The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 8: The Soul Fragment

A light flashed, and the crystal illumination system hummed as it warmed to produce a sharp, cold glow. The room reeked of formaldehyde and phenol, and the thing they were meant to mask. Only one pony stood in the room, roughly in the center.

Two unicorns entered the room, clad in robes of tan and green. One was a red mare, the other a taller tan stallion. With practiced precision, they immediately went to work checking the instruments as their master followed them through the door.

“All systems are functional,” said the red mare. “Functional markers are holding with less than two percent variation.”

“In which systems?” said the tan stallion. “If that deviation is in the recirculators, we risk severe necrosis. Be more specific!”

“That is correct, Student 497,” said Necrophilo of Canterlot. “Student 568, we cannot afford sloppiness in this endeavor.”

“Yes, professor,” she said, bowing. “Recirculate function is nominal, with less than point seven percent variance. The input pressurizers experienced a drop of one point seven percent. I do not foresee this as damaging our material.”

“No, no, of course not.” Necrophilo approached the white unicorn standing in the center of the floor, waiting. The unicorn’s eyes tracked to him. The whites had grown yellow. “In fact, it means that the accumulation process is complete. We are prepared to move onto the next stage.”

The students immediately went about their work, preparing the machinery and apparatuses. Necrophilo watched them, scrutinizing their work with some sense of pride. These two were, so far, his best- -or at least the best who had yet survived. It was why he had chosen them for this task.

Student 497 approached the pony in the center of the floor and began disconnecting the tubes linked to her. The white pony watched with disinterest.

“Be very careful,” warned the professor. “She is more fragile than most, especially right now. We cannot afford to damage her.”

“Yes, professor.”

Necrophilo approached the mare. “Sombra does indeed have good taste, doesn’t he?”

“She is quite beautiful, yes. But much improved by your work, master.”

Necrophilo smiled. It was indeed true. When she had come to him, she had been thin and depleted. Now she stood before them on her own four legs, her eyes constantly tracking movement as she watched the world. Her body was full and pure, save for the thick stitches down her chest. The delicate perfume of formalin arose from her cold flesh. She was a perfect beauty, a work that Necrophilo took the greatest pride in.

“Hope,” he said. The unicorn looked up. Her brain was still intact enough to recognize her own name. “Do you know where you are?”

She opened her mouth. “N...no...”

“By the gods,” whispered Student 568, whose real name was Riser. “I’ve never seen one that can speak.”

“And if you trusted those dusty works in Canterlot, you would be informed that this is impossible. But I assure you. It is quite doable for even a passable necromancer.”

Necrophilo turned to the red mare. “A review. In cases of death during childbirth, what is the most common cause?”

“Hemorrhage resulting from damage to the placenta, or failure of the Fallopian tube during an ectopic pregnancy.”

“And the necropsy results?”

“Indicated no sign of blood loss,” interjected Student 497. “Or an indication of a breech pregnancy. The birth was perfect.”

“So eager. Then what was the cause of death, if you know so much?”

“Indeterminate.”

Necrophilo smiled. “If you are a fool, yes.”

“Professor?”

Necrophilo drifted across the room and gestured to several intricately drawn images of microscope slides. “Examination of the fundamental cell structure of the bone and horn marrow samples suggest cellular decay and a depletion of dzeronium. Her entire body was in a state of cellular decay.”

“As if the magic itself were sucked out of her.” 586 shivered. “Her acquisition records indicate that she was reasonably powerful as well. What could possibly have done this?”

“Several artifacts are capable of this, namely the Black Rainbow, but in this case the cause is purely organic.” Necrophilo gazed into his creation’s eyes. “Proof of an important hypothesis.”

“Being?”

“Precious little is known about alicorn biology. Apart from the new princess, only two have been known to exist. Archaeological evidence suggests they are from an inorganic source. The demise of Hope suggests that a mortal being cannot give birth to an immortal one. Not unless they sacrifice their own life in its place.”

“How poetic.”

“A pointless sacrifice. And a troublesome one. Her body was completely drained of magic. Refilling it has not been easy, as both of you can attest.”

“It would have been longer without the tap to the Heart of Darkness.”

“Indeed. It is the reason why the greatest necromancers become liches. When they are free from their own demise, they have all the time they need for their own work.” Necrophilo turned to start the procedure. The students were good for maintenance, but had nowhere near enough skill to accomplish what truly needed to be done.

“Our progress has been slow. Unfortunately, I was required to construct an artificial soul to power the body.”

“Could we not just transplant one?” asked 586.

“No,” said 497. “There would be a risk of cross-contamination. Mergance of personalities.”

“No necromancer has yet solved that paradox, and while I in time will, I do not intend to attempt something of such risk here.” Necrophilo opened a large assembly and produced a crystal. It was one of the high-grade types derived from the Crystal Mines, the sort that would normally be used to power some sort of gauche war machine. He usually did not have access to these, but had been given carte-blanche by Sombra himself for this task alone. So he had decided to use the best of it- -by using it as the container for his construction.

“This should preserve her,” he said. “Student 497. Connect the system.”

“Yes, professor.”

The student did so, and Necrophilo began the transfer.

The integration went flawlessly. Hope jerked slightly, her revenant mind have trouble reintegrating to a motivator. When it was complete, though, she was still standing and had not, in fact, exploded.

“Excellent.” Necrophilo turned to her. “Do you remember your name?”

“I am...Hope,” she said. “Where...am I?”

“In my laboratory.” Necrophilo chuckled. “My dear, I am afraid you have died.”
“Oh.” Her expression fell. “I’m sorry.”

Necrophile frowned. That was not something they usually said. Of course at this point most revenants just screamed mindlessly. He had rarely produced one of this quality.

“Sorry for what?” He could not control his curiosity.

“That I won’t be there for him. I had hoped...I had hoped to see him one last time.” She looked up. Her eyes were yellow and empty. “Is the child...is she...”

“That is none of your concern.”

“Oh. Of course.” She lowered her head again. “I understand.”

“Excellent. Now we can begin a more detailed analysis. Students, prepare the tools.” Necrophilo turned away from Hope so as to view his students’ work. It had to be perfect. There was not much time.

“I don’t...I don’t like it.”

The revenant had kept talking. Necrophilo paused. The soul she had been given was artificial. She was only supposed to be able to answer simple questions. Any sense of identity was only a shadow.

“Please stay quiet. You do not want to strain your beautiful throat.”

“I don’t like her with him. The white pony. Twilight Luciferian.”

Necrophilo and both students froze. “What did you say? How do you know that?”

“Because I am there. Beside him. I never leave his side. Not until his work is complete.” The corpse began to laugh. It was a hideous sound. Necrophilo had no sense of smell, but both his students recoiled at the overpowering scent of rotting carnations.

Necrophile turned slowly. What was staring back at him was not Hope. He could tell from the blood-red eyes. They had no pupils, and no whites- -yet they saw everything.

“This is not possible,” he whispered. “The soul- -the soul was artificial!”

Hope’s face contorted into a horrible frown. “Do you really think you have even the slightest of capacity on how to create a soul? You could not possibly comprehend it. Necromancy is nothing more than a parlor trick. A joke, when you think about what happens to you after you die.”

“Bite your tongue!” cried 497. “You are conversing with the greatest necromancer ever to live!”

“If I bite it, it might just come off!” The soul within Hope cackled. “And he gave me that tongue for a reason, didn’t he? Oh, this body!” She minced forward. “So perfectly preserved. Sombra’s best is now YOUR best, I suppose.”

“RECEDE.” Necrophile cast a control spell, one meant to control the undead. “Recede and OBEY.”

The spell shattered on whatever soul was now infecting Hope. It was not the one that Necrophile had built; instead, it had been cross-contaminated. By what, he had no idea. Souls could not float free of their bodies for long, and nothing this powerful was present in the Crystal Empire. He would have sensed it.

“Only if I wanted you to,” she said. “But I don’t see a point, do I? You’re wasting my time. Just like Luciferian. The idiot has no idea that he is leading himself to his own doom following that ridiculous prophecy.”

“P- -prophecy? My prophecy?”

“His is different.” She smiled, showing Hope’s formaldehyde-bleached teeth- -as well as a set of bladed black ones growing in behind them. The body was undergoing mutations; to his horror, Necrophilo realized the inhabiting soul was not that of a pony. It had never been a pony. “Do you know what he intends? To marry the little princess and usurp her father. To rule the Empire.”

“He will never succeed! That is absurd! The Empire- -the Empire is MINE!”

“Not yet.” The demon laughed. “Or perhaps you would pursue the same route? Do you like little fillies, necromancer? Perhaps if you made a certain change to her first. I know you like them cold!”

She began laughing. The air became oppressively thick with the smell of flowers.

“586! Cut off her connection to the Heart!”

“She isn’t connected!” cried the mare. “I- -I can’t!”

“Saturation levels are rising!” exclaimed 497. “Her cells can’t hold, she’s undergoing mutations!”

“And what do you think I will become, necromancers? How beautiful will you make me? Do you think you can all take me, or should we put a harness on that adorable red filly?”

“What are the saturation levels?”

“Over six hundred percent!”

Necrophile gaped. “That is not possible, you idiot- -”

“How much over six hundred?” asked the red-eyed pony. Her white fur was already beginning to yellow, and her white main was becoming red. “Six hundred sixty, perhaps? Or a little bit closer to six-seventy?”

Necrophile was pressed back against a shelf of glassware. It spilled, shattering on the floor. Whatever it was he had summoned walked closer. It opened a mouth now filled with far too many black teeth, and a forked tongue lolled out.

“This is not possible. There is no way you could manifest- -not like this!”

“You actually think I’m here? You idiot.” She raised a red eyebrow. “Or...perhaps you don’t even know?”

“I know what I need to. Begone, demon!”

He fired a spell at her- -but it failed to even sputter from his horn.

“You don’t even know what you are! This is hilarious. You will realize it eventually, I suppose. And I will be there to see you fail. And so will Twilight Luciferian, to laugh in your face.”

“BEGONE!”

“Lord Necrophilo?”

Necrophile looked around suddenly, not understanding how he had moved. Hope was still standing in the center of the room, her yellowed eyes staring at him. Her coat was pure white once again.

“What- -what happened?”

“Professor. We are ready to begin the sequence,” said one of the students. “The tools are prepared.”

“I...” Necrophilo looked around. Behind him, the cabinet of glassware stood unupset and intact. Not a single piece had shattered.

“Is something the matter?” asked the revenant. “You look unwell.”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” He checked the instruments. The artificial soul was holding. He wiped his brow. “Just...an anomaly. Meaningless. Let us begin.”

Comments

[Opium4TmassS]

This is getting really good.