• Published 29th Dec 2016
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The Rariad - Tundara



Trixie and Rarity must bond to escape from Tartarus and survive the odyssey across realms and planes of existence on their way home. Along the way they encounter gods, demons, heroes, and friends old and new.

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Part Six

The Rariad
By Tundara


Reunited at last, our heroes had many trials yet to overcome before they would be free of Amaymon. The plots of a King of Hell are multilayered and many, none more so than those of the King of Lust, for he was the First Demon and his Desires are without limit. His words are a cascade of silver lies. His charm able to disarm the most wary heart. His spite consuming entire worlds in burning ice. From Him the Aether was formed, and to Him it will return.

Or, so it has been written…

6: Amaymon

“Trixie!” Rarity repeated the name like it were the most precious sound in creation.

Jerking her head upward, Trixie peered at Rarity with glassy eyes. The left side of Trixie’s face twitched, tension roiling down neck, shoulders, and legs. In a rush Rarity crossed the room and swept Trixie up into wings and hooves.

It was on touching her that Rarity realised something startling, something impossible, something that would have been cause for celebration under other circumstances.

“You’re alive?” Rarity held the much smaller pony out at hoof’s length like she would a foal. “You’re alive!”

Trixie gave Rarity a long frown, and blinked a few times.

Gone was the transparency of the spirits trapped in Hades. The ghostly opaque blue glow that characterised the dead replaced by warm blood and soft fur. Her mane smelled of thick perfumes, and her breath of mint as it tickled Rarity’s cheek. Her hooves dangled, limp and forgotten, but whole. Warmth flowed from Trixie, pushed by the heavy beats of a frantically beating heart.

“R-Rarity?” croaked Trixie in a dry voice.

Tears welled in Trixie’s eyes, and then she was throwing herself fully into Rarity. She clung to Rarity for what seemed to be hours. Trixie shook. She wept tears of those who’d been damned and had salvation thrust upon them. Pity swelled in Rarity’s heart at the desperation and fear in Trixie’s touch.

Gently, Rarity smoothed down Trixie’s mane.

“It is alright darling. I am here. I will protect you.” The promise felt hollow in Rarity’s mouth.

“P-Protect me?” Trixie squirmed deeper into Rarity’s embrace. “W-We are damned. No one can p-protect me, or y-y-you.”

“Ah! I see you found the great master’s gift,” chirped a far-too-chipper maid behind Rarity.

Only barely stifling a gasp, Rarity turned to glare daggers at the intrusion. “Gift? You…” Rarity sucked in a deep breath to quell her pounding heart, and only with great effort biting back the remainder of a reprimand. A heady mixture of happiness, anger, fear, and pity made the room tilt just a little. She clamped down harder on her emotions, none of them showing on the practiced aloof air she maintained.

Releasing Trixie from the crushing hug, Rarity took a half step back. Much as she would with a doll, she began to smooth down Trixie’s fur, tuck a few strands of dangling silvery mane behind an ear, and straighten any stray strands of her tail. Trixie sat frozen, petrified, the entire time, gaze never wavering from the demonic maids that now flowed into the room.

“You seem surprised, my queen,” the handmaid said, drawing out the title. “Did you doubt he’d acquire your pet mortal?”

“I never doubted that Asmodeus would be able to acquire her for me. It is gratifying to see my judgement well placed.” Rarity wore her most falsely sincere smile perfectly.

The handmaid smiled back pleasantly, and then returned to directing her underlings.

Humming a ghastly perversion of a working song, five maids spun in a little storm of cleaning. The handmaid stood next to the door, golden eyes gleaming and voice cracking like a whip as her subordinates rushed to her bidding. Hooves scraping down a blackboard were less irritating than the demonic singing. Discordant notes crackled from wretched throats. Rarity suppressed a shudder, used to the demons’ attempts to torment her in any small way possible.

Trixie cringed and crawled further up the bed to get away from the maids.

It was only a few minutes before the song came to a sudden close, and the maids departed, the room in perfect order. The handmaid gave a bow to Rarity, and said, “His almighty Highness returns this eve, and a grand celebration will be hosted. All the kings, princes, dukes, and even the marquis have been invited.”

“All?” Rarity half-repeated, and half-demanded. She recalled Asmodeus’ parting promise of a gala. Hope to escape before his return, thin as it may have been, flickered into nothingness.

“All.” The handmaid’s grin grew wider, even more sinister with anticipated pleasures. “It will be the first time in thousands of years that all will be present. It should make for a very interesting time.”

“I should hope so,” Rarity dismissed the handmaid with a flick of her wing. “After making me wait so long it had better be the grandest gala ever to be held.”

With a pleased laugh, the handmaid curtseyed, a hungry tint to her voice as she said, “Oh, it will be the most amazing event, I am certain.”

With this, the handmaid swept from the room, leaving Rarity and Trixie alone again.

Rarity waited a full minute before she moved, and then it was to the door to apply an assortment of wards. There was a kernel of doubt about their effectiveness, as with all things in Amaymon, but to avoid using them was even more foolish. It would be expected she’d try, after-all.

From the bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, Trixie silently watched as Rarity applied the myriad wards.

“It really is you, isn’t it?” Trixie’s voice quavered in a harsh croak from disuse for anything except screaming for who-knew-how-long. “No! This is a trick! A trap! You won't fool me again, demon!”

Hysterical panic infused Trixie’s face, twisting it into a feral expression. Her soft blue eyes darted towards every corner and the windows, alighted briefly on the doors out of the room, and then returned to Rarity.

Clicking her tongue much as she would while considering an obstinate dress, Rarity took her time to consider how best to help Trixie. There were plenty of spells to calm ponies, none of which Rarity knew. Such magic was risky and tightly controlled in Equestria. Tampering with a pony’s mind was the gravest of taboos.

Closing her eyes as she tried to think up a plan, Rarity became aware of just how cracked and ugly Trixie’s mind had become. Ugly in the sense of scarred and broken. Of the underlying damages left by the raking claws of demonkind. Of months and months trapped in Hell.

An idea sprang up. A dangerous idea. One that would test the limits of her newfound powers.

If Trixie’s mind was ‘ugly’ because it was damaged, perhaps if she made it ‘beautiful’, it would be restored to its proper form, and Trixie would be healed.

The idea both thrilled and terrified Rarity. Implications too dreadful to contemplate briefly flitted like the harsh cries of a warning raven. Quickly, Rarity put them out of her mind. No other options were available to her, and she simply had to help Trixie. She owed the mare more than she could ever truly repay.

It was all too easy to reach into the flowing field that constituted the abstract quality of ‘Beautiful’ and grip the tattered edges of Trixie. Squeaking, Trixie tried to back away from the goddess. A pointless gesture.

Still, Rarity hesitated. The effects of what she was about to attempt were unknown. What if she harmed more than helped? What would be the repercussions?

All it took was seeing the madness infused terror clouding Trixie’s soul to harden her resolve. Hushing Trixie as one would a wounded animal, Rarity gently smoothed the fabric of what constituted ‘beauty’ that wove through Trixie. There was resistance, Trixie’s soul fighting back against the attempt. Whether this was conscious, subconscious, or just something natural to the nature of a soul eluded Rarity. With fermer pressure she continued to straighten the weave. Tendrils of tension rippled along a particularly strong tangle, and for an instant Rarity feared she was about to tear the ephemeral, non-existent fabric she held. With the greatest of delicacy and skill she worked at the loose threads, and unbound the tangle.

Trixie gasped and sagged against the bed. Terrified that she’d hurt her friend, Rarity let go of the still damaged fabric of ‘beauty’.

“Darling, are you alright?” Rarity softly asked, leaning in a little closer. Dread gripped her in a vice. Worry that she’d somehow hurt Trixie swimming in her stomach.

With a second, stronger gasp Trixie shot upright, hooves flailing through the sheets. With a yelp she tumbled over the side of the bed. Before Rarity could move around to help, Trixie had shot back up, eyes once more darting around the room, but now with a glimmer of curiosity mixed in among the fear.

Locking onto Rarity, Trixie squinted and gasped, “Rarity? What… What did you do? What happened? What is going on? Where in Tartarus are we?”

Relief washing through her, Rarity managed a laugh. The first genuine laugh in a very long time.

“We are not in Tartarus anymore, darling.”

“Not in Tartarus?” Hope, joy, shock; they all so briefly flashed over Trixie’s face. “Then where are we?”

Rarity lightly bit the inside of her lip, and then released a heavy sigh. Sitting down next to Trixie she explained everything about their current situation, and her plans to escape. Trixie took it all in without interruption, head lowered in thought.

“I should have just left you when I had the chance,” Trixie at last said, the words choking in her throat with emotion. “If I had struck out on my own… If… If I had…”

“Excuse me?” Rarity swept up to her hooves in a flash, wings half outstretched in anger.

“How long has it been?” Trixie swept her head up, and Rarity was met by a glare of anger to equal that which blossomed in her own chest. “How long have you been in this palace while I was being tortured?”

“That hardly matters,” Rarity countered. “It wasn’t as if I was free to do anything.”

“You abandoned me,” Trixie hissed on a ragged breath. She wheezed, and all her rage was impotent in her weakened state. “After all I sacrificed to heal that broken mind of yours. I could have found a way to Elysium on my own. Hades may have barred many, but even he couldn’t prevent every form of escape.”

“I have never heard anypony so ungrateful before!” Rarity shrieked back. “It has been anything but pleasant for me as well, Trixie. He is a stallion who can not be refused, with a stallion’s desires. We have both been defiled by our captors.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Nopony brought me wine on a bed of roses before flaying the skin from my back.”

Swallowing a further retort, Rarity put on her practiced mask of outward calm. “We can have this discussion when we return to the disc. I have uncovered a means of leaving this place, but have been unable to implement it. I’m missing a few runes.”

Trixie squinted at the sheaf of parchment passed to her. She turned it a couple times, as if looking for something that might be hidden. “This is impossible,” she said, scratching her chin with a hoof. “There is simply no way this spell could get us out of,” Trixie shuddered, “here.”

“And why not?” Rarity bristled at the sudden bursting of her carefully cultivated hope.

“Because this spell is used for summoning elemental spirits. There is no way it could help us escape.” Trixie waved the page accusingly at Rarity. She suddenly halted, and quickly began reading the spell again. “But… If I replace Qyr with Nx’Holtet… And reverse the base and cap… This could work. Except, what is this rune? We never had it on Ioka… I need some place to work. You wouldn’t happen to have a casting chamber, would… what is it?”

Trixie looked up from the page, and only then noticed that Rarity was staring at her open mouthed.

“You used personal pronouns!” Rarity said, with more than a little harsh bite of accusation.

Cocking her head to the side, Trixie stared at Rarity as if she were looking on the town idiot playing in a mud puddle. “Of course I did.”

“You never did before.” Worry returned in a rush. Was this a side-effect of ‘fixing’ Trixie’s tortured psyche?

Sighing, Trixie rubbed her forehead as if to stave off a headache. “If it makes you feel better, the great and powerful Trixie will use the third-person. Happy?”

“There is no need for attitude,” Rarity huffed. “I was just concerned for you. After all you did for me, why shouldn’t I?”

Throwing up her hooves, Trixie all but shouted, “Can we please just concentrate on the spell? We can bicker once were out of here.”

Cheeks colouring a little, Rarity nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course.”

Rarity took Trixie to the casting chamber that was part of her sprawling quarters. It was next to one of three drawing rooms, past a small pink door. Rarity slowed as she passed the door, its presence incongruent with the rest of the opulent quarters. Some suspicion tickled the back of her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside.

Her casting chamber stood in a corner of the palace atop a tower. Tall glass windows ringing the curved walls let in splashes of ruby light and overlooked much of the surrounding badlands and the lush palace gardens. Most of the floor was taken up by a solid gold circle. Flanking the single door into the chamber were cobalt shelves covered in vials and boxes of all sorts of alchemical and magical reagents.

Trixie let out an appreciative whistle, and made a straight line for the center of the circle where she began to inscribe runes into the floor amongst spread out notes. At first Rarity provided what information and runes she possessed, but quickly grew quiet as it became apparent that she had little to provide. With a trio of aether infused gem tipped etching pens, Trixie worked at a feverish pace.

For a brief moment Rarity saw a flash of Twilight in Trixie’s place. There was the same level of single-minded concentration. Brow pinched, lips moving silently as she muttered arcane phrases of the spell matrix, Trixie ignored everything else but the spell’s construction. It was only for an instant, but it made Rarity long for home all the greater, and hate her present surrounds even more.

She wished she could have remained and helped more on the spell, but she had to prepare for the gala. If nothing else, Rarity could distract and keep the attention away from Trixie.

They were so close to escape, and there was no time more dangerous. If they were discovered now… Rarity shuddered a little as she slipped on her most alluring dress.

“I have placed Asmodeus’ gift in the spell chamber,” Rarity said casually as she affixed the Jewels of Helen about her throat. “It seems to be the only place she wont whimper. She is to be left alone. I will be very upset if she is disturbed.”

The hoofmaids assisting her bowed their heads.

“Very good,” Rarity checked herself in the mirror, pleased with the results. She was running appropriately late, and trying her best to keep her nerves settled, she left her chambers at a dignified pace. Behind her came her hoofmaids, all wearing identical dresses that acted as compliments to her own.

She heard the gala long before she reached the thick doors leading to the ballroom. Slowing, she nodded to the hulking demon in a tight fitting suit that acted as the announcer.

Multifaceted eyes swept over her as the demon bowed low, and then entered the ballroom to announce her.

The Grand Ballroom of Amaymon stretched near a hundred pony lengths across, and half as deep. Cobalt blue pillars gilt in gold held aloft a glass domed ceiling. Enchantments created the appearance of a starlit sky with a trio of moons arcing gently through a swimming sea of stars and dancing auroras mirrored in the polished black marble floor creating the impression of floating in the heavens. In the far left corner a band played on a raised platform, taloned hands cradling long necked instruments, a six limbed demon flailing on a great ring of drums as smoke curled up around them.

Wild, frenetic music pulsed, drums mixing with a shrill metallic squeal that was oddly enjoyable. There was a speed to the music that conjured images of a chase through wind swept badlands, or dark, humid jungles, some great creature lumbering after its prey. At times the music grew heavy, the metallic squeals morphing into deep rumbles like an endless thrum of thunder atop a distant mountain that reverberated through Rarity’s bones. She would never grow used to the demonic music, but she had to admit that there was something pleasing on a primal level to its mesh of noise and rhythm.

On the dance floor before the band writhed a sea of bodies, twisting, entwining, then separating as they gyrated to the rhythm. Heads whipped back and forth. Sultry seductresses dragged long fingers up the hem of their dresses, teasing glimpses of the taught flesh on the curves of their thighs or flanks. Primal, sensual, and dangerous, the dance reflected the bestial nature of those that participated.

At her arrival the music suddenly shifted, the music growing soft to the tones of a plucked guitar as a succubus began to sing, forlorn longing in her voice. An anticipatory pall fell over the ballroom. Dancing ceased, and every eye swiveled towards her.

Rarity waited another half-heartbeat before stepping into the hall, all grace and perfect majesty. Her gold and sapphire dress cascaded behind her as she flowed into the midst of the demonic gathering. Every eye was on her, and most held just the right mix of jealousy and frank appreciation.

Ephemeral, Rarity glided through the hellish host. Succubi in their tight gowns licked their lips and curtsied to their queen, lustful gazes traces her every curve. Each of them wished they could be her, or share her bed. The mighty lords of the pits appraised her as they would any other rival. She could almost see the plots being devised in their unflinching gazes.

“Beautiful,” growled a gravelly voice on her right. “Oh, yeah. What I’d do with her, mmmm.”

What the demon would have done no one would ever know, as in the next instant he let out a feral scream as all eight of his eyes burst into flame, popping like overripe cherries falling on stone, black ichor running down his cheeks like melted wax. Within moments the flames had consumed the demon’s head and it fell over dead, skull bursting into an ashen cloud when it struck the floor. A few seconds more and nothing remained but a sooty stain on the carpet.

The spectacle was quickly dismissed, demons and demonesses snickering. “What a mistake to commit, in this of all places,” a few of the succubi sneered, latching tighter to their chosen consorts for the night.

Coming up to Asmodeus, resplendent in robes to match her dress, Rarity gave him a chaste, teasing kiss on the cheek before taking her place at his side. She made certain that every demon present saw her, that She was His equal, even if it were the boldest of lies to be told that night.

This is your role,’ she thought to herself, ‘to be the Queen of Amaymon, Realm of Lust. Act the part.

To Asmodeus she said, “Darling, you have outdone yourself. When you said you were to hold a gala, why, I never imagined it could be so grand. This is truly spectacular and Beautiful.”

She put extra emphasis on the last word, and for once she wasn’t lying. To the demons this was indeed beauty at its highest form; lies, treachery, wine, hedonism, and finery all mixing to create a heady mix of danger, intrigue, and opportunity. It was everything gala entailed, but sharpened to the deadliest edge.

“It is but a paltry thing next to your radiance this evening,” he replied with an amused noise in the bottom of his throat. “Come, let me introduce you to my self-styled rivals.”

“Rivals, darling?” Rarity purred the question. “They must think far too highly of themselves if they believe they can rival you.”

The usual bitter taste filled her mouth.

She swallowed the taste. This was a play, and she the central actor. A deadly play if performed incorrectly.

Laying a wing over her withers, Asmodeus guided her around the ballroom. First she met Leviathan, the Queen of Envy in the form of a lithe, sea-foam green pony with a mane like tangled seaweed held by coral pins. On her flanks rested the image of a yellow eye held in the coils of a snake. A pair of horns curved behind her ears, and long wings rested against her sides. She wore a tight, dark blue dress that sparkled with little pieces of abalone shell that hugged her form in all the right places.

“Brother, it is… a joy to see you again,” Leviathan said, a long yawn breaking her words. “And with a pretty new trophy as well.”

“Oh Leviathan, try to keep some of your desire in check,” Asmodeus teased, “You will never be able to compare to the Goddess of Beauty herself. Not when a child is able to best you in your own lair.”

Raising a leg as another, deeper yawn shook her body, Leviathan drowsily said, “Faust cheated, but I have had the last laugh. She died, lost her precious memories and vaunted connections, and the alicorns now isolate themselves from the mortals. They believe me defeated for good. They grow more and more distant from the rest of the disc, and when I next awaken, I will drown Ioka herself, and tear them apart one by one.”

“Of course you will, of course you will,” Asmodeus placated Leviathan, and then moved on.

In rapid succession she was introduced to the other rulers of Hell.

Belphegor was a jittering, unshaven, shaggy demon in a hodge-podge suit that was several hundred centuries out of fashion with darting eyes and a frenetic energy. The King of Sloth continually twitched and wriggled, unable to stay still for more than a few moments. Of all the kings, he was given the widest berth by the crowd, no demon standing within two lengths of him. Even Asmodeus stopped short, holding Rarity back from getting too close.

“Ah ah ah, brother,” Asmodeus cautioned, tutting his tongue when Belphegor reached for Rarity’s hoof. “No touching. I want to keep this jewel a while longer.”

“I wouldn’t take anything of hers,” Belphegor responded in a buzzing snap, his words almost tumbling into each other they were said so quickly. “Though she does have so much… energy. So much drive and vitality. Perhaps just a little taste…”

“And you are unable to control yourself.” Asmodeus’ tone darkened.

Belphegor shrugged, shifted from hoof to hoof, and then excused himself. A hole seemed to open around him as he moved away through the crowd as if he repelled the other demons.

Next came Beelzeboul, the skeletal thin, perpetually starving King of Gluttony. Every morsel he attempted to take from the waiters moving about the ballroom rotted before it could reach his lips. Drinks turned brackish in his mere presence. Forlornly he gazed on those enjoying the provided treats. After sharing only a few words of greeting with him they moved on.

In a corner of the ballroom stood Mammon, King of Avarice. His attire was painfully plain, and he stank of brimstone and sweat. This was somewhat offset by the thick gold chains he wore bunched over the back of his neck and the hoops that had been drilled into his ram horns. When he smiled gold flashed in his teeth. Heavily muscled almost to the point of being grotesque, he was the most physically imposing of the kings, his shoulders higher than the tip of Rarity’s horn.

“Brother!” Mammon boomed, his voice carrying above even the screaming band. He reached out and, to Rarity’s shock, wrapped Asmodeus in his thickly corded legs. Rising up onto his back hooves he proceeded to crush Asmodeus in a vice like hug.

Casually, Asmodeus pushed apart the far larger king’s legs and slipped from his grasp, an exasperated smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“This is a mighty fine party, ain’t it?” His tiny, black eyes twinkled in his round head. “Mighty fine, mighty fine. Best wine, best ladies,” Mammon’s eyes traced over Rarity and then to the many succubi writhing on the dance floor, “and best entertainment. And the spread, Mmm!”

He smacked his thick lips and raised a massive platinum goblet overflowing with wine. A mischievous glitter filled his eyes and he leaned towards Asmodeus and Rarity.

“It’s been too long since we all gathered. Far too long. Say, you hear Rothy almost broke her chains? Used some filly or other touched by a stupid alicorn as an avatar.”

“I am aware,” Asmodeus’ smoothly responded. “Her attempt was doomed to failure. Ioka is far too well defended in this present age to be an enticing target. Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if in the next few decades it supplanted Gaea as home to the pre-eminent alicorn pantheon. Zeus and Hades both spend more time there than in their respective domains. It will be interesting how the other Gaean alicorns respond.”

Rarity’s blood chilled at the mention of Ioka. It was the most she’d heard of her home since falling into Amaymon. She had to work hard to keep her expression one of aloof disinterest. Her heart beat so hard she wondered that it wasn’t heard even against the bass booms coming from the band.

So many questions assaulted her. Who was the filly? How had Ioka fared another demonic incursion? What was Zeus, of all alicorns, doing on Ioka! Were the Olympians going to follow their brethren who’d appeared on the disc?

She almost shuddered at the mere idea of Ares, Niomedes, Hera, Hades, or Zeus let loose on sweet, innocent Ioka. Even the likes of Alke, Hephaestus, or Aphrodite would have been like letting wild ferrets loose in a chicken pen.

Mammon nodded sagely. “Think the Olympians will respond? Wage a little war? Hmmm, something to consider.”

“That would be rather entertaining,” Asmodeus agreed, taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter.

After a little more small talk that Rarity was too preoccupied to pay any attention towards, she was brought to Astoroth, Queen of Wrath. A pale blue mare missing her eyes, she wore a dress more appropriate to the battlefield than a ballroom. Dark metal peytral and barding flowed into a skirt of glittering steel scales. A crown of horns grew from her head that continually shed shards of ice. Wisps of condensation curled off her folded wings and close cropped mane. Near her the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as all heat was absorbed.

“Rarity Belle, the Goddess of Beauty herself… you are so unlike your sister,” Astoroth said, upper lip pulled up in a half-snarl.

Caught off guard at the mention of her sister, Rarity didn’t respond right away.

“She possessed such delicious rage. So much hatred and bitterness that her soul was black long before she called out to me and I granted her her deepest desire. But I see you have no knowledge of what I speak, that you are ignorant of the events surrounding the ones you claim to love. Interesting.”

“My sister would have nothing to do with the likes of you,” Rarity snapped, wings growing rigid. Hatred, disgust, and the need to strike the impudent queen for daring to mention lovely, innocent, playful Sweetie Belle welled in Rarity. Her leg twitched, and it took supreme self-control to withhold her hoof.

“Astoroth, you are making my flower wilt,” Asmodeus’ voice held no hint of playfulness.

Empty sockets swung towards the King of All Demons, and Astoroth bared her jagged fangs. At the shift of Astoroth’s gaze, the rage boiling higher in Rarity’s chest subsumed.

“Then perhaps you should send her somewhere less inhospitable to her kind. If she is truly to join us as a queen of the damned she will have to become immured to such simple truths. Placing her in a glass case to keep her pristine is useless in your court and only a liability, no matter how pretty it keeps her petals. But then, that is your point, isn’t it? To give the appearance of having a vulnerability, no matter how slight. Tempt the foolish amongst us into hasty plots. I wonder how many will take you up on this little game, dear brother.”

“I so enjoy her bluntness,” Asmodeus admitted as Astoroth marched off through the revelers. “But she really needs to learn more control.”

“I’m amazed you let her get away with speaking in such a manner,” Rarity huffed, and put on the perfect pout.

“It is because it is pointless,” purred a voice smooth as velvet, with a deep rumble in its base that would make any mortal mare swoon on hearing. Turning around Rarity was confronted by Mephisto.

He combined the greatest attributes of the other rulers of Hell. Tall as Mammon, but lacking the bulbous nature, he was exceedingly well toned with everything in perfect proportion. A finely trimmed bread graced the curve of a strong jaw, black as midnight against his ruby red fur. Great auroch horns curved from his broad brow, and draconian wings rested over top of the folds of a wizard’s robes bunched about his waist and folded back over his flanks leaving his muscular shoulders exposed.

“Ah, dearest sister, at last we meet,” The King of Pride hooked Rarity’s wing with his own, and brought it to his lips. Every movement, every twist of his lips, every word was absolutely perfect. Any mere mortal mare would have been dumbstruck in his mere presence.

Rarity was no longer any mortal mare, however, and just smiled as he lightly kissed her wingtip. His touch was burning hot, as if a firestorm raged just beneath the surface of his fur.

“It is a pleasure,” Rarity replied in the same manner she’d overheard demons use. “But, what do you mean that it is pointless.”

Mephisto laughed with a rich timber that rolled over the gala. “Not all of us may leave our realms, or would choose to do so. Leviathan and Astoroth are both incapable of being here in person. You have met simple projections of their will only. Our dear sisters both made mistakes that cost them dearly. Enough to make me wonder at times why we still count them as peers. A king or queen should never make a mistake, and they tarnish the rest of us by their continued existence.”

“Ah, but would not their destruction be even more of a mark on us, brother?” Asmodeus smoothly interjected. “Besides, I find their struggles amusing.”

“You are too lenient,” Mephisto snorted.

“Impossible,” Rarity laughed, drawing raised eyebrows from both of the kings. “My lovely Asmodeus is perfect, so he can neither be too lenient, nor too severe in his judgement.”

This bit of praise seemed to please both kings, and they nodded agreement.

No other words had burned as deeply to utter.

“You are such a wonderful flatterer, my dear. I have an idea. Sing for me,” Asmodeus commanded. “Entertain my guests, my brilliant little songbird.”

Affecting a playful laugh, Rarity covered her mouth and teased. “I haven’t practiced. I’m afraid I’d be unable to perform to satisfaction and will just embarrass you.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Asmodeus chortled. He leaned towards Mephisto, and in a carrying voice, said, “She is so demure and humble, don’t you think? How she teases and plays with our hearts!”

There was none of the former conciliatory twists to the smile the King of All Demons gave Rarity. A hungry, predatory glint flashed deep in his eyes. It was the same look from her first night in Amaymon. Shivers of horror rippled along Rarity’s spine.

After so long, the biting retort she’d have once given instead came as a demur smile. Setting her shoulders, she briskly stepped onto the stage above all those terrible, leering eyes. The band went silent on her approach, waiting for her sign to continue. She dismissed them with a quick gesture. There was no music they could provide to stir the music in her soul. Her wings extended slowly, and she reached through fragmented memories for a song—any song—that would satisfy her bestial captor.

It took her only a moment to find what she required.

It was not a whole song, per se. Not one she’d ever heard before. It flowed through one of the many cracks in her past where ‘Rarity’ melded with ‘Serene’ and the distinction between the two became blurred. It was a hard song, a dark song. A song that would thrill a crowd of demons.

Lighting her horn with magic, Rarity summoned the song, letting it be her guide as it poured through her. New music filled the grand ballroom unlike that which had come before. The quick tap of drums and jangle of tambourines joined the almost harsh cry of a flute and bass thrum of a cello. To create music out of the very air was a rare talent, one that began to delight the crowd even before Rarity began to sing.

Far from home,

Engulfed by night.

Embrace pain to survive,

Legacy of madness and pride.

Memories of a golden throne,

A pillar of white light.

Law and love,

Gone,

From darkness,

Failed to hide.

Rarity’s ear flicked, a voice managing to penetrate the song. A voice only she could hear.

“Hear my plea,” came Trixie’s voice, almost making Rarity falter mid-note. “Give me the strength to cast this spell. Lend me your power, Rarity.”

Without thinking, Rarity shifted a portion of the magic flowing through her towards Trixie’s voice, using the song as a cover. Enraptured by her voice the demons failed to notice the small tendrils of aether syphoned off for Trixie. Or so Rarity hoped.

Lament,

The end of Fate,

Lost in twisted strands.

Torn asunder,

Hope plummets,

Through the moonless night.

Day and Night,

Pleasure spirals with Pain,

Entwined,

Into seasons of blood,

Lost in twisted strands,

Of Destiny.

“It’s working! It’s working!” came Trixie’s ecstatic voice. “Just a little more, please, Rarity. Just a little more.”

Digging deeper into herself, Rarity clutched the strands of hatred and back breaking weight of confinement imposed by Asmodeus. A heavy roll of drums sounded around her, and a chorus of violins joined the song as it gathered into a powerful tempest.

More was required.

She had to dig deeper, further, and keep what she was really doing hidden in the song.

Abandoned dreams fall to the disc.

Take up hammer and spell,

Gather the strength,

Fight back to the sun,

Or all is lost.

Tomorrow is nearly here,

Such a beautiful dream.

Battles,

Wish for a place your own.

Dig deep.

Cast light on the journey’s length,

Embrace the war till it is done.

On and on.

Cry for lost innocence.

Beneath the moonless night.

“It’s open! It’s open! Come quickly! I do not know how long I can keep it open!”

Joy, fear, exultation, hope, and deepest dread welled in Rarity’s chest. All these emotions and a thousand more she poured into every note of the song. The demons were enraptured, but it was a tenuous grip she held over them.

Planting her hooves wide she reared up, wings gently beating as she lifted from the stage. Magic now pulsed from her in a steady stream, adding multi-hued bands that wrapped around the ballroom in shimmering auroras.

Before her, Asmodeus’ smiled widest of all.

Lament,

The end of Fate,

Lost in twisted strands.

Day and Night,

Pleasure spirals with Pain,

Into seasons of blood.

Tomorrow is nearly here,

Such a beautiful dream.

Before the last note faded Rarity was reweaving the magic pouring through her. An unmistakable torrent flowed towards Trixie, and in an instant the kings and queens of Hell would be aware of what she was doing, if they weren’t already.

There was no going back. From the moment she began to respond to Trixie’s voice they’d been committed.

As her the song faded into a heavy silence her body broke apart like mist caught by a sudden wind. Teleportation was familiar, but only ever as a passenger, whisked by Twilight in short blinks. She’d never tried such a spell, and Asmodeus’ domain added only additional wrinkles. Would he know where she was going? Would she even be able to teleport?

Questions that were answered as she was enveloped in a momentary freezing expanse of endless nothingness. Her breath caught in her mouth as all external sensation abruptly vanished. There was no light, Rarity unable to see her own hoof. Ice crystallized across her dress and the edges of her feathers. Panic set in as her heart beat like a thundering drum in her ears once, twice, thrice, and then sensation returned in a flash of warm light.

Rarity reappeared just inside the casting chamber. A steady roar greeted her ears, and the chamber shook underneath her hooves. Winds whipped in cyclonic fury around a golden slash in the fabric of reality. Thick bands of cobalt lightning rippled from the tear’s edges. Inside the tear was a roiling grey cloud. At the edge of the casting circle, Trixie swayed on weakening legs. Sweat poured down her brow, and a bloody tear matted her left cheek where the vessels in the eye had popped. Patches of burnt fur smoldered across her back as heat poured out of her body. Smoke curled from the top of Trixie’s blackened horn from the effort of channeling so much raw aether.

“Hurry!” Trixie managed to croak, just as a world crushing howl echoed throughout the palace.

The chamber shook violently. Cracks ran up the walls and the windows shattered inward, spraying Rarity and Trixie with glass.

Rarity could feel Asmodeus’ approach, and acted.

Rushing forward she tackled Trixie into the portal.

Who knew where it went. All that mattered was it lead somewhere else. Somewhere outside Amaymon. Somewhere away from Asmodeus.

Spinning as she plummeted into the infinite void waiting inside the tear Rarity caught sight of the door to the casting chamber being wrenched asunder, and the King of Hell’s fury cascading towards her. Channelling a last bit of magic, Rarity willed the portal shut. Her last image was of Asmodeus smiling in the middle of his rage, and then she was enveloped by grey skies. Rain pelted her face, cool and fresh as a murky sea reached up towards her.

Author's Note:

Author’s Notes:
This chapter has been a wild ride to write. As with the previous chapter I struggled a lot with how ‘evil’ to make the demons. I decided early on to keep the focus more on Trixie and Rarity and their reconnection, efforts to escape, and how Rarity was slowly starting to adapt to her surroundings, able to play more and more on an equal footing with the kings and queens of Hell. What would Rarity have become capable of doing if she’d stayed longer? Hmmm… 

The introductions of the other rulers of Hell got slowly expanded over time. At first it was a simple ‘And Rarity was introduced to this long list of names, moving on!’ This didn’t really work and was a bit of overload on information. Focusing a little on each gave time for them to settle in the mind. It’s never a good idea to just dump lists of names on readers. It also gave me a chance to hint at some of the things going on in the main story without giving much away. 

Of the seven, I’d say Belphegor is the most dangerous. As Sloth he drains all energy and will from anything he touches. He is a living blackhole, turning everyone into couch potatoes unable to work up the effort to reach for the remote and change the channel. He is the one I blame when it takes me a while to write new chapters. :P 

One of the things that got cut was Trixie finding the missing rune for the spell. I wanted to keep the POV solely on Rarity during Amaymon, just as it'd been only on Trixie in Tartarus. Going forward it will shift back and forth a bit depending on who is more relevant. What I will say about the rune is that it was right under Rarity's nose, and in the most securely protected place in all Amaymon, right behind that plain, simple pink door...

Perhaps you'll get to know what lay beyond that door eventually.

For now, however, we move on to Gaea and the Olympians. If you think Rarity and Trixie are out of the woods yet... Oh boy... Gaea has not fared well with Zeus' absence.

The music for this chapter are; 1: All Guitar Flamethrower Guy Mad Max Fury Road OST; 2: ‘Chasing the Dragon’ by Epica; and at first I used ‘Lost in Thoughts All Alone’ from Fire Emblem Fates as the framework for Rarity’s song. This song got changed a lot later with ‘Entropy’ by End of Silence serving as the inspiration. Again, why do I keep writing songs when I know I am rather terrible at them?! Its like an addiction at this point... >.<;;