The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 32: Usurper

Penumbra pushed through the halls, forcing her way past slaves that were moving far too slow for her taste. Scarlet Mist stood beside her; she had apparently been assigned to check on the princess’s health, but had as always shown little compassion or care. In fact, she had kept her distance, staying largely silent and watching things unfold.

As she moved, Sombra came into view, traveling down a barely lit hall that was populated by no other ponies save for the steward, who looked as cold and severe as ever.

“My king,” she said, hurriedly bowing. Sombra stopped and slowly turned to her.

“Alicorn,” he growled. “You indeed have courage to face me at a time like this.”

“I am obligated to make my report,” she said.

Sombra glared at her, and then at Scarlet Mist. “I did not expect her to be awake so soon.”

“There is no damage,” said Scarlet Mist. “Feedback tracks, but not deep ones. They’re healing.”

“And the spell she used?”

Scarlet Mist shook her head. “From the traces my thralls gathered, I have no idea. It’s unlike anything I have ever seen before. It may be specific to her and her alone.”

“You are lucky she is undamaged.” Sombra looked down at Penumbra, who looked right back up at him, not even averting her gaze in the slightest. “I have been informed that you left the castle without my permission.”

“Yes. I escaped through the ventilation system, followed by the sewers. I went to the city to see what was there, and eventually came to the inn where I met Holder Heartfelt and Lord Heartstrings.”

“So you were assisted,” said the steward. “This places the loyalty of those two in question.”

“Hardly,” snapped Penumbra. “I did not need their help. I did it on my own, of my own volition.”

“And what of the news I have heard of you stripping nude and dancing on tables?”

Penumbra blushed but did not look away. “Yes. That also happened.”

Sombra continued to glare and was silent for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke. “I appreciate your honesty, though you have disgraced yourself, and by extension me. This behavior cannot be tolerated, and there will be consequences. But for now I have more important things to do than tending to you.” Sombra began walking again, and the steward followed. So did Penumbra and Scarlet Mist.

“You mean the prisoner. The prisoner I helped to capture.”

“I wish to see it,” admitted Sombra. “The face of a pony who dared to infiltrate my kingdom and attack my knight, my sword-wielder and my weapon.”

“I wish to accompany you.”

Sombra paused. “Why?”

Penumbra paused. She was not actually sure why.

“This is the first enemy she has defeated who has not managed to escape like a coward,” said Scarlet Mist from behind. “At least allow her to see the pitiful look of defeat on its face. Perhaps it will serve to motivate her.”

Sombra seemed to consider for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “So be it. Let her know what is to take joy in the humiliation and despair of her foes. So long as she does not interfere.”

“I have no reason to, my king,” said Penumbra, bowing as she walked. “I only wish to observe, and to learn.”

Sombra nodded, although he was not foolish enough to think that she was telling the truth- -to him, or to herself.

The Citadel was not directly equipped to handle prisoners. It had a dungeon, but Buttonhooks the Mad had begun to inhabit it long ago, converting ponies to his disciples of pain as he saw fit. Otherwise, there really was no need for one. Criminals and dissenters with crimes severe enough to be sent to the Citadel usually did not last long enough to require cells.

The prison was a separate structure, a parallel complex to the Arena, though both often served the same function. That was where the prisoner was held.

By the time Sombra arrived, others had already gathered. The prisoner was held in one of the upper levels in a crystal cell with simple iron bars. Gathered outside were Necrophilo of Canterlot, looking strangely more pale than usual, as well as Holder and the Blue Knight, the latter sustained only by his armor and the former in a corner, shaking; as well as Thirteen, the chronoplexer.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the steward, stepping forward to deal with the situation. She was one of the few present who know that despite his show of strength, Sombra was fading- -and fading fast. “The princess’s report indicated that this pony is a master mage, why is she secured in a standard cell?”

Necrophilo and Zither looked up at her. Zither appeared to have been beaten badly, but had the same spooked expression on his face as Necrophilo.

Penumbra approached the cell. The pony inside still lacked her front legs, and she was sitting- -and staring. Penumbra nearly cried out in shock when she saw the horrible expression on her face. A wide, enormous forced grin covered the prisoner’s face, even as tears fell from her eyes.

“Th...Thirteen,” said Necrophilo, clearing his throat. “She has...she has handled it.”

Sombra turned to his chronoplexer, and his black blood ran cold when he saw what she was holding. He instantly understood the looks of horror on his generals’ faces. Suspended in Thirteen’s hoof, sparking with magical energy, was the prisoner’s severed cutie mark.

He quickly turned to the prisoner, and saw that it was indeed missing- -and in its place was a pair of horizontal, parallel lines. It was the symbol that Thirteen herself wore. Seeing that, he understood that accepting her to his Dark Thirteen had either been his greatest triumph- -or a fatal mistake.

“That spell should not be possible,” he said.

“And yet it is,” said Zither.

Sombra approached the cage. The pony inside looked up at him. Not only did she lack a cutie mark, but her horn had been removed. The mare, otherwise, was in a poor state. Her body showed significant evidence of reengineering, not through mutation but rather by mechanical enhancement. Most of it had been in her front legs, but one eye was also changed, if only partially. Parts of her body also showed evidence of frostbite. Though her armor had no doubt been advanced, it was not designed for hyperborean winters as Zither’s was. The journey had been hard, and yet she had made it.

“A Questlord,” he said. “How unusual. How unimportant.” He turned away from her, and to the steward. “She is nothing of consequence, and nothing I require. Liquidate her. Have her dzeronium salts extracted from the residue.”

The steward bowed. “Yes, my lord. I will see to it at once.” She raised her hoof, and several thralls started to move.

The mare scooted forward, driven by her rear legs. “Brother!” she cried, looking directly at Zither. “My attempt was a failure, but more will come! Of this, I swear!”

“And they will be reduced to salt as well,” said Zither, coldly. “I am no longer one of you. I no longer serve some nebulous false-goal. I serve the sovereign lord of this land, and you have broken his divine law.”

“Don’t be a fool! As long as you live, the Order is in danger!” The thralls were drawing closer, but the mare continued. “Patriarch Dulcimer intends to bring the Grandmaster your head, to leverage your capture to return to the Order! To regain the power he once had! Brother, as long as you live- -”

Zither’s magic flashed, and suddenly the mare was lifted by her neck. Zither struck the bars of her cage with his hoof, bending several of the bars in the process. “Do not mention that filthy necromancer’s name in my presence!” he shrieked. “Let him face me! Let him try! I will not be used as a tool in an ineffectual political GAME! And when I am done with him, there will be nothing LEFT to send back to that withered HUSK you call your master! And I am no longer your brother!” He dropped her, and she landed on the floor, gasping.

Sombra had quietly watched the whole exchange. “Is this something I should be concerned about, Zither?”

“No, my lord.” Zither bowed. “Merely the delusions of a dying order of ineffectual knights. They will be no threat to you, this I swear.”

The thralls opened the door and picked up the knight. She struggled, but was weak and pale without her cutie mark. They began to drag her out. Penumbra did not have the luxury of ignorance as to where they were taking her. Although she had until that day never had solid food and had never been permitted out of the Citadel, she had been educated thoroughly on exactly what “liquidation” meant. In this case, it meant exactly what it sounded like.

“My king,” she said, stepping forward. She could not believe what she was about to do, but did not hesitate- -because in her heart, she knew it was right. “I protest this course of action.”

The entire room grew quiet. Even the thralls stopped.

“Think very carefully on what you say next, princess,” warned Scarlet Mist.

Penumbra nodded, and took another step toward her father, who turned back toward her. His face had none of the mild amusement she had seen when she had spared the Celestia-worshipping heretics. There was only hate and anger.

“This mare has been defeated thoroughly,” continued Penumbra. “She is imprisoned, missing two legs, a cutie mark, and a horn. There is no longer any threat.” She turned to look at the mare. “In addition, this was a matter of external politics. While I cannot claim to understand it completely, it appears to be a dispute with Lord Heartstrings personally. No Imperial law was challenged or broken.”

Sombra’s pupils narrowed into tiny slits. “I do not appreciate ponies questioning my orders,” he growled. “Especially YOU, alicorn. This pony infiltrated my kingdom and attacked my knight.”

“And if she had slain him, she would take his place. As I took Twilight Luciferian’s.”

The room seemed to darken. The air smelled strangely of metal, and Penumbra felt fear creeping into her heart. It was not unlike the sensation that came from standing near Scarlet Mist, but much stronger. Yet she resisted it and stood firm.

“You are NOT one of THEM!” boomed Sombra. “You are just a weapon! A THING!”

“And this THING will not allow an innocent pony to come to harm!” Penumbra stamped her hoof. “NOT IN MY KINGDOM!”

“IT IS NOT YOUR KINGDOM!”

With a roar, Sombra brought down a plume of crimson magic. Penumbra reacted, dodging the blow and the second one that came behind it, hidden in the corona of the first spell. She flipped once, summoning a shield to parry the next blow and closing the gap to where Sombra could not defend. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and she saw her chance. She fired a beam from her horn directly into his chest.

The result was spectacular. Sombra was swallowed in a corona of blue magic and thrown backward. He clattered to the floor and skittered across it.

Sombra grabbed his chest, immediately understanding just how right Al’Hrabnaz had been. Deep within him, he had held out the slimmest of hopes that his condition had been the result of Luciferian’s demon. As the wound grew deeper, though, he understood what he should have long ago: that his daughter’s magic was inherently toxic to him. Contact with it disrupted the fear that held his cellular structure intact. Fate, it seemed, had created the only pony who could potentially defeat him. A perfect usurper.

“My king!” cried the steward, rushing to his side.

Sombra pushed her away and stood on his own. The pain was exquisite, but he was all-too-familiar with pain. He withstood it, knowing that to look weak was to meet his end then and there. He could not allow her to know her ability, or what her magic could do.

“So,” he said. “You would challenge me? Was replacing Luciferian not enough? You would replace me as well?” He charged his horn. “If you wish to challenge me, so be it.”

“It is a challenge I would lose,” said Penumbra, not breaking eye-contact. “How could I fight my own father? I love you. I think I know that now. But if you really are this weak?” Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe Luciferian was RIGHT.”

Sombra moved forward, his anger exceeding his judgment for the first time in countless centuries. As he approached, though, Holder slid between him and the princess.

“Get out of my way, earth-pony,” he growled. “Before I MAKE you.”

Holder grimaced, closing his eyes, and was about to cow- -but then opened his eyes and held firm. “No. No, I won’t run. Not this time. Because the princess is RIGHT! That mare didn’t do anything wrong!”

“She challenged Zither, and nearly ended the princess,” said Necrophilo. “She has done enough.”

“But the princess spared her! Then and there, she stopped me from- -from doing the thing.” He looked up, his blue eyes meeting Sombra’s red. “She saved me! But if you liquidate her- -then I still have that blood on my hooves!”

“As opposed to the ocean you already wade through, Holder. So you too would challenge my orders. Fine. I will liquidate the mare myself!”

His horn flashed red, but Holder’s hoof immediately moved to the ring of his sword. Every pony in the room immediately jumped back; those that could summon shield spells did so, and those that had weapons drew them. Penumbra stood in shock, because she felt that the atmosphere had completely inverted- -and she understood. Why they hated Holder. They feared him, and feared him terribly.

Sombra’s horn dimmed, and he glared at Holder. “You would dare to draw that sword against ME? The sword I forged for you?”

“You did not forge it. You just put the hilt on it, and even then, you couldn’t wield it, could you? It existed a billion trillion years before you, and it will exist just as long AFTER you. The visions...the constant screams of eternal conquest through the multliverse...we are all so very small...”

“There are four of the Dark Thirteen in this room, as well as myself and Penumbra,” said Sombra, suddenly deeply calm. “You could not possibly survive.”

Holder smiled. “And it’s better that way, believe me. I don’t have anything to lose. But you do. She’ll make me fast enough to get four, maybe five hits. And she’s wanted your soul for a long, looooong time. She’s just so hungry...so hungry...” He shook his head hard, trying to clear the visions. “And she tells me things. She never stops. She knows how to do it so you won’t regenerate.” Tightened his grip on the Blade. “You will not hurt her, Sombra. I will let you.”

“Would you, now?”

Holder pulled the sword, but only slightly. Penumbra saw the glint of obsidian from his scabbard, and somehow, she felt it. It was like how the yellow mare beside Luciferian had felt, but different. She had been rot and decay and laughter, but this was only a single living hard angle. An angle that needed to feed, and to feed endlessly.

The change started, but only slightly. Holder’s eyes began to darken, and his mane became straighter and lighter. “I won’t let you,” he growled, not quite in his own voice. “I can’t...”

Sombra stared at him, and then, slowly, a small smile crossed his face. “In the centuries I have known you, Holder, never once have you reached to draw the Black Blade on your own accord. Never once have you shown this level of initiative. So be it. If this mare is so important to you, then she has a value I had previously overlooked.” He signaled to the thralls, and they dropped the mare- -and kicked her several times in the ribs to make sure she would not bolt for the door. “I pass her into your care. Be sure to feed her. Use her as you will.”

Holder continued to stare at Sombra, but did not close the sword. His hoof began to shake; Penumbra saw that he was struggling.

“Holder,” she said, walking up to him.

“Stay back!” ordered Scarlet Mist. “It’s not safe!”

Penumbra put her hoof on Holder’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We won. She’s going to be okay. But not if you attack him now. Please. Put the sword back.”

“So...so hungry...so...” Holder grimaced and growled, and force the sword back into its scabbard. His mane immediately fluffed back up into its normal dark configuration, and he nearly collapsed. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he wheezed. “Oh mane...”

Penumbra felt a pair of eyes on her, and she looked up at her father.

“Nevertheless,” he said. “There will be consequences.”

“And I am prepared to accept them,” replied Penumbra. “As you would be, too, if our positions were reversed.”

Sombra stared at her, then silently turned and left, the steward at his side. The thralls locked the cage with the prisoner in it and returned to their duties. Penumbra suddenly felt exceedingly weak, and her knees wobbled slightly.

“You should have done it,” sighed Scarlet Mist. “Removed him. When you had the chance. You could have had the kingdom.”

“If that is the cost, I don’t want it. Saving one pony is enough.”

Scarlet Mist shrugged. “Then I suppose I trained an idiot.”