Chapter 78
The streets of Canterlot were cold, dark, and deserted. Lights did not shine in the windows, the sky overhead was a black velvet curtain, and the cobblestone streets were slick with rime. Even with the darkness, Flicker could see. Unlike other ponies, Flicker didn’t mind the dark because he did his best work in the dark. The colt walked down empty, deserted streets, looking for signs of life, of light and the warmth that came with it. While the darkness did not bother him, being alone did.
The cold, cold cobblestones made his frogs sting with every step, and fog swirled around his hooves in looping eddies, clinging to his fetlocks, caressing him with an icy, unwelcome touch. Naked, exposed to the elements, alone, Flicker drew in wintry air that burned his nostrils. How long had he been walking? Would he freeze? Where had everypony gone?
What had taken the stars?
The first sign that he was not alone was a distant squeak, a sound that Flicker knew all too well, a sound he hated and despised more than anything else in the whole wide world. The colt’s horn ignited, but the light seemed constrained somehow, dim, as if something was holding it back. Even stranger, it brought attention to the fact that Flicker had somehow been seeing in total darkness. The light around his horn was a globe, a sphere no larger than a foal’s toy ball, and the light simply did not reach beyond a certain point. It was fascinating to observe, but Flicker didn’t have the time to study it.
More squeaks could be heard, and then Flicker saw them, lithe bodies moving through the fog, causing the fog to whirl and ripple. The sound of clawed feet could be heard scrabbling against the rime-encrusted cobblestones, and the ever-present squeaking of rats. Flicker’s head jerked around while he tried to get some idea of what he was facing, the numbers, the combined strength of his enemy.
The sound of hard, hairless tails slapping against cobblestones was like rain on a roof, a distinctive sound, and Ficker stood in the middle of a deserted street, his breath heaving out of his nostrils in great clouds of steam—steam that joined the fog swirling around his hooves.
Tinkling glass. Flicker heard it, somewhere a window broke and the sound almost made him jump right out of his skin. He was unarmed, unarmored, he had nothing to defend himself. Where had his wand gone? More importantly, how had he ended up in here, and why was the city of Canterlot abandoned? The empty sky held no twinkles.
Around him, the swarming rodents turned into a sea of vermin that flooded the streets. They came up from below, they came out of emptied houses, they came out of rain gutters, out of drains, and odd winged bat-rats swooped down out of the starless sky. Everything around Flicker was awash with the horror of plague-bearing vermin.
The bodies clumped together, clinging to one another, rising up out of the fog, which now clung to them like a funerary shroud. The swarming vermin coalesced into a menacing figure, puddles of squeaking rats joined other puddles of squeaking rats, and became a writhing, wriggling mass of screeching, squeaking vermin. Flicker, frozen in place, every muscle in his body twitching, every nerve screaming a warning of danger, watched the dreadful abomination rise before him, gaining mass, form, and shape.
“What are you?” Flicker demanded, his voice defiant even though his body was held in the clutches of terror.
“I am…” There was a long pause as the shadows, fog, and rats all merged into one entity.
Cᴏɴᴛᴀɢɪᴏɴ.
“Fuck you, you’re a pile of rats and a fucked up puppet show!”
“Dying was all part of the plan. Not just death, but obliteration. I had to know my Master’s suffering. Now I see and understand everything with perfect clarity. I have been given perfection in true death.”
Scowling, Flicker now burned with so much seething hatred that he no longer felt the cold.
“Everything you work to defend, I will undo.” Rising, Contagion’s body gained shape, and he became a hulking bipedal monster made of wiggling, writhing horror, with thousands of rat tails visible, flailing around him like some nightmarish parody of skin. Reaching out with one hideous hand made of rodents, he grabbed Flicker in a crushing grip and lifted him.
Rats swarmed all around Flicker, pressing up against his skin, these rats had formed fingers, a thumb, a hand. Little tails squirmed against him, little noses breathed hot, disgusting air against his flesh, and curious little whiskers tickled him. All Flicker could feel was revulsion and his burning stare focused upon the unimaginable face of Contagion.
“Master will give me dominion over nightmares,” Contagion said to Flicker, “and know this, every night, I will haunt your dreams, and the dreams of those you love. You will never know peace, you will never know a restful night ever again. Every night, when the darkness comes, when Canterlot is bedded down beneath a shroud of darkness, I will make myself a new army, made fresh from the nightmares of those sleeping. This is a fight that will never end, not until all life has gone still.”
Lip curling back, Flicker snarled in defiance.
“Only the dead will know peace.” Contagion threw back his head and laughed, a terrible sound that defied all description, the sound itself was madness inducing, a frightful collection of audible nightmares. “Every morning, I will have fresh troops, while you… you will grow tired.” The eldritch abomination’s voice became teasing, and two eyes formed in its face, burning like glowing red coals.
“I will fight you,” Flicker vowed, his now deep baritone scratchy with the promise of violence.
“Your beloved Doctor Sterling couldn’t send me to Tartarus, and neither will you.”
Eyes narrowing with murderous intent, Flicker remained silent, defiant, and his ears pinned back against his skull, but only for a moment. Then they angled forwards, over his eyes, and he glared into the two red orbs that blazed within Contagion’s face. With nothing else he could do, he horked up a loogie and spat into the face of the newborn eldritch abomination.
“You will suffer!”
“Oh, shut up!” Flicker screamed with everything he could muster from his body. “If you were capable of actually hurting me, you would have done so by now! You’re just showing off! You’re no different than a colt discovering his dick for the first time and thinking it’s the greatest thing ever!” Foamy flecks of spittle flew from Flicker’s lips and his ears quivered with endless, unabating, unyielding rage.
“We will meet again, little pony.”
“I’m looking forward to it!” Flicker spat out the words, venting his venom and contempt. “I will fucking end you!”
Shivering, drenched in cold, flesh-numbing sweat, Flicker awoke to Piper holding him, stroking his mane, whispering soft sounds into his ear, and trying to comfort him. Near the bed, a nurse stood, and he appeared worried. For a second, Flicker worried that he was going to throw up, but the feeling passed.
Only somewhat aware, Flicker saw the flash of silver as a syringe manifested, and he panicked. Confused, terrified, he lashed out with his magic, flicking the syringe with his signature spell. The metal and glass shattered into tiny, jagged shards, and the liquid contents within spilled out onto the floor as the nurse let out a startled cry.
Backing away from the bed, the stallion shook his head, looking fearful, and he said, “This is why soldiers should be treated somewhere else.” Then, backing away, never taking his eyes off of Flicker, the nurse retreated from the room, leaving Flicker and Piper alone.
The ruined remains of the syringe lay on the floor in pieces.
Gasping, sucking in great lungfuls of air, Flicker lay on his back, his spine throbbing, the memories of his nightmare fresh in his mind. Only, it was no nightmare, no bad dream. He knew it to be real—Contagion was alive and in his nightmare. His thoughts raced, thinking of the filly that could make nightmares real, and the colt knew that dreaming was unavoidable. Ponies dreamed. All sapient creatures dreamed… and Contagion would be waiting, lurking in their nightmares.
“Piper,” Flicker wheezed, and the pain in his body made the colour drain from his vision. “Contagion, he’s not dead… he’s ascended, Piper… he’s not dead…”
Hearing this, Piper went limp against Flicker, her eyes wide, dull, and staring. A faint murmur that might have been a ‘no’ slipped from between her lips, and then her breathing became shallow, almost nonexistent. Flicker, who struggled to move, pulled part of himself out from beneath Piper, and then somehow managed to get one foreleg wrapped around her, holding her in the protective embrace of a big brother.
After a few more shallow breaths, Piper screamed, a cry loud enough to wake the entire wing, shattering the stillness of the night. Sucking in more air, her yellow eyes now bloodshot from strain, she screamed again, and then again, going hoarse while deafening Flicker and making his ears ring. When Piper yelled in terror one final time, the doctors and nurses had arrived at the door.
The first rays of dawn bathed Canterlot in rosy, golden rays of light, and with the rising sun came a renewed sense of hope. Piper, sedated, slept in the bed, drooling onto her pillow. Flicker, tired of lying about, stood near the small window, looking out, and keeping watch over Piper. Everything ached, but he did not care, he wanted to stand again.
On the table, a rolled up scroll lay, a warning, waiting to be delivered to the princesses.
Spud was buried beneath the covers at the foot of Flicker’s bed, and the colt knew that Spud was dreaming. The mutant cat was dreaming about chasing chickens—not catching them—but just chasing them, running through tall grass that tickled his bare hide. The cat hadn’t moved much, or done much, but Spud was recovering, so his comatose state was understood.
Canterlot would need heroes, saviours, ponies willing to brave the dark. These heroes would have to be the bravest sorts, those willing to pick a fight that had no foreseeable outcome, no end, a constant never-ending struggle against Contagion. And if ponies didn’t want to fight... Flicker was terrified of this outcome. The fight was coming, ready or not. There would be no running, no hiding, no fleeing, there was no safe place to go.
No sanctuary.
Flicker could not help but wonder, how much of himself would be consumed in this fight? He feared his own cutie mark because it had changed, and he had seen it with his own eyes. Why had it changed? What was the purpose? What did it mean? What did it signify? To what greater purpose did he now belong?
All questions, no answers.
His hopes lie with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but still… he doubted. To be able to fight, he was going to have to give himself over, give in, that was his fear. He feared becoming a hollow void, a place where a mask was hung. The risk of being consumed was all too real, all too dangerous, and he held more fear of what he might become than he did for the rats, or Contagion.
To win, he was going to have to give himself over, and as things escalated, the demands upon him would become greater and greater. What great triumph was there for a pony to gain victory, but lose themselves within their purpose? With the mask on, he could become the killer that the city needed—no, the world needed, the stakes were so much higher than just one city. Was it worth sacrificing himself, giving himself over entirely to his purpose so that others might be saved?
Perhaps.
At what price came victory?
The rats had prayed to Contagion, bolstering him with fervent, whispered words. Flicker’s mind burned with this knowledge, this strange information. Given sapience, the rats had poured their hope into their champion and… they had enshrined him. Contagion had taken the first clumsy steps into a sort of godhood, he had become deified, and those prayers had given Contagion the staying power he needed to survive beyond death.
Evil was gaining substance in the world, and to fight it, Flicker feared he would lose his own substance, whatever was left that made him who and what he was. Turning away from the window, Flicker pulled the blankets off of his cat, lifted his slumbering companion, held the cat up to his cheek, and rubbed himself against the bare, wrinkled flesh, a spot that was somehow miraculously free of stitching.
A choice awaited.
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Oh. Well. That is to say, um... oh, goodie?
Flicker, you're a fucking legend
And so, perhaps, does Flicker Nicker start down the path towards becoming a living saint.
You know. Maybe.
I can't remember. Have we seen what becoming the champion of Chronos has done to his cutie mark?
8069028
Flaming rat skeleton.
8069035
So it's a skeleton now? Neat.
8069037
Well, it was a flaming rat.
These are important details that people should keep track of.
8069038
Yeah, I understand. Especially in this scenario. Because the changes to his cutie mark demonstrate his alegiances and his goals.
Hm. Dreamscape battle?
Poor Piper, though.
8069006 Just wait until he meets Luna later. "Hey! Princess of Dreams! You're not doing a very good job of pest control up there, so the next time I'm going into your realm, I'm taking a flamethrower and a bunch of grenades. Just stay out of my way or grab a flamethrower and try to keep up."
8069101
Flames won't do the job fast enough, just give him access to some heavy farming equipment instead. We've seen him action once, now let Lord Death of Murder Mountain rise once more!
Little did Flicker know his greatest ally would ended up being Uppacreek, a marsh rat who became similar to contagion but under different conditions, and ones without he profane connections.
Uppacreek would spend his entire relationship trying to make Flicker marry his daughter, Withatapaddle. Withatapaddle secretly hated her father because of the unintended euphemism her name had.
Yay, for the story reaching a conclusion soon,
and:
Nay, for the story reaching an end soon.
8069023 More likely a new boogiepony ^-^ something big rats tell their little ones in hushed tones and fear.
8069307
"Don't be ridiculous, of course Flicker Nicker isn't real or waiting by your window. Look, I'll even open the curtains.
"There, you see? He's standing right outside the window looking in at us, just like you were afraid he'd be. Good luck, son."
8069307 I can do nothing but grin at this thought.??
Well that's not good.
8069109
Do they make dream aerators? Someone needs to get Flicker a dream aerator.
Well... looks like it's time for a good ol' fashioned crusade on the rats. Tear apart any shrines, shatter images, kill priests, slaughter the religious, and salt the lands around. Then wash and repeat untIL he's finally fucking dead... this is why I hate religions, you give someone a cult and they believe themselves a god, you kill him and he becomes a martyr... fucking contagion is pretty much that pissed off minor god taking out his anger on the mortals, except the bastard seems to be fueled by Necromantic energy, and prayers... hmmm.... looks like flickers going to need troops, look to sailors, they carry heavy implements daily and are skilled in keeping their footing, even better if they are pirates or former naval stallions. Also, a few good toxic candles at certain points, and areas of the cavern blockaded would end up meaning a lot of dead things.
8069006 it's the stuff like this that make me follow Kudz... Priceless pony words. Just think of nightmare noon
Feels weird and kind of wrong seeing Flicker use the F word like that o.o;
Still though, this was a hauntingly good chapter, I cannot wait to see what happens next!
Sometimes Flicker is an inspiration, if only we could all spit loogies into the eyes of our nemeses.
Flicker the pony would have to give up everything for victory. Flicker the member of a larger organization could delegate the sacrifice amongst many.
8069101 The sooner Luna knows of this the better.