Bringing Balance

by Shumiry

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“If a portion of a soul is destroyed, the consciousness of the being will fan out, reconnecting to the other pieces. If one could find a way to interact with the consciousness, then complete annihilation could be achieved from only a tiny fragment of soul.” -the Necroequicon

In the Forsaken Forest north of Canterlot, two griffins held council with a unicorn stallion, and an earth pony mare. They looked dubious about the unicorn's claims.

“You say you can raise an army, but all I see are two ponies plotting a coup against two of the most powerful beings in the known world.” The brown-coated colt grinned,

“We have ways of dealing with them, but we will need air support to maintain control as the public becomes acclimated to the change in leadership.” The older griffin snorted,

“You ask much,” he said in a gravelly voice, “and offer little more than words. If we support you, and you fail, we will be lucky if all we earn is a swift death. More likely, our whole land will be conquered.” The unicorn smiled,

“Very well. You're looking for proof? Follow me.” He and the mare turned and trotted away, causing the griffins to hurry to catch up. They traveled for a few minutes in silence, before emerging into a massive clearing.

A space the size of a small town, covered in gravestones and mausoleums. The griffins cast doubtful glances at each other, and prepared to take off. The brown unicorn's horn glowed with a frightening black nimbus, and a hoofful of gravestones glowed in tandem. It faded, and all four watched, waiting.

After a moment, the ground above the four graves split, as skeletal hooves burst forth. Within seconds, the risen dead gathered before the horrified griffins. The pink mare spoke, a strange language unlike any the two avian creatures had ever heard before. The syllables were almost painful to hear, vibrating in their ears, seeming to thrum through their very souls.

Flesh sprouted, like weeds covering a neglected garden, until four very lively looking ponies stood before them.

“There are thousands of them buried here,” the mare said, her voice both seductive and terrifying, like the gentle call of the grave. The two griffins took one last look at the atrocities before them, and spread their wings, eager to be away from these monsters.

“Too slow.” The words were spoken straight into the older griffin's ear from where the pony sat astride his back. The mare pointed a forehoof at the younger griffin, and spoke in that dire language again. He stood perfectly still, seemingly paralyzed.

“Plahckt,” his mouth fell open, as buckets of blood poured forth. The older griffin realized his companion had been dead the moment the pink pony had spoken, but he didn't get this far by not being prepared. With a thought, the necklace he wore activated, consuming the flawless diamond within to warp him back to Gryphus, his home capitol. He appeared in his private chambers with a small pop, and moved to exit the room.

He heard the word echo in his mind, as the air before him distorted, swirling like water down a drain.

“Rip.” His talon landed, not on the plush carpet of his bedchamber, but the lush grass of the Graveyard of the Forgotten. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and what must have happened.

“Funny thing about teleporting,” the brown unicorn said, as the pink pony was busily inscribing runes into the flesh of the fallen griffin.

“Your soul arrives first, but for a moment, as your body breaks apart, you maintain tiny tendrils back to where you were.” A black lightning blade slammed into the ambassador's chest, tearing the flesh asunder.

“And those tendrils can be used like a bungee cord, to pull you back.” Blackness was swirling around his vision as he sank to his knees, unable to stop the thoughts of his wife and daughter, whom he knew would be dragged into this mad creature's schemes.

“So that, when your body arrives, your soul has already moved again, and the magic is tricked into activating a second time, sending you right back where you started.” The voice was drifting farther away, as his vision tunneled. He saw the corpse of his friend, his faithful assistant, rise to its talons. Sacrilege, he thought, wishing for some way to warn the Princesses of Equestria. He felt a fool now, for having ever agreed to meet the two deceitful beasts. An old, dead fool.

“It's an interesting sort of magic,” the unicorn went on, as he felt tendrils of magic wrap themselves around him, his vision becoming clearer.

“Because we don't fully understand where the power for the second teleportation comes from.” The point of light at the end of the tunnel came rushing towards him, as his spirit was forced back into his body. The unicorn's lightning blade reappeared, and he began etching runes into the griffin's flesh.

“Nonetheless, it remains one of the most effective counters to combat teleportation.” As the runes were burned into him, he felt the wounds from the fatal blow close, his chest becoming whole once more.

“Who are you?” he asked, knowing that they would answer truthfully. He may not know much about magic, but somehow he could feel the chains ensnaring his soul, and knew that his control of his body was tenuous at best. It could be wrested away from him at any moment. The unicorn paused his etching, and stepped back, looking into the griffin's eyes.

With a faint, black glow, he began changing shape. His body elongated, and his spine erupted through his tail, becoming covered in thick muscle and black scales, ending in a wicked spear point. His forelegs became arms, terminating in five massive black claws, his back legs extending into longer, more muscular versions. His head grew flatter and broader, as thick black horns grew from either side, curling upwards like a bull's.

“I am Mephistopheles,” the thing said, it's voice like a furnace, as the glowing yellow eyes burned into the griffin's own, “Lord of Deceit.” A black crown formed on his head, seeming to grow out of his skull. Five black spires, the tallest in the center, jutted up in front. Great leathery wings unfolded from his back, stretching wide, illuminated by the red light that peeked out from beneath some of his scales, as if they were floating on a bed of lava. He reached forward, his claws coated in black glow, and grabbed the griffin's soul. Ambassador Taulus screamed as black veins of power spread through his spirit, corrupting it.

He would aid them. It was the only sensible thing to do, after all the lies the Princesses had told his kingdom. They had been such fools to believe the ponies, mindlessly accepting their lot in life while the unicorns of Canterlot grew fat off their imbalanced trade. It was time to strike back, and he knew just how to do it.

“Come Alion,” he said to his assistant, “we have work to do.” With a fwoof, their wings spread, and the two took off, intent on getting their fellow griffins prepared for war.

“That one was a good choice,” Mephistopheles said to his close-mouthed companion, “took to the corruption with a gusto.” His form returned to that of the brown unicorn, as Carryion trotted out into the graveyard.

“A shame though,” he said, as he followed the pink pony towards the crypt across the field, “now we have to wait for the gears of bureaucracy to turn their country to war.”

“Oh well,” a black glow enveloped his horn as he probed the memories of the risen ponies, “guess I'll just have to find some way to pass the time.”

In the royal bedchamber of Princess Celestia, the alicorn tossed and turned in her bed. She stood in a field as rain poured down. Spears, swords and other weaponry lay scattered amongst the dead. She stood alone, in the midst of the Great Pony Wars.

“We fought your war with all our hearts...” She jumped, spinning around, but only the dead lay behind her.

“You sent us back in body parts...” the voice was closer now, beside her, but when she turned to see the source, nopony was there.

“You took our wills with the truth you stole...” Turning again, she saw the black rain pooling on the ground. Thick as tar, it hit her like stinging stones, clinging to her pristine coat, tugging her hair.

“We offer prayers for your long lost soul...” From the murk, figures began to rise. Ponies. Tears burned in her eyes as she struggled to breath past the lump in her throat, and the weight on her chest. As the forms coalesced, they became more defined. Wicked wounds scored their flesh, leaving gaping sores and exposed bones.

“Your remainder is an unjustifiable,” she took a step backwards from the advancing ponies, jumping again when she bumped into something warm and wet.

“Egotistical,” turning, she looked down into the eyes of her loyal commander, Iron Heart. In them, she saw burning hatred, as a vicious scowl stole across his features.

“Power struggle,” she was panicking, turning in all directions, seeking a way out. But the dead kept rising, crowding around her.

“Please,” she whispered, choking down her sobs, “you know I never meant for any of this-”

“At the expense of the Equestrian Dream,” the voice was screaming now, and the horde rushed forward.

“Of the Equestrian Dream,” her wings snapped out, but the dead were too fast. They mobbed her, dragging her into the muck as they bit and kicked.

“Of the Equestrian-” Her vision swam as the ponies stood over her, stomping their hooves. She felt the blows, but there was no pain. No physical pain. But she knew these ponies. Her loyal subjects, who had given their lives in a war they'd wanted nothing to do with. Her body was jerking back and forth,

“WAKE UP!” a new voice screamed, terror making it crack. She knew that voice...

“PLEASE SISTER! YOU MUST WAKE UP!”

“Luna?” she whispered, as the battlefield faded, the horde still viciously battering her. With a jolt, she was back in her bedroom, drenched in sweat. Her throat felt raw, the faint taste of iron lingering. Luna was shaking her vigorously, eyes wide with fear, and red with tears. When she saw that Celestia had awoken, she pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace, sobbing into her multicolored mane. Celestia sat there, stunned. She hadn't dreamed of the pony wars in millenia... Slowly, hooves still shaking, she wrapped her forelegs around her hysterical sister.

“I'm okay Luna. It was just a nightm... a bad dream.” In response, Luna's grip tightened, though her sobs seemed to reduce in frequency. After a minute, Luna whispered,

“It wasn't just a bad dream. You woke nearly the entire palace.” Celestia cringed, Was I screaming that loud?

“It took me almost a full minute to wake you. And the look in your eyes...” Luna shuddered, leaning back to see her sister's face, “What could possibly haunt you so?” For a time, Celestia debated. She had made peace with her role in the wars. Had avenged the dead by trapping the demon that had inspired them. Now, it seemed, with him free again, their spirits were coming forth from their rest.

“It is nothing, dear sister, merely the restless dead, letting me know that their enemy walks the earth once more.” Luna was not convinced, but knew it would be useless to try to pressure the alicorn into speaking. With a sigh, she lay down beside Celestia, wriggling under the covers. Celestia arched an eyebrow. Without looking at her, Luna spoke,

“Well then, should they return, they will have to face us both.” Fresh tears bloomed in the sun goddess' eyes, as she smiled at the mare. Laying down, back to back, Celestia listened to the gentle breathing of her little sister, feeling the push of each breath. She knew Luna was disrupting her own sleep schedule to keep her company, and it warmed her heart to know the other cared for her so deeply.

Soon, she was fast asleep, and, this time, she dreamed of much more pleasant things.

In his cavern, Seeker shuddered as the feeling washed through him. Grabbing onto it, he was struck with an impression of the sun princess. Behind that lay an inky blackness of despair. Again he shuddered. The malevolence in the sending was palpable. Even the Necroequicon hadn't hoarded such loathing.

It took some time, not really understanding what it was he was doing, for him to find his way down the tendrils of magic. The wispy threads of blackness seemed to squirm out of his ethereal grasp, and he struggled constantly to retain his hold. Eventually, he found his way to the core of the spell. Inside three rune circles sat the images of a group of ponies. They were clearly dead.

As he studied the runes, trying to discern their purpose, waves of interference began washing over the area.

“Luna...” he muttered, a smile on his lips. Each wave pressed on the runes, weakening their hold, until one finally flared out and went white, fading away. With the circle broken, the spell collapsed, the strain ripping the other two apart. As the spell failed, the area drained in three directions. Most moved away from the source of the interference, while a little bit returned along that path. Like a water slide, the flowing ebb of magic dragged him back from whence he'd come.

Stretching his neck forward, he strained to send his sight along the lines most of the spell had retreated. Surprisingly, it worked, and he felt himself careening against the flow, then with it. Soon he saw the destination, and immediately regretted his decision.

A swirling inferno of fire and rock loomed before him. The vortex crackled with black lightning, and through the fire and flames he could see the shadow of the demon at its center.

“Mephistopheles,” he muttered, the name coming unbidden to his lips. Suddenly, he had the distinct impression of the thing being aware of him. Time to go. He felt himself being pulled back along the path he'd come, but something was slowing his progress. Tendrils of lightning stretched forth from the inferno, and he saw that the shadow within had raised its arm towards him.

Panicking, he threw his force behind his attempt to retreat, but to no avail. Whatever was preventing him held fast, and the tendrils writhed closer. I bucked up this time... They struck like snakes, biting into his soul. Then something strange happened. The black strip, which had been fading as it assimilated, moved across his spirit, intercepting the bolt.

Instinctively, he grabbed the lightning, and began twisting it through his fingers, weaving it into the thread that was already a part of him. An otherworldly howl came from the inferno, reeking of anger and pain, as he spun the tendril into his soul. He felt a tug, like someone pulling at stitches, and squeezed the thread harder, working feverishly to keep feeding the blackness into himself.

SNAP!

He looked up in time to see the other end of the bolt blasting towards him. Before he could react, the lightning smashed into his face, rocketing him back along the power lines, back into his own body. The transition was jarring, and the unassimilated portion raked across his soul, burning and shocking him.

Jumping back within himself, Seeker battled to bring the flailing flagellum under control as it whipped around. With some considerable effort, he managed to weave the rest of it, what little hadn't been expended in the struggle, into the thread that now formed a large swirl in the center of his back. Finally, he returned to his body, thoroughly exhausted, and collapsed to the ground.

Sleeping seemed like a really good idea.