The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 31: A Night Out

Of course they had been afraid. Alicorns were cursed abominations, hideous unnatural things. The very representation of tyranny and torment. Celestia and Nightmare Moon, the twin rulers of the dystopia called Equestria. And Penumbra looked like them. By some accident of birth, she had been born into the same accursed race.

She knew that. She knew that she was a creature meant to inspire fear, a thing to be hated, just as the false-goddesses were. She existed to be hated, and in that hatred and fear she would stand as a shining beacon, a representation of her father’s power. Even if that meant that they would flee her presence when they saw her. Because she truly was a monster.

She knew this. Yet, somehow, and against her will, it still hurt. To have them scream and run, not because of anything she had done, but rather because of what she represented. Fear from the idea of Penumbra Heartbreak, not fear that she had earned by her own actions- -or refused to earn. Once again, the pony she was meant to be had superseded the one that she was.

It was humiliating, but it went deeper than that. The looks of fear on their faces- -it made Penumbra hurt on the inside. She understood that she was meant to be feared, but could not understand why she was not enjoying it.

She could also not fathom why she had helped a worthless slave. A thief, no less. A pony that had defied her father’s will. She should have picked up the stick and beaten that pony until the candy came out of her, but even the thought of it made Penumbra sick. There had to be a reason for it, but Penumbra did her best to ignore it. She did not want to think about it, or attempt to know. Whatever it was was something she knew she was not meant to know.

Her night was turning out far poorer than she expected. Instead of adventure, she had found a dark and largely empty city as well as confusing, heavy thoughts. She considered going back to the castle. It was obvious that Crozea was right; there was nothing of value beyond the Citadel’s icy walls.

That was when she smelled something. Penumbra had never before smelled the scent of food; as far as she knew, the Citadel had no kitchens. Yet when the distant scent of it wafted to her nose, her mouth immediately started to water. She felt a strange sensation in her stomach, but did not recognize it; it felt nothing like getting punched.

She stopped staring wistfully at the dark sky from the roof of a crystal building and jumped to the ground, using her largely decorative wings to slow her descent as she went. A patrol of thralls had just passed, but they did not turn as Penumbra silently followed the strange odor.

What she came to was on the very edge of the district, beyond which there was nothing but the central field battery; it appeared as empty, flat darkness. Light was coming from one of the buildings, though, and so was the smell.

Penumbra looked up at the sign. It was written in both Equestrian, griffish, and of course Crystallic. It read “The Salt Crystal”. From the sounds of it, there were ponies inside.

Entering would be a mistake. If Penumbra did, she was sure to be caught. But it was the only thing she had found in the whole district that did not depress her- -and it smelled so nice.

Against her own better judgment, she walked to the door. As she entered, two ponies in officer’s uniforms nearly pushed her over as they passed.

“Watch it, kid!” growled one.

“Can you believe the filth they let in this place?” hissed another.

Penumbra was about to say something, but the two passed into the night and were gone. She also realized that they might not have been talking about her.

The building was large on the inside, consisting of one large room with multiple supports, at least on the first floor. Several bright crystal lanterns glowed with orange-yellow energy, but in one area a fireplace had been lit. It was the first time Penumbra had ever seen fire, even if she could instantly tell that this one was a magical projection. There was no wood in the Crystal Empire, except in the southern regions; all of it was considered to belong to the king.

The right side of the room consisted of a long bar with shelves of numerous bottles and jars behind it. The other side consisted of tables. Most of those, Penumbra found, were populated by griffons.

Many of them were obvious mercenaries, wearing the armor and bearing the weapons of many distant cultures and places. Amongst them, though, were several substantially larger griffons with gleaming, owl-like eyes. Penumbra recognized them; they were Zither’s griffons-at-arms, the vedmak soldiers. She had never before realized how much larger and stronger than normal griffons they were, or how terrifying they truly looked in comparison. Even the griffon mercenaries seemed to be afraid of them.

Penumbra quickly checked- -both apprehensively and with the slightest glimmer of hope- -to see if Zither himself were present. He had by now returned from YakYakistan, probably with a report to the king. Seeing that he was not present, Penumbra decided that his associates had simply stopped here to celebrate- -although they looked more like they were brooding.

Still, Penumbra decided that it was probably best to avoid them. She instead made her way to the bar, where several ponies were sitting. A crystal pony in diplomatic colors was moving behind the bar, rapidly providing both drinks and salt.

Penumbra sat down at one of the seats near a Pegasus who was nearly laying on the bar. As she climbed up, something squeaked near her hoof.

“HEY! Watch it, ugly horse!”

“What?” Penumbra looked down at the bar and saw what she at first took to be a large bug. ON closer inspection, though, she determined that it was a breezie. An extremely wobbly breezie.

“My apologies,” she said. “I almost made a mess out of you.”

“Who are you calling a MESS?! I’ll have you know I’m- -whoa...” He nearly tipped over. “I’ll have you know I’m...um...ugh...” He collapsed onto the crystal of the counter. “BARPONY!” he cried. “I need more!”

The bartender looked up. “Sir. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“NO! Pour me another! Before I crawl up your nose and squeeze your cerebellum so hard you dance the tarantella!”

“Just give him another,” groaned the flame-haired Pegasus who had previously seemed unconscious. “His voice...it’s so squeaky. And it’s not like we have jobs to go to.”

The bartender sighed and rolled his eyes. He produced a jar of cider- -another commodity Penumbra had never before witnessed- -and an eyedropper. He then proceeded to careful place three drops into a thimble that had been placed out for the breezie. The breezie took the thimble and quickly drained it. He then flopped on his side.

“Why don’t we have this stuff?” he slurred. “If we had this...we could...ugh...”

“Who would have thought it would come to this?” sighed the Pegsus. “I was once the greatest weather engineer ever...and now I’m in this filthy bar with a Celestia-darned BREEZIE. I’m too depressed to even flirt with that ugly unicorn.” He pointed to Penumbra.

“Aye!” said a voice on the other side of Penumbra. She heard something jump onto the bar. “Indeed, life can be a thing of great hard! Like a slab of granite, in a rock-like color, or maybe white! A rock indeed, not smooth and greasy like lard!”

The breezie cried out and wept, rolling on his back. “I can’t do this anymore! Skyflame, Skyflame, you have to do it! Squish me! It’s the only way!”

“No, Dracun! I can’t! I just can’t!” he began to weep too, holding the breezie at his side. “There has to be a better way! We just have to hold on a little longer, until we’re too salted to hear him!”

Penumbra turned and looked up. She realized that she recognized the pony standing on the bar, if only distantly. His over-worn but roguish clothing, his fluffy gray mane, the sword on his back- -he was Holder Heartfelt, Nine of Thirteen.

“For the last time, Holder, keep off the bar!”

“Oop. Sorry.” He climbed back down. It was apparent that he was both salted and cidered, and he smelled of both strongly. He could barely stay on his stool. “My excitement got the better of me, like a rock, the kind that grows in a tree! But when said tree is kicked, and the rock falls, one knows it must be licked!”

The breezie and Pegasus burst out in tears again. “Dracon! I was WRONG! I’ll squish you, if you squish me first! It’s just so BAAAAAAAD!”

Holder wobbled and looked down at Penumbra. Although his fluffy mane was dark gray and his coat not much different in shade, his eyes were incredibly blue. Penumbra instantly knew that coming here was a terrible mistake; she had been caught. It was all over.

“Such a fair maiden unicorn!” gasped Holder. “Like a chunk of basalt, except with a horn! Not that basalt cannot have a horn, because I’ve seen many a thing under a shed, and will see more, till the day I’m dead! But unlike you, basalt is not born!”

“It burns!” whimpered the Breezie.

“Holder!” snapped the bartender. “If you keep disturbing the paying customers, I’ll throw you out AGAIN. Don’t flirt with ponies. You’re an ugly earth-pony and no one likes you.”

Holder’s expression fell. Even his hair seemed to deflate. “Oh. Sorry.”

“You are Holder Heartfelt,” said Penumbra.

Holder seemed to reinflate instantly. “You’ve heard of me?!” His eyes became tremendously wide. “Perhaps you’ve acquired a copy of my latest book of poems?”- - He pronounced it like “poims”- - “Or maybe you were at my recital?” He leaned back in his stood, suddenly no longer wobbly. “A fan! A real FAN! Take that, Halite, I knew I had at least ONE!” He made a rude gesture at the bartender and swiveled to Penumbra. “And you came all this way to see me! Like how a beautiful smooth rock will always return to its master, no matter if it’s burrowed in loam, on a plate, or in plaster!”

“You are a member of the Dark Thirteen.”

Holder’s expression fell again. “Oh. You came for that...”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Holder sighed and lay his head on the bar. “Yes. No. Not really. Sort of. It’s a formal title. But I’m not the same as the others. I’m just an earth-pony, after all.”

“And nopony’s thrown you out yet?”

Holder winced. Then, far more loudly than he should have said it, he yelled out a rhyme: “Aye, and your words wound me like sand, shoved by more impressive ponies into my eyes or orifice; yes, indeed I have this office, and am but a clay-wad in a over-tilled land!”

“I think they’re afraid he’ll try to poetry at them,” groaned Skyflame, covering his ears. “Because he does that. CONSTANTLY. It’s about all he CAN do.”

“I am a poet! And a lover of mares! For a mare, she is like a rock! Slightly angular, and tasting of dirt! A hard fuzzy thing, shoved in a shirt! And able to knock one topside if put in a sock!”

“Yet you stay in a bar all day doing nothing productive for the kingdom.”

Holder seemed taken aback by Penumbra’s words and nearly fell off his stool. “You’re mean. You know that, right?”

“Each of the Dark Thirteen serves our divine king in a special way. We- -they, I mean- -each have a purpose. I just don’t understand what yours is.”

Holder became evasive. “I write beautiful poems. Is that not enough?”

“How to poems conquer our enemies?”

“By LOVE!” Holder stood atop his stool, revolving slowly. Penumbra found it disturbing how agile he was when he wanted to be. “Because love is the driving force behind all things! Love and rocks! Boulder and I have traveled all over this fine land, writing epic poems, sad poems, and most importantly LOVE poems! And romancing quite a few mares along the way.”

“Boulder?” Penumbra looked around.

Holder dropped back into his stool. “Yes. Of course! Honestly, without him to bounce my ideas off of, my poems would be simply terrible!” He reached into his vest and produced a small dark-colored stone.

“A rock?”

“A boulder,” corrected Holder. “But just a little one.” He set the stone on the bar and looked at it expectantly. He then giggled slightly. “Oh, Boulder! You can’t say that in front of a lady! That limerick is just too severe!”

“I see,” said Penumbra, slowly. “So you’re insane.”

“He’s an earth-pony,” mumbled Skyflame. “They’re basically pony-shaped potatoes. They grow up from the ground. Does it surprise you that some of them learn to talk to rocks?”

“Skyflame,” moaned the breezie. “Can I have belly wubs?”

“For the last time NO! You’re effeminate, but not THAT effeminate!”

“Barpony! Give Skyflame drinks until he thinks I’m adorable! Actually, I have secretions that can make that go faster...”

Penumbra ignored the two. She was more curious about Holder. He, like her, seemed to be in a separate class from the other Dark Thirteen members. He was separate, different, and given not even the slightest hint of responsibility- -yet at the Arena, none had dared to challenge him, the weakest of them all. Penumbra wanted to know why.

“I don’t understand,” said Penumbra. “Love. What is it? Is that what you do?”

Holder gasped. “You don’t know what LOVE is? Well I can show you!”

“HOLDER!” cried the bartender. “NO. Touch her and I beat you. AGAIN.”

“Not by touching! In SONG!”

“Sweet Epona no...”

Holder leapt off his chair and landed on the floor. He immediately produced an instrument from his fluffy mane and strummed it. It was so out of tune that it made Penumbra’s teeth hurt.

“How about some luting?” he giggled. He strummed it again. The griffons near him seemed to be growing agitated. “Love is a rock! It is hard, roundish, and filled with grains of feldspar- -”

In an instant, one of the vedmaki was on top of him. The lute fell to the floor and was promptly stomped to death by several individuals.

“My lute! I got that as a gift from a mare who threw it at me- -”

“Listen to me, you infernal tail-licker,” snapped the vedmak, lifting Holder off the ground by his shirt collar. “Look at my head. Do I look like I have ears?”

“Um...”

“I don’t. None of us do! But they’re still bleeding from your TERRIBLE poetry.”

“We just ran an operation in YakYakistan,” growled another, standing from his table. “Had to deal with smelly, hairy communists all day. Yak’s aren’t monsters, they’re not in our job description!”

“We’re just here to unwind. And we can’t do that with you caterwauling!”

“So you cannot appreciate art. I would never call you an uncultured boor, who smells like a fart, or some sort of mildew spoor. Your brain is in itself a fine river stone: smooth, free of wrinkles, thick and hard as bone.”

The griffon’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re making fun of me.”

“My best friend is a stone. And he figured that out before you did.”

The crack of a griffon fist against Holder’s face was so resounding that even Penumbra winced. Holder was sent sailing across the room, pushing through several tables as he went before he finally stopped at the far wall.

“Not indoors!” cried the barkeep, who was immediately silenced by the point of a silver sword held inches from his neck.

“If it’s a debate on art you want,” said the lead griffon, drawing his own sword, “then I will show you how I personally deal with critics. Draw your blade, earth-pony. Show that you at least have some dignity.”

Holder looked up, groggy from the blow. “It’s just for show,” he said. “I have no idea how to use it. It makes me look more manly.”

“Ugh. A poet who disgraces his sword. You sicken me.” The griffon stepped forward, elegantly swinging his sword. “But I intend to eat my weight in your inferior pony salt. I think it will improve everyone’s experience if I slice this particular potato.”

With a single swift motion, Penumbra jumped to the space between the two of them, interposing herself between the vedmak and Holder, taking a defensive stance as she did.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” she said, charging her horn.

“No,” moaned Holder. “Just let him do it. He’s right. We’d all be better off.”

“NO. I refuse to allow a comrade to be hurt like this, even if he is...well, you.”

“Out of my way, ugly pony girl. Our grimoires classify your kind as a type of monster; I can deal with you eight ways before you can even summon the simplest spell.” He turned the flat of his silver sword toward Penumbra, and she saw the strange runes glowing in its side.

“No. He is a critical resource to the kingdom. Probably.”

“I am not in the mood to be forgiving.”

“And I am never forgiving. Fight me, adorable kitten-sparrow.” She summoned a shield spell and a blade. It was vastly easier than it had been before, but that only meant she had no idea how to actually use them.

The vedmak shrugged, though he seemed confused by the impromptu insult. “Then I fight you I shall.”

“I would not, Gemen,” said a familiar voice. “Unless you like losing.”

Penumbra did not look away from her opponent. She had been hit in the face with various blunt and sharp objects far too many times by Scarlet Mist to consider it. Besides, she knew who had spoken.

Zither stepped into view. Penumbra realized, much to her wing’s tingliness, that he was not wearing his armor- -and that he was incredibly well-built. The only way he could have possibly improved it is if he had been naked. Instead, he was wearing a mildly frilly shirt, a cravat, and a kilt.

“This isn’t your business, Heartstrings,” growled the griffon. “Just slaying another monster. Then I’m going to poke that dirty earth-pony poet.”

“There shall be no poking.” Penumbra felt his magic suddenly grasp her cloak, and in an instant she was stripped of it. Being stripped partially naked by Zither caused her wings to completely lose control, and they shot upward, fully erect.

“NAKED!” she cried, her spells collapsing as she covered herself.

“This is princess Penumbra Heartbreak, who defeated the dark-mage Twilight Luciferian in open combat and who had the indomitable strength of will to remove the Mask of Red Death from her own face.”

“Yeah!” cried Holder, suddenly overly excited. “She’s the most powerful sorceress in ALL the kingdom!”

“No, you idiot! Don’t say the ‘S’-word- -!”

It was too late. Penumbra was instantly thrown to the ground covered in a pile of mutant griffons. Each and every one of them had begun to purr loudly.

“Sorceress?”

“Sorceress!”

“Who! WHO!”

One of the most owl-like of the group had begun to randomly hoot, turning his head at strange angles.

“Great,” sighed Zither. “You’ve gotten Gruber owling. Do you all realize how young she is?”

One of the griffons gasped. “We can raise her as our daughter!”

Zither produced a leather pouch in his magic. He shook it. “Do you know what this is?”

Every one of the griffon’s eyes turned to it, and grew incredibly wide.

“Coin?”

“Coin!”

“COIN!”

“Go get it!”

Zither threw the pouch, and instantly the furry and purring weight of the griffons was lifted from Penumbra’s tiny body. The griffons bounded across the floor at the sound of jingling golden coins.

Penumbra stood up quickly. “Lord Heartstrings,” she said, hurriedly bowing. “I see you are...um...here. Where I also am. But am not really. Because I’m not allowed to leave the Citadel and all.”

Zither sighed again. “Yes clearly. A stallion leaves to visit the bathhouse for half an hour, and returns to this? Of all things...of all the places for you to be!”

“I could have taken them.”

“I do not doubt it! But the question is not ‘could’, but ‘SHOULD’. And, for that matter- -” He glared at Holder. “Some ponies should fight their OWN battles instead of relying on little girls to do it for them.”

“One, she’s not little,” protested Holder, his face scrunching. “Two, I was doing fine! And of course third- -I had no IDEA she was the princess!”

“If you put one hoof on her supple hide- -”

“Oh, so you’re allowed to call the princess ‘supple’ and I’m not allowed to even touch her?!”

“So you WERE thinking about touching this innocent flower! You FIEND!” He turned back to Penumbra. “Not that I doubt your power as a sorc- -as a mage, but as a maiden you have a certain level of honor that my chivalry obligates me to defend.”

“It’s okay. Stallions fighting over me kind of makes me tingle.”

“A proper maiden does NOT ‘tingle’- -nay. Never mind! We shall not delve into that topic!” He sighed again, and looked exceedingly tired. By this time the griffons were squabbling in what Penumbra supposed was their native language, trying to negotiate who got what amounts of coin as they grew increasingly annoyed. “Regardless. While I am thinking about what recourse to take for this...situation...I require a stiff drink. And while you’re here, you might as well have one as well while you wait.”

Holder suddenly stood up. “Can I have one?”

“Buy your own, imbecile.”

“But I have no monnnnneyyy!”

“Then go liberate some border towns! Or better yet, go to the mines where a rock-horse like yourself belongs!”

“They kicked me out...they said a pony shouldn’t do that kind of things to a crystal. But they were so pretty!” Zither raised an eyebrow, and Holder wilted. “Also they may not have appreciated my poetry...”

Zither rolled his eyes and led Penumbra to the bar. Upon seeing him, the breezie and Pegasus pony immediately packed up and left. Zither sat to Penumbra’s right, and Holder took a seat to her left.

“Cider for myself and the girl,” he said, “and salt for myself.”

“Can I have salt?” asked Penumbra.

“NO,” snapped Zither. “Can you not see the depth of trouble I now find myself in? Giving a little girl salt would only worsen my predicament...”

“Cider for me too!” cried Holder. “For cider, tis like a spider, and also a clock, because tis hard as a rock!”

“Rhyme again, and I will break you,” snapped Zithter. “I have already had to handle a yak in the past twenty-four hours. The only reason I am tolerating your presence is because I am exceedingly tired from the numerous baths I have had to take.” He turned sharply to the barkeep. “WELL?”

The barkeep suddenly looked exceedingly nervous, a complete departure from how outright flippant he had been with Holder. “Yes sir!” he said, bowing to both Zither and the Princess. “It shall be our finest, free of charge, of course!”

“I never get free stuff,” muttered Holder.

Penumbra watched the barkeep go, and then turned to Zither. “Are you going to tell the king?”

Zither groaned. “See, princess, that is the awkward position you have placed me in. The king never explicitly forbade you from exiting the castle. The logic is that if you meet your demise out here, you were not worthy of being a princess anyway.”

“Wait...then why am I not allowed outside?”

“That is the decision of your caretakers.” Zither shrugged. “Crozea, I suppose.”

Penumbra frowned. “I had not realized that...”

“Additionally, by Imperial Law you are now my equal. You have taken that skinny white fool’s place.”

“But Holder is also your equal.”

Zither snorted. “Hardly. The pony who sits to your left is not worthy of your respect, or that of anypony.”

“I don’t understand.”

Zither’s eyes grew hard, as did Holder’s. “Pray you never do.”

The bartender quickly arrived with several drinks on his back. He placed a small and exceedingly fancy glass filled with some sort of unpleasant looking fluid in front of Penumbra, and a large mug and small plate of salt in front of Zither. To Holder, he gave a dish of a horrible reeking fluid with a rock in it.

“Hey! This isn’t cider!”

“No. It’s rock soup. Because it’s all you can afford.”

The bartender bowed to Penumbra and Zither, and then went about cleaning a few feet away.

“The jokes on him,” muttered Holder. “Rock soup is my FAVORITE soup.”

“Pity you cannot hold a spoon.”

Holder muttered under his breath and stared at his soup, quickly realizing that Zither was correct. As an earth-pony, the ingestion of soup with a utensil other than a straw was a nearly insurmountable problem. So he just started to lap it out of the dish.

Zither sighed and grasped his mug with one claw. He lifted the tankard and took a long swig.

Penumbra turned to her own glass and stared at it. It did not smell like tea, or like potion. It was something entirely new before.

Then, turning her head so fast that she nearly spilled her cider with her horn, she turned back to Zither.

“Wait, WHAT?!”

Zither, still drinking from his tankard, turned his golden eyes toward her...and then slowly back to his claw, that she was staring at. Penumbra had not noticed it before, simply because she had not been looking- -because she had no cause to look- -but both of Zither’s front limbs terminated in griffon-like claws instead of hooves. That, and they were both clearly made of mechanical parts partially covered with ceramic plates and metal armor.

She looked down and saw that his legs were the same: like that of a griffon’s rear paws, except made of metal. Even his tail was long with a tuft.

Zither lowered his tankard. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “Please forgive me. You have never before seen me devoid of my regular armor. I had forgotten that you did not know.”

“What- -what happened?!”

Zither’s expression became distant, and he looked down at one of his claws. He flexed the fingers slowly, and they clicked back and forth, their mechanical portions whirring and churning just beneath the armored surface. “That is a long story. A sad story.”

“Please,” said Penumbra, leaning forward, partially in awe- -and partially in fear. For some reason, she knew that the machines were more than just his legs and tail. That, hidden beneath his armor, there was far less of a pony than she had ever dreamed. At the thought of it, her heart swelled with pity- -and from that pity, intense attraction.

Zither sighed and turned away, gripping his drink with one claw as he looked forward at nothing in particular. “Did I not tell you, the first time we met, that I had once witnessed Celestia? That I had challenged her?”

“I assumed it was a figure of speech.”

“It is not. Nor was I lying when I said your beauty surpasses hers. But this...this accursed body. It is the result of that encounter.”

Penumbra inhaled sharply. The machines that made his lower half were not something he was born with, as Emeth was, or a part meant to correct a deficit acquired at birth. Nor were they something voluntary, in the way that Buttonhooks lacked rear legs and wore numerous pieces of rusting metal inserted into his body. These components were prosthetic. They were meant to replace something that was lost.

“She took everything from me,” growled Zither, his claw tightening around the mug. “My Order refused to stand against her, our ancient enemy. Only I had the courage to, to lead my band in an ambush. But we were betrayed. And everything I held dear was taken from me.”

“Your body.”

Zither nodded. “I was struck down by a single flash of her magic before I could strike a single blow. And I would only have needed but one. My band was lost, and I was expelled from my Order for standing up for honor and tradition, something they discarded long ago. But that is not even the worst of it. I could have withstood that. But that hideous horse took something that makes such things seem trivial.”

Penumbra’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

“My griffon,” he whispered. He continued to stare forward, and his grip on his tankard grew tighter. “A scribe, who insisted on following me everywhere, despite my endless protests. Recording my deeds. A true poet, a griffon of unimaginable beauty, with a kind and pure soul. A timid soul, but one capable of oh so much bravery. A griffon I loved more than any pony or creature I ever have, or that I will ever meet again.”

Penumbra felt a strange shock go through her. She saw the mistiness in his eyes, how he was nearly moved to tears- -yet she suddenly felt deeply jealous, and hated herself for it. “She must have been an amazing person.”

“He was.”

Penumbra immediately felt a completely different kind of shock, and felt her face redden. Instead of feeling jealous, she now felt incredibly awkward- -and rather crushed.

“I warned him,” said Zither, looking down at the crystal of the counter. “I warned him not to come. That it was too dangerous. But he refused, the idiot. Always stubborn. He refused to leave my side. And the blast...the blast that took my body, my life...it took...it took...”

His grip suddenly tightened so hard that the tankard he was holding exploded in his grasp. Penumbra ducked, barely avoiding the shrapnel, but Zither remained impassive. “Celestia stole from me my beloved. And for that, one day I shall slay her in the name of Sombra.” His expression grew incredibly dark, and Penumbra suddenly felt afraid, as if she was no longer looking at the face of a pony but staring into that of something far more terrible. “And she had the gall,” he whispered. “The GALL to stand over me, pretending to be concerned. Keeping me alive with her magic. Denying me an honorable end...the insult. You will never comprehend. I pray to every goddess save her that you never do.”

Holder looked up from his soup. “I think the little princess is just surprised to learn that you like cocks.”

Penumbra squeaked as her entire body turned a deep shade of red. Her wings involuntarily sprung outward so hard that it hurt. “I- -no- -I never- -it is only- -I am NOT SURPRISED!”

“Aye,” said Zither, nonchalantly dipping one of his claws into his salt and licking the white powder off. “Although the hens of course have many noble attributes, there is nothing in this world like a big, strong griffon cock.”

Holder shoved his face into his soup so that his laughter was reduced to little more than foul-scented bubbles.

“What?” Zither seemed somewhat offended. “Holder, you knew I like cocks, why is this...” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You are making fun of me, aren’t you?”

Holder pulled his face out of his soup, still laughing. Penumbra barely managed to press herself against the counter in time to avoid an even more extreme haircut from Zither’s blade. Though fast, Holder dodged it with disturbing fluidity.

“COCKS!” he cried. “And you call that a ‘long story’? It was barely a paragraph! Why, the very least you could do is set it to rhyme- -EEP!”

Penumbra suddenly pushed him from his chair and onto the floor.

“How could you make fun of him like that?!” she demanded. “That was a serious, heartfelt story about losing somepony he cared about! And you made a joke out of it? What’s wrong with you?!”

Holder picked himself up and stared at Penumbra with a disturbingly hardened expression. As if the guise of levity had been stripped from him entirely.

“So you’re going to be mean to me to. Figures.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. Actually I did. I apologize for lying. But you deserved it!” She swiveled to Zither, and actually found herself sniffling.

“Princess,” he said. “Are you crying?”

“No,” she lied. “It’s just that- -that your story makes me hurt. Inside. I don’t know why, but, I know if I lost somepony like that...” She sniffled again. “It’s just...just...”

“Sad,” said Zither, softly. “What you feel now is sadness. And I apologize for making you feel that way. But there is no reason for it. Gallen was lost because of my own failure. The fault lies on me, and I must bear it. There is no reason for you to cry.”

“I’m not crying. And...that doesn’t make it feel any better. You’re in so much pain...I just wish there was something I could do.” She lay her head on the table. “You, Scarlet Mist, Gxurab, you’re all in so much pain. And I don’t know how to help you.”

Holder picked himself up and set himself back on the stool. “Maybe you’re not supposed to,” he suggested. He sighed. “Zither, she’s right. I’m sorry. It’s just...your story made me sad too. And uncomfortable. I was trying to lighten the mood, but I guess my timing was bad.”

“Indeed. The joke was good, but the timing astoundingly poor. You are lucky to keep your head.” Zither’s eyes slowly turned. “But I do appreciate the gesture, I suppose. You simply do not understand. You have never had anyone to lose.”

“No,” said Holder, looking down at the table. “No one at all.”

“You have Boulder,” said Penumbra, looking up even though her chin was still on the bar. “I know it’s not the same, but imagine if somepony hurt him.”

Holder paused, clearly thinking. “You know...you’re pretty smart for a teenager.”

“I’m less than six months old.”

Holder paused, and then moved one barstool over. “Of course you are.”

“It’s my own fault,” said Zither, turning on his stool. The vedmaki griffons were now playing some sort of card game with the smaller mercenaries, and had in the process lost most of the bits they had haggled over before. “This is a time of celebration. We have liberated YakYakistan, and ended the threat of our nearest foul neighbor. This is meant to be a time of celebration.”

“But how can you celebrate when you’re so sad? I can hardly get up, and I only HEARD your story.”

Zither’s smile fell, but then was quickly back- -though weaker, and more distant. “You learn to live. If, someday, you learn to love? Then you might come to understand it too.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, barking at the bartender. “YOU! Bring me more cider!” He threw more pillaged bits on the table. “And spiced catnip tea for my griffons.”

“Tea?” Penumbra sat up. “Where?”

“It’s on its way,” said the bartender. “But first...” He placed a small, plain dish in front of Penumbra. At first she thought it was salt, but then saw that it was something else. A thing that was completely foreign to her.

“A cupcake for the princess,” he said. “A gift from our cook.”

“I know what a cup is. This is not a cup.”

“No,” laughed Holder. “It’s a cake. A little one.”

“What is this cake of which you speak?”

“It’s the reason why Celestia is so obese.”

“Aye,” said Zither, nodding solely. “She is indeed a hefty lass.”

“Are you making fun of ME now?” Penumbra looked up at Holder, and he recoiled.

“NO! It’s food! You know, like something you eat?”

“I don’t eat.”

“You don’t...how? Is that why you’re so thin?”

“I have only ever had growth potion and tea. Also whatever this is.” Penumbra took a sip of her cider and nearly retched. “Which is AMAZINGLY terrible!”

“You’ve never had solid food?”

“No.”

Holder deflated somewhat. “Well, now I’m sad.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just try it.” Holder pushed the cupcake closer to Penumbra. “These things are INCREDIBLY valuable. This is probably the only cupcake in the whole kingdom right now. Zither has pillaged entire CITIES for even a few grams of sugar. So you might as well enjoy it.”

“How?”

“I’m not going to teach you how to eat.”

“Holder,” said Zither. “You ought not feed the princess. Her dietary restrictions are very specific- -”

Penumbra stretched out her long alicorn tongue and poked the frosting of the cupcake with it. It was as close to eating as she could come.

Then she tasted it. It did not taste like a potion, or like tea. Penumbra’s eyes widened, and her whole body seemed to cease. Her brain shut down piece by piece, simply to save itself from the sensory overload. It was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted; in fact, most likely the most amazing thing possible. It superseded all things in life, excelling past any happiness she had ever known. It was perfection, and Penumbra felt herself melting away into nothing in its very presence.

She opened her eyes, confused as to why she was naked, why her face hurt, and why she was lying outside under the bright moon- -and in a crystal thornbush.

“Princess!” called Holder, seeming exceedingly distant. “Princess, where are you?!”

“Ugh,” groaned Penumbra, trying to sit up and failing badly. “Where am I indeed...”

Holder rounded a corner and laughed upon seeing the princess in a shrub. “There you are! How did you get all the way over here?”

Zither appeared behind him, looking exceedingly pale.

“Thank the Hammer,” he sighed, “the king is going to have my head for allowing this, if we had lost you- -”

“We didn’t lose her, she’s right here.” Holder grabbed one of Penumbra’s hooves and began to pull. Being in a thorn bush, this did not amount to much apart from pain.

“Why am I outside?” asked Penumbra, her head aching badly. “Also naked. And in a thorn bush. Stop pulling, it’s clearly not working!”

Zither ran to her side and levitated her out of the bush with her magic. Several branches were clinging to various parts of her body, and the act of being turned over made the whole world swim. Unaccustomed nausea nearly overwhelmed Penumbra, and when she was set down she dropped to her knees.

“Princess!”

“I’m fine. Just...ugh. Why do I feel like I ate a stoat? And my head...”

“Well, you did get punched in the face. Repeatedly.”

Penumbra looked up in shock, nearly passing out in the process. “What? By whom?”

“Griffons, mostly. But oh mane, it was simply EPIC! I have never seen a pony party so hardy in all my LIFE!”

“But I didn’t party. I just licked a cupcake.”

“No. You ate half of it,” said Zither, frowning. “Which was perhaps the gravest mistake of my career, allowing you to have that much sugar.”

Penumbra was beginning to understand. “What did I do?”

Zither blushed. “Well, you see...”

“You stripped off all your clothes and started dancing on a table,” said Holder. “You called it your ‘princess dance’.”

“What?” Penumbra stood up suddenly, wobbling substantially. “I would never- -!”

“He is not incorrect,” sighed Zither. “You did. There was a substantial amount of...er…gyration.”

“He means you were shaking your rump. Hard.”

Penumbra felt herself darkening several shades of red. “I see. Was I any good?”

“Excellent, really,” said Holder. Zither glared at him, and he quickly changed his tone. “Then a griffon grabbed your rump.”

“Oh.” Penumbra actually found herself somewhat liking that thought. “Did I enjoy it?”

“Apparently not, because you punched him so hard his teeth came out.”

“Griffons do not have teeth,” said Zither.

“You would know. So you knocked teeth INTO him! Then his friends all started beating you, and you handed their rumps back to them. Then the vedmaki joined in, and everypony else- -it was the biggest brawl I’ve ever SEEN! From under a table, of course. After all, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Penumbra groaned and leaned backward, inadvertently falling into the thorn bush again.

“That’s the last time I EVER eat solid food,” she moaned. Zither picked her back up and put her on her legs. He was carrying her armor, or what he could find of it, and put her cloak around her.

“As impressive as your skills at punching griffons are,” he said, tying the cloak around her naked pony body tightly, “this behavior is not really appropriate for a dainty young maiden.”

“Assuming she IS a maiden.”

Zither glared at Holder, but Penumbra just wobbled.

“Ugh. My stomach. Is this what eating solid food is like? You do this EVERY day?”

“Just wait about three hours.”

Penumbra’s eyes widened. “What happens in three hours?”

“It gets worse. MUCH worse.”

“How can this possibly get any worse?!”

“We ought to take the princess back to the castle,” said Zither. “This has been a long night for her.”

“You do that. I’m going back to the bar. Spilled salt is bad luck, though. So I’m going to lick it off the floor. Don’t judge me, my life is terrible.”

He began walking, but Zither picked him up off the ground with his magic.

“EEK!” Holder began to run, though being suspended in the air he went nowhere. “No fair! Magic is cheating!”

“We will BOTH be returning the princess to the Citadel. As quietly as possible. To avoid any greater scandal.”

“You mean so the king doesn’t find out.”

“I mean so that the girl’s reputation can be protected!”

“Oh please,” grumbled Penumbra, beginning to wobble her way toward the Citadel- -or where she imagined it probably was. “Like I have any reputation of my own anyway. I’m just a monster to be feared. Who cares?”

Zither and Holder looked at each other, only one of them understanding what she meant. Zither set Holder on the ground, and they both followed the princess.

The city had somehow grown even darker, although the moon had risen high into the sky. It was crescent and strange, appearing to ripple through the energy dissipation of the kingdom-wide force shield, and Penumbra had the strangest feeling that it was watching her. In fact, she knew it was. Though she had managed to escape one prison, she was still within the Crystal Empire, beneath that shield. Nightmare Moon was just beyond, watching her. Waiting for her to leave to claim her as her own.

The pain in her stomach had grown more intense and moved lower, and the pain in her head had increased substantially. Overall, though, Penumbra had grown less wobbly and her mind had started to clear. She was not sure if that was normal, or a part of her dark unicorn heritage letting her regenerate rapidly. Either way, she had already made a fool of herself and felt a strong need to prove herself sturdy and durable in the eyes of her father’s associates.

“Your homelands,” she said. “Are they as beautiful as our Crystal Empire?”

Zither looked up at the gleaming, cold crystal towers and buildings. “The Order I was born into has no homeland,” he said, “through in my youth, I spent a great deal of time in Griffonstone, when it was still a neutral kingdom.”

“Emeth showed me a picture of it, but from over eight thousand years ago. What does it look like now?”

“A beautiful city, built in the branches of an enormous tree high in a mountain. A fabulous place of wealth, tradition, and nobility. There are few more beautiful sights, though the Empire may indeed surpass it.”

“And you?”

Holder looked up from staring at the crystal of the ground. “I’m from the Badlands. In a gulch. It doesn’t have a name.”

“Your kind live in a gulch?”

“How appropriate,” muttered Zither.

“I don’t think so. Nopony lives in the gulch. Nopony is out there four thousands of miles. I was raised by rocks.”

“By...rocks?”

“It suddenly makes so much more sense,” said Zither, rolling his eyes.

“Yes. By Boulder’s family. Boulder is sort of my brother, I guess.”

“But you eat rocks.”

Holder laughed. “You really ARE six months old, aren’t you? Come on, the difference is obvious! It’s like how we can eat fish, but not cows.”

“We can eat fish? What are fish?”

“Fish are...you know...like rocks, but in water.”

Penumbra’s headache was only increasing. “I don’t know why everypony hates you, but when you talk, it causes me physical pain. Please try to be quiet.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Holder fell several steps back.

“Princess, if you need to rest- -”

“I have spent my entire life resting, Lord Heartsrtings. And I have grown VERY tired of it.”

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Things make slightly more sense now indeed. Perhaps it is adventure our little princess seeks?”

Penumbra stopped walking.

“I see,” said Zither. He stopped as well, stroking his chin. “Indeed, my kind have been bred for thousands of years to embark on epic quests of every kind. So I understand the yearning for it. Though you may yet be still too young...perhaps I could convince the vedmaki of Care Morgan- -”

“Something is wrong,” said Penumbra, looking up at the tops of the buildings. “Do you smell that?”

Zither and Holder both looked at each other, and sniffed the air.

“I smell over forty-seven species of crystal,” said Holder. “What are YOU smelling?”

“Mint.”

“Aye,” said Zither, slowly. “I create that smell naturally. All of my kind do.”

“Yes, I know, you smell super good and Holder smells like he crawled out from under a rock.”

“I did,” admitted Holder.

“But this isn’t YOUR smell. It’s a different minty smell.” Something suddenly caught her eye. Not motion, exactly, but the impression of it, high on top of a distant tower. “THERE!” she cried. “Did you see that?”

“You’re paranoid,” laughed Holder. “Sugar will do that, you know.”

“No,” said Zither, reaching for his sword. “Can’t you sense it? Something isn’t right. I didn’t notice it at first, but now...”

“Eternity,” said Penumbra. “Eternity!”

“Huh who what when Applejack how why?” said Eternity, speaking directly in Penumbra’s mind. “Why are you saying my name? Assuming it’s still my name. Lacy was just about to get out of the bathtub! Why did you bother me?!” She paused. “You’re not in the castle.”

“I know, Eternity, I need- -”

“To rub it in my face that YOU can walk around and pick up stallions while I CAN’T?! Why are you naked?! Is it because I don’t have a narrow filly rump?! I can’t help it, they took my body, I can’t move oh Epona I can’t MOVE- -”

“ETERNITY,” growled Penumbra. “Focus. Now. There’s a problem. Something is here.”

“An ugly little girl, a half-robot geld-knight, and- -wait, are you near HOLDER? Get away from him, you little idiot! There’s a reason we keep him out THERE, it isn’t safe- -”

Penumbra’s training suddenly activated. The relentless programming caused her to move, as if on instinct, her horn igniting with a spell that covered her body in a limited version of magical armor. With two steps- -agonizing steps, considering how full she was- -she threw herself against Zither, barely getting to him in time. Two knives stuck in her armor; they had been thrown at his neck.

“PRINCESS!”

“Twenty-seven degrees, eighty-four vertical!” she cried, pulling the knives out of her armor. A few weeks earlier, and the spell would have shattered on contact; even now, it had absorbed too much energy to be of much more use and only managed to stop the blades just as they began to poke her skin.

Again her training kicked in. Scarlet Mist had drilled it into her long enough to never expect an attack to be so straightforward. She remodulated her shield and felt it shatter as the spells carved into the knives activated and they detonated.

Penumbra was thrown backward, and Zither covered her, deflecting another knife with his sword. Holder, meanwhile, screamed and ran, hiding under a bush.

“Don’t hurt me!” he wailed, “I’m soft and adorable and TOO YOUNG TO DIE!”

Zither pointed his horn toward where he imagined the attacks were coming from and fired several devastating bolts of magic into one of the buildings, tearing through its top story. Penumbra, still reeling from the blast, distantly saw something gracefully bound out of the way- -and land on the ground below.

It was a pony, or at least Penumbra thought it was. His or her body was obscured by something, a sort of partial invisibility. Penumbra saw the distortion of a shape moving toward her, like a ghost tearing through the air.

“Assassin!” cried Zither. “How dare you attack our princess?!” He shifted positions, moving his sword into an offensive stance.

There was a flash of amber magic, and suddenly two swords appeared at the attacker’s sides. Two swords made of strange, mottled red steel.

Zither lunged forward, his sword held in his magic. The partially invisible pony did so as well, striking hard with both swords. Zither parried the first one and pivoted, narrowly avoiding the second one. He sent a blow toward the target’s chest, but it was deflected by a spell; he in turn fired a powerful spell directly into the target’s side. She in turn deflected it with one of her swords, absorbing the force and flipping several times.

Penumbra stood, suddenly once again wobbly. The explosion had left her intact, but hurt her insides. Without her armor, she was far more vulnerable- -but Scarlet Mist had trained her for that, too. The armor protected her, but it also made her slow.

Zither continued his attack, moving with precision and dealing heavy blow after heavy blow. Penumbra froze, in awe of the beauty of it. She knew she could never have Zither, but knowing that and seeing him fighting to protect her like this made her want him more than anything.

A blow crossed Zither’s shoulder, cracking through part of his shield. He growled and jumped back, surprised; his opponent did not give him a chance to regroup. She struck again and again, driving him back. She was smaller and faster than him, and with whatever spell she was using to stay partially invisible, Zither was not able to strike a critical blow.

“Lord Heartstrings!”

Zither laughed suddenly. “My apologies, my princess! I did not mean to allow this foul brute to frighten you!” he barely managed to parry a blow, and another one struck a glancing blow off one of his arms. “So allow me to finish this fight quickly, if you will!”

He released his sword from his magic, allowing it to fall into one of his claws. Then he reared on his hind legs and changed his stance- -before bringing down a whirling barrage of blows on his opponent.

Penumbra recognized his motion: the broad sweeping cuts, the almost dance-like whirl of his blade and impossible acrobatic motion- -it was the same style of fighting that the vedmak griffons used.

His opponent was overwhelmed. She could not adequately defend against the powerful blows, and with his magic freed from holding his sword Zither was free to attack parallel with a steady stream of powerful spells. The tide of the fight had turned, and the invisible mare was driven back. Then, with a powerful blow, her swords were knocked out of her magic- -and Zither’s blade slashed across her face.

The invisibility immediately failed, revealing the pony underneath- -and the black and silver power-armor she was wearing.

Zither’s blade had cut through most of her helmet, and she retracted it, allowing it to automatically unfold. To Penumbra’s amazement, she saw that the mare beneath the armor was almost perfectly identical to Zither, though female. Her eyes were the same shape and color, and her coat was the same light teal. Her mane, likewise, was pale-white green- -save for a streak of pink running through it.

“An unparalleled insult. That one of US would dare to hurt the girl I have sworn to protect!”

The teal mare charged forward, raising her sword. Zither parried it, striking it out of the way and preparing to fire a spell into the mare’s face to conclude the fight. While doing so, though, he left himself open; she brought her hoof to his chest.

Penumbra heard a mechanical click, and the sickening shriek of metal sliding against metal. Zither’s eyes went wide and he jumped back, his chest pouring fluorescent green fluid. A red-steel blade had emerged from the center of the armored mare’s hoof, and it was covered in the same liquid.

“Lord Heartstrings!” Penumbra raced to his side, catching him as he fell. He was holding one of his claws over the wound, but the substance was still pouring out of him.

“Primary coolant,” he gasped. “My reactor’s been damaged- -”

“Hold on! Just hold on! ETERNITY!”

“I can’t see it, I can’t see it!” cried Eternity. “Hold on, I’m sending a contingent of thralls! Golems! STOATS if I have to, just hold on!”

Zither tried to stand and grasp his sword. As he did, though, one of his limbs went limp and he toppled to the ground. He was not able to stand again; his mechanical portions were rapidly losing power as their machine-blood flowed out onto the ground. “I will not let you hurt her, you dirty horse,” he growled, picking up his sword with one shaking claw. “If it takes everything I have- -”

“I have no interest in the abomination, brother,” said the mare. Her accent matched Zither’s perfectly. “Though I cannot conceive why you would be so protective of a beast so foul. You, who insisted on betraying us in the name of obsolete tradition.” She picked up her second sword and pointed it at Zither. “I have come for YOU. The Grandmaster has ordered it, for the Order’s own sake. Please submit, brother. For once in your life, have some honor.”

“Buck you,” spat Zither. “And buck your filthy mother.”

“I have no mother, nor father. Only the Order.” She raised her sword.

Before she could bring it down on Zither’s neck, Penumbra leapt onto her, forcing her back.

“Princess, no!”

Penumbra did not listen. She was to busy completing the task she had been trained relentlessly to perform. The mare was larger and stockier than her, and the machines in her armor made her far stronger, but like with Penumbra’s own armor that just meant she was slow and lacked dexterity. Penumbra, fully nude, was able to quickly swing around the mare’s neck, grabbing her on one side and forcing her off balance. A kick to one of her rear knees did little damage through the armor, but still set her falling.

Yet a blade came whizzing past Penumbra’s head, taking off the tip of one of her ears and narrowly missing her horn. From the position of the mare, Penumbra guessed where the second blade probably was and ducked, bending herself over backward in a way that no normal pony would be flexible enough to accomplish. She proved correct, and she felt the hot steel pass harmlessly across the very tip of her nose. She was fully aware that her legs had been in that position moments before.

Penumbra summoned all of her mental strength and fired an energy spell straight into the mare’s chest. She was pushed back- -but only by a few inches. Penumbra had not expected this. She knew how to use her magic now- -and yet it had barely even scratched her armor.

The blade came down again, this time parting Penumbra’s already short tail. She flipped again, kicking the mare in the face and in the horn, preventing her from summoning a spell. This forced her to the side, but Penumbra was slow and full of cupcake. She was punched square in the ribs, and felt several things crackle within her on contact with the metal hoof.

“Filthy alicorn scum! I would have let you walk away, but not now!”

The mare charged her horn, and Penumbra charged hers. The spells met in midair, and Penumbra was sure that with her alicorn magic she would easily be able to win, just as she had with Luciferian- -yet her beam was quickly overwhelmed, and her blue magic consumed in orange.

She cried out as she was knocked back, and despite being blinded with pain in her horn she still managed to regain footing and attack again, this time aiming once again for the mare’s head- -only to receive a power-armored hoof to the face, and then to feel a sword glance along the surface of her horn. She barely managed to parry in time, lest the organ be lost entirely.

Zither stood up, or tried to. Holder, meanwhile, had left his shrub and was attempting to escape. With his last ounce of strength, Zither intercepted him, blocking his path.

“Zither! Please, I have to get out of here!”

“NO! Look there!” Zither pointed, and Holder looked; though bruised and injured, the princess was still fighting- -and losing badly. “She doesn’t stand a chance, not against a knight like that!”

“But I can’t fight, you know that!”

Zither grabbed Holder by his lapels; the expenditure of coolant caused his rear legs to fail, and he dropped to his knees. “I can’t stand! Without my armor- -I have less than a minute before my reactor goes into emergency power! You have to save her!”

Holder shook his head, already starting to cry. “No, no, please don’t make me do it. I can’t, Zither, I just can’t- -”

The princess cried out as she was struck hard in the side, causing her to slide across the street and hit the side of a building hard. She tried to stand, but was too badly hurt to get her full balance. The mare-knight quickly approached her, preparing to dispatch her secondary target quickly and with a single thrust. Holder saw this, and burst into tears- -yet his hoof moved to the ring of the sword he kept on his back at all times. A sword that had not left his side for over seven hundred years.

“I’m sorry,” he wept. “I’m so sorry.”

The mare-knight assessed the situation, with one of her artificial corneas scanning the situation. The heretic-knight was hemorrhaging coolant; the blow had not struck precisely enough to end him, but he would be incapacitated soon enough. First, though, she had to deal with the abomination.

She prepared her sword and approached the girl. “You have fought bravely, abomination. I believe that warrants a quick end.”

The abomination attempted to raise a shield. It was weak. Her body was mutated severely by force-growth; it was apparent that this was still an embryonic alicorn, one that had not yet developed the power of the Cursed Twins. It was better for the world if it was put down immediately before it could rain destruction across the planet, as the other two had for countless millennia.

“Buck your grandmaster,” growled the girl, spitting teeth and black fluid. “And hail the Witchking.”

The knight-mare sighed, and brought the point of the blade down toward the alicorn’s heart.

Yet, as she did, her blade was cleaved in twain, its sacred and unbreakable Questlord steel cut as though it were simple paper. Her second, likewise, fell to pieces.

She stood back, turning- -and found herself staring into a pair of hideous red eyes.

Fear overcame here. Not just fear, but instinct, drawn not just from her training but from the endless evolution of her species, and of all species. Within those blood-red eyes, she felt pure and unmitigated evil, something profound and unfathomable. An evil that was not a pony, and never had been.

On instinct alone, she leapt back, putting her armored forelegs in front of her and drawing the blades on both. She barely saw the earth pony move, and only the slightest glimmer of his black blade as it passed through her- -and her legs fell away, severed at the shoulder while she received a kick to the chest. The limbs fell to the ground bloodlessly, still writing as the machines within them reacted to no longer having a nervous signal. It was not the first time the mare had lost her legs, but the first time it had not been under anesthesia. She was surprised at how little pain there was., and how much worse it was to look down and see them missing.

She fell to the ground, hearing something else click to the ground to her side. She did not care; instead, she focused on dragging herself into a nearby alley. To retreat, to get away.

Yet with only her rear legs, there was not very far she could go. She collapsed into the cold of the snowy and dark alley and looked behind her. When she did, she beheld a terrible sight.

It was standing there. Watching, from its red eyes. A pony, or the shell of one: a body of the palest, finest gray with a long, perfectly straight mane the color of snow. In his teeth was a sword- -except that it was unlike any sword that the Questlord mare had ever seen, or ever would again.

The blade was not metal, but a single piece of obsidian set in an ornate silver handle- -and it was unimaginably horrible. Staring into the black of the obsidian blade, she felt it staring back at her, and felt her mind dissolving into panic.

The earth-pony giggled as he slowly dragged himself forward- -or was dragged forward, by some unseen force. “So pretty,” he said, softly, still giggling. “Such a pretty unicorn...she likes you. She likes you SO MUCH.”

The mare turned herself over, finding her back literally against a wall. There was nowhere to escape too; she was trapped. So she summoned a shield spell- -although all that came were a few sparkles of orange light.

She no longer had hooves to feel her head, but she instantly knew. That click she had heard before had been the sound of her horn landing on the sidewalk. It had been severed, and the use of magic was now forever beyond her reach.

“Silver, pretty silver,” giggled the stallion, his voice rising ridiculously high. “She’s just SOOOOO hungry!” He stopped moving and held perfectly still. Unnaturally still. Only the obsidian blade seemed to be moving, writing and laughing within itself. “Your name is now BRUNCH!”

He lunged forward, moving with unnatural grace and fluidity, The mare closed her eyes, hating herself for doing so. That she would not be able to face her own end, as she knew someday she must- -but the thought of seeing that black blade even one more time was simply too much for her.

Then, suddenly, she felt magic surrounding her. She looked up to see the hideous face of the earth-pony, his mouth open in a horrid scream and his red eyes glaring at her- -and the point of the ghastly sword only a foot from her throat.

“HOLDER!” cried the princess, appearing at the end of the alley, her horn lit with the magic that was now holding both of them in place. “She’s done! It’s over!”

Holder slowly turned his head to Penumbra, and she saw that what she had initially taken for a grimace of malice and hatred indeed was- -but not one directed at the helpless mare now before his blade.

“I- -I can’t stop her!” he wept, red tears falling from his eyes. “Please, princess, just let her feed! She doesn’t want your black blood, not yet, but I can’t control her! Get away from me! PLEASE!

“NO.’ Penumbra dug in her heels and pulled back, although she found she could not even move Holder in the slightest. “I refuse to allow this! STAND DOWN! That is a princess order! My word is LAW!”

Holder laughed in her face- -although it was not quite him laughing. It was his voice, and his mouth making the sound, but beneath the sickening joy he sounded as though he were about to scream.

“You can’t stop her,” he hissed, turning back to the knight. “The cute little mare belongs to HER!” He giggled wildly. “So much silver, pretty pretty SILVER! She has to feed, feed feed feed FEED FEED!”

He took a step forward. Penumbra cried out as she was dragged along behind him. “NO!” She looked over her shoulder. “Lord Heartstrings! I need help!”

He looked up. Though his mechanical portions were only barely functional, his organic ones were alert and quite well. Despite this, he just shook his head. “Once the Black Blade is drawn, no pony nor force of nature can stop him. Not until it devours their lifeblood, and their very soul. I am sorry, princess. There is nothing you can do. Just let it happen.”

“Can’t you see how much pain he’s in?! You call yourself a knight? You’re just giving up! Get over here and HELP! That’s a princess order!”

Zither frowned. Her words cut deeply, and he came to understand the situation- -and that the girl who had defeated the dark wizard Twilight Luciferian as well as removed the Mask of Red Death how now challenged Holder Hearfelt, the unstoppable destroyer, and the Black Blade. Though immensely proud, Zither ultimately found this astoundingly humiliating. That she had the courage to protect pony- -a knight of his own Order- -while he was content to lay back and allow evil to be committed.

“For your honor, my princess!” Zither dragged himself forward with his one barely functional arm and grasped onto the princess. Then, summoning all his might, reached out with his own magic and grasped several nearby buildings. By this time, the crystal ponies in these houses had started to awaken; they cried out in terror and retreated as Zitehr began pulling on their dwellings to brace the princess.

Holder took another step forward. One of the buildings Zither was holding onto began to list from the force.

“No you don’t!” Penumbra tried her best to pull him back, although Zither’s force was starting to crush her. She began to beat her wings wildly, attempting to draw him away. He moved back- -but only by a hair’s with. “By Sombra, how strong is he?!”

“He’s a rock-cultist earth-pony! Of course he’s strong!” Holder moved forward, and several of Zither’s connections snapped, tearing several crystal buildings were torn apart. “The fact that he’s holding an ancient Chaos Blade is not helping, though!”

“We just need to hold him until the thralls get here!”

“I don’t think we can!” Zither attempted to get his grip, but his arm was failing.

“She will feast on them as well,” muttered Holder. “But you first, pretty unicorn! She eats YOU first!”

“We can’t hold this!” cried Zither, his grip tightening. “Princess, you’ll tear yourself apart! At least release the mare!”

“I can’t! They’re both caught in the spell, if I let her go, I release him too! I don’t know how to do only one!” she felt herself being dragged. “HOLDER!” she cried. “You have to listen to me! Fight it! Know you don’t want to hurt her, you only did it to save ME! I’m sorry! But you have to stop! You’re not that kind of pony!”

Holder giggled madly, and only then did Penumbra realize that it had been weeping all along. He turned his head, and she saw that he was crying red tears. His eyes were hideous, but deep beneath all the red, they were his own. “I don’t want to! Please! PLEASE! Princess, Zither, Boulder, SOMEPONY stop me! I can’t- -I can’t control her, I can’t stop her- -there’s nothing I can do!” He had begun to weep horribly. It was a pitiful sight indeed. “Please stop me, PLEASE! I can’t take another, I can’t go through it again! But sweet Celestia, the VOICES- -I can’t stop the VOICES! She’s hungry, so very hungry!”

He took another step forward, as it pulled along by his sword’s bloodlust. It was now centimeters from the mare’s throat, and being trapped in the spell as well she was unable to do anything other than to stare at it in horror. Penumbra saw the fear in her eyes, and she hated it. She hated how afraid and helpless the mare was, and how frightened and desperate Holder had become. How terrified his eyes looked, as if they had seen this so many hundreds of times before but were unable to grow cold and distant.

Except that this emotion was not hatred. It had a name that Penumbra did not know, that perhaps even Sombra did not know either- -and from this emotion, her spell began to change. She could feel it reconfiguring, becoming more and more complex as it wound between the two ponies. Each of them, she realized, contained something within themselves, something that was remarkably similar between the two. The spell touched these pieces of them, and began to draw them outward and toward one another.

“Princess, I can’t hold on! I’m sorry!”

Zither collapsed, his magic failing, and Penumbra was left holding Holder all alone. He grinned- -or grimaced- -but Penumbra hardly noticed. The spell felt right and just, and more pure than any she had ever performed. As it changed, it began to complete itself, forming a thing beyond any of the spell formats she had ever seen in any book or been told that even exist.

And from this spell, she felt a change. The parts of the ponies that separated them combined, creating one thing out of what had once been two. Holder cried out in agony as if he had been struck, and something black sparked from his hoof as the Black Blade was torn from his grasp. Penumbra’s spell failed as the Blade clattered to the floor, and both she and Holder collapsed to the street.

It was only then that the thralls came around the corner, pouring into the alley. The teal knight had no chance to resist as she was struck in the neck by several electric stun rods, and as she screamed and fell the thralls began to administer a relentless beating. Others kicked Holder’s sword away and immediately wrapped him in chains and shackles, even though he was still unconscious.

“Stop that!” wheezed Penumbra. “Don’t hurt them! That’s- -that’s a princess order!”

That was the last thing she said before she collapsed and felt herself being dragged away.

Comments

[alamais]

Wait, wait, wait, so 'Holder', as in Holder's Boulder...yeah, clearly now. WTF tho.

[Brony4Lyfe]

Zither is gay.. I should've guessed this from the start tbh