Machinations of a Trickster

by Deviance

Chapter 3: Hellraiser

“Come on, it’s time to get up!” a shrill voice shouted giddily. If the voice had been physical it probably would have burst his eardrums- fortunately, it wasn’t. Instead the psychic impression of it rang inside his head like a bell struck by a particularly annoying hammer. Wincing with a grimace the man neglected to answer, only making an indistinct growl before digging his face deeper into the pillow.

"Oh, stop it! I’m finally going home!” the voice cheerfully exclaimed, her psychic pulse sending with it a cascade of so many joyful emotions it triggered a wave of nausea in the still half-asleep mage.

“Fine!” he relented, speaking into the pillow in a monotone, slurred voice. He took a deep breath, then gathered himself and pushed down on the bed and arched his back. A loud crack sounded, followed by a pleased groan from the man as he held the position for a few more heartbeats. Then he promptly slumped back down with his face into the pillow.

He could feel the psychic energy gathering as the incorporeal unicorn prepared herself for another bout of shouting. But before she had the chance he wordlessly rolled sideways until he fell out of the bed, landing on all fours and stumbling into an upright position. The yawn that followed was so ferocious the man could feel the muscles in his jaw trembling with the effort, and when his mouth closed he rubbed at them gingerly.

“Okay, I know you’re tired but we barely got an hour before it’s time to go,” Twilight’s voice told him in a slightly apologetic tone.

“Plenty of time for breakfast then,” he murmured and stumbled over to the kitchen fridge, scooping out a can of energy drink and popping it open, savoring the fizzling sound it made while doing so.

“Do you really have to?” Twilight weakly objected.

“Yes. Quite literally, caffeine is the reason I can function at all,” he told her firmly, taking a deep sip of the cold drink.

“As long as you don’t bring any with you… I don’t want to imagine how Pinkie Pie would react to one,” she said, a slight sensation of a shudder following along with her last remark.

The mage didn’t bother asking for an explanation. If all things went to plan he wouldn’t even need to bring anything into her world, since he wouldn’t need to enter into it in the first place… beyond maybe a cursory glance. As long as he got the frequency once he ventured into her world's passage into hell he could just toss the unicorn’s spirit out and let it snap back into her body. Wouldn’t be any different than a dreamer returning to their body when waking up.

That was all he needed to do. Get to the doorway, open it, chuck the unicorn through, then get back home before anyone noticed him. Before anything noticed him.

Sounded easy. Like most plans it sounded feasible as long as nothing went too horribly awry in the execution. Which is exactly why having the Locksmith riding passenger in his mind would be so useful.

“Because sneaking into hell is guaranteed to fuck up any and all plans,” the mage voiced aloud thoughtfully, then absently taking another sip.

“We can do this,” Twilight assured him confidently.

“We?” he snorted. “You are just going to be sitting there in my mind criticizing and trying to tell me what to do while suppressing those smug little sensations of being a know-it-all,” he rasped.

“I am N-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your non-existent panties from getting twisted. I get it, just keep the backseat driving to a minimum. I’ve had you in there long enough to know you won’t be able to stop yourself from giving ‘helpful hints.’” he told her while waving his hands as if to dismiss her protests.

“... well, if they are helpful hints-”

The mage sighed loudly to cut her off, then mentally began going through a playlist of old metal songs in his head to drown her out. Somewhere in the din of electric guitar riffs and loud drumming he could hear the vague sound of her shouting something at him. In response he imagined half a dozen half naked groupies dancing in rhythm to the music, and he promptly felt her panic as she fled into the safety and silence of his subconscious library.

“Should have figured that one out days ago,” he murmured with a smug grin of victory plastered over his face. Emptying his can and tossing it into a corner.

“You know, that is a sure way to get ants,” a voice dryly said from behind him.

The mage managed to keep himself from twitching in fright, and instead looked over his shoulder as casually as he could towards the source of the sound; as expected, the locksmith stood there eying him skeptically.

“You look like you’re barely able to form complete sentences,” the entity remarked with his eyebrows slightly raised. “You do realize what we’re about to do will require you to focus- quite intently focus, actually?”

“I’ll manage,” the mage replied with a dismissing wave of his hand. He walked over to his book-covered table and began rummaging around until he found two different energy bars hidden beneath. Both of them promising nutrition and energy in bold bright letters along with an asterisk for a barely eligible fine print on the bottom.

The locksmith observed the man munching down on the products of borderline false advertisement and vaguely looked like he was starting to regret his decision; but he said nothing. Instead he raised his legs in the air and hovered in a cross-legged position with his chin resting on one of his fists, gazing at the mage like one might an animal at a zoo.

Without acknowledging the entities stare the mage continued his meager breakfast, his jaw still aching slightly from his earlier yawn. Without intending to, his mind was already running through scenarios of what to do when he got back home. All the things he could finally accomplish, all the things he could finally finish and let go of, maybe even make it better.

Now that the music and groupies were gone, Twilight’s psychic presence came slinking back up to his consciousness, but she said nothing. Instead she silently observed as brief flashes of intentions, emotions and considerations pass him by like freight cars on a train: too fast to make out details, but slow enough to get the general picture.

Eventually it all settled back down into whatever corner of his mind it all had risen from, and left the mage, both mages, quietly looking out the window into the snow-covered forest. Until the last bit of his dubiously healthy breakfast went into his mouth and he let the paper fall down on the desk, then turned around.

The locksmith was eying him with the shadow of a smile on his lips. It didn’t take much to figure out that the entity had probably been looking at his internal train of hopes and dreams as easily as he looked at his physical body. All the same, the mage couldn’t keep a tone of irritation out of his voice.

“So, how exactly will you get us into hell?” he asked.

The locksmith scratched his ankle absently and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them a moment later there was a misted cover over his iris, like a veil of mist or thin cloud had been trapped inside.

“First, you just make a standard circle and put yourself into a trance. I’ll take it from there and direct you. Our deal included me giving you a technique to hide yourself, but we’ll need to wait until you’re there before I transfer that.”

The mage opened his mouth to protest but the entity held up a hand to cut him off.

“I’ll be cloaking us, don’t concern yourself with that. You’ll be absorbing the technique from me as I do it, and when you’ve gotten it as well as you can I’ll give it all to you. After that I’ll be present only as the source of energy to draw from, as well as a superiorly intelligent guide and advisor.”

“Why not cloak us here and let me absorb the technique in a much safer setting?” the mage asked.

The Locksmith sighed and looked up towards the heavens while shaking his head. “Because then you’ll be learning how to cloak yourself in this environment. A chameleon that only knows how to turn green won’t be much good in a world of red and black, now will it?”

“I get it,” the mage grumbled in response.

“I doubt it, but at least you’re trying. So… ready?”

The mage hesitated only for a moment, then turned his attention inwards towards the psychic presence that was Twilight. He had just woken up, yet already the strain of her energy was already exerting itself over his mind. This needed to be done quickly.

“You ready?” he asked her softly.

“YES!” she replied in a hailstorm of emotions she couldn’t restrain despite her best attempts.

“Like getting torn away by a rainbow flood full of diabetes,” the mage rasped while sticking his tongue out like he was about to vomit. Then he went over to his table, and after a moment of rummaging around he found a piece of chalk.

He walked over to the part of floor right in front of the cold fireplace and sat down, hastily drawing a less-than-perfect circle around himself. Then he took a deep breath, filling his lungs and holding it for a few moments, then carefully letting it all out slow and steady. He repeated the process, allowing his thoughts and feelings to get washed away with each exhalation. Sinking deeper into a trance, listening to his own heartbeat as a drum guiding him deeper and deeper. Deeper and deeper.

And then he died.

****************************************

It was a strange sensation. The mage had expected the kind of shift into the ethereal to feel like it normally does, like sinking into water then dissolving into it. But when the sudden explosion of heat and light happened it was nothing like the normal transferring of consciousness into a spiritual body. It was a wrenching, powerful blow that reminded him more of getting punched in the face than anything else. And then, just like that, from a brief but intense moment, he found himself standing in hell.

The landscape itself was somehow less infernal than he had been expecting. The ground he stood on was rocky, cliffs rising and falling around him in a geological mishmash of either jagged edges or smooth curves. The sky itself was mostly dark, as if it was night, but no stars shone on it. There was, however, a kind of undertone of red, as if the horizon was still bleeding light from an unseen settled sun somewhere. But it had no exact origin or point where it seemed to infuse the atmosphere stronger. Instead it simply glowed with an ever present ambience leaving plenty of enough light to see. Stuck in a perpetual unmoving dusk and dawn.

“When you’re done with your poetic musings we should get going. The clock is now officially ticking before the power I’m supplying is gonna run out; unless you feel like becoming a permanent resident, of course,” the smooth and dry voice of the Locksmith spoke in his mind.

Unlike Twilight where the psychic imprint of her thoughts rang loud and strong, the Locksmith’s flowed like honeyed water. No strength or emotions or even a hint of overflow of energy detectable. Speaking directly from mind to mind, yet somehow betraying nothing about himself at the same time.

The mage licked his lips nervously at the implication. He was hopelessly outclassed as far as deception was concerned, which did not bode well for the future. But he quickly shook off the concern, leaving tomorrow’s concerns for a tomorrow where he wasn’t at risk of getting stuck in hell.

He groped around inside his mind for the presence of the incorporeal unicorn, but found only some kind of muted buzzing.

“Don’t worry about your hitchhiker, I’ve put up a firewall for the moment while we focus on you getting the hang of the obfuscation technique. After that you can gossip all you want.”

The mage breathed in sharply through his nose, getting a whiff of brimstone and dry hot air, then decided to discard any objections of having the Locksmith so blatantly messing with his cognitive functions.

“Alright, teach me,” he simply responded.

He had been expecting there to be some flash of insight or knowledge downloaded straight into his brain. Some waste wave of imprints he could decipher, or maybe even some unconscious installation of skill where some kind of trigger was all that would be needed.

Instead all he felt was the locksmith vanishing from his mind. Like he had melded right into the background buzzing, keeping Twilight locked away from his consciousness. And a few moments later, he emerged right out of it. Softly and without any fanfare he was just gone, and then there again.

“Your turn,” the voice said again, something playful and mocking in his tone.

The mage’s eyes flickered from side to side as he tried to find anything to grasp in what had just happened. Some kind of hint he could use to trace what the entity had used for his little trick. However, nothing obvious stood out. And while the mage kept on trying to find anything to grasp the Locksmith kept repeating the same process, again and again he vanished and emerged. And yet every time the mage tried to trace the crossover he got nothing, no matter how much he focused his mind on the presence of the entity.

“You’re really not as sharp as I thought,” a bored voice whispered softly in his mind, eliciting a frustrated groan from the mage. He sank down to his knees, turned his eyes on the hard rock beneath him, then steadied his breathing.

Once again he tried to gather his focus, gritting his teeth as he prepared to pinpoint the exact moment when the entity stepped over the threshold of perception. And as the locksmith appeared once again, blazing with his energy and presence in his mind, he latched on to it with every drop of concentration he could bring to bear.

And yet, a few moments later, the entity simply wasn’t there.

“Come on,” the mage hissed aloud, then let himself fall backwards until he laid down completely on the comfortably warm rock. Rubbing the spot between his eyes with two fingers gently. “Think, think, think,” he repeated quietly like a mantra.

He felt his muscles relax and yield to the hard rock he laid upon while a hot wind brushed over his face. Then his eyes widened slightly.

Instead of trying to narrow his focus on the entity itself he widened his perceptions, allowing his mind to focus on the buzzing wall in the background. Slowly letting himself sink into it, letting the sensations of it wash over him. The slight tingling in his fingers, the sound of white noise in his ears, and the taste of copper in his mouth. All of it suffusing and cloaking him, deeper and deeper. And the more it did so, the more it began to gradually fade as the taste, the sound and feeling evaporated like thin mist.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” a loud voice greeted him on the other side, and his hands flew up to cover his ears on pure reflex.

“ARGH! Why do you always have to be so loud!?” the mage exclaimed loudly in return.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to talk to you forever but you didn’t say anything,” Twilight told him, her feelings of relief and happiness slamming into him like a physical strike.

“I was busy training,” he grumbled and rubbed his head in an now all too familiar gesture.

“I know, I’ve heard and seen everything, but no matter what I did you didn’t respond!” she told him, her voice still bubbling with relief.

The mage blinked, then considered what she’d said, and he could distantly hear the chuckling of the Locksmith softly echoing in his skull when realization struck him.

“So, you weren’t just locking her away, you were obfuscating her the same way as you did yourself?” he asked out loud.

“Yes,” the entity replied, his honeyed voice trickling through his mind like a soft breeze touching both of the mage’s inside. “Now you understand how those around you will experience the skill, but also how it can be overcome. It’s a neat trick, but you should never rely on it too much if your opponents become aware of your presence. It took you around fifteen minutes to attune yourself to the signature I hid us behind, and you should expect the majority of your enemies to be much quicker than that.”

The mage nodded as he absorbed the words, then quirked his head. “Alright, but how do I apply it?”

“Do I need to hold your hand in everything?” The Locksmith asked dryly.

The mage rolled his eyes and closed his eyes, carefully reaching out with his senses as he felt Hell’s energies swirling around him. For a place dedicated to torment and punishment, it was a strangely calm energy. Like the caressing heat of embers instead of any kind of searing flame. And the more he allowed it to flow into his mind, the more he started to feel undertones of other basic energies. Not just fire, but water was present within the realm, just in tiny, tiny particle doses, like motes of light. Air and earth was present as well; the air feeding the flames and carrying both souls and memories upon unseen currents, and the earth both grinding in rigid permeance as well as carrying the strongest of the flames in magma flows deep under his feet.

And together it all shaped itself into some strange kind of infernal ecosystem. For a moment, as he allowed all the impressions to coalesce in his mind, he felt that he got a glimpse of some kind of bigger picture. What place hell had in the systems of creation.

Then it vanished, but the energy of it remained. And he allowed it to infuse him, cloaking him, melding into the background energy of hell’s own energy signature. Maybe he hadn’t managed to hold on to whatever grand insight into the nature of hell that had passed him by, but he still got the signature of its essence, and that’s all he needed.

Inside the cocoon of energy he could feel both the presence of Twilight and the Locksmith, mute and wrapped in tendrils of Hell’s embrace, yet not sunk so deep it would in any way risk binding their spirits to the dimension.

“Damn, I’m good,” the mage muttered with a satisfied smirk.

“Damn, you got a talented teacher pretty much carrying you,” the Locksmith’s voice was quick to add.

“Are you two finished praising yourselves before we’ve barely gotten started yet?” Twilight’s voice interjected, her tone a pitch perfect facade of innocence.

The Locksmith’s dry chuckle reverberated in their shared mind.“Sarcasm is like fine aged wine, it’s meant to be sipped at special occasions. So let’s not overindulge and get going. This is your show, little mage- make it entertaining,” he finished, and although it went unseen, the mage had no difficulty feeling the wry smirk behind his words.

He looked around himself, eyes scanning the rocky landscape and its crimson veil of light. There were no obvious landmarks; neither cities, lakes, large mountains or anything of the kind that stuck out. Just endless expanses of smooth rock beds and sharp cliffs.

The lesson he had just learned a moment ago still clung fresh in his memory, so instead of focusing upon a single spot, the mage allowed his mind to take in the entirety of the realm around him. Just because there was nothing obvious didn’t mean it wasn’t there. And while his mind expanded he could feel unseen currents of energy, carried both within the air and in the small trickles of magma flowing underneath his feet.

Currents going where? And from what source?

Slowly shifting his attention into the currents he allowed just a brief glimpse into what it was carrying, then quickly withdrew. There were souls inside the flows, going in endless loops around the landscape, the energy of the fire and air itself infusing the inner dreams of the dead souls with direction and messages. Creating themes and tones for whatever stories they were all experiencing as they slowly drifted upon the currents.

The mage frowned. No, there was more than just that going on. Just an endless loop of dreaming souls would be… pointless. There had to be a control mechanism somewhere, something that supervised or at least decided where the souls would go beyond just mere chance.

Narrowing his eyes he shifted his attention once more, but this time to the rock the magma flowed within and air upon. There he sensed something stable, something strong enough to contain and carry the weight of uncountable souls. There was a will in the rock he stood upon, not moving or exerting itself, just simply remaining firm and unyielding. And the more he traced the canals the wind and magma were carried through, the more he sensed some kind of purpose there.

Then he straightened his back and scratched his head. The purpose of whatever mechanism at play here wasn’t really important, just how it was controlled. And it was through the rock that control could be felt.

“Hmmm, but which place,” the mage mumbled out loud, then directed his attention inwards.

“Twilight, can you feel anything familiar? Maybe some sensation that rings true or feels that it’s where you belong?” he asked.

She didn’t answer at first. He felt the tendrils of her own psychic groping, then how she gave up. “No, it all feels strange here.”

“Worth a shot,” he sighed, then crossed his arms and tapped his fingers thoughtfully. “Hey, Locksmith, if the ground is the stable axis which directs the cycle the souls' flow through here, then the rock used for it has to have some kind of connection beyond this place, right?”

“You’re on the first surface level of our version of Hell, so yeah, walk around far enough and you’ll probably find Dante’s gate here somewhere.” The entity was quick to reply.

“I’m just going to assume the reason you didn’t take us there in the first place is because it’s watched and not a good idea to use for entry, then?” The mage asked.

“You could not sneak through that doorway on your best day,” the entity snorted derisively.

“Okay, so you dumped us here because… you want me to climb through one of the little vents the currents of souls flow through? Because if this is just one level, I have to assume there’s small entryways it can go through to higher or deeper levels.”

“See, you can be clever enough when you make the effort,” the mocking voice praised him quickly.

“So it’s just a matter of picking which one,” the mage continued the line of reasoning.

“Like I told you, your show,” The Locksmith drawled, and the mage felt his presence retreating deeper as it leaned back to observe him.

“Bastard,” the mage growled, then searched for Twilight’s energy sitting at the mental sidelines listening. “I gotta use you somehow to orient myself in this place. We don’t have time skipping from world to world hoping we’ll land on the right one from luck alone.”

“I’m not objecting, but I don’t know what else to do. I can try and use magic to send a message or use a searching spell for it, but I’m afraid that might get us caught,” she answered hesitantly.

“Ditto,” the mage replied. “But your only link to where we’re going is you, so…” thinking for a moment, a small loose stone caught the attention of his eye. He walked over to it and bent down, collecting it in the palm of his hand and feeling its resonance.

“What are you thinking?” Twilight asked him with a hint of curiosity. “Using it as a key somehow?”

“No, more like a lodestone,” he said, then tore off a small strip of cloth from the sleeve of his robe. He tied it around the stone in a square, then swung it around carefully a few times to test it.

“Let’s see if this works,” he told her, and before she had a chance to reply he grasped the essence of her own psychic imprint, digging into its memories of life. What he needed wasn’t anything personal or important, just the basic energy of the world she had been born and grew up within.

It flashed by him in small glimpses, too quick and shallow to make out details, but enough to give him what was required. And as his mind grasped it, he allowed it to flow into his body and into the stone that rested in his hand.

The stone drank deeply of the energy, as the mage knew it would. It was material made to both channel but also contain souls, and it needed no prompting or ritual to absorb the energy and then imprison it within its tiny crystalline structure.

“HEY, that hurt!” Twilight sharply exclaimed, and the mage got the mental image of the small purple unicorn rubbing one of her hooves with an annoyed glare at him.

“Sorry, if I had told you you’d have tried to focus on it yourself and it would have gotten tainted by whatever associations or desires you’d have framed it in. I needed it to be impersonal,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Twilight made some indistinct sounds of displeasure, but didn’t add anything further. “Did it work, at least?”

The mage swung the stone around in a circle carefully while mumbling to himself, then allowed it to slowly run out its momentum until it came resting at its center… and yet, the stone kept slowly swinging out again in a direction to his right.

“Ha! It worked,” he confirmed, then tilted his head. “And seriously, you guys need to create your own clouds for the weather?”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” she asked him back, her tone mildly defensive. “It’s not like your world was any better with constant snowing and not a day of sunshine.”

“Just saying, I really hope those chubby little pegasi got a union going for them,” he smirked, then started walking in the direction his lodestone pulled him towards.

The landscape wasn’t as difficult to traverse as one might have expected of hell, with only some mild jumps and climbing around particularly bothersome cliffs necessary. Otherwise it was a leisurely stroll forward towards an unseen goal that passed by without incident.

In the back of his mind, both Twilight and the Locksmith remained silent throughout the entire walk. Twilight’s psychic imprint gave off waves of curiosity mingled with eagerness as she watched through his eyes, and he got the vague impression she was making mental notes of everything. The Locksmith on the other hand gave off no impression, save maybe for boredom. Before either one of them had a chance to break the peaceful silence, the lodestone suddenly turned slack and hung limp.

The mage stopped and looked at the stone, then around himself. He found absolutely nothing that could indicate they had arrived at the destination it had been leading them towards. He reached out with his senses into the stone, and found that the presence of Twilight’s energy signature was still as present and strong as it had been before.

He tucked away the stone into one of the many hidden pockets inside of his robe, then turned his eyes downwards to the large chunk of stone he was standing on. Spinning around slowly looking for a hint of some kind of opening or symbols or… anything.

“Just let me know when you’ve finally given up and gonna ask for help. It’s your energy and hope of escaping this place that you're spending, after all,” the locksmith said after a few minutes had passed without results.

The mage swallowed the reply he wanted to give the entity in his mind radiating waves of smugness, and instead adopted a neutral expression and tone of voice.

“Okay… so can you help me find whatever I’m missing,” he asked.

“Of course I can. You’re just, as always, missing the obvious right in front of your nose,” the entity said.

Before answering the mage considered the situation, trying to find whatever it was that was so obvious and in front of him yet somehow remained unnoticed. The rock maybe? Something to do with the material? Or maybe the cloak of the environment’s energy he was still wearing?

“Uhhh, am I cloaking the opening by hiding myself? Do I need to allow the way forward to sense me in order to part or something?” he finally asked.

“Not even close. This place wasn’t made for people to take walks on, it was made for rivers of souls to pass through. There’s no signs, doorways, markers or other orientation methods because no one is supposed to be here to read them. Gotta find your way around like the soul of a dead would.”

“Ohh,” the mage said after thinking about it for a moment; it was kind of obvious in hindsight. Ceasing his attempts to find anything, he let his eyes unfocus and sank his mind down into the rock beneath. It was solid, as could be expected, yet with a hint of something else than he had sensed before. Like the energy of the stone existed in layers, and each layer had a vibration to it.

“Keys,” he mumbled quietly after a moment. “It’s a prison, so they’ve made the very walls and ceiling just an endless vista, but it’s the ground we stand on that functions as the bars, the locks and the keys,” he said quietly.

“Ohhhh, that is really smart,” Twilight said, something akin to admiration creeping into her voice.

“And since this place is meant as passages for souls, each soul corresponds to the vibration of a particular kind of stonework a layer of hell is built on…” he continued, scratching his shaggy beard as he thought aloud. “So what we need is just to emit an energy signature with the right frequency and we’ll get automatically transported to the right place in hell,” he said.

“Bingo! What a gifted and handsome teacher you must have had,” the entity said.

A sad smile crossed over the mage’s lips for a brief moment. “He was something special indeed.”

“Wasn’t talking about the old bearded man, I was talki-”

“Yeah I know,” the mage snapped, then reached in and grasped the rock with the energy of Twilight’s world still burning bright inside. It came quicker this time, the melding of his obfuscation cloak with its signature. Barely had it been complete before he felt a shifting sensation, like the moment an elevator begins moving down, and everything turned dark.

Then it stayed dark. And damp. With a hint of moisture falling upon and clinging to his skin. The mage turned his head to look around, but it remained pitch black in every direction. He raised his hand and moved it around in front of him and met no resistance.

“Good, at least we’re still free to move around,” he said out loud, then turned his attention to the Locksmith. “So, what’s your advice?”

“My advice is that you shouldn’t produce any light in a section of hell devoid of it unless you want every being in the closest five dimensions to instantly know you’re here,” it replied dryly.

“Fair enough,” the mage said. “So what, then? Change my vision somehow?”

“You need to look as a spirit, not as a flesh-and-blood being whose sight you’re still clinging to,” came the haughty answer.

“Of course I’m clinging to it, I’m not dead yet unless I can help it. But I get it, gotta see with ghost eyes,” the mage said, ignoring his guide’s preferred style of teaching.

It was surprisingly easy shifting his perception like that. But then again, he had two incorporeal entities inside his mind and he was currently walking through hell, so perhaps some feedback into his spiritual senses should have been expected.

Reading auras and seeing the ethereal strings and fields of energies was a basic skill most practitioners of the arts learn early. However, to see with such senses exclusively, ignoring the physical input from his body’s sensory organs, that was something else entirely. And yet, it came smoothly and easily. More akin to stepping into a hot bath instead of the wrestling struggle he had expected.

And just like that, he was standing in a grand cave. Grand might be an understatement. It was as vast as a thousand cathedrals put together, with some kind of black sand under his feet. When he turned to his right he was greeted by the sight of soft white mist stretching out further than even his ghostly sight was able to see. Unbidden, his legs started moving on their own towards the mist, slowly taking one heavy step at a time towards the beckoning softness. Like a siren song he could feel it calling to him, promising relief and peace beyond anything he had ever experienced or could even imagine.

It was only when he stood one step away from it he froze, and became aware of Twilight’s voice screaming inside of his head in a garbled voice.

“Stop, stop, STOP!” she shrieked at him, waves of naked fear rolling from her presence in psychic waves.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he breathed heavily, wiping the sweat off his forehead he hadn’t even noticed before.

“That was close. Half a second more and you’d be going gaga by now,” the locksmith told him, his voice for once grave. “Didn’t you notice what’s underneath the mist?”

The mage frowned, then kicked a bit of the black sand out into the mist, and got his answer when the sound of it hitting water came back to him. Eyes widening with a sudden thought, he asked with a voice he couldn’t quite keep from trembling. “Which place is this?”

“That’s the river Styx you almost took a dip in. Seriously, don’t even stick your toe in there. It has no real bottom. Once you’re in you’ll be feeding the tree soon enough.”

“The tree?” the mage asked, snapping back into reality with a confused expression on his face.

“The river flows through many levels of this place and takes the souls through all kinds of changes. But it all has to end up somewhere to take all those memories of a life once led. There’s roots of a very, very big tree here it flows into.”

“You mean th-”

“Don’t say anything else- especially not names. In places like this, that will attract attention hard and fast. You've got a job, so stop acting like a tourist and get going,” The locksmith told him, the psychic pulse of his words like a whip crack of steel across the mage’s mind.

Grimacing, the mage massaged his temples briefly while his eyes scanned the mist blanketing the river. The styx might be some kind of funnel of souls to go through some cleansing process if the Locksmith’s words were true, but it was also supposed to be a passageway to other things, if the myths held true.

“Names attract attention, huh,” the man whispered softly, and allowed himself a brief smile. He doubted the Locksmith had let that slip on accident. Testing the mage with clever little hints seemed to be a recurring theme with the entity. So he opened his mouth and spoke quietly, while letting just a trickle of energy carry into the sound as he projected it out into the mist.

“Charon,” he simply spoke, then took a few steps back.

Nothing seemed to happen at first. Even when the mage reached out he couldn’t feel any resonance or psychic response. But after a few minutes of waiting, the subtle sound of water gently sloshing reached his ears. And from the mist the dark silhouette of a hooded man in a boat became visible.

“Who’s that?” Twilight asked, her voice carrying equal measures of nervousness and curiosity.

“The ferryman of the dead,” the mage whispered gently, eyes fixated on the figure slowly emerging from the mist.

It didn’t take long before the boat bumped into the black shoreline, slightly carving into the sand before coming to a stop in front of the mage nervously drumming his fingers against his leg. The ferryman had no visible features within the dark hood of his tattered robes, it was simply a shadow draped in old gray cloth vaguely reminiscent of a funeral veil. Hands as gray and pallid as the cloth stuck out from the sleeves while firmly grasping the large oar it held in both hands, and behind the figure a single lantern burned with a small but bright flame.

“Do you seek passage?” it asked in an old raspy voice, like chains dragging across a stone floor.

The mage cleared his throat and straightened his back, forcing his fingers to come to a stop. “Yes, can you take me into Tartarus? I need to deliver a lost soul to where it belongs,” he said in the most official-sounding voice he could manage.

The ferryman remained silent for a few moments, the mist gently drifting by on unseen currents around him. Then one hand let go off the oar he held and reached forward with an open palm towards the mage. “Passage requires sacrifice,” the raspy voice simply said.

Unable to suppress a painful grimace, he looked away then and awkwardly scratched the back of his head, then held out both open palms towards the ferryman himself. “Yeah, I’m kind of… broke.”

The mage winced as the sound of his own words reached his ears, then felt his body tense in anticipation as he stood unmoving, waiting for the painful silence to end.

The ferryman didn’t move either, and after a few heartbeats had passed it simply spoke again. “Passage requires sacrifice.”

Huffing with frustration, the mage pointlessly patted the pockets of his robe as if double checking he hadn’t accidentally brought any ancient coins along. When he predictably found nothing, he instead directed his attention inwards.

“Any suggestions, my guide of the oh-so-bottomless wisdom?”

The Locksmith answered him in a bored tone. “This is your show. Charon doesn’t work for free, he is quite literally incapable of rowing you across without you paying him for it. It’s the way of the universe, ALL universes. Quid pro quo, everything is balanced, and all debts must be settled.”

“Great,” the mage sighed. He let his eyes roam over the infernal public transit driver, then shifted his gaze to his boat and slowly took in all the details. The boat itself, the little lantern, the small planks to sit on; nothing unexpectant or special stood out. Like so much else in hell it seemed to be satisfied with pragmatic bare minimum. Then the mage’s eyes snapped to the oar still held in one hand of the figure, and one eyebrow rose ever so slightly.

“My payment is service,” the mage finally said, slowly speaking each word with weighted care. “I will be the one to take the lost soul home without surrendering any memories,” he finished.

Somehow the ancient ferryman seemed to freeze even more still than it had been a second earlier, and for just the briefest moment, there was something in its posture that spoke of… pity. Then it spun the oar around in a half circle and grasped it with both hands, holding it forward solemnly.

The mage moved to grasp it, then hesitated with his hand just an inch away from the piece of wood. There was an energy humming in it, almost eagerly. Emanating a spirit of melancholy, silence and… much more. It was like someone had taken every somber song, rainy Sunday, misty graveyard evening and silent mausoleum and distilled it into a pure feeling of burden- then placed it into a simple oar.

He didn’t need to hear anything to know that, if he grasped the piece of wood, he’d be accepting yet another deal of some kind. A contract nowhere near as clear-cut and written in words as the one he’d performed with the Locksmith. But then again, maybe that was somehow more honest than the double-speak and hidden meanings contained within the seemingly fair deal he’d already signed.

But then again, what else could he do? Turn back? Or maybe find another way into Tartarus?

“Tick tock,” a voice spoke in his mind, and he knew it was neither that of the Locksmith or Twilight’s, but his own.

His fingers slid around the handle and he took the oar, holding it out in front of himself and letting its energies surge through his arms and through the meridians spread over his body. It mingled there, somehow, with that of his own, then slightly clashed against Twilight’s. The Locksmith seemed to simply wash over or around, like it didn’t even detect him.

Then it seemed to settle down. All was silent for a moment, then the mage stepped on to the boat while the ferryman moved back and sat down at the bow. The mage remained standing at the stern, and gently pushed with the long slender oar into the black sand, sending them out into the water and the mist’s embrace.

It seemed to be quiet, with only the slight sound of water sloshing as he rowed forward. Yet at the back of his mind there was something nagging at him. This time he didn’t focus on it, instead relaxing his mind and allowing whatever it was to wash over him, passively allowing it to reach his consciousness. Only to realize it was the Locksmith, trying to hide his hysterical, muffled laughter.

A shiver ran down the man’s spine. But it was pointless to try and confront and force an answer from the entity. He’d get nothing worth listening to anyway. So he settled for swallowing the nervous lump that had appeared in his throat, and focused his mind on the journey ahead.

Somehow he wasn’t worried about not finding his way. Ever since he had grabbed the oar he had been overtaken by this undeniable sense of direction. It wasn’t specific or a magical GPS in his head, just an ironclad knowing if he was on the right track or not. So he followed that sensation, taking them through the mist blind to even ghostly eyes, but not to this sense of purpose.

Time went by without any chance of being counted. Drawing them all into a suspended moment of drifting across dark waters in a veil of mist; the rocky cavern ceiling gone, now simply a black nothing. And beneath them instead the water seemed to be less water and instead an oily substance. Strangely enough, for brief glances, a night sky seemed to appear in it. Like they were all floating on the side underneath the lining of a vast ocean, but it lasted only for a glance.

“What is that?” Twilight’s voice eventually asked, her tone annoyed. “I keep seeing stars but they’re different constellations each time.”

“I think we’re in limbo, or some other place between places. We’re crossing universes right now, or dimensions or whatever the hell else creations or universes are made out of,” he answered her mentally, for some reason too afraid to break the silence by speaking aloud.

“Spheres,” the Locksmith answered them absently. Both the mage and Twilight held silent, waiting to see if he was going to add anything else. When he didn't, the mage tried to probe the entity gently, but only got an impression the mysterious spirit was observing something neither of them could perceive, with something akin to… awe.

“When you’re done playing tourist, maybe you could give some more advice,” the mage spoke, not hiding the glee at finally scoring a hit.

“There is nothing superior to being blind of the grandeur all around us right now,” the entity quickly replied in the still absent tone of voice.

Grimacing, the mage held his psychic tongue, then directed his attention to the unicorn. “You’re almost home. I can feel we’re approaching our destination, somehow.”

There was a cascade of emotions following his psychic pulse, shivering with nearly-visible sparks of color that felt almost sacrilegious in their current location. But it didn’t bother the mage as much as it had before.

“Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened without you! I promise if you can come visit I’ll make Applejack save her best cider for you, you can even borrow some books in my personal collection- as long as you promise to not eat when reading an-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. And don’t mention it, I am getting something out of this deal myself, you know, so it’s not like I’m being a saint here,” he told her with a wave of his mental hand.

“Still, you’re taking an awful risk doing this. I’m not gonna forget that,” she told him, giving a brief glimpse of the purple unicorn’s sparkling eyes. This time filled with hope and joy, not… what was it he had seen again the first time? When he looked into her eyes, he remembered there had been something familiar in them, something that had tipped the scales into him agreeing to this whole escapade.This time the joy and hope didn’t spark the feeling of anything familiar. The anticipation burning in them, the hungry joy at a better future seemed alien now.

Or was it?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter, but he was happy for her. That at least one of them would find their way home and to a better future. He knew his own still faced many struggles, and more than likely he’d get screwed over by the Locksmith’s deal, not to mention whatever this new thing with the ferryman was.

Then, with an unceremonious yelp of surprise, the mage tumbled forward and smacked his head into the middle seat of the boat. The oar clattered into the boat beside him, and he groaned in misery as he grabbed the oar and used it to push himself up. Rubbing at his aching forehead while blinking the tears welling up in his eyes away, he saw they had hit shore.

It wasn’t gentle black sand this time, but firm, sharp cliffs of some metallic brown kind. The mist seemed to part on its own to reveal what the mage would have expected of a hellscape. Sharp cliffs, openly flowing lava streams, fires burning randomly around; yes, this was a true classic.

The mage breathed in the acrid air, smelling burning wood, flesh and more things he didn’t know or cared to know. He nodded towards the ferryman, then stepped beside him to the bow of the ship and lept of the side. While in the air time appeared to freeze for a moment, and the voice of the Locksmith filled his mind with obvious amusement.

“Didn’t you forget something?” it asked, barely holding back his laughter.

Panic surged through the mage’s suspended state, before he asked with naked trepidation. “Like what?”

“You concealed your presence by mimicking the energies of our version of hell. You’re now in another one, not only brimming with the energy of a living, but also an alien being. While also infused with the mantle of a denizen of the underworld. You didn’t sneak through anyone’s backdoor right now, you just crashed through a window with fireworks going off and a surround system playing a rock song… I’d suggest ‘Highway to Hell,’ seems fitting.”

Eyes widening in terror, the mage’s mind screamed at the entity while his body kept falling closer and closer towards the rocky shore in slow motion.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

“I just did,” the entity replied nonchalantly. “But this is your show, remember? And you’re about to raise hell itself and make it quite entertaining. Make it count, you’ve got about thirty percent left of the energy source you’re using.”

And with that final remark, the mage’s feet touched the solid ground of Tartarus and time returned to normal. For a brief instance nothing happened while the man steadied himself, but then -indeed- all hell broke loose.

The earth shivered with a sudden quake of tremendous power, shaking the mage and making him wobble uncertainly and forcing him to use the oar to try and steady himself. Then a psychic scream, like a wailing alarm signal sounded across the hellscape, forcing him to his knees while covering his ears in vain to block it out. Then it ceased and the earth once again became stable.

From out of thin air distortions in the air appeared, like shapeless figures without definition or color. But as they drifted closer a feeling washed over the mage, still trying to regain his sense of balance, and something seemed to pass between himself and the figures. And as it did, they began to fill out- becoming tattered shadows, marked with tendrils of fire running down their arms like veins.

“Oh, fuck no,” the mage breathed and raised the oar as a weapon on pure reflex.

“What are they!?” Twilight’s panicked shriek echoed in his mind, her tone perfectly matching his own state.

“Fucking shades. God fucking damned empty soul-sucking machines draining you of all memories, joy, will and life then leaving you as an empty soulless husk!” his mind shrieked back at her.

“The IRS?” The Locksmith asked in a snicker.

With a battlecry sounding more like a shriek of terror the mage darted towards the largest empty space between the shades he could see, mindlessly flailing with the oar around him just in case any of them had managed to sneak up on him.

It felt almost like he was flying; his legs were pumping so hard beneath him, his heart hammering painfully in a staccato rhythm. The eerie wail of the shades rang out behind him, so close and loud it somehow propelled his legs to move even faster with a new surge of terror.

Barely having time to think the mage leapt over small rivers of lava, the heat underneath so intense it felt like naked flames were licking every inch of his skin. Scrambling over the sharp cliffs he was guided only by the vague sense of purpose that had aided him through the mist.

Through the mist…

The sudden realization that he was still holding on to the oar hit him like a lightning strike, and he was just about to turn his head around to look back towards the shore and see if the ferryman was still present. But the Locksmith's psychic pulse slammed into him hard and ceased all ideas of doing anything but keep running.

“You know the rule of leaving the underworld, don’t you? Never look back,” the entity said gravely.

“And what fucking consequences is stealing the goddamned oar of Charon gonna have for me, then!?” the mage shouted back at him.

“I dunno, no one’s ever done that before, I’m pretty sure,” he said with a mental shrug.

Screaming in wordless rage and terror the mage kept his panicked sprint going, huffing in deep ragged breaths. His lungs felt on fire and already his legs had begun to slow down ever so slightly, becoming leaden and aching. The man realized that the only thing keeping him going was terror and the adrenaline it produced, but that wouldn’t last forever.

“Neither will your energy source; roughly twenty percent left now. You’re burning through it like crazy,” The locksmith added helpfully.

Not having the strength to even scream mentally at the entity the mage just gritted his teeth and tried to force his legs to keep their current pace. He could feel Twilight babbling something in the background of his mind so fast he couldn’t even interpret her psychic pulses as words or anything else other than noise.

But as soon as he had focused his attention even briefly on her there was something like a chime of a bell. A resonance ringing out. The terror he felt was interrupted by a flash of hope when he understood it was her energy finding a familiar tone somewhere close. A portal or gateway of some kind.

His head darted from side to side frantically, scanning the landscape.

“The fuck… is that a centaur?” he asked in surprise, seeing the distant figure standing on top of a cliff observing his terror-stricken flight.

“Tirek, Tirak, Tiramisu or something I think it’s called. Don’t go there, he’ll gobble you up in an instant in your current state,” The Locksmith told him with a yawn.

“I hate you!” the mage spat with a vitriolic rage that bubbled up from the very heart of his being.

“Love you too, sweetie,” the entity answered while making kissing noises.

Then he saw it- as he rounded around one particularly large cliff, cutting his cheek on a sharp edge jutting out like a dagger, just narrowly missing his throat.

There was an elevation not far away, looking nothing like a natural part of the landscape but instead like it was intentionally raised. A pyramid shape, but cuff off in the middle, leaving a smooth floor of dark brown metallic rock. And in the middle he could just about make out two pillars.

“It has to be a gateway, it has to be,” his mind whispered while his legs changed direction all on their own, taking him towards the structure with a new and last burst of energy.

Twilight was screaming something again, and although he couldn’t make out the words he knew the tone was now a good one, a desperate hopeful one cheering him on!

The distance between him and it seemed to pass in a mere blink, until he flew up the pyramid side and threw himself towards one of the pillars. He slammed his hand upon it hard, and instantly he felt the same chiming of recognition as before, as the pillar began to him with a resonance not connecting with him, but Twilight’s presence inside him.

“What now?” Twilight’s spirit asked, her thoughts shaping themselves into words once again, a sudden clarity washing over her as soon as the familiar energy was linked.

“GO, GO, GO!” he urged her, forcing himself not to glance back. Instead trying to focus himself, forcing his perception of time to slow down so they could speak mentally much faster than it passed around them.

“What about you?!” she insisted.

“I’ll survive,” he assured her, and he well knew his own doubts about it were felt clearly within their psychic exchange.

“Aaaaactually,” The locksmith interjected. “You’re already dead, and right now you’ve barely got a trickle of energy left in you.”

Time didn’t just seem to slow but completely freeze as the meaning of the entity’s words sank into him. Then he could feel all hope draining out of him. He knew there had been a catch somewhere- he’d gambled on being able to figure out or work around it somehow, and now he had lost everything.

“What?” the mage asked in a hollow voice, Twilight’s own presence dumbstruck and silent.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think a living, breathing person could walk into hell? It’s not even a physical dimension. The unicorn was bound to your body and life, sure, that’s why I dissolved it and harvested all the juicy drops of life juju out of you and used it as the travel budget for this little trip. It’s hell, just being here sucks life out of you, you’ve been trickling down in the percentage since the first minute you appeared.”

“Our contract sai-”

“I’ve broken nothing. You swore to surrender your life to me, and you did, and I used it well, allowed you to use it well. Our contract stands. There was plenty enough to get here and back if you’d been smarter about it, but now there’s just a few drops left in the tank. And your dear unicorn does need some help for the last stretch of her journey. You got just enough for that.”

The mage wanted to scream, laugh, cry and beat his face until it was mush. And he knew he wanted to bash the Locksmith’s face in until his scheming smile was ruined when his own teeth were buried in his skull.

But he couldn’t. He’d been played. The Locksmith had wanted the unicorn’s return for whatever reasons, and he’d used and would now discard the wayward mage like a broken tool… or a boring toy.

The mage felt Twilight’s presence within him, and his ghostly eyes could see her clearly there. Her eyes were large and brimming with so many things; Terror, hope, guilt, anguish. It was like every memory of who she was, but also could become shone out through brilliant gems.

And there it was again. That twinge of something familiar, as he looked into those eyes.

So he smiled at her, and felt something spark in his own eyes for a moment. Then something clicked into place as he sent his spirit and mind into the pillar, allowing his energy to merge into it and charge the portal.

It answered immediately, and with a surge of light and gentle heat the spirit of an entire world appeared between the two pillars. It hung suspended there, drawing from his own life force to keep itself open. And with his last whisper of will the mage flung himself into it, feeling the presence of the Locksmith leaving him as he did.

The mage wanted to say some witty last fuck you to the entity, but didn’t bother. He couldn’t find the words or the will for it, so he didn’t bother looking back. Didn’t bother clinging to his old life and old self.

His gaze was filled with colors and pleasant rivers of energy drawing him in. And those rivers turned into tendrils, reaching inside and embracing Twilight like an old friend.

In an instant he knew Twilight was important, not just for a few but for the entire world at large he had labored to return her to. A role to play, a destiny to fulfill beyond anything easily replaced.

There had been a hole left from her absence, and now that she had been returned it sang with joy. A balance had been corrected. And now it was brimming with new energy as uncountable lines of lives and destinies were woven together once again in the pattern intended.

From a far distant place, a voice reached the mage’s ears as the Locksmith spoke. “Quid pro quo, it’s the way of all universes; a little sumthang for a little sumthang.”

And so, with the laughter of a god ringing in his ears the mage felt new life surging into him, repaying a debt. A life for a life. A destiny for a destiny. And with it an entire new world opened up and embraced him; and he fell into it, face first.

Right into the ground.

Comments

[Fireeaters]

Nice chapter. I wonder if this'll end up with what'shisface turning into some demon thing while repeatedly failing to turn it to his own ends, again.

I was disappointed last time that we never saw him succeed the trial, or whatever it was

[PinkOne]

Crazy to see this again I was just thinking about this story some weeks ago.
It's been years so it certainly left a lasting impression.
Looking forward to rereading this

[RoboRed]

Sometimes the only way out is through, even if it's not a very fun "through".

“You concealed your presence by mimicking the energies of our version of hell. You’re now in another one, not only brimming with the energy of a living, but also an alien being. While also infused with the mantle of a denizen of the underworld. You didn’t sneak through anyone’s backdoor right now, you just crashed through a window with fireworks going off and a surround system playing a rock song… I’d suggest ‘Highway to Hell,’ seems fitting.”

Eyes widening in terror, the mage’s mind screamed at the entity while his body kept falling closer and closer towards the rocky shore in slow motion.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

“I just did,” the entity replied nonchalantly. “But this is your show, remember? And you’re about to raise hell itself and make it quite entertaining. Make it count, you’ve got about thirty percent left of the energy source you’re using.”

And with that final remark, the mage’s feet touched the solid ground of Tartarus and time returned to normal. For a brief instance nothing happened while the man steadied himself, but then -indeed- all hell broke loose.

The earth shivered with a sudden quake of tremendous power, shaking the mage and making him wobble uncertainly and forcing him to use the oar to try and steady himself. Then a psychic scream, like a wailing alarm signal sounded across the hellscape, forcing him to his knees while covering his ears in vain to block it out. Then it ceased and the earth once again became stable.

I can't quite even begin to imagine the words needed to convey the sheer "oh fuck" feeling going on here. But uh...yeah.

[Animal]

Now here’s where things are really gonna get interesting. (I think)