she recalled her sister being dragged like a dead carcass out the door of their house, her frightened expression as Seifer read out the terms of her fate as an undead. Sif had tried to leap to her defense, damn be the consequences of attacking Gwyn’s hallowed knights, but then she’d felt it; the cold, traitorous grasp of Artorias’ armored fingers grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, holding her in an unbreakable grip even as she howled and struggled in protest.

Sif bowed her head, giving no sign as to what she thought the fabled knight had felt when his daughter and student had been wrenched away.

“You say it tore you apart, as my mother… tell me.”

Ciaran looked to the Chosen Undead, bracing herself again as her daughter brushed aside the golden braid that could only have come from her mother, and stared back with those piercing eyes that were so definitely inherited from her father.

“Who IS my mother? Really?” The Chosen Undead calmly demanded. “You often speak of humans as if they were an entirely different, and lesser race… yet you’re the reason I’m human at all.”

Ciaran clenched her fists tightly.

“You spoke of our home life as the standard all families should ascribe to, yet you and father denied to everyone that you were even living together. You told me how proud you were of me, and said I was your model daughter, yet you kept me a secret.”

Ciaran sighed as Sif whimpered. The Chosen Undead took this as prompting for her next point.

“You instilled in me the importance of trust, of teamwork, of relying on your friends… yet you forbid me from socializing with anyone except Sif.”

Sif silenced herself, then slowly tilted her ears back as she looked to Ciaran. That actually had been something the wolf wondered about too, given her own pack mentality.

“I’m not going to judge, or accuse, I just want an honest justification...” The Chosen Undead exhaled then added. “... please, mother.”

Ciaran nodded, taking in a long breath and unclenching her hands.

“Who am I? That… that IS a good question.” She chuckled in exhaustion. “In the past, I was an exile of a distant, exotic land. In another life… I was a dancer… by trade at least.”

The Chosen Undead blinked then slowly raised her eyebrows in surprise. Ciaran let out another weak laugh.

“It’s not something I tend to share. I was forced into it… not by my own choice. But it helped me hone my other talents, as a thief, then an assassin. It’s also how I came to be gifted with the tracers I wield… or, used to wield.”

The Chosen Undead looked to her pack, her fingers curling as she thought this over.

“Slowly, I made for myself the means to break from my life, to abandon the past and start over. Finally, one night, I was given a contract I will never forget.” Ciaran smiled. “I was to travel to Anor Londo, break into Lord Gwyn’s Keep, and steal an item of particular importance to him.”

The Chosen Undead turned her gaze back to Ciaran, though now she looked even more surprised.

“I was told I would know it when I saw it. Well, upon finding my way into Gwyn’s chambers I certainly found it… I just wasn’t prepared to find the Great Lord himself there too, expecting me to turn up.”

The Chosen Undead leaned slightly forward, her face expressing that she wanted to doubt this… yet given Ciaran spoke with sincerity, she was somewhat intrigued to hear more.

“He challenged me to fight him, to prove I was worthy to steal from him.” Ciaran laughed with slightly less weight to her voice now. “If I were generous I’d say he took maybe a minute to disarm me and have me at his mercy. Didn’t even have to use any of his powers either, just his swordsmanship.”

The Chosen Undead looked to Sif, who could only shake her head that this was the first she heard of this too.

“So what happened?” The warrior asked. Ciaran smiled.

“He said he’d found out what he needed to know, then gave me the item I was ordered to steal… the one HE ordered me to steal from himself as it turned out.”

Ciaran held up her hand, showing off the hornet ring on her finger. “He was the one who sent me the contract. Seems he’d heard of my skills, and wanted to see if I was apt to join his legions. He may have triumphed against the dragons, but he needed someone who could help with a new problem… humans.”

The Chosen Undead’s momentary intrigue was dashed as Ciaran bowed her head.

“Souls such as Ornstein and Smough were ill-equipped for the task of keeping the peace among Gwyn’s subjects. Their reputation and appearance were too well known. He needed one who could move among the common folk unseen, take care of those who showed signs of the curse, to keep the darkness from spreading and tainting his kingdom.” Ciaran sighed. “Even now I still ponder if this was his true test of me, to see if I was willing to spill the blood of my own kind in service of the gods.”

Ciaran looked up, expecting fresh judgement and scorn from this revelation. Instead the Chosen Undead now regarded her with something akin to understanding.

“So that’s why you speak of humans as if you were different from them?” She asked.

Ciaran nodded.

“It made my burden easier to bear. Artorias made it easier still once we were assigned to work together. At first he was a great mentor to me, then he became a good friend and confidant, then… well… you know the rest.”

The Chosen Undead shook her head.

“So you let lies and deceit guide your life… so you could live better than your fellow humans?” She asked.

Ciaran looked away, unsure of how to answer.

“Perhaps that, perhaps because I believed, some part of me at least, that it was for the greatest of causes. I halted unrest amidst the populace and held back the approach of the dark, so that the gods could figure out a solution without bloodying their hands.” Ciaran drew in a long breath. “And yet, here we are. The gods have abandoned us, Gwyn is now mere fuel for the flames, Lordran is lost...”

Ciaran looked at the Chosen Undead. Summoning her strength, she scooted closer to her.

“All that remains, is what I said after you released Artorias from the Abyss. I truly did not want any of this to happen to you. We were wrong to not stand by you.” The assassin continued.

The Chosen Undead met her mother’s gaze with caution.

“But you’ve proven yourself greater than us. You can still be what we raised you to be. I only ask that you not let yourself be clouded by the hatred of us for failing as your parents.” Ciaran pleaded.

The Chosen Undead let her eyes drift down to the rich weaving of the carpet. Ciaran noted her daughter’s hands clenching and unclenching, showing she at least was giving her words some careful thought.

“Whether Artorias failed as my father doesn’t matter. He suffered enough, and whatever you think, I will never cease to be haunted by the memory of having to...release him from his torment. It’s hard to muster up hatred after that.”

Ciaran stiffened as the Chosen Undead reached for her pack.

“As for you… well… you’ve grieved, you stayed behind to let yourself share Artorias’ fate in Oolacile. I admit originally I would have left you there and considered that the end of our relationship… but it seems other powers intend for you to have a second chance. As such....” The undead warrior continued. Ciaran’s eyes widened as her tracer swords were withdrawn from the pack and presented to her.

“I’ll forgive you, Mom. But only if you can forgive yourself. I don’t know anymore if I can save Lordran, or if Lordran is even worth saving. But I DO know we can’t let the curse spill over into other worlds. For that, I NEED your help!” The Chosen Undead…no...Aurelia asked.

Ciaran raised a hand as if to take the tracers… only to then hold herself back. She’d given them up. She swore she had no more use for the tools she’d used to slay her own kind by the score. Yet… that had been before Celestia had charged her with new purpose, given her a reason to cling to life, if only for one more task...

“I see… then permit me to prove to you I am willing to forgive myself, by fulfilling my new role.”

Ciaran reached into her own pack, withdrawing the soul of Artorias.

“I asked Celestia to give this to you. She instead decreed I should do it myself, and try to make amends with you.” The assassin chuckled awkwardly. “I guess I’ve haven’t botched that up too much.”

Aurelia nodded.

“So your decision is yes?” She asked. Ciaran let out the breath she’d been holding and held out the burning black flame.

“I will fight alongside you, and the ponies, for whatever good that may do, so long as you put this to its intended use.” Ciaran said before blinking as a thought struck. “That is… Gwyn’s blacksmith is still present, isn’t he?”

Aurelia chuckled. “He’s around here somewhere. Let’s go find him. Sif!” She called, before noticing the wolf had her attention turned to the door. “Erm… Sif?”

The giant wolf sniffed at the air. Her ears folded back as she growled.

“Sif, do you sense something wrong?”

Nodding in affirmation, Sif got up and grabbed the giant replica of Artorias' sword.

“What is it?” Ciaran asked, grabbing the tracers from her daughter’s hands. Sif turned to her and shook her head for the assassin not to follow.

“You’re sure?” Aurelia asked as she took Artorias’ soul and stowed in her pack.

Sif growled that whatever she sensed, she would take care of it. It apparently was something she had to handle on her own.

“Okay, just… please be careful!” Aurelia pleaded. Around the hilt in her teeth, Sif barked she would. She nudged the doors open then navigated the sword through the aperture. With a defiant growl, she charged off into the depths of the Archives.

To where the wolf sensed her own chance for atonement awaited...

***

“You really don’t have a single proper mirror anywhere in this place?” Pinkie Pie asked in dismay as Seath conjured a mass of finely polished, reflective crystal with his breath. “I know the inability to do raytracing usually makes it a waste of resources for most games, but they couldn’t have just gone with the usual workaround of adding another tile set with reversed images on the other side of the scenery?”

Once more Seath had to look at the pink mare and wonder just what the power that spawned her was thinking, right before he consoled himself that even in his worst moments of deranged insanity, at least he still had more wits than she did.

“Mirrors art a danger not to be taken lightly. They grant visions of things far worse than the bitter truth of one’s self. Should one not respect what they see, then they may find themselves visited by beings of a most deadly nature whence the mirror grants passage.” The dragon darkly cautioned, much to Twilight’s confusion. “For the practical needs of mineself, as I had not the sight that was granted to me when first I was delivered unto thine realm, there was little use in keeping such worthless artifacts within these walls.”

Pinkie furrowed her brow in more confusion.

“But then… how do you dress yourself each morning? Or brush your teeth? Or groom yourself after a bath?” She asked, thus making Seath ponder if she was even thinking about her words, given it was obvious that none of the mentioned tasks had ever been part of his daily routine.

“I hath managed, as hath my channelers.” He finally muttered, stepping away from the crystal face. “Will at least this proveth a sufficient alternative?”

Pinkie approached the crystal and stared into its reflective surface. A ghostly replica of herself stared back from the depths of the flawless purple toned lattice, which the mare decided was probably fitting, given what she hoped to accomplish.

“Yeah, it’ll do. Thank you, and… well...” Pinkie coughed uneasily as she turned to Twilight. “Wish me luck. I feel like I know what’s going to happen, but at the same time, this is the one thing I’ve feared most in my entire life… well, maybe aside from having to one day face Maud in a skating competition.”

Pinkie paused as she detected Twilight and Seath’s bewildered expressions.

“What? Have you seen the way she cuts a Biellmann spin? I WISH I could lift all of my legs as high as that!!” The pink mare whinnied.

Twilight frowned as her friend again looked at herself in the crystal and shivered terribly.

“Well, considering we’re still waiting for everyone to get back here… I can stay and provide support if you need it, Pinkie.” She said. Pinkie shook her head softly.

“I appreciate that, Twi, but trust me, I have to do this alone… well, alone with her.” Pinkie groaned. “I’m not going to be of any use to you or to anyone if we don’t finally come to an understanding. Go make sure everyone else gets back here so we can save Celestia, and then… well...”

Twilight looked dismayed at the way her friend’s tone dropped from dismal to outright hopeless as she finished her thought, though, yet again, Pinkie waved her off.

“I’ll be quick! I promise!” The pink mare pleaded.

Twilight thought to contest that point, then decided against it. Seath took note of the way his student bowed her head as Pinkie returned her full attention to her reflection in the crystal.

“Alright, just, we’ll be right outside if you need us.” Twilight said before gesturing for the dragon to follow her.

“Prithee mine student, dost thou speak as one who knoweth what ails thine pink friend? Or dost thou simply believe her to be as I believe her to be?” Seath quietly asked. Twilight’s ears twitched as she picked up on the implication, yet rather than be offended she just stared glumly at Pinkie.

“I’ve had cause to suspect what her issue is for years, ever since the time we tried throwing a surprise party for her, and then when she made dozens of copies of herself afterwards. She’s just so good at hiding it, or has been until recently at least, that I could never determine if she actually had a problem or it was just part of Pinkie being Pinkie.” Twilight sighed. “Also, considering my own problems, I always thought if I said anything I’d look like a massive hypocrite, so...”

Seath’s head frills rose as Twilight rubbed her face with a hoof.

“Look, the important thing is she’s making an honest effort. Let’s just pray it does some good. It’s better than anything I can recommend right now.” The alicorn turned and walked out of the room. Seath’s expression softened as he paid Pinkie one final look, this time remembering their chat in the park, and the revelation that she, for all her annoying tics and foolish optimism, at least shared the common ground of seeing the world as he saw it.

By Gwyn’s beard, did that seem like such a long time ago...

“Whatever thou hopes to find from this, Pinkie, may it be what thou needs.” He intoned.

That made Pinkie turn her head as the dragon departed his study and closed the door behind him.

“What thou needs… heh, shouldn’t be too hard. I can tell you exactly what you need!”

Pinkie’s mane wilted like a spring plant in the heat from a blast furnace as she heard her own voice, now scolding her with all the venom and razor edged scorn it could muster.

“You don’t know HER. I can’t let HER out! SHE makes me do terrible things! SHE’S being quiet for once! How many did SHE kill? What did SHE do while I was out??”

Cringing and bracing herself for the worst, Pinkie looked back at her reflection in the mirror, seeing herself as she always hated to see herself. Her mane hung like an old, washed out rag over her features, her coat was several shades grayer, her pupils were shrunk to pinpoints and her teeth were gleaming with the pure, unrefined want for blood.

“What you NEED, balloon head, is to start using my bucking name! You know who I am! You’ve known ever since you were born! Your family uses it every time you visit, as do several of the customers at Sugarcube Corner, yet you still dance and sing your denial that it means anything!”

Pinkie ground her hooves loudly across the polished marble floor as she fought to stay calm in her response. Mockingly, her reflection copied the action to further fray her nerves.

“Yes, you’re right, I do. Why do you think that is?” She flatly asked while glaring at her reflection. In turn the murderous faded mare in the crystal just glared back at her.

“Why do YOU think that is?” The reflection demanded. “Or should I perhaps tell you?”

Pinkie let out a defeated exhale as she raised her hoof, neatly preventing the mare from continuing her argument, even as she raised the same hoof as well to emphasize whatever her next point was.

“No, no, I think I can guess.” Pinkie muttered. “It’s because I don’t want to admit what really happened the day I saw Rainbow Dash perform her first ever Sonic Rainboom, and thus learned what my special talent was. I tell everyone it was a day of happiness, when it was really the opposite.”

Pinkie wilted further as her reflection wilted from the weight of her well deserved fury.

“My mind wasn’t enlightened that day, it was shattered. Until that point I was slowly building up a lot of resentment, anger, despair and all those other lovely emotions that make ponies want to either curl up in a ball and die, or make everypony around them curl up and die. I hated myself, I hated my life, I hated my family, I hated what they stood for… I was… no, I wasn’t Pinkie Pie then. Pinkie Pie didn’t exist until the Sonic Rainboom. I was… I was you.”

She stared weakly at her reflection, which in turn looked like it was cursing the fact that it couldn’t just reach through the crystal and snap her damn neck.

“You were me? That’s it? Still just ‘me’?” Pinkie demanded scathingly, bringing both mares to shut their eyes as they started tearing up.

“Yes, you… you… nghhh… you, Pinkamena Diane Pie!” The pony screamed at herself. “That’s who you are! You’re who I was born as, and who my family unknowingly raised! That’s who I was, until that glorious day when I became something else… something that was strong enough to shove you into a recess of my mind and bury you under me. There, are you happy now?”

Pinkamena levelled off the scorn being cast at herself. It was a waste of good loathing to spend any more on a crumbling mess of a mare as she tried to not collapse into pointless sobbing.

“Somewhat. Could’ve done without you literally spitting it in my face, but at least you finally mustered the courage to admit I exist.” The pink mare sighed. She looked up to see flecks of her own saliva on the crystal face. Meekly, Pinkie and her reflection both drew a rag out of their manes and cleaned it off.

“Well, I can’t deny it anymore, can I? My saddlebags are overflowing with the souvenirs of your little murder spree. My flank still burns with the reminder of what… what you made me do!” She snarled, only to promptly fold as her reflection tore her down with a most withering expression.

“Really?” The mare in the crystal asked flatly, causing herself to shrink back again as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

“No… no… what I made myself do.” Pinkie corrected herself. “Who am I kidding? That was all me.”

Her reflection joined her in a sigh of utter dismay.

“Well, not entirely. The sunlight maggot scrambled your inhibitions, which I gotta admit, is pretty impressive considering how screwed up you already are.” Pinkamena huffed. “Regardless, you could still have resisted its influence! That is, if you hadn’t already exhausted yourself from all the years of trying to keep me suppressed.”

Pinkie grit her teeth as she dabbed at her eyes with the cloth. As if to mock her further, her reflection again copied each of her actions.

“Was the surprise party not enough of a warning as to what you were doing to us? Did you really think that was a one off thing and there wouldn’t be a repeat later on?” Pinkamena demanded.

Pinkie retreated as her eyes filled with tears again.

“What do you want from me? I’m admitting I was at fault! That I was wrong! I’m admitting who you are!” She screamed, then added in a quieter tone. “I’m admitting you’re who I was and will always be, at least partially. Knowing how to throw the perfect parties, play ten instruments at once, and make ponies laugh, that’s me. But the other stuff? Being able to just appear wherever and whenever I need to be, seeing what others can’t about the world, this… whatever you’d call this...”

Pinkie reached into her mane and pulled out Gummy.

“That’s you… and yes, I admit all these years I’ve been making use of your special talent without acknowledging it’s yours.”

The mare snuggled her alligator, trying to take comfort from the familiar feel of his scales and cool body temperature.

“Though, in fairness, you’ve never complained.”

Pinkie looked at her reflection. In turn the mare in the crystal followed Pinkie’s lead of rubbing Gummy on one of his sweet spots under his chin.

“Considering the alternative was that you’d waste it by shoving it deep down with the rest of me, I decided to take what I could get. It helped feed the fire of my hatred for you.” Pinkamena scowled, even as she copied Pinkie’s action of nuzzling her pet for comfort.

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve had to keep you buried in my subconscious all these years.” Pinkie said, withering the fresh assault of stone cold fury that pierced through the barricade of crystal to stab her in the heart.

“And that, alone, is a perfect demonstration of just how utterly, bucking, STUPID you are!” The mare raged at herself.

“Stupid? I’M stupid for wanting to keep you where your hatred couldn’t hurt anyone?” She demanded at her reflection, then winced as said reflection smacked a hoof to her forehead.

“Yes, considering that wasn’t what first sparked my utter loathing of you and your namby-pamby sense of what’s right and wrong!” Pinkamena sneered, enjoying the evident signs of pain as Pinkie removed the hoof from her forehead.

“Ow… wha… what? What do you mean?” Pinkie queried. She put Gummy down as her reflection did the same and stared at her like she imagined Miss Cheerilee would stare at one of her students when they did something naughty or foolish.

“So you’re good at making ponies laugh, and throwing festive get togethers, big whoop. You didn’t have to go through what I went through, so I wasn’t expecting you to be able to empathise the instant you popped into being.” Pinkamena grumbled. “No, balloon head, what makes me want to take that curly mane of yours and twist it in my hooves till I rip your head off your shoulders, is what you did afterwards.”

Pinkie blinked and made several very silly expressions as she tried to comprehend what she was saying, and failed miserably.

“What are you talking about?” She whimpered to her reflection. Pinkamena’s eyes half lidded in grim resignation.

“Well, let’s see, shall we? You keep saying how I’m all terrible, and meany pants, and a monster, yet...”

Pinkamena reached into her mane and drew out a cupcake.

“What’s this? Why, it’s one of those raspberry and super spicy sriracha surprises you tricked your friends into trying. What was it, a week? Two weeks? Before the pain rescinded and their tongues were able to taste anything again after that?”

Pinkie stared dumbly at the cupcake in her hoof.

“Oh, and how about the time Bon-Bon was unlucky enough to mention she thought her store needed a more hip and vibrant look to it within earshot of you, and you broke in during the night to paint everything in tie-dye colors? Yeah, she was really laughing her head off as she booted your flank out the door and then had to shell out quadruple digits to get everything repainted, wasn’t she?”

Pinkie shrank away from her reflection, which just made said reflection press her argument with more force, even as she herself shrank back in turn.

“What about that ‘jaunty party tune’ you put together for Rumble’s birthday? Seriously, tell me straight and true those excessively high notes that nearly made everypony’s ears bleed just got in there by accident. Surely you didn’t intend to be the only one laughing as everyone stumbled about and then fell flat on their faces from the sensory overload.” Pinkamena challenged.

Pinkie threw her head into her hooves and shut her eyes.

“I said I was sorry! I made up for it by buying everyone milkshakes, and baking Rumble the best cake he said he ever tasted! And I paid Bon-Bon back! Every single bit she spent!” She cried, getting only a scornful tutting in response.

“Yet still you proved what you prove every day that you use my abilities while pretending like I don’t exist...” Pinkamena pressed her face directly up against the crystal surface, stopping only because Pinkie was doing the same from the other side, as if to hold her back. “That you, balloon head, really are the ultimate hypocrite! You keep saying I’m the worst, that you will never let me out cause I’m pure evil, yet all the time you do stuff that’s just as mean and try to claim it’s all in good fun.”

Pinkie pushed herself away from the crystal and buried her face in her hooves again. Her reflection did the same, though not for the same reason.

“It’s different… I’m… I don’t want to kill anyone!”

Pinkamena lowered her hooves slightly, meeting Pinkie’s now likewise unobscured gaze and giving her the most razor sharp, searingly loathful glare she could manage.

“Anyone I know, I mean...” Pinkie corrected herself. “Point is, yeah, my cupcakes may include some wacky ingredients, but at least they’re safe and edible! You… you… ngh… I’m not even going to comment again on what would happen if I ever let you have control of the baking!” She seethed.

“More’s the pity. You always did think Rainbow had a particularly tasty looking flank.” Pinkamena sneered again. “Shame she found somepony else, isn’t it? Though I’m sure a little superglue in Soarin’s feather tonic wouldn’t be noticed, and while he is a very strong and healthy stallion, he couldn’t survive plummeting all the way from Cloudsdale to the ground when his wings suddenly fail to open, allowing you to step in and...”

“SHUT UP!! Just… ngh… please… stop.” Pinkie sobbed even as she grit her teeth. “I know you’re lying anyway!”

She wiped her eyes and stared back at her reflection, hoping that her statement would at least get a rise. Her reflection stared back at her with the faintest hint of intrigue seeping through her withered features.

“Am I?” She asked.

Pinkie grit her teeth and nodded.

“You’ve killed a lot of souls since Nito gave you the perfect cause to wrestle control from me. I’m sure you’ll no doubt keep killing if I let you...”

Pinkie turned to her saddle bags, then back to her reflection with renewed courage.

“But in all the time we were in the catacombs, never once did you try to harm Trixie. You haven’t tried to take over and stab Twilight or Seath either since we got here, and you helped me get Ciaran back to Aurelia safely.” Pinkie smiled. “A little of me is rubbing off on you isn’t it? You’re finally understanding what it means to be a friend, aren’t you?”

The intrigue trickled off Pinkamena’s face like a bead of sweat, leaving her to just stare in pity at herself as both mares pulled out a hoof buzzer and pressed it to shatter the silence.

“No, not at all. Sorry, balloon head, but once again you prove you’re as airheaded as your cutie mark indicates!”

Pinkie’s confidence was shattered by the buzzer’s alarm. She looked down at it and wondered what she was thinking in trying to beat her reflection to the punch.

“That’s the other thing that infuriates me so much about you. You THINK you know who I am, and what I am, but you don’t. You really don’t! All the years you’ve spent denying that I exist have left you unable to comprehend just what it is that makes you the mare you are!”

Pinkie furrowed her brow, showing that, as expected, she wasn’t following. She sighed and both mares facehooved again.

“Let me try and make it easy for you. You know when you were squaring off against Cheese Sandwich? That moment when you were trying to one up each other to the extreme, yet you stopped because you saw Rainbow Dash wasn’t having fun? You remember what you felt in that one moment?”

Pinkie blinked as she tried to recall the memory.

“Yeah, I felt… well… terrible. Like, I’d completely failed in my purpose as a pony, a friend, and a party planner. It was one of the worst shocks I’d ever experienced.” She said while trembling.

“Yeah, well, would you believe I had the exact same experience when I was torturing your friends around the bonfire, and Twilight stepped out of the flames all undead and such?” The mare said as she shivered again. “I can’t explain it, just… all this time I wanted to hurt your friends because I thought that would cause you more pain and suffering than if I just grabbed a knife and slit your throat. But when I actually saw Twilight, having just been killed and resurrected… that… that didn’t make me feel good. It made me feel… well… just like you felt with Cheese Sandwich.”

Pinkie stared at her reflection in surprise.

“Twilight and the others have tolerated everything you’ve done to make their lives a nightmare. They’ve seen past your idiocy and your lack of control, and embrace you for the good parts...”

Pinkie’s eyes widened. Her reflection did the same, though again it was likely not for the same reason.

“Oh don’t give me that. Even if I do loathe you with a burning passion, I can’t deny you’ve got… well SOME redeeming features. Why do you think I never surface when you foalsit Pound and Pumpkin? Or when you whip up some of those special ‘Mopeshakes’ and hoof-deliver them to ponies when they’re having a bad day? Or whenever you put that, admittedly impressive memory of yours to work to remember if it’s somepony’s birthday, or anniversary, or whatever?”

Pinkie turned away from the crystal, awkwardly reaching up to brush some of her frazzled mane away from her face. It gave her reflection time to do the same while she composed her next statement.

“Fact is, while I may not agree with your friends trusting you as much as they do, I understand the sentiment. I’m guessing that’s why I was… honestly, I was horrified at seeing Twilight as an undead.” Pinkamena sighed as she idly twirled a strand of her mane around her hoof. “It’s one thing to fantasize about brutally murdering those who’ve stood by your side no matter what. It’s quite another to see it in real time. Heh, go figure.”

Pinkie let go of her mane and picked up Gummy again. He seemed completely bewildered at what was going on, but that was okay. Well, just so long as he didn’t run and hide from his owner as she had her little mental breakdown, that was enough for now.

“So is that why you just vanished back into my subconscious again? Why you didn’t stop me from mutilating myself and killing… erm… myself? I mean us? I mean… whatever.”

Her reflection sighed as she cradled Gummy in her arms.

“I guess it’s obvious I kinda finally felt what you feel most of your waking moments. That sense of complete and utter despair at what you’re doing, what your reckless antics are doing to others… that… hmph… that idea that maybe if you just disappeared from their lives entirely everything will be better.” Pinkamena groaned. “I suppose I am a little impressed that you’re able to walk around with that level of raging insecurity each day and still function like a normal pony.”

Pinkie blushed as she stroked Gummy’s head.

“I don’t know. Even if the pleasure I experienced every time you murdered someone down in the catacombs made me want to vomit… I’m… kinda sorta a little envious that you have so much confidence in what you’re doing. No remorse, no regret, you accept what you are and make the most of it.” Pinkie sighed as she put Gummy back in her mane. “Granted, it is cheating a bit since none of those ghosty-goo guys and girls you slaughtered really died… at least not in the utmost final sense.”

Pinkamena and Pinkie both shrugged.

“Yeah, but damn if they didn’t sate my bloodlust. Seriously, preach all you want about how killing is wrong and I’m a psycho… but you can’t deny, every one of those deaths felt therapeutic as heck.”

Pinkie grimaced as a wave of nausea overcame her, only to be washed away by the even worse sensation of knowing she had a point.

“Maybe… well… I can sense you’re much calmer now… .and so am I… ugh.” She hung her head as her body slumped onto the floor. “Just where do I go from here? You’re right, I can’t just shove you back down inside me anymore. Even if Twilight finds a way to cure the Darksign curse, there’s no going back to pretending I’m everyone’s carefree, happy go lucky party pony again, and everything is hunky dory.”

Pinkamena stared out from her own slumped position in the crystal.

“Ever pondered if maybe that’s a good thing? You’re can’t hide from me, or run from me anymore, so now you’re finally forcing yourself to acknowledge me for what I am. Frankly, even if you do annoy the pink out of me, now that I’ve worked through a fair chunk of my anger… heh… would you believe I don’t want to hate you either?”

Pinkie ever so cautiously lifted her head as her reflection did the same.

“Freaky as this sounds, Nito did us a real favor when he made us his Gravelord Servant. A few dozen dead and here we are, finally having an actual, honest conversation and trying to make peace. Sheesh, you ever thought you’d see the day?”

Pinkie actually giggled at that, as did the pink mare in the crystal.

“No, but maybe I should’ve tried. I’ve had nightmares about what this would be like, and yet now that it’s happening… I feel kinda good.” The mare sniffled as her eyes began to fill with tears of pure relief. “I really am a stupid balloon head, aren’t I?”

“Yes you are, but I can’t deny it seems to work in your favor.” Pinkamena sighed as she copied Pinkie’s cue to wipe away her tears with a hoof. “Guess that’s another reason I find my desire to hurt ponies is ebbing away. Just doesn’t feel right that those who’re willing to put up with… well… us, they don’t deserve to have their lives cut short.”

Pinkie’s ears dipped slightly as her smile faded. Again Pinkamena followed suit.

“Yeah, but that’s not really reassuring, considering you’re willing to butcher everything else that moves.” She said in sadness. “When we walk out of this room, you’re still going to want to keep adding to your body count, aren’t you? Still gonna want to feel the thrill of driving a blade through flesh and hearing your victims scream their last breath.”

Pinkie glared at her reflection, and then joined her in giving a defeated shrug.

“Yeah, yeah I will. Just as you’re going to still want to throw parties just cause someone got within Ponyville’s outskirts, and inject some laughter into everyone’s day whether they need it or not.” Pinkamena sighed. “The difference is, now I think I know how we can balance our desires, come to an understanding where we both get what we want, and only those who deserve to die, will die.”

Pinkie stared skeptically at herself.

“But you’re gonna have to trust me on this. I promise I won’t hurt any more of your… no… our friends. I’m willing to cooperate, more so since it’s pretty clear what we gotta do next.” Pinkamena said with a nod.

“Right, yeah... okay, fine. Trust you, huh?” Pinkie said as she stared at her withered self. A few more tears ran down her cheeks as she reached out to press her hoof to the crystal. Her heart warmed as Pinkamena returned the gesture on her side. “Alright, I’ll trust you. Just so long as you’ll help us survive whatever happens next. I don’t care what has to be done, I just want to get everyone back home safely… and I guess once we are home, I… er, we need to go have a long talk with our family.”

Pinkamena gave a defeated smile.

“Yeah… we do, and we will. Somehow, we’ll get through this. Together.” She said before joining Pinkie in a giggle.

“So does this mean we’ve achieved some sort of meta-stability now? We’re past the melancholia, the anger, and the jealousy, and now we’re finally coming to grips with what we are?” The pink mare asked her reflection.

“Who knows? That’s not even part of this particular franchise, or our own, but given how Faust made us and why, it still could apply.” Pinkamena smiled as she leaned forward to press her head to Pinkie’s. “How about we not overthink it for now and just say this was a good talk?”

Pinkie sighed happily as she joined her reflection in shedding a few final tears.

“Yeah, it was. Thanks, Pinkamena.”

From where he had his own head pressed to the door, listening to what was being said on the other side, Seath could only continue to contemplate the sheer bizarreness and insanity taking place in his study. He looked to Twilight, who despite hearing everything, just sat staring at the door with a expression of quiet acceptance on her face.

“Twilight… I...” The dragon began, only for his student to cut him off.

“I know, Seath. She’s nuttier than a bowl of pistachio ice cream, drenched in chocolate hazelnut syrup, and topped with almond whipped cream, sprinkled with more mixed nuts.” Twilight sighed as she rubbed her forehead. “It’s been an issue I’ve spent many, many hours thinking over. Pondering what exactly is wrong with her, as well as how did we miss all the signs before her surprise party, why didn’t she ever tell us, what exactly could I do to help her...”

The alicorn’s head dipped lower with each successive point.

“And finally, I just had to wonder what kind of a friend would I be if I did anything at all. Accusing her of being… erm… not right in the head… probably wouldn’t go down well. And up until now she didn’t really do anything dangerous, so...”

Twilight let out a remorseful sigh and looked up at her teacher.

“Look, right now I doubt we have the time or the resources to do anything, so let’s just run with the hope that it sounds like she’s finally found her own remedy to her problems… and maybe be glad that we don’t have the same issues.”

Seath did not look at all convinced of that as he pushed the doors open and beheld Pinkie still slumped in front of the crystal, her hoof and head pressed to the immaculate face as she gently cried the last of her tears.

“I fear that is where thou errs, mine student. Of what thine friend dost speak, it echoes all too clearly of that which hath plagued mine own thoughts.” Seath mused as he leaned down to study the pink mare. “Thus is the imperativeness that I seek to know, dost thou believe thyself to be cured of thine ills, Pinkie?”

Pinkie let her hoof and face fall off the crystal, leaving her as an exhausted but strangely bright looking mess on the floor.

“Oof… no… not cured exactly. Just… I’ll be okay from now on. You don’t have to worry about me flying off the handle again.” She said while pushing herself to an upright position again. “There is, however, something I still gotta do, Twilight. My pinkie sense isn’t telling me anything yet, but I just know there’s one last soul that needs my help.”

Pinkie reached into her mane and drew out her gleaming curved greatsword.

“I gotta save Nito!”

***

In the depths of the Abyss, Nito was being given prompt, and solemn cause to contemplate he may indeed need help. As the Rotten’s giant butcher knife sliced its way through the left cluster of skulls on his body, the Gravelord was again being reminded of how much he had cost himself, in power, strength, and sheer plain vitality with his self induced dreamless slumber.

Dust and shattered bone fragments rained down upon the floor as Nito reeled backwards, his free hand abandoning its position of clutching the gaping wound in his chest area, and reaching for the broken remains of his facial region.

“So… here at last… death is witness to what hath become of the years it hath spent as object of both hatred and lust.” Nito intoned, backing away from the Rotten. “So long was death a force to be feared, a god to be worshipped. All through the Age of Fire our cause was seen as harsh, unwanted, but fair.”

The Rotten raised its blade higher, then slammed it into the ground between it and the gravelord, summoning a cone shaped projectile of putrid sludge. Nito threw himself to the side, feeling his misshapen left leg creak in protest at the sudden strain. The sludge splashed across his front, dripping into his chest wound and over his legs as he stumbled backwards, his free hand reaching out for something to grab onto.

“Now, however, when all are stolen from death’s embrace by the touch of the curse, it is the cursed who vie to steal death’s embrace for themselves.” Nito sighed as he found purchase against one of the many walls. Upon regaining his balance he then felt more of the many skeleton parts that made up his anatomy melt and drop off as the sludge seeped into the rotting matter contained within his bones. He gauged that, were he of a more lively, fleshy consistency, the injuries he’d sustained would prove quite fatal. Granted, he wasn’t exactly in all that good a shape as he was, but at least he could take some solace that the Rotten wasn’t going to vanquish him so easily.

Nito turned his fractured skulls to his opponent, watching as it struggled to pull its knife back out of the ground. The chains binding all the bodies together clinked and rattled terribly as said bodies writhed and struggled. Pain, suffering, woe and loss radiated in every little movement across the Rotten’s abomination of a form, yet as it finally got its weapon free and turned its caged head to Nito, every single body still united together in the common cause of obtaining that which they sensed the gravelord possessed.

“So many hath intruded upon death’s domain, seeking kindling, the power of the occult, that which they believed could destroy the gods. So many did fail in this aim...” Nito continued as he pushed himself off the wall and aimed his greatsword at the encroaching monstrosity. “Is it they that hath been binded to give thee form? Might death believe those who trespassed against it hath been meted suitable punishment?”

The Rotten slashed violently at Nito, offering no response other than its ever present desire to finish what it had started in chopping him apart. Nito grimly deflected swing after swing, finally managing to lock blades with the Rotten after its third attempt. Summoning all his power, Nito’s hand ignited with a searing red aura and he plunged it into the Rotten’s chest area, grabbing several of the bodies while he forced his opponents blade down to the ground again. The Rotten reeled back, roaring a dry, pained exclamation as Nito closed his bony fingers, feeling a small ember of satisfaction as the bodies did their duty of being reduced to mush in his grip. He channeled his power into the Rotten, spreading the aura all through its innards and causing more of the bodies to liquefy.

The Rotten suddenly threw its head forward, smashing the cage into Nito’s skulls and reducing more of them down to fragments. Nito yanked his hand out, allowing the Rotten to retreat and slam a hand over the fresh hole in its chest. Black steam rose from the fissures across its form while the sludgy remains of the bodies Nito had introduced to his power oozed out from between its fingers.

Clasping his own hand back over his crumbling skulls, Nito made to press his advantage as the Rotten began keeling forward. The gravelord drew his sword back, preparing to give it a new home in his enemy’s body.

Said enemy thus revealed its momentary weakness was in fact partially a ruse, by then raising its helmet and spewing a mass of dark colored liquid at Nito. Nito promptly stumbled and fell to the ground as the liquid splashed all over his front, sizzling hideously as it began corroding his bones. The bodies clustered around the Rotten’s base did it the service of dragging it back out of harm’s way as Nito frantically thrashed and clawed at his front, tearing multiple skulls and ribcages off his body as they rapidly dissolved in the acidic spit.

“Ngh… indeed… there is still something of death’s true essence about thee.” The gravelord seethed as he slammed his hand down on the ground, pushing his crumbling body back up onto its knees. Dust and liquefied rot flowed like blood from the gaping holes in Nito’s bones, revealing the putrid mass of dead matter that lay underneath it.

The two heads located in the eyeholes of the Rotten’s helmet cage slowly leaned outward upon seeing this, prompting the Rotten to halt its retreat as Nito stabbed his sword into the ground and used it as a crutch to help himself back onto his feet.

“Cast aside thou art, unloved and unwanted, as the dragon did foretell. We are not too different.” The gravelord wearily said as the Rotten began to advance upon him again. “Cast out was death by the gods. No further need had Gwyn for our presence whence the dragons were at last no more. Thus we resigned ourselves to isolation in the Tomb of Giants; as unwanted as thou.”

The Rotten released more of the ichor as the lone body sticking out of its left arm extended its hands towards Nito, as if begging him for that which it and its owner so coveted.

“Like they that give thee form, however, our absence only fuelled the lust of the cursed. By and by our faithful subjects made to fortify deaths domain. To seal in with it all that many sought to obtain for their own purposes.”

The Rotten paused, then smashed its fist down on the ground. Whether that was a sign it took offence to Nito’s comparing its being to that of loathsome graverobbers, or it was just growing weary of the gravelord’s talking, Nito could only guess. Honestly, he didn’t care at his point. If this was indeed some future incarnation that wanted the power of death’s soul back, then it could damn well fulfill its expected role in hearing his final confession!

“And for those efforts, how was death rewarded? Further desecration, demolition of its forces, and the final extinguishing of its existence.” Nito continued, forcing the broken jaws of his skulls upward in a poor imitation of a grin. “Such is to be thine fate, is it not? Hath thou not been brought to the here and now, thou would have fallen to the force of another...”

The Rotten paused, apparently halted by this unexpected bit of insight. The lone body sticking out of its shoulder pulled its arms back, then opened its mouth and madly began flaying itself forward, as if demanding Nito be slaughtered immediately for such impudence!

The gravelord noted this as the Rotten made an enraged charged and swung its knife with the evident intent to cut off what remained of Nito’s skulls. The gravelord’s own hand shot up to catch that of his opponent’s, holding the Rotten’s arm as firmly as he could while it wrestled to pull back.

Nito’s greatsword then punished the monstrosity for losing its focus by relieving it of its appendage and its weapon.

“Thus thou now stands, as a shadow of what thou once was...” Nito sighed as the Rotten wildly flailed backwards, swinging its fetid stump around and sending severed body halves flying everywhere. Tossing the severed arm aside, Nito stumbled forward, slashing madly at his injured opponent. The Rotten joined him in the mad stumble as more of its bodies were brutally sliced apart, flesh and gore splattering across the floor of the Abyss as the two combattants struggled.

For the briefest of moments, Nito entertained the thought he might win this.

And in the next moment, he felt his sword cease in its downward slash as it encountered one of the chains holding the Rotten’s body together and promptly got stuck.

The lone body on the Rotten’s shoulder took note of this, pointing at the gravelord as Nito tried to withdraw his weapon.

The Rotten grabbed for purchase along the Abyss’ walls, sinking the bodies that made up its fingers into several recesses.

Nito was then helped in getting his blade free, though not quite via the way he’d have preferred. He could register his opponent suddenly charging some strange energy in its being, before he was then blown clear across and into the far wall. Bones and rock both shattered and fell as Nito made a very impressive crater, tumbling to the floor in a mess of his cloak and the remains of his body. Weakly, his hand rose to shakily pull the cloak from where it had fallen across his few remaining skulls, allowing him to witness the Rotten discharging the last of a dark aura from the gaps between its bodies. Seeing its attack had had the intended effect upon its enemy, it then plunged its arm stump into its chest, compacting the insult to Nito’s efforts by withdrawing a freshly regenerated hand and butcher’s knife.

“Heeeeehhhhh… yes… a shadow of what thou once was… and a corrupt abomination of all thou once stood for.” Nito said in resignation as the Rotten closed in on him. “Perhaps it is not death’s defilers thou stands as punishment for....”

The Rotten grabbed Nito, hauling him up off the floor.

“It is death itself. For our sloth, for our refusal to aid in the vengeance against the gods, for hoarding all that could have lead others back to our embrace...”

The butcher knife was raised, it hung high in the air for a second. Nito made a final check that yes, in his current position and with all the damage done to his body, he had no means of retaliation.

“This is the fate we deserve.”

The butcher knife fell… and Nito fell along with it. He vaguely registered the Rotten lurching forward, as if hit from behind, before he was unceremoniously dropped back on the floor and his assailant turned its attention away. The Rotten shuddered and lurched as it was attacked twice more, raising its knife to strike at an apparent new threat.

Said threat then revealed itself to Nito as it rolled under the attack and stood up before the gravelord.

“Well, you certainly are a rotten one, aren’t you? A damn rotten scoundrel!” Vamos spat as he twirled a pickaxe in one hand and hefted his smithing hammer in the other. “I followed that insane pony all the way down to… wherever we are right now… because I was promised a glorious armageddon. Instead, I find myself bothered by black sprites, then see my… hmmm… superior getting brow beaten and cheap shotted.”

The Rotten stared at the portly minute skeleton for a moment, then swung at Vamos with its fist.

“I mean, if the dragon had finished him off, that’d be quite the poetic finale. You though, pffft, the gravelord deserves a better class of executioner!”

Nito creaked his fractured skulls in bewilderment as Vamos dodged the fist then made the Rotten regret its action by sinking his pickaxe into the bodies of its arm. The Rotten yanked its arm back, losing a few bodies as they were torn free by Vamos’ weapon.

“I admit I may not be good for much other than smithing, but so long as I’m stuck here, waiting for that pink pony...” Vamos turned to Nito. “You think you can still fight? It looked like you had this rotter on the ropes for a while there, hence why I decided to stay out of the fray...”

Nito lowered his gaze to the skeleton smith, still apparently not sure what to make of his appearance.

“In death’s most desperate moment, now comes a traitor, pledging aid?” The gravelord asked cynically. Vamos shrugged, then rolled again as the Rotten brought its knife down onto the ground.

“I know we’ve had our disagreements, m’lord. I let those Pinwheel guys set up home on your doorstep and steal the Rite of Kindling, didn’t lift a finger to stop anyone who came to loot the Tomb of Giants, and yeah, it still won’t bother me at all if you do snuff it right here and now...”

Vamos dodged another swing from the Rotten, meeting the follow up punch with his hammer.

“But in fairness, you still let Gwyn and the gods kick us all out of their kingdom, cost me all me customers and made it impossible to ply me trade. Then of course, there’s the eons you wasted napping, rather than, you know, using any of the power in your lord soul for our benefit.”

Vamos ducked under the slashing knife again, putting his smaller size to the best possible use in keeping the Rotten distracted.

“Fact is, this is the end, and what’s the point in holding onto past grudges now? I’d rather go down fighting by your side, like during the war.” Vamos sighed whimsically as he smashed his hammer into the Rotten’s left flank. “Just a shame the pony couldn’t be here to die with us. I was starting to like her...”

The Rotten raised its knife again, charging it with the same black energy that Nito recognized from its previous devastating attack. Vamos exhaled dryly and raised his weapons in ready acceptance for what was to be the final, and welcomingly fatal blow.

Yet again, however, fate had to ruin the moment, albeit in an admittedly flashy and explosive fashion.

The Rotten turned as the figure on its shoulder noticed a light briefly flaring in the darkness of the Abyss, followed by a cannonball hurtling through the air to nail it between its ‘eyes’ and explode in a shower of confetti.

“Oh, I wouldn’t sit this one out for all the cupcakes in Equestria!” Pinkie declared as she slid down the wall, smoke streaming from her party cannon. “And probably all the tea in Neighpon as well! Oooh, and the torture chambers in Yakistan! Yeah I know they’ve been turned into museum pieces now, but a little oiling and some cleaning and they’d be ready for lots more suffering!!”

Pinkie charged in between the Rotten and its opponents, blowing the smoke from her cannon and swapping it for her greatsword.

“Point is, I’m not letting a shoddy Nightmare Night parade float kill the guy who’s done more to fix my head than any therapist or doctor could!” The pink mare declared, brushing aside the half of her mane that hung limply over her eye, then checking the other half was still sitting full and poofy on her head as usual. Nito let his broken jaws flop open in shock as Vamos placed his hands on his hips.

“And where the heck have you been?” He demanded. Pinkie blinked then smiled with noticeably less bravado as she looked to first the smith, then to Nito.

“You know, doing what anyone does before a boss battle: grinding for XP, replenishing my supplies...oh, also these.”

Pinkie yanked her saddle bags off and tossed them to Nito. The gravelord pushed himself up onto his arm, staring in amazement at the stone eyeballs that spilled out of the bags.

“That’s… uh… that’s enough, right?” Pinkie queried. “I could have gotten more, but after all the emotional trauma, and arguing, and self harm, and accepting of who I am… I figured I was running a little short on time, so...”

The pony bit her lip as she took in the extent of Nito’s injuries.

“Look, I swear we can fix this! Twilight and the others will be here soon! And I know Celestia is still around here somewhere. Just… please, stay with us!”

Nito looked to the Rotten as it finished clawing all the confetti out of its helmet cage. His jaws found the strength to click back together in determination as he stabbed his sword into the ground again and pushed himself back to his feet.

“Of all the forces that be, death must be the first to accept its inevitable demise.” He stated solemnly as the Rotten threateningly drew closer. “But with that acceptance, it must also be afforded the confirmation it truly is no longer needed”

The Rotten roared in anger at the sight of its target’s reinforcements. The figure sticking out of its shoulder jabbed a finger at the trio in a silent demand for it to push on and finish what had been started!

Nito calmly scooped up as many of the eyes of death as he could.

“Thus for thee, our most good and faithful servant, thou stands as we hoped. A devoted enacter of our cause, and a testament to the irony that Kalameet spoke truth. Not all hath yet abandoned death...”

Nito closed his hand, causing the eyes to glow, then vanish. He placed his hand on Pinkie’s head, imbuing her with her well earned blessing and reward. Vamos pondered if it was worth pointing out he was still present.

“Lead on, Pinkie Pie. May death shadow you to whatever fate layeth before us!”

“Damn straight!” Pinkie declared, boldly aiming her gravelord greatsword at the Rotten as it raised its knife for combat. “Let’s achieve some victory!”

Author's Note:

Annnd I'm back. Yes again I'm three months late, yes, again, the chapter focuses more on the sub-plots than the two main characters, yes I am again sorry. However, whatever my misgivings about my own productivity and competence may be, the fact remains that every time I sign in here I see folk are still reading, faving this series, and leaving comments in spite of the delays so obviously that's the proof of the pudding that I must keep going, for however long it takes to finish this series (Gen 5 is probably gonna be loooong into its run time by that point but whatever. XD).

If I must put aside my above self-criticisms and state what I do like about this chapter, the added time really helped me finally settle on a few (thought sadly not all) of the story points I've been wrestling with. I've been wanting to do a 'confrontation of the mind' with Pinkie/Pinkamena for a while, but from reading other stories here that do the same, I've found people have greatly varied views on just how to represent her mentality. Some depict her as having genuine dissociative identity disorder, with Pinkie and Pinkamena being two distinct separate mindsets, others have her as more schizophrenic, with just one personality that's somewhat out of touch with reality. I was see-sawing several times on where to draw the line, before finally settling on just blurring that line as much as I could to show while there may have been a definite divide between Pinkie and Pinkamena at one point, there isn't anymore. Bit by bit the two are merging together as they make peace and accept each other for all their faults and benefits. As to what sort of pony will Pinkie emerge as afterwards , well, that remains to be seen. She's still got a ways to go to better herself, but she's taken that crucial first step at least.

As for what this means in regards to Nito, and Pinkie's standing as his last gravelord servant, well first off, again, I send my express gratitude to everyone who chimed in with suggestions in the comments to the last chapter. Really helped me do the battle scene as well as I could manage, even if, yes, you probably know what's going to happen. Whether you believe it or not, I've been thinking hard on when I want characters to die, and for the personification of death himself...well...my decision is I may still have at least one or two more uses for him before he's done away with. Everyone says I'm apparently writing him exactly as they imagined him so I want to make sure Nito serves his role fully before he bows out of the story.

The above is also what lead to Ciaran and Aurelia's little heart to heart. The more I think about it, the more I've decided Aurelia's ceased to be the embodiment of a player avatar (which was somewhat my intent from the get go) and by this point continuing to refer to her by her player title when no one in the story itself calls her that is starting to sound a bit weird. Not sure if changing things up by this point is a good idea, but I leave that for the readers. Should she now just be 'Aurelia' or still be 'The Chosen Undead'?

I have more to cover but I think it'd probably be better saved for a journal. Be speaking with you all soon!

Comments

[Trevor12300]

9480163
Do you watch Vaatividya?

[SCP Pinkamena]

Aurelia

[Venerable Ro]

Aiet, poor Trixie.

[Divine Path]

It lives! Jolly cooperation continues. <3

[prism heart]

Trixie deserves some payback for what just happened to her.

[Silverblade5]

It lives! Awesome story is still awesome. Any Sekiro plans?

[Black_Knight]

Nice to see this story back.

R.I.P Laurentius. This is what so horrible with Dark Soul. Those NPCs you fulfill there role inevitably will hollowed or die unless you fail or decided not go through their quest. Solaire being an exception.

Petrus really is an insufferable character. I never let him live once a saved Rheah. Hope Sif turns him into dog food.

Pinkie. Dammit the game released way before the Nvidia 2000 series, don't ask for raytracing.

Anyway, good that she and Pinkamina came up with a truce and they along Vados have come to Nito help.

Again I really appreciate all this backstory you are given Aurelia to define her as her own character than a simple player avatar, so starting to call by her name seems a good call.

---

Mistakes found :

just in time for her to Petrus’ was walking towards her

just in time for her to see Petrus was walking towards her

as she reluctantly thought back to that the terrible moment.

Pinkie’s mane wilted like a spring plant in in the heat from a blast furnace

[Limescale]

9569966
Noted and fixed the errors. Thank you.

[Limescale]

9569456
She'll get it. At some point, Trixie will have her day.

[Limescale]

9569678
Can't say at present. I've just started playing Sekiro and first impressions so far are that FROM Software really wants it to stand on its own, free of any possible relation to the Soulsborne games or their other titles.

If that continues to be the case through the whole game then I probably will leave it alone until an idea strikes for a separate series.

[Spamotron]

9570568
My understanding is that Sekiro started as a Tenchu sequel. But then they had ideas to add some Souls mechanics to make it an even better game so decided to make it completely its own thing.

[Mark Pecan29]

Call her Aurelia

[MazingerZ]

I rather her still be called The Chosen Undead

[K-O-D-E-X]

after reading all of this all I have to say is.

How DARE, you kill Laurentius.

[Venerable Ro]

9692734

Ah, that makes good sense. Though I suppose this means that they've access to a loyal and quite well-trained little army in the future should they need it?

[Limescale]

9693138
Quite possibly yes. They're sure going to need it!

[clown2107]

Is there going to be a next chapter before 2020?

[Zigrth]

When will this story continues

[Kathadortheone]

so...are any of these characters going to realize that the prophecy of the chosen undead is indeed correct (though incomplete) the harvesting of lord souls and linking the fire is indeed the only way to save their world even temporarily from an eternal fate worse than death, or are they just going to eventually just right the dark souls world off as a lost cause?

[ItsDaKoolaidDude]

Any chance of continuing?

[Pensive]

10773007
I mean, according to the fimfiction charts, there are about 2000 people who've read the entire story through to the latest chapter. And the rate of lost views per chapter has leveled out, so there's still a good, long while before this story's reader count dies out.

[Ultra Instinct Yamcha]

Any chance of this being updated any time soon? It would be such a shame to see a story like this die.

[Snowkitsune]

Moar please

[supbrony101]

Thank you so much, for the great story!

[The first vicar]

I hope one day you comeback to this story. I love it so much, it’s sad to see it hasn’t been updated in 4 years.