The Return of the King

by MisterEdd

Maleficium Awaits

In the village situated on Hnefaleikarinn, a collection of ponies went about their daily routines, either tilling the ground, spinning yarn for clothing or constructing baskets. Amongst themselves, they were known as the Skuggafæddur or “Shadow-born,” named so for their unique ability to become living shadows. The other equine races, such as the crystal ponies that neighbored them to west, called them "umbrums," a title that held no significant meaning to them but one they simply went with out of convenience. It wasn't their fault if the others couldn't pronounce their given name.

In the center of the village, an umbrum mother was washing clothing in a brass basin filled with hot water. She curiously watched as her young son was swinging a stick at imaginary foes.

"Sombra, what are you doing?"

The colt stared up at his mother. Like the other members of her race, Persephone possessed a thick, dark gray coat, red eyes and a black mane, which she kept styled in a long braid banded with iron rings.

Raising the twig aloft, Sombra declared, "I'm going to be a great warrior like Father and Father says that great warriors always train."

Persephone smiled. "That's right, little one."

The nearby banging from the village forge halted and a stallion with a braided beard approached the two, wiping his brow with a cloth as he took a seat next to Persephone and planted a kiss on her cheek. Weland was the chief village blacksmith and one of the finest warriors of their tribe, his scarred body a testament to his many battles. He chuckled deeply and peered at his son.

"So tell me, what makes a great warrior?"

Sombra clambered onto his father's lap, his hooves clutching at his filthy apron.

"Being the biggest and the strongest!"

Weland shook his head. "No, but it certainly helps. What makes a warrior is his mind."

The colt stared up at him in puzzlement. "I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Weland shifted on the log-seat, bringing Sombra up higher on his chest. "You see, to beat your enemy, you have to out-think him. Guess what moves he makes before he makes them and turn his weaknesses against him. Only then can victory be yours."

Sombra knitted his brow. "I still don't understand, Father."

"One day you will, my son. And on that day, Woden help your enemies."

~*~

Sombra groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Today was another day of training and he hurried in getting out of bed, neatly folding up his blankets and exiting the cave. Grimoire didn't allow him to stay at the temple, something about helping to toughen him up for training. Instead, he was directed to a cave on the other side of the island, one that was dangerously close to the crashing waves of the sea. It was ridiculous but Sombra understood the reasoning.

Maleficium, or dark magic, Grimoire explained to him, drew on the darkest parts of a pony's thoughts and emotions, using their anger, hatred and even despair to fuel their spells. The stronger the emotions, the stronger and, more importantly, the deadlier the magic. Nearly two years had passed and Sombra's skills had grown exponentially, though to Grimoire, he was a passable student. Naturally, Sombra kept the Rödd skugga a secret from his teacher, having chosen to conceal it from the old fool from the very beginning and would never reveal its existence. During the day, he studied under Grimoire's tutelage but at night, he poured over the pages of the black tome, combining both the old wizard's teachings and the book's lessons.

In all of Sombra's travels and with all of his various instructors, he learned one, very crucial rule: the student must never outshine the teacher. He held back while in Grimoire's sight, appearing as full of potential but not fully gifted. If he'd shown his capabilities right then and there, Grimoire wouldn't have underestimated, and thus, trusted him enough with his secrets. That way, the longer Sombra could draw out his training, properly hone his skills and prepare himself for his return to Equestria. Revenge was all the more gratifying if his victims didn't know that it was coming.

Making the arduous climb up the temple's steps he did every morning and night, Sombra entered the main throne room and bowed before the seated conjurer, lightly huffing from the trek. Grimoire nodded, his cue for Sombra to rise as he pulled himself from his throne, circling the younger stallion.

"Tell me, what are the tenants of maleficium?"

"You must embrace your hatred; hatred is what drives you.
You must own your fear but never let it consume you; those that are consumed by their fear are weak.
You must wield your anger like a blade against your foes; keep your blade sharp and you will conquer your enemies.
You must feed your desires; those that starve their desires have no right to exist.
You must be strong; strength is the difference between life and death.
You must have power; only through power can victory be obtained.
You must have victory; without it, your training has meant nothing."

The edges of Grimoire's lips curled up. "Good. Very good. And what is dark magic?"

"Dark magic is the tool of the strong.
The strong are the inheritors of the weak.
The weak are the victims of fear.
Fear is the path to power.
Power is the means to achieve victory.
Victory belongs to the strong, the powerful and the fearless.
And strength, power and mastery over fear lead to dark magic.
Through dark magic, I am freed from my bonds."

Sombra recited, inscribing the words in his heart and mind. Despite his treachery, he had respect for Grimoire's teachings, so much so that he modified them, improved on them. Victory did indeed belong to the strong, powerful and fearless, but first, you must have one key component: intelligence. If you lacked intelligence, you couldn't realize your strength, figure out your own power or find the insight to conquer your fear. Victory was only obtained by those whose ambitions were clear enough to grasp it.

"You have learned well, Sombra," Grimoire praised, ending his rotation. "Very soon, you will be ready to aid me in conquering Equestria. Our master will be pleased."

Sombra turned towards the old stallion in confusion. "What master?"

Grimoire's burnt husk of a horn weakly glowed, the sorcerer letting out a pained hiss as it crackled and ebbed with magic. A nearby black staff rattled in place before floating over to him. Taking a hold of the staff, he puffed as the glow around his horn fizzled out and he leaned up against the staff for support. It was a sad sight to see a once-renowned wizard reduced to such a feeble state.

"Tell me, have you ever heard of Grogar?"

"The Father of Monsters? Yes, every foal in Equestria knows that story. But he's dead."

Grimoire's eyes enlarged, a mad look dominating his face. "Oh no, my apprentice. Emperor Grogar is alive. He is merely trapped in between worlds, his magic weakened by those meddlesome fools Gusty the Great and Clover the Clever. I've heard his call."

Sombra knew that Grimoire's mind had been going for quite some time, no doubt as a result of his age and twenty-year isolation on this island. Now he was claiming that he was in contact with a dead warlock. It was hard for Sombra to decide whether he was disgusted by Grimoire or pitied him.

"A new power is rising," Grimoire continued, hobbling back to his throne. "Everypony thinks that Emperor Grogar is gone but this isn’t so. He’s merely waiting, waiting for the opportune moment to seize back control over his empire. There is only one choice before us: we must join him. It would be wise, Sombra."

The time for waiting was over.

"I would be honored to serve His Majesty Emperor Grogar," Sombra stated with a bow, much to Grimoire's delight. "Through him, our vengeance will finally be realized."

Grimoire leaned forward on his throne, eyes alight with joyful madness. "I knew you would agree. We are visionaries, you and I. We see the truth behind the hypocritical lies of the aristocracy. Together, we three will burn Canterlot to the ground and from the ashes, a new Equestria will arise, a better one." He then clapped his hooves. "Bring me the wine. We shall drink to victory!"

Bowing once more, Sombra quickly collected a bottle from the wine rack and two goblets. As per his "training," Grimoire had Sombra harvest Starlock berries, one of the few plants capable of growing on the island, and using it to make his wine. Under his teacher's watchful gaze, he selected the ripest berries, cleaned them, stomped them into juice via a large wooden tub. After fermentation, he bottled the juice and gave Grimoire a sample, splitting it with him to prove that nothing poisonous had been added to the mixture. The elder stallion was old but not foolish.

Pouring the latest batch into the goblets, Sombra levitated them over, his magical aura popping around the vessels. He floated one to Grimoire, who shook his head and pointed to the other one.

"Just to be certain," Grimoire uttered, his horn crackling and flashing a weak light as the other goblet was slowly pulled over to him. It wobbled in the air and nearly dropped a couple of times but he managed to get it to his hoof without spilling it. "To our new alliance and the destruction of the Royal Family."

"To Grogar."

"To Grogar!"

They both downed the wine, Grimoire watching Sombra all the while before his goblet too was empty. He smacked his lips and grinned. "Your best work, my apprentice. Very well done."

Sombra nodded, a sly smirk appearing. "Thank you, my master but I had a bit of help."

The old stallion's brow furrowed. "Oh? From whom?"

"Not so much a 'whom' as a 'what.' Did you know that Starlock also goes by the name of Blue Viper's Kiss? The berries are harmless but the juice from the roots? It's very...toxic."

Grimoire's eyes bulged, his mouth flopping open and shutting, a horrible gasping croak rattling in his throat. His hooves flew to his neck, hacking violently as he fought to get oxygen into his constricted airways. He pitched forward, toppling onto the floor, gagging and coughing out globs of blue-colored spittle. His bloodshot eyes found Sombra's, his face contorting into a snarl.

"You...you..."

Sombra watched him curiously, having never seen the effects of this particular poison in person.

"Yes, me. Incidentally, gradual exposure to the root can result in immunity to the poison's effects."

The unicorn then began convulsing on the floor, his limbs jerking and bending as he flopped around like a fish out of water. His throat swollen up, he could only manage weak heaving and muted screeching, blue liquid dribbling down his lips and beard. Pointing a trembling hoof accusingly at Sombra, Grimoire shook and trembled a few more times before going still, his facial muscles twitching while his eyes rolled back in their sockets. His hindlegs ceased kicking, his hooves finished digging groves into the floor. A couple of last shudders of his chest and his head lolled over to the side, signifying the end of Grimoire Incantatus.

Taking a moment to inspect the corpse, Sombra closed Grimoire's eyes and wordlessly conveyed his farewell to his teacher. Although cruel, it was necessary, as the sorcerer's damaged horn hindered his magic and coupled with his age and growing mental instability made him unreliable as an ally. If anything, Sombra performed him a mercy. As for his "alliance" with Grogar? Well, Sombra had no time for a madpony's delusions. He had his own plans in mind.

Grimoire's stash of spell books and magical relics was pitiful but not fruitless. The Enumeration of Hexes and Thulsa Groom's Rites of Necromancy would service him well. He found the lost Girdle of Morgan le Hay as well as the Seven-League Horseshoes of Shadowfax the Swift. Those might have a use later so Sombra set them aside. Lady Amalthea’s Mirror of Truth dispelled even the strongest illusion and glamour spells, showing an individual or object as they truly were.

When Sombra looked into the mirror, however, he found only a smoky, black blob. He shrugged, concluding that it wouldn't serve much of a practical use and covered it back up with a dusty old cloth. Nearby whispering drew his attention to a sword with a black blade and he found himself peering at the infamous Black Sword of Elric of Melniponé, which was said to steal the souls of those it slew. It called out to him, promising him his heart's desire if he picked it up but he ignored it. Even in his vengeful heart, he wasn't foolish enough to meddle with something that dangerous.

Wait, what's that?

On the bust of a nondescript pony, he found a circlet forged from silver and bearing blade-like barbs. He couldn't believe it. Here was the Crown of Timorus, an object said to grant its wearer the power to see the greatest fears of his enemies. Encapsulating it in his magic, Sombra placed it on his head, its eldritch power flowing into him. Yes, this would serve him well.

Sombra climbed down the steps of the temple, daring to look behind him at the conflagration. After plundering the rest of the temple, he had poured various potions and concoctions all through the halls before setting the chemicals ablaze. Then, gathering Grimoire's bed sheets, wrapped the dead sorcerer in them and tossed him from the top of the temple. It'd be the closest thing to an honorable burial that Grimoire would ever receive. Deciding that he'd lingered long enough, Sombra descended the rest of the stairs without looking back.

His boat loaded with the Rödd skugga and the other books and relics, Sombra took one last fleeting glance at the island. The fire still raged at the top of the temple, giving the skull-shaped mountain the appearance of being alive. In a strange way, he'd miss both the island as well as its owner, having become accustomed to them over a two-year period. Still, that was the past and he had to move forward. Steadily rowing, Sombra floated away from the island, watching it slowly vanish in the perpetual fog that surrounded it until it faded from view.

It was time to return home.

Comments

[Crystal Night]

In a certain galaxy far, far away, another Emperor cackles. I was waiting for Sombra to kill him at some point, if only he knew the truth.

[MisterEdd]

10205040
Imagine his shock years later...

[Crystal Night]

10205277
I get it