Terror Puppet

by Windrunner

Silence

'

Offer prayers for forgiveness if you will, they shall not be answered. -

A silence lays heavily upon the stone of Canterlot. Whatever ill omen walks there strides forth alone amidst the wreckage of the formerly living to take residence upon the throne in silent solitude. The sweeping quiet covers the previously busy streets as even in the days light the city is somehow drenched in darkness. None dare approach this damaged beacon bereft of the light. All hint of the city and its storied glory now dulled. The gleaming spires seeming afflicted with their own sickness of spirit. What drives forth these maledictions of frenzied destruction? The silence is pervasive, almost an entity in its own right. Not the slightest sound is heard from within or without. The great city lay dead.

At this moment for all intents and purpose little more than a monumental tomb to those whose lives ended here in the briefest instant, their much-vaunted defenders able to do little against the onslaught. A graveyard with no markers and none to heed their passing. Great portions of the city lay in ruins after that short skirmish. A short fight barely able to be called a battle in the end. If one were able to go about walking the streets, one would find nothing. No sounds. No voices. Only the undeniable quiet. Even the wind seems fearful to dare seek passage through this barren emptiness devoid of light and life. A sinister force stalks these streets and avenues as though seeking to extinguish hope itself. A lofty goal.

All those able have fled from this now dead place. Only yesterday it was full of cheer and lively conversation. Now it lay mute and injured, smashed and broken in all manner of ways. If a city could suffer indignity, this might very well be the result. No further mauling, nor a single brick has been touched since as if waiting for the perfect moment to inflict some worse insult upon the city. The empty streets should they have embodiment to do so would surely be calling for redress, to suffer this humiliation is unbearable. The grand architecture all around begging to be repaired and admired by all once more. That seeping chill so cold has intimated it may grow all the worse still as it takes hold of the city proper.

Eyes are upon the city from afar, desperate for answers. They receive none, only finding another monster standing fast before the great gate. The grand bascule bridge was never raised for no enemy approached from outside. It lay open as ever, almost inviting an attack that would certainly fail. Looking up at the city encourages fearful reactions in the viewer as though glancing upon death itself. Can it be true? Has such horror truly come to inhabit those glittering halls? All has fallen deathly silent in this shimmering capital where light fears to intrude upon the quiet streets. The sound of hoof falls and wingbeats once abound now not even an echo of past leanings. Fires raged out of control for hours.

The city has fallen to such ruin in less than a day. The grandeur of it still endures beneath the smoke and char. The sheer monstrousness of the act which brought this calamity raining down upon the poor city the most reprehensible act imaginable. The crumbling buildings attest to the power of whatever looming doom has settled here. Those dead have been left where they fell, silent as the rest of the city. More insulting still, the great flags and banners still hang in muted array. The light has fled in hopes of returning. What grotesque mockery to leave them all where they lay, some with eyes still open in shock. A shock etched upon their dead gazes. At least for most, death came calling swiftly.

A glaring aura of sufferance pervades the grand palisades and walkways throughout. A hush of indescribable depth creeping forth, reinforcing this silence all the more. Has all power of good fallen prey to lunacy? The cold creeps forth along with the silence. A chill such as the city has never known settling over all things. Not something from outside. A cold emanating from the stones themselves. The temperature of the surrounding air dropping to a point that heavy clouds begin to swirl above, granting even more darkness to the already shattered infrastructure below. A flicker from within that darkness suggests a storm is brewing to temper bad feelings yet deeper still. The root of this suffering does not reveal itself.

This city now a void of sound and living things enshrouds itself in tumultuous billowing black clouds as if to conceal the horror and mock those below. As the storm rises the howling wail of winds almost seem to give voice to the dead. Right this wrong. An affront has been committed of such magnitude it must be answered in kind. Where is the light? This was a place of hope and dreams come true, turned to nightmare and sorrow without a second thought or hint of regret. Why has this happened? What pain could justify taking away hopes and dreams? Heavy rains come to scour the city uncontrolled by any pegasi. The expected patter of water on the bricks and mortar the same as it ever was, belying the wrongs committed.

Somehow the rain is silent as the rest of the city. Lightning wreaths the towers from top to bottom as what should create a great cacophony erupts about them, yet all is silence. The castle ringed in great sheaths of emerald green fire dancing about the structure as if in celebration of enduring silence. Expanding outwards from this great conflagration it flows down the avenues and boulevards, as unstoppable as the tides. The flames lick and sputter, engulfing the whole until all is aglow. This fire burns nothing, it sets nothing ablaze. What can it portend? The puppet beyond the gate stands firmly rooted in place.

---

Hello darkness, my old friend.