Paper Prince

by JLB

Day Thirty Nine: Vanguard

“Nobody step out of line. One jerk and you’re getting expunged,” said the heavily altered, filtered voice of a pony in dark grayish-green full-body armor. His massive shape backpedaled at their front, keeping a watch at them as they were walked. Five of his compatriots surrounded them at the sides, standing under the long defunct torches of the apparently not exactly abandoned fortress in the middle of the white, undead waste.

“You assholes can’t be serious,” Buster grumbled, walking in line with the rest of his ponies. “Do we need to explain to you how ridiculous this is?”

“We know. First and Fourth, check filters, creeps may be trying to spread,” the pony at the head nodded in a general direction, and each of the guards at the sides made obscure motions at their helmets and facemasks. Who First and Fourth were, none of them could tell.

Apparently, the law enforcement of the Frozen North took security precautions to levels of well-practiced paranoia.

“Come again, TACCOM,” the one in the lead said in extreme distortion, tapping the side of his helmet and causing the short antennae at the sides to light up. “VIP’s possibly VP’s. Sitrep IC.”

Even more apparently, law enforcement existed in the Frozen North, and it was pony-managed, no less. To find that there was at least some fraction of control over the ridiculously underdocumented and highly dangerous wasteland was pleasant - for a second, it felt as if problems were at a relative end. The vehicle they had obtained from the Capric abductor took a lot of getting used to, but soon enough, the tech team proved its worth and was operating it well, reliably fighting off the various kinds of no longer identifiable undead creatures populating this part of the North. Blueblood was locked up in the old vehicle, and radiation was suctioned every hour from then on, with Raven taking extreme measures to talk to him regularly to alleviate possible damage. She wore a makeshift radiation protection garment while doing it, yes, but at least there was progress in preventing him from possibly having his head explode. It was all looking up, and this seemed to be the proverbial cherry on top.

Unfortunately, that cherry ended up launching a concentrated magical blast at their transports from an obscured position, disabling the engines, and then rounded them all up while pointing threateningly master-crafted shoulder-mounted weaponry at them. All protests and inquiries were ignored, and after these ponies saw what Blueblood looked like after forty minutes without being treated, alarming crackles erupted around the vambraces and hind legs of their not-to-be-saviors. Those were not particularly good signs.

It took Raven shouting out her exact rank and the technical code of their expedition for them to even get a verbal response. Evidently, according to the armored ponies, all of them had died, and they were being rounded up as newfound wraiths to be peacefully purged.

They knew about the delegacy’s trip, including how well it went up until it was time to return. As they were very briefly told, it is their uncanny ability to survive the dangers thrown at them that made them prime candidates for being secretely undead. Evidently, no untrained convoy was ever meant to still be intact, let alone have added a vehicle, if they were to go the path they went. The outcry was severe, to say the least. Only when the Prince had accidentally coughed up a bulk of orange mist were the enforcer ponies’ weapons lowered.

“Less than five percent probability these are clean,” Raven heard the one apparently at the head say, in what appeared to be a signature, disturbingly distorted voice. “Five isn’t zero, though. All of you are being checked. Transports are under arrest. You walk the exact line. Jerk, and you go wisp.”

Without many other alternatives, being markedly outnumbered and overpowered by the North Patrol (the evident denomination, printed on the shoulders and other garment parts, and barely visible at that), they obeyed. Their path through the darkness and snow took them to a surprisingly adjacent fortress. If not for how they were being moved in, it would have looked utterly abandoned. As they were made to walk the surprisingly confusing maze of corridors, however, it was much, much more living than anything in the radius of at least fifty kilometers.

As far as Raven was concerned, the existence of this fortress was one large acidic noxious jungle spitflower spit on all that the pony species were meant to be doing. Herself, in particular.

She spent the majority of her life sorting all manners of things in Princess Celestia’s retinue. A lot of them kept secret from the populace for good reason, and a lot of them only known among the rulers of the land. She knew more about Equestria than most libraries did.

Her main thought as she looked at all the things contained inside the already suspiciously devastated fortress was as follows:

What the fuck.

The sheer level of gall that whoever - whatever - caused this obvious splinter group to appear was immense. The level of power… even bigger. Looking at all of it made her partially forget about how her royal ward was infected with ancient lich magic. By that point, it had become routine, and almost mundane.

They passed by other armored guards, adorning much the same armor as the one she identified back then as Rough Rider. The material, it became clear, was nothing her eye could instantly identify. Comic books were more accurate than real life field experience in multiple combat situations. Attached to said armor were implements that she could only about the usage of. Charge generator-looking things on the backs of bulkier ponies - heat protection? Ward spell capacitors? Energy for shoulder weaponry? Said shoulder weaponry was mindblowing as well, far beyond the mere blueprints she got to see - multi-barreled arms similar to that of the goat Morozov, only far more elegant, hose-like endings that exerted slight vapor, cannon-like barrels with apparent magazines on the sides, and many other varieties.

Glowing objects placed on the hinds and flanks, small antennae on some of the helmets, different helmet designs, some almost palpable in reality, some way beyond what any military designer would see in the most vivid nightmare. That was only the things that were obviously auxiliary, and what Raven could see in the brief glances she would get, especially in her mushy glasses. The least said of graffiti-like markings that must have been self-made by each respective bearer, and the things that said markings bore, the better it was for her own sake.

If anybody had told her that things like this had anything to do with ponykind, she would gladly have either punched whoever said that, or told herself to wake up.

And yet there they were. When they passed a larger hall, with a magically-powered bonfire - why not, at this rate? - it was practically ordinary to see a couple antlers and some tall, bendy zebra physiques. They had deer and zebras in there, too. On official grounds. In the Frozen North. Raven passed a thought that she would not be surprised to see a griffon among them, but realistically knew that that was likely to cause her to pop a blood vessel.

The fact that any vocal protest, or inability to follow the exact procession that was being drawn, could result in death, continued to be a hindrance as well. To some questionable fortune, though, they soon stopped - in front of a pair of incredibly ancient-looking stone gates. The pony in the lead touched the side of his helmet, and the antennae on the sides lit up. The gateway withdrew into the wall with an awfully electric sound.

“Get in the afflicted. Calm. Steady. Quick.”

“The afflicted?” Buster spoke up, evidently taking all this new information about what Equestria had stocked up North a touch better than Raven. He could speak without much stuttering.

“Don’t—”

“Freaking hell, you never warned us… They keep talking, it’s creeping me out,” the mare heard one of the guards on the side mumble in a surprising lack of distortion.

“He means myself. Let me pass. Don’t step out of line, I urge you,” Blueblood spoke up hoarsely and quietly, head withdrawn into shoulders, looking as if about to receive a beating. “We have to get this…” The stallion stopped to cough up a bit more unpleasant looking mist, earning a few more crackles of armor. “Get this over with.”

“Prince Blueblood, sir, we could just—” Raven whispered out in annoyance, her plan of getting to be the one to negotiate with the North Patrol falling to pieces. She was, however, quickly shushed by a stomp on the ground that sent a palpable quake through her spine. The pony at the head had his head turned right at Blueblood, and appeared to be waiting.

“The longer you take, the worse it will be for you. We’re being equine. Don’t waste your chance,” his chewed-up, low-pitched, distorted voice stung at her ears. Whether this was a threat or a sign of perverted compassion, it was hard to tell.

Nothing was, at this rate. The Prince was carefully walked into the suspenesfully dusky hall, and the door shut behind him.

“You must be confused,” a tall, bipedal, winged, darkly clothed figure said to him, standing at the far end of the massive, dusty, cold hall. “All of you are at first.”

The figure was, surprisingly, not quite correct. By that point in their journey, Prince Blueblood had been through much more than his imagination was capable of presenting to his mind in even the weirdest dream. Being nominated deceased and walked through ancient halls imbued with implements beyond the grasp of Equestrian magic or technology, and then forced into a large domic hall with growing arcane etchings on the walls and a big statue of a stone orb in the middle, to be done who knows what with, was merely part of the course.

The royal stallion had much more pressing concerns than placing this anywhere near any reasonable perception of planet Equis.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he said, immediately starting to cough, his eyes beginning to burn. The dark figure turned his way, allowing him to see, through the glowing blur of his vision, that this was a griffon. Clad in dark, leather-like clothing, with a thin, narrow cape on his back, and multiple layers of belts and gloves, and a black rubber mask on his head, he barely resembled his own species. Blueblood, however, made a guess, based primarily on how the protrusion at the end of the mask, with a large plastic filter, was a long one. Sure, there should not have been any more possibly bipedal winged species in Equestria, but the matter of “should” had long ago quit being relevant.

“You do? Go ahead,” the griffon replied, a peculiar echo audible to his voice. Even more peculiar was the lack of distortion the rest of the fortress’ staff appeared to speak with while in gear. Then again, the gear itself was quite different… The Prince’s mind wandered, and that fact alone pushed him on to laying out his assumption.

“They say we’re mislead spirits of ourselves, and in reality we are dead,” Blueblood spoke hoarsely, gulping at the end. “That’s exactly the case, isn’t it? It all matches up now. I have not felt as… unbound in all my life. All this weirdness, all this chaos, they have ceased to cause my mind to turn. This is what unlife feels like to an uninitiated, isn’t it?”

A drawn out pause saw the griffon turn to fully face the unicorn. It spread and narrowed its shoulders, and walked a bit forward, leather and metal-clad paw-pads issuing dull clanks on the stone floor. Now that he was closer, more illuminated by the dim blue light of the obscure etchings on the walls, Blueblood realized that the whole time they faced each other, he was being aimed at with a massive crossbow.

“You are very, very interesting, Prince Blueblood. Very peculiar. You’ve been in these walls for half an hour, and you’ve not thrown a single tantrum, and never demanded anything. You aren’t even crying, or threatening us,” the griffon spoke in a chilling, vague tone. “And now you give us a good reason to just do away with you and pretend you were never there at all. An Equestrian Prince. Jumping into the void with reckless abandon.” He raised the crossbow to have one of the thick glasses on his mask line up with the sights. “You do realize how terrible of an impersonator you are, don’t you?”

In a sudden crackle, dark grey lightning rose at all sides of Prince Blueblood, and he became surrounded by figures clothed much the same as the griffon, albeit of different species. Before the smoke settled, several hooves restrained him, and a pair of antlers was hovering near his throat. A sleek, curved, slim equine walked up in front of him and stuck a… thing in his mouth.

“We’re only giving you a real chance because of that. Not a single snatcher wraith has been this incompetent thus far,” the griffon continued to speak, still aiming at the borderline profanely restrained Prince. “You may yet be salvageable.”

A tense silence was over the hall for the minute that the familiar-feeling device took up Blueblood’s mouthspace. The unicorn simply went limp, not fighting the grimly adorned collective in any manner at all. He was grim himself.

There was no easy way out, not anymore. They would make him fight for himself now, he realized. No more hiding behind the guise of the magical affliction, or the alcoholic haze. No more safety in ignorance that he did not know kept him safe for years upon years of his life.

He had to be angry now.

The griffon, in the meantime, continued to aim. Blueblood’s gaze met the dull bolt strung tight in the weapon. He stared at it for some time, dedicating all his attention to it, and not the wordless figures keeping him down as if he could turn rampantly possessed at any moment.

“Just a little longer. Nobody is enjoying this.”

Regardless, the Prince stared on. The griffon was correct - in a few seconds, the device at his mouth was disconnected, with a very familiar “ch-pop”. Did Raven know of technology of such level and keep it under wraps? Was it more widespread than he assumed? How frequent were afflictions such as his? Blueblood thought and thought, more and more, until it hit him that there was no longer the vague, bodiless, ethereal feeling in his mind, or the burn in his eyes. Not at all, in fact.

It was gone, and he was still free to think and act. That just raised a whole entire new level of questions.

As far as he was concerned, he was not in control for the past two weeks. Ever since the touch of the lich left him with radiation seeping from his body and his eyes burning, his mind was not his own. Instead of retreating into safer corners, it wandered out - instead of keeping to admitted truths, it questioned. Instead of ignoring annoyances, it considered them, and instead of lamenting the death of the princely mantra - look good, be gorgeous, stay handsome - it wandered out for more. Blueblood, in his newfound, alarming thoughtfulness, instantly knew that was not him, and that he could merely bid his body goodbye. In fact, a “snatcher wraith”, whatever it was, sounded very probable.

But now it was gone, and he remained. His restrainers, however, did not - he felt himself stumble in place was they withdrew themselves, either disappearing again, or keeping to the shadows. He tried to look, but the dusk of the chamber was not very conductive. Moreover, it was not his main problem.

“What just happened?” he asked, voice creaking under nervous pressure.

“Something very interesting,” the griffon told him, still aiming right at the pony’s head. “Welcome to the world of the still living.”

“What— What was that? Why was I… Why was I like that? I wasn’t myself, and now, now it’s… What was that?!” Blueblood’s tongue tied up in itself as he tried to articulate his many questions.

“The Frozen North equivalent of the sniffles. An arcane flu. There was not much wrong with you on the physical front. On the—”

“NOT MUCH WRONG?!” the unicorn threw up his hooves, yelling in an inconsistent tone. “That… That THING, it warped my entire mind! I’m not myself anymore! I don’t think like I do! I don’t act like I do! I should be crying in a corner right now, thinking of how I will get into bed, coddling my blasted, fake medals and awards as I waste another night of my life! WHY AM I SCREAMING AT YOU RIGHT NOW?!” he glared at the griffon, walking right up to the crossbow and bumping his head against the bolt. “EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN THAT! WHY AM I DOING THIS? DID I JUST GO INSANE? IS THAT IT? THEN WHY AM I ADMITTING IT?”

The pony stared down the sights at the blank glass that obscured the griffon’s face behind the rubber mask. He rightly was furious. His tolerance had come to a stop - he wanted some certainty on what was going on. At that rate, he could take whatever twisted thing the North housed in itself, left forgotten at the top end of his country. But he wanted to know if he housed the top end of himself any longer.

“That is why you’re interesting, Prince Blueblood. You’re not insane,” the griffon spoke calmly. “You are a little shocked, but at most, it is a case of the post-traumatic stress disorder. You’re still yourself.”

“No I’m not! I spat fire at a gigantic wolf! I almost traded souls with a wraith! I mutilated my own look and image! I awakened an ancient magician! And then he infected me with something, and then I could make others do things if I looked in their eyes! Are you telling me I’m Prince Blueblood?! Are you serious?!” he continued to shout.

“Yes and no. You know the world for what it truly is now, Prince,” the party on the other side of the crossbow replied in the same calm tone. “Welcome to real life. I can see you don’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t know if I do! I don’t know anything, mister! I don’t know if… I don’t know if I!” Blueblood butchered his native language as bits of his spit landed on the bolt that could well pierce his skull at any second.

“That’s okay. It’s a rude awakening. You know what is really going on now, outside your ivory towers and heart-shaped towns. Some that turn to this place go through the same thing. We could help you accommodate…”

“How?!”

“...I said could. You see… there is a problem, Prince Blueblood. Whatever you believe, you are a Prince,” the griffon sighed audibly. “Whether you like it or not, you are a very noticeable figure. Your name has weight to it.”

“And?!”

“Well… you are not staying here, are you? You want us to take you back home, don’t you?” His head tilted slightly. It was starting to seem that the only reason he had not lost the staring contest was that his eyes were obscured, and that Blueblood was still more interested in the bolt.

“Maybe?!”

“And what will you do when you are home then, Prince?”

Blueblood bit his lower lip under the duress. At first, he thought that he had not really considered the course of events should that ever happen. Then, however, he realized that there was not much to be considered.

“I am going to end this place. I am going to take all there is in my power, and erase every last bit of this sun-forsaken wasteland. I am going to debilitate the undead, I am going to wipe away the arcane, and I am going to lock away last untold horror it holds. I don’t care what they will tell me, they think I’m a Prince, and I’ll make them follow me. They don’t know any better, but I do now. Celestia and Luna order them around, they are worshipped, and I am just that, only a suffix less! I will tell everyone of what I had seen here! They won’t have a choice but go out and end this frozen menace, even if they never thought it existed! It threatens our very selves, at every moment, and nobody even knows! We speak of harmony, and yet we have THIS in our attic?”

Again, silence prevailed over the room. The Prince panted, feeling blood pump through his head. And in that, he felt accomplished.

“That is why I am pointing this at you,” the griffon finally spoke back. “At best, Prince, you will be thrown into an insane asylum for the rest of your days. At worst, you will plunge Equestria into civil unrest for years to come.”

A sharp, painful sting hit Blueblood’s heart. He was shut down, so abruptly. By ignorance, by underestimation, all by someone who wished so hard to look threatening, only to work towards the threat toward that which was good. The unicorn’s face went from a disheartened frown into an angry grimace.

“Then…”

Shoot me here and now, the Prince wanted to say. Before he could do so, however, he finally remembered, and in how long it took him, his face flushed.

“My retinue. What about them. What are you going to do with them?” This turn of the conversation had the griffon tilt his head once again. For a fraction of a second, Blueblood saw the crossbow lower.

“Check them for afflictions and undead menace. Then ask them the same things.”

“And if they agree with me? Will you kill them?”

“They won’t agree with you.”

“But—”

“Prince Blueblood, it is you who is interesting. They are so much more typical. You like to think you are all unique. That is not always true. We know their answers before they do. None of them will ever threaten your status quo, and they will let Equestria live in its negligent peace.”

“So they will live?”

“Yes.”

“Then shoot me here and now.”

Nothing happened. Blueblood did not tense up for the shot, he did not make a particular final thought, he simply said it and was done - but nothing happened. It was as if he was not heard.

“I said shoot me here and now! Do you want me to go back home and live, knowing that I wasted a life on being a pretty picture for teenage fillies and grown mares to fawn over? Do you want me to go home and stay a piece of wordless furniture in Celestia’s court? All while I know what is happening here, on the outskirts that aren’t even on half our maps?!” he spoke through his teeth, tears of anger welling up in his eyes. “Being a mindless ghost in this blasted place is at least less disgusting.”

And still nothing happened.

“Do you want ME to pull the trigger, you BASTARD?! You DO know that ANYTHING that I’ve EVER set out to do, FAILED? If I try it, I may as well end up killing you and setting myself free! I am NOT taking the chance.”

Finally, the griffon sighed and nodded.

“Welcome to the fold, Blueblood. I can now pronounce you one of us.”

“Who— I— That is not— Who even— Just shoot me, I’m done!”

The avian’s weapon was lowered, and he set himself down in a quadrupedal state, the crossbow going on his back. Now they were at a relatively similar height.

“Most of the North Patrol is made of ambitious rejects, disciplinary mishaps, mercenaries. Nobody else would be put here as reliably. They are your sternguard against this danger that you don’t even know of,” the griffon exposed, the echo in his voice becoming more apparent now that they were more even. “Us, however, we are a subsidiary force. They call us the Paranormal Division. For ourselves, we don’t have a name. But we do share a goal.”

Blueblood continued to mutter out annoyed noises and blast spittle, becoming more and more frustrated by the second, but the griffon in black went on.

“We want to keep the rest of the world safe from this menace. Each of us had learned what this place contains through hard experience. Each of is will die before a chance to halt its influence is lost. Each of us, even when in the light, is one of the obscure.”

“Does your mask have earholes?” the Prince drew out, one of his eyes twitching. “I don’t care what this frozen abyss has spawned, whichever paranormal cause for righteousness you think you are! You are a symptom of this damned, frozen tumor! I don’t want YOU in MY Equestria, as much as I don’t want THIS!”

“And yet you are still so principled.”

“Yes, I am! I may be none of the pony that was there before, but I am still a pony! I am not going to induct myself in a disturbing, cabalistic, clearly occult clique of obsessed militants! If I do anything, then I go out, and I spread the word, and when this place is gone, it will be through what we have always stood for!” the unicorn shook in place, rampaging on. “There is no harmony in what you are. I don’t care what any of this is, this is positively not what I want laying a limb on MY Equestria’s deeds. And should you stop it from ever knowing it under the guise of protecting it? Then damn you, and let me be dead.”

“Then you are who I need.”

Blueblood only gasped as a sudden white flash blanked his vision, and harsh wind blew through his mane, freezing his face. A cornucopia of noise assaulted his ears, and when he could see, he was in the same chamber, only with a large hole in its side, it being the source of wind.

Green flame spread all throughout, and a silhouette befell each of the darkly clothed figures inside. They moved frantically, albeit with elegance. As his vision adjusted, he saw that they were in combat. Loud hoofsteps and noises of distortion came from behind him, and many of the North Patrol that he had seen as he was being walked in joined the fray, desperately trying to set up their various weaponry to fight off the foe.

As the green tint thickened against each line of each shape of what Blueblood was being shown - with clear intent, he realized - the futility of the Paranormal Division and North Patrol’s actions became clear. The Prince’s gut cringed as he saw the figures that appeared to hold him down just a short while ago get torn to shreds, gratuitous bloodshed abound. His main reaction to the spectacle, however, was anger.

He looked at that which opposed them, in dusty silhouettes, seemingly created from memory at best by that which showed him all this and, in fact, orchestrated the entire ordeal. In what he saw, he recognized untold horror. Fleshy… things with haphazard limbs, bodies full of nothing but gaping maws and teeth. Long tongues dragging behind the obtuse bodies, leaving trails in the snow. Even bigger, differently warped beings posing behind them. All of them, worse than anything he could not imagine.

“Why did you bring them— Agh!” he heard one of the North Patrol speak familiar enough words.

“Come again, TACCOM! Situation D2, cut us of—” one that lead them down the halls not so long ago said his last words before a ball of mouths came onto him.

“You never told us, you creepy feathered fuck!” another was about to turn at the large crossbow-wearing griffon, but was halted as that very griffon had a poignant tongue pierce his chest.

It existed. As he lived and was technically one of Equestria’s rules, this existed right in their proverbial attic, and it slaughtered the ones that were seemingly made for this restless region.

“Who are you and what do you want. Where are the rest of mine,” Blueblood spoke plainly, staring at the horrid imagery, shown to him in wispy, green glows of the past.

“We’re acquainted, and I want to see where your journey takes you. They’re undergoing much the same, simply less interesting.” It had the griffon’s voice, but the echo prevailed now. In that echo, Blueblood heard many, many voices. Some of them he recognized. As his mind took note of a certain voice, it would become more prominent in the choir. He did not question the possible horror of whatever he spoke to, for the time being.

Finally removing the site of the terrible battle from Blueblood’s point of view, he stood now in a pristinely white space, and to his sides were the dozen ponies he traveled with. Before he could even call out to them, the one at his side halted him. As it had coursed through many a voice over the short sentences it gave him, it finally centered on one.

“No point in reaching them. They aren’t really here, and their conversations are… private. Ours is more interesting, regardless,” the haughty pearl-white unicorn mare with a mane that had Blueblood’s stylist faint in ecstasy at least thrice spoke to him. Her shape was transparent, and her facial expression virtually nonexistent. “You should see now that I have come to know you rather well.”

Blueblood turned to “Rarity” with a slight frown.

“Why… her?”

“I’d rather provoke. You act best when you are provoked. I’ve learned as much. I know each of yours’ personalities of interest. Some’d rather be comforted, some’d rather be stimulated. You I apparently need to be angry.”

“I… Just… So be it.”

“Good.”

“I… I have seen all too much, and learned all too much. I doubt there’s much of a way of toppling it. Just tell me what you are and what your agenda is. I am sick of being… ugh… played with.”

“I shall go at my own speed. Your “case of the sniffles” was only half that. My servant-I-never-asked-for did one thing right in his hilariously overly ambitious life. He lead me to you.”

Blueblood chewed on his lip, before a glare of recognition fired up in his eyes. In a slight mockery of his insight, the picture of the shriveled up skeletal Arab became visible in the thin air.

“The… um… the lich? Was he— Oh, dear, I remember now. I saw you and ran to punch you in the face. You read my mind right away?”

“I thought I did. I was wrong. You are full of surprises. Unlike many, many others. A small, small segment of my consciousness was transferred into you as you ran, so valiantly, to punch a mare that angered you in the snout. In that, you finally deprived the world of the menace that was Al-Walid. Had you not done that, his personality would probably have fully taken over your mind. Now you will just have to live with a shriller voice.”

“That… I… Let us just move on,” the stallion sat on his haunches, thin air feeling like exactly that. The most feasible explanation of how this was being done was that it was merely his mind coming up with a way to interpret that being’s presence and actions. A precariously comforting thought.

“You’re very hard on yourself. Even more so since you were forced to start thinking. You look for purpose, for motivation, for a drive to be that which you so aspire to be, but are not. That is typical enough. But… I see something in you that I had not seen in millennia, at least not as far as I looked. Granted, I did not much try, but still… For how corrupted and slothful your existence may have been up to this point, you are one of your own through and through. You have no idea, Prince Blueblood, how rare that is becoming as years crawl on.”

The “mare” sat down next to him, forcing the Prince to shuffle away.

“You haven’t told me who you are. I want to know just what in the name of the wide blue skies I am meant to try and find a way to get rid of when I’m being through with this place,” he said with poised indignance.

“Rarity” chuckled in response, ending with a sigh.

“Let me put it this way. I have spent an eternity chasing my own tail,” the being said, and pointed its “hoof” forward. There, Blueblood saw an image of a massive, moustached, many-eyed serpent, rotating in place, its tail in its mouth. “And learned a thing or two about purpose of life and its futility in so doing.”

“Another ancient evil,” the stallion hung his head. “This planet baffles me when I think about it. Maybe that is why so many don’t.”

“Think what you will. I have learned to keep my influence open to interpretation. It never goes the way you want it to when you force it directly.”

“Really? How many things have you forced? What other hapless royalty did you subject to mind-readings and force them to undergo personality tests?”

“None you would find in your history books. I learned with time. I learned a very important thing.”

The “mare” sighed, and a kaleidoscope of pictures from cities and nations that Blueblood had, indeed, never heard or seen or had any reason to believe existed, flurried by them.

“When you are big, you want to decide that which the small do. You think yourself an artist of entire generations. That is, until you realize that a blink of an eye too long, and you had slept through all that there ever was. A life is very meaningless.”

The stallion hung his head. His mind still raced with the sheer amount of information - from how he was still himself, to how the traumatic experience caused him to be able to act in an informed manner, to how there was paramilitary operating in the North, to how there were outwordly things ripped said paramilitary apart… and this. Therefore, this speech merely made him a bit sad.

“And, Prince Blueblood… that is a very, very good thing.” “Rarity” turned to him, and he just barely got himself to look at “her”. “When you take the weight of something truly massive onto your shoulders, you wish to be insignificant. But by then, you can never ever be. What you do with what you have seen here will never matter. Your Equestria will never matter. It will all vapor away, and I will forever chase my tail, and this orb will forever spin, until it all begins anew.”

Blueblood simply listened, barely trying to make sense of the many pictures that flashed before them, as the being narrated its long-winded advice.

“So be happy that it all matters to you. Be happy to be angry, Prince Blueblood, be happy to be mad, sad, upset. Cherish those emotions, seek to be challenged. Do not fall into apathy. I see seeds of so much… curiousness, locked in you. That what you have seen, the things none of your predecessors cared to clean up, they opened it up. Don’t let it go to waste. Go out. Be wild. Make something of yourself. Maintain your pony status quo - but be truly remembered.”

He blinked and saw the many ponies and other species of the North Patrol and Paranormal Division be shown to him.

“I see many things when I awake - or, am forcibly awakened by individuals I regret coming in contact with. You and them are the ones I took in first. I foretell that the future you will wring is going to be much more… flavored, than the one they will. You saw how little effort it took to fully reconstruct their behavior - I am more than certain that I was fully accurate on their treatment of you. You… I want to see shades of what you have done when I next open my eyes. You have already affected more lives than you think you have, but I want more, I want brighter. And I definitely don’t want… these.” To elaborate on “these”, an image of one of the malformed creatures stayed still before them for a few seconds before fading away.

The Prince listened, and raised a hoof, but then lowered it. To answer his mute question, the being showed three pictures - six mares, what must have been a remarkably massive castle, and three dots. At their bottoms, they were oddly mirrored, but before he could land his eye on a definite difference, it had vapored away, much like his interest.

“So… this is all for your own amusement? That is what it is? You are a lazy spirit of Discord, that is all you are?”

“I am much older.”

“Be it as it may. I’ve heard your advice. I fail to see how anything can impress me at this rate. This conversation may as well be over. I don’t know how, but you will not be spinning forever.”

“I wish. But keep that bravado alive. It makes you so much more worthwhile.”

“I have had enough of being talked down to by cosmic beings of questionable allegiance,” Blueblood frowned, getting up on his fours. “Today has been all too frustrating. I know what I’m doing from here on out, and I am done being messed with. This is final. I insist on being let out of here, and be allowed to… try to perform my due adequately. Now!”

“You really are special. In a multitude of ways.”

“Oh! That does remind me,” Blueblood’s voice straightened up, and him and the form that the being had taken stood face to face. He did not, however, have any words, but instead, unleashed a harsh slap on its face. His hoof flew right through “Rarity”’s face, but the point was made on both fronts.

“Two last things. First I reiterate - remember that, however minor, your existence alone causes peculiar consequences. Build on them, and live with them for all the blissfully short live you have. And second… A favor to ask of you.”

“I do not—”

“Apologize when you’re awake.”

Blueblood was found by his highly distraught retinue after they had apparently broken into the chamber he was taken into. He had been panickedly informed that the denizens of the keep had vanished in their entirety, whereas they themselves had all apparently been out of consciousness for at least two hours. In an unpleasant turn of events, the first palpable movement the Prince had done was slap Raven across the face, breaking her glasses, only after which was he woken up.

His attempts to find out if they had encountered any unnatural conversation lead to the group assuming that a mental affluence anomaly had taken over the keep, and that they were to head for Pierce Heaven as fast as possible. Gladly, their vehicles were still in place, two snow mounds in the barren land. As to the nonexistence of the Prince’s sickness, nobody seemed to have noticed, and he himself did not see the unpleasant device on Raven’s back as they retreated.

It continued to miff Blueblood that for all his attempts to prove himself, there was barely any true consequence of his actions. When he, at long last, was laid to sleep normally, and suffered a night of the most disjointed dreams he had had in years, he decidedly wished for more concrete actions. That, he knew, he would enact, and live through the results of - one way, or another.

The continuity of their own action in the Frozen North did not come to his mind, as he was overly occupied planning for the presumably nearest future.