Ç̸̦̙̀h̶̦͔̜̓̈́a̷̡̨͋̌́p̶͓̥̦͂̏ṫ̴̡̝̬͛ě̴̥̿r̵̢̘͐̏ ̴̘͇̓2̶̪̰̉̆3̸͈̫̈́2̸͈̮̑̓͜͝9̷̩̲̎͆ ̷̠̊̊-̶͖̝̀̈͊ ̸̬̤̦̋̚̚R̶͙̆̑e̴̖̲̓m̷̡̝͊ĕ̸͔̐͌m̵̡̨͓̒͗b̷̺͎̓͑e̷͈̲̍r̵̬͌
Drifting... The sensation of drifting...
Along waves, along life, along death; it was always a feeling of drifting. There was never anything else; there simply couldn't be. Constant movement along a constant flow. Was there a goal? Was there something to drift towards?
There was a goal; but how long would it take to get there? There hadn't ever been anything besides drifting; and it was one of the few sensations of any note. Little else would make sense here.
The dipping feeling of sinking was the next most immediate thing, if something defining had to be given. Floating: there might be a good way to summarize the two sensations. Downwards and deep. Traveling so far, and so fast; ever shifting lower in some kind of unfeeling current.
Unfeeling? Why couldn't he feel anything?
He...?
He.
A new sensation: selfhood. Where there had been unfocused thoughts floating along sans a stream of consciousness, there was suddenly gravity. A pull towards a center, around a nucleus of identity.
Order and reason. Form to the chaos. He was he, and that was that.
The new thought brought something as unexpected as definition had been: emotion. A warm, glowing feeling spreading across nerves that- only mere timeless moments ago- had been bereft of purpose, or even reality.
So much so fast... What was happening to him? What had brought himself around to centralized form like this? What had brought about the change in environment?
What had brought about an environment to begin with? Why was there sudden location to him and he?
Why was more coming?
More and more and ever more came together faster and faster without any consent or cause. Emotions and feelings and every other sense within every kind of meaning.
It was too much too fast..! Joy, sadness, fear, anger; where was it all coming from?! The concept of a mind where there had previously been loosely connected threads was already near full to bursting with all the... the stuff!
Pain; who had even invented pain anyway?!
Newly grown hooves that were already scratched and stained flew up to grasp at pounding skull surrounded by flesh over fur. A head; with a brain and eyes and a mouth and a nose and-
A pony. He was a pony: with a body, and a mind. With thoughts and emotions and indescribable things that his forming vocabulary could never properly capture in their enormity. Vast, sweeping concepts that hadn't mattered in the deep void filled the empty space of self, and a flood of memories came hot on their hooves.
Tear ducts that had only just formed already burned with overuse, and liquid without sensation ran down and matted over the fur on his cheeks in the non-space he should not have been left floating in. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as agonizing pressure built behind his closed, leaking eyes.
It-It was too much! He... He was remembering...!
There once was a brown unicorn who lived and lied in the rural town of Ponyville; all by his lonesome. Thoroughly committed to spending his life trying to bring his mother back from the dead: he chose to constantly isolate himself from any and everypony.
Please... There had to be a better way..!
He was born in the city of Manehatten, and only moved to Ponyville after his father was murdered. As a foal, he had always been fascinated with the darker concepts of life; which lead to him finally getting his cutie mark in the art of Necromancy. He believed his talent to be illegal and taboo, and sought to hide it from the world. After his mother died, he moved to a small shack on the edge of the cursed Everfree forest; much to the dismay of his only friend: Applejack.
Stop... Please..! It was too much all at once..! Just give him time to acclimate..!
He spent his time doing what he could to study Necromancy, despite his lack of materials for the topic. He had always been studious, but it was hard going. All he owned to his name were two books sent to him by a long-dead wizard, and he could never make much progress.
What..? That... that wasn't something he knew.. She.. She had lied! She wasn't putting him back together right! She was adding details!
One day, at an otherwise normal lunch with Applejack, he overhead a lure by a secret agent. Following the gossip blindly, he ventured into the Everfree as he had so many times before. He eventually found the house of a zebra by the name of Zecora; and, after a confrontation, he flew into a frenzy the likes of which he had never known he was capable of, and-
Stop... No... No! Please, stop it Nightmare! He didn't want to remember!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Light Flow was, in a word, underwhelmed.
As the door to the zebra's dimly lit hut shut firmly behind him, he took a moment to allow his eyes to drift from their cautious focus on Zecora herself. He could feel her steely gaze piercing into him, but it didn't really concern him. She seemed to have been taken in by his half-truths, so any suspicion she chose to display would do nothing but bring blame down on her shoulders.
Withers? Zebras probably used the same terminology, right? They were practically the same species, after all.
Though, maybe he shouldn't assume things like that. Hubris would be a terrible downfall for him at this point, even though he couldn't deny he had it in spades.
What a weird phrase that was: to say something was owned in spades. What did that even mean? He wasn't a big gambling pony, and he and his... mother, had mostly played cards by fake rules.
Drifting into melancholy topics, was he? This was a bad time for it. He needed to play his part well, or the spotlight of suspicion would take a plunge onto him.
The edge of his mouth quirked up in a small grin as the pun registered. Usually he wasn't a big fan of jokes at his expense, but maybe he was feeling just the slightest bit giddy at the moment?
He hadn't ever deceived somepony so... effectively! It was easy to smudge the truth about simple things, like where he had been, why he hadn't been showering, why hadn't he come to a funeral, etcetera.
But this... this was real deception. This was actually outright lying to a stranger's face about real things that could have real consequences. Lying about his background, his intentions, his na-
His self-congratulatory train of thought halted in his tracks as a very concerning roadblock presented itself, and his smile found its tragic end. He had told Zecora his real name.
That was something a fake should never do.
The urge to smack himself in the face flared in his chest, and he did his best to appease it by biting roughly down onto his lip. The muted taste of a drop of blood was comforting in a very macabre way, but it did little to distract him from his mistake.
Maybe he wasn't the best at espionage.
The scenery in front of him shifted back into focus, and his eyes quickly zeroed in on his black and white host. She had apparently grown tired of staring at him, and set upon her task of preparing tea. Thankfully.
While he simultaneously cursed himself for being loose with information and celebrated his small victory in stall tactics, the larger part of him was concerned with discerning what in Tartarus's unholy name this zebra's home was trying to look like.
His hoof made tiny circles on the floor as his face grew into a slight grimace. Home décor had never quite been his forte. It was an obvious fact that would have been quite apparent to any houseguests; that is, if he would ever actually manage to have any.
Applejack didn't count; she would follow him wherever and whenever he went to nag him about anything and everything he never wanted.
His home was- in the barest and most hurtful terms- hideously sparse; which was what he always imagined Rarity would say if she ever managed to breach his inner sanctum. Perish the terrible thought.
He really just had the necessities: a desk, a bookshelf, some kitchen appliances, a bed, and a dresser. Not much more, unless one would count a surplus of books as clutter.
But he didn't, really. Clutter had negative connotations, and implied stuff that could be construed as useless junk. His books were anything but useless.
Although...
Maybe certain 'novels' forced on him by somepony's brother...
Romance was overplayed, and he would never budge from that correct opinion.
For the most part: his collection was all needed in some form or another, and it was all organized according to his whims. There was also the added benefit of his general distaste for messes, which kept things as tidy as said whims cared. He didn't want to admit that books left strewn on the floor freaked him out, but they didn't make him feel good.
A regular mess didn't bother him so much, but books would always hold a special place in his heart. The arbiters of knowledge and wisdom deserved the utmost care and conscience, even if the rest of his cabin were to crumble to pieces around them.
His home was proper, clean, and orderly. Minimalist: the intelligent might say.
Zecora's home, at least on first glance...
He didn't want to be rude... he really shouldn't say anything too bad considering he was a guest here...
But... wow... it was something to witness.
He didn't quite know where to look at any one time there was so much to focus on. The most immediately eye-catching thing would probably be the bottles shaded in every color of the rainbow hanging precariously from the ceiling. Their subtle swaying motions despite the lack of any breeze were strangely captivating; with their miscellaneous fluids sloshing about inside.
His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips, and his mouth gaped imperceptibly open of its own will. He had no idea what was inside any of them, but they were impossibly tantalizing for whatever reason.
Did he just like shiny things? Was he some sort of hoarder? Did he vie endlessly for the unattainable? Was he an idiot?
He swallowed heavily as the moisture in his mouth began to catch on his lips. He forced his mouth shut, and pointedly directed his gaze away from the swinging attractions. Though they were also scattered on the walls and in alcoves and-
Now wasn't the time to become some sort of mindless bird, flying brainlessly towards anything that caught his eye. Intelligence was paramount in any situation, even in social encounters. Any old pony filled up with any old wisdom would preach the values of charisma in this kind of scenario, but he knew better.
If he could manage to finagle his way into a hostile stranger's house with nothing but his wits, then charisma meant nothing to him. He knew very well which attributes he lacked, and the ability to speak was often one of them.
As was the ability to focus; what was he looking at now?
Masks, that was something to look at; though not something he was especially happy to look at.
Many different masks of different sizes and colors adorned the somewhat cluttered walls. Most of them were far too large to wear, like the one he had seen outside, but they were likely for decoration anyway. Even the ones that were small enough to wear were probably decoration.
He didn't really have any reason for thinking that, but it was just the sort of feel he got. Unless Zecora just had some sort of weird obsession, the wooden objects probably had some sort of cultural significance; and things like that were usually seen as too precious for something as crass as regular use. Religious significance, maybe?
He took a moment to focus on one of the masks in particular. A brown and red visage with dark accents. Swirls and lines running along the drooping edges and cutting into the natural colors, like strange and unnatural wounds.
His eyes traced down one long line cutting across the length of the forehead and up the pointed ears. Right across the whole thing.
Okay, time to focus on something else; because he was beginning to wear on his own nerves, now.
He could probably skip over the candles strewn in the alcoves on the walls, since most of the light was coming from the fire flickering under the cauldron in the center of the room. The walls of the cottage themselves seemed to be made of some kind of straw, despite the wooden exterior. Vines- or perhaps tree roots- seemed to creep in from some unseen place along the roof, framing the center of the room in a loose circle. How had she managed to-
"Your eyes may wander, yet your heart does not. Your mind tells a trick, though your eyes still blot."
His hooves left the ground for a moment as he jumped slightly from the unexpected interruption. Breathing mildly disturbed: he swung his wide-eyes around to the zebra standing next to the large pot in the middle of the room. Her hoof lay idly on what he guessed was a very long spoon sticking out of whatever she was brewing, and her cyan eyes had focused themselves on him.
Steely and steady, with no hint as to motive. Just like the rest of her.
He hadn't noticed that she had taken notice of his examination. Truthfully, he had sort of wholly disregarded her as an entity while he mused over her decorations, though that was apparently a mistake. He had wanted to take some time to collect himself before he spoke to her again, but maybe that was a naïve thing to wish. He was a guest in her home.
Of course she wouldn't neglect him, she was probably a great host. Just his luck. Could he not have twenty solitary moments to himself in a stranger's house? The state of the world today, honestly...
Now.. what did she say? Something about what he was thinking, but not saying? Or looking without seeing?
Something absolutely inscrutable either way. Ugh. The way she spoke just put him on such an edge, like he was about to fail something. Like he was always being judged for something he hadn't even done yet. Maybe it was just her tone? How to put it? Condescending? Holier-than-thou?
Know-it-all.
"Um... I was just.. admiring your décor. It's quite.. unique?" Oh no. He had faltered at the end, and that had come out as a question! He tried to keep an easy smile on his face, but he could feel a small quirk down at the edges; and his front hoof inched self-consciously in front of the other.
That was okay, though. He was a bit socially anxious, that could be a part of his character! A nice researcher pony that stumbled over his words sometimes, that was him! Unless he had been too smooth outside..?
Had his wit caused his downfall? Was he just too Tartarus-damned charismatic? What had he said earlier about a lack of charisma? That was clearly incorrect! Why was his heart so loud in his ears?! Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating!
Her ear flicked at his half-hearted response, and she made a quiet murmur as a response. Her head turned back towards the pot, and her hooves returned to the monotonous task of stirring.
He watched for a moment while she leaned on the edge of the pot to grab one of the hanging bottles in her spare hoof, before he forced himself to look away.
Calm down, stop freaking out. It was incredibly suspicious, and it was probably showing all over his face and body and such. He had to un-scrunch his face, and relax his muscles.
He didn't know if he could focus on more tedious descriptions of her belongings, but he had to at least look like he was. Aloof, that was him. He hadn't come anywhere close to having any sort of panic attack, nope! He was fine, and everything here was still fine.
Assured, yet nervous. Focused, yet aloof. Intelligent, yet faltering.
He brought a hoof up to rub his head as a throbbing sensation began to creep over him. His 'character' was a complete mess, and he was starting to think he wasn't too far behind.
Oh, now was not a great time for insightful introspection! He could reevaluate his contradictory personality when he wasn't in the thick of... everything.
"What kind of tea are you making?" His voice was an unexpected surprise, especially to him. He had been planning on wallowing in his own ineptitude until Zecora decided to try another conversation, but apparently he wanted to take initiative. For some reason.
Okay, he was taking charge, then. Cool.
He shifted his focus from the floor to the zebra, and watched her as she lifted a stained wooden spoon from the pot to stare at the liquid there.
She made a small hemming noise before she dropped the spoon back in the pot and continued stirring. "For most normal ponies, tea is a treat; one made solely for exhaustion to beat. For you and I, the drink holds more meaning; I am making tea to combat brooding."
Her voice rang out clear and strong across the room, dipping and leaping in time with her rhymes as she stirred the pot. While he didn't appreciate the general cadence of her voice and the way it elevated her words beyond normal meanings, her ability to casually rhyme was still something to appreciate.
He didn't really like that about her either, but that didn't mean it wasn't impressive.
He let his hoof rise up to shuffle against the leg of his cloak, and turned his head to a passage in the wall just behind the reared zebra. Was her bedroom back there? It would make sense. "I was wondering more about the flavor, but I suppose all that's good to know, too." He murmured, only half paying attention to the situation.
How big was this tree? The ceiling was about twice as tall as he was, leaving ample room to stretch; and there could have been even more rooms beyond what he could already see. Really, it was one of the biggest trees he had ever seen; though... now that he thought about it... the local library was a tree, too...
As his thoughts drifted ever off course, he was brought crashing back into focus by something he'd never expected to hear.
A laugh. Hearty and from the chest, emanating brightly from a smiling zebra staring down at her cauldron with mirth dancing in her eyes. He couldn't save his mouth as it fell to its short doom; as his mind was having survival issues of its own.
"Your wit is quick, to much surprise. Tell me, have you another prize?" Even her voice- as she spoke without looking at him- was less guarded than it had been before, with a clear edge of openness that had been sorely missing.
He blinked rapidly with wide eyes as the spectacle tried with much pleading to process. Zecora had been pretty clearly horribly suspicious of him for a reason he was still trying to puzzle out, and he had been starting to wonder if she would ever thaw.
Surprising to see, but welcome enough. This meant he was winning.
He let an easy smile form on his face as he chuckled in turn, drawing a momentary focus from the zebra before she busily continued stirring and adding things periodically. What did she mean by 'another prize', though? Did she want him to tell another joke?
The formerly easy smile on his face grew somewhat strained as his cheeks tightened with sudden reticence, though Zecora was luckily still staring deeply into her pot.
He... didn't think he could do that. The first joke had been an absolute fluke, in that it wasn't meant to be a joke at all. Really he had meant it to be somewhat disparaging; and, honestly, it was a little insulting for his sorta-insult to be misinterpreted.
Of course, he couldn't let that show.
He instead deflected the potential lead into a compromising situation by turning to a worn wooden shelf on the wall. More bottles, of course. All shapes and sizes and colors with all sorts of labels that were... in another language. Probably.
Squinting at the... scribbles, he let a question form on his tongue out of genuine curiosity. "This language... is it Zebra?" The possible insult registered as soon as was possible for an off-hoof comment, but his back still stiffened as he flew into a frenzy of words in a desperate attempt to staunch the social wound. "Er, I mean- Zebrican! Zeb- Zebrish? Uh, Z-Zebricanarian?!"
He was really glad his wide eyes and red cheeks were pointed away from the zebra, as his concentrated stream of racist garbage tapered off, and she flew into a full-blown throaty guffaw. His ears pressed themselves into his head as it dipped slightly; and he swallowed dryly as the pounding of an assault of laughter threatened to knock the doors of his eardrums down.
She was just a zebra! She wasn't from another planet, dummy! There was no need for frantic scrambling over encompassing inclusion or correctness; and the act was likely even more insulting than well-meaning ignorance.
Composure be damned, he let his hoof rise to rest over his face in clear shame. The obvious fact of his incompetence had been as such since before he had walked through the door, and desperately pretending otherwise was probably making things worse.
Heavens, help him. He needed it more than ever.
"Ah, your true nature will shine ever through! I feel as though I finally know you!" As light as her rhyme and voice were, he and his expression were both feeling pretty heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to see what was likely a lively zebra.
Especially as that pun came up again. Gods, he hated his name. There was simply too much coincidence in being a dark sorcerer with a name like 'Light'. Fate simply must hate him specifically.
Whatever; Zecora was warming up to him, and that was probably a good thing.
Gods... what was he even here for, again? It was becoming hard to remember through all the screw-ups and the dragging of conversational hooves. Maybe he should just go home and forget about Zecora; let her live her weird rhyming life out here in the Everfree while he-
"Ah, our brown brew nears ready; and it smells rather heady. It could be one ruling ego or pride, but I think this is a favorite of mine!" Zecora's unexpected exclamation stopped his hoof before it could even begin to edge towards the exit; almost as if she had been waiting for the consideration.
Stupid all-knowing zebra... 'Pride' didn't even rhyme with 'mine'...
He narrowed his eyes as he sucked a breath in through a tired grimace; one that the zebra hopefully still couldn't see. He had been really excited about the sudden prospect of bailing on tea, and it was somewhat depressing to have the prospect crushed almost instantly.
Well, Zecora was probably staring directly at him behind his back, so there was absolutely no chance to leave, now. Well... he could make a break for it...
He eyed the closed door a few hoof-lengths away. Could he open it before Zecora tackled him? Could he even run from her if he did? She had seemed pretty fit outside; or, at least, deft with a knife.
Okay, that thought made his choice obvious.
With as much simpering enthusiasm as he could reasonably fit onto his face, he spun to face the merry zebra. Proving his point of potential swiftness, she had already filled two brown cups and sat down in the time it had taken him to contemplate escape.
Sipping away; very calm and collected.
He tilted his head and smiled at her monotone visage already holding a prim cup of tea; while internally critiquing everything about the situation. For one, she was sitting on a mat on the floor; and- judging by the cup sat just across from her- she expected him to, too.
That was fine, he was fine with sitting on the floor. Would have been nice to get a little heads-up; but he supposed if she wanted to be inconsiderate: then it was her home.
A chair wasn't the most important thing for a home; not when she had so many bottles, of course. He could probably make a chair out of bottles, she had so many. Would probably be more comfortable than sitting on her dumb dirt floor...
Wait.. had the floor been dirt this whole time?!
Okay, that was enough unsaid needling. He trotted the short distance between him and the zebra, and promptly sat himself down across from her on the plain straw mat. The immediate lack of comfort tried to claw into his face, but he kicked it down to Tartarus and resigned himself to simply wiggling his butt slightly.
Ow. Ouch. Ugh, did it have to be dry straw? He was certainly no stranger to sitting on less sophisticated seats, living in Ponyville; but the painful rectangle he sat on now seemed almost designed to be uncomfortable.
Was this Zecora's tactic against him? Cow him into surrender by forcing him to endure constant menial pain?
It might work, the crafty mare...
He stared for a moment at the slowly growing bemusement on the zebra's face as she sipped slowly at her tea and obviously tried not to stare herself, before turning his own attention to the cup at his hooves. Plain cup, plain brown liquid. Nothing to get excited about; in appearance and flavor, he would guess.
Okay, now he was being mean for no reason. Disappointment and shame were no reason to forget his manners, as his mother would tell him.
Okay, drink the tea before the melancholy sets in and Zecora asks something uncomfortable.
He lit the comforting red light around his horn as straw poked him in an unmentionable place, and slowly lifted the sloshing container towards him. He blinked at the close-up view of the drink, before leaning in and taking a deep sniff.
Nope, nothing. Average in every way, with no hints beneath. Was he really going to drink a strange drink given to him by a mare who had- not even an hour ago- threatened to murder him?
Yeah, he was. He wasn't going to be rude.
The first splash of tea touched his tongue, and the lack of an immediate urge to throw it across the room told him that it was fairly good. Maybe a bit tasteless, but he didn't really like the flavor of tea, anyway.
It wasn't a very large cup, and he certainly didn't know much of etiquette, so it wasn't more than a few sips before the drink was nearly gone. He let it drift away from his face and into his outstretched hoof, for the simple, tactile pleasure of it. He hummed pleasantly, and licked the edges of his lips.
It wasn't the best drink he had ever had, but it had to have been up there. It was somewhat hard to pinpoint the flavor, though... It wasn't fruity... It wasn't salty... It wasn't savory...
Oh, he knew! It was pain!
It was fire; hot and quickly spreading from his stomach across his lower body and his upper body and up through his throat in a matter of seconds. He threw the cup down onto the floor as quickly as he could, spilling what was left of the cursed mix moments before he cried out in strangled agony as the berserking heat enveloped his front hooves.
"What did you do?!" He screamed raggedly as he staggered, and nearly fell onto his knees; struggling to not to let his burning hooves fully crumple underneath him.
It felt like there was literal fire inside of him... Like his organs were being eaten away at; melted in a blinding mix of too torturously slow and too dashingly fast all at once. It had spread so quickly, faster than should have been possible for simple poison!
His bleary focus on the straw mat was beginning to double and triple before his eyes, and the urge to vomit was coming over him quickly. Pressure pressing against his throat, pounding and pounding as his jaw shook and bore the brunt.
Damn zebra..! Damn rumor..!
Damn stupid him for falling for it all!
He had walked into the most dangerous woods in all of Equestria, met with a completely foreign stranger who immediately tried to kill him, and then walked into her home to have tea with her!
If he was about to die- and the red veins that were popping at the corners of his eyes were making him hope he would- then he only had himself to blame.
Wherever Zecora was watching him from, he hoped she was getting her sick kicks. He hoped she was happy watching him retch. Painfully, over and over.
He hoped she bore witness as his jaw widened, his throat convulsed once more, and a slurry of brown and black sloshed all over her dumb straw mat.
Why was he vomiting black..? No, it didn't bucking matter! The pain was getting worse! Whatever his body had hoped to expel through his mouth didn't come up, and his stomach reared back through a sea of flames to try vainly again.
The process repeated in slow, gratuitous detail; and the salty taste of tears leaked down to compliment the flavor of acid and ink as more of it gushed over his tongue and onto the floor. He was still miraculously standing, but as his stomach clenched again, he was sure it was because he didn't want to collapse into the puddle of indeterminate fluid from his body.
He was sure he hadn't ever been in this much pain before. The branding of his cutie mark was the next closest thing, but that had only lasted for a minute at the most. This pain... This torture just dragged on and on.
He wanted it to be over. Maybe he wanted to die. Would that make the ringing in his ears- and the nonstop gush of fluid- and the swinging vision- and the everpresent pyre that his body had turned into- would death make it all stop?
"The signs are clear, there is no doubt; a spirit's here, weak frame it flouts."
A measured voice somehow registered through the increasing haze that was his consciousness, and he spat dark fluid into the puddle as his lungs struggled to deliver breath. The faded memory of carrying a heavy box was laughable when compared to the monumental strength it took to raise his head a few simple inches to the source of the noise.
She stood like a statue a few hoof-lengths away: stoic and uncaring. Eyes wide and alert and focused entirely on him, with her muscles visibly poised underneath her coat. She stood confidently with a wide stance, as if she were ready for some kind of fight.
Why? Was killing him the slow way not good enough? Was she going to come over here and strangle him while he already couldn't breathe?!
He gathered his increasingly wheezing breaths as he stared at her with his right eyelid uncontrollably fluttering up and down. That was okay, that one was beginning to black out anyway. His hooves wobbled as his balance began to tip over, and he cried out in unfortunate agony as he forced his leaning hoof to reaffirm its stand as firmly as he could manage.
The sudden pain on top of all the other pain drove his head to sway towards the apathetic zebra, and provided him adrenaline-fueled strength to bark out a single, throat tearing word.
"What?!"
Spittle and sludge flew from his mouth like a wild animal as he spit, but he didn't care. He had done all he could manage, and now he could do nothing but stand weakly, breathe laboriously, and stare hatefully through his one working eye. If he was about to die, then he wanted answers!
Answers that the traitorous zebra seemed ready to give, as she continued to stand stilly with her eyes on him. "I am sorry, my friend Light Flow; you're merely a vessel in tow. A shade inhabits your body, evil and cruel; so a potion I brewed to fix your causeless fool."
Her eyes narrowed as she clenched her jaw, maybe in disgust. His own jaw was hanging open limply now, as more fluid dripped and sluiced freely from it. "It has taken effect, it would seem; your body has awoke from its dream. It is quite long-lasting, near an eternity so; as long as it holds, the spirit your body will throw!"
He.. was pretty sure she was speaking nonsense, or maybe it was the delirium. Was she saying that... that some sort of spirit was in him?! And that her potion was making his body reject it?
Another wave of pain rocked his body, and his vision faded for a moment as impossibly more black fluid squirted from what felt like his nostrils.
That- That was... That couldn't be- Upstart whorse! What has she done to us?! She will rue this misdeed!
The pain stopped.
A sensation comparable to ripping messily tore and cut through the creeping shock; and all sense of feeling instantly faded away as his vision seemed to magnify, before tearing away from him.
As if he was now staring through a telescope, the picture his eyes sent seemed.. far away. Distant, like he was a spectator.
Also, he could see through his other eye, now. What was happening, and why hadn't it happened sooner?
Why... Why wasn't that funny? He had just been in the worst pain of his life, and he had just made a joke about it; that was supposed to be funny!
Why wasn't the joke not being funny worrying him? Wait, for that matter: why was he making jokes?
Why couldn't he feel? Why couldn't he feel anything? Emotion, the pain, even his body...
He couldn't feel his body. Why were his eyes blinking without him if he couldn't feel his body? Why was his hoof moving up to rub at his face without his input?
"You. Zebra."
Why was his mouth moving?
Why was his horn glowing?
Why was he-
No... What was he doing?!
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For the first time of its like, the spirit took control of the unicorn's body. She had long since worked hooks into him, of course; but never before had it been so brazen, or during his waking hours. Where once had been subtle influence and inaudibly whispered words, there was now complete and total control.
The unprecedented intervention was necessary in a very dire way, though. The zebra knew what she was doing, and the potion was quickly working its intended effect. The spirit's carefully woven threads through the unicorn's mind were burning away before her far-seeing eyes, and she was running out of time.
She had to get rid of the zebra, and get the unicorn to safety.
The conflict was brief, and brutal. The spirit was rapidly losing control over her thrall, but it was still a trifling matter to bluster a cold breeze to throw the door open and extinguish the light in the room. The Everfree was a dark place, especially at the extreme depth the zebra resided in, so the loss of precious fire was debilitating.
The spirit knew how to see and move in the dark, even without magic. The zebra did not.
The unicorn's body was failing, but it still worked like a pointed weapon under the spirit's most forceful control. With the unicorn screaming against the chains that bound him in his own mind, his body leapt to its foe.
On the witless part of the zebra: she managed rather well. Even without the oft-overlooked gift of sight, she reacted to the movement and attempted to strike at the unicorn; blindly, yet still terrifyingly accurately. Had the unicorn not been possessed by a spirit versed in magical and physical combat beyond any alive, his body would have been laid flat.
As it was: using their magic to fluidly shift their outstretched hoof into the strike- and quickly following through with a debilitating, breaking jab at a vulnerable joint- was tantamount to foal's play.
The zebra's weak attempt at combat was foiled; and though she tried- through the pain of a dislocated shoulder- to strike again at the unicorn's horn, it simply wasn't good enough. The unicorn's body swept behind her like a shadow in the darkness, and took a firm hold around her jewelry-covered neck.
Shiny though they may have been, the gleaming golden rings did little to protect. The zebra fought and struggled so hard against the choking hold, but the spirit knew pain as a close friend. Each one of the frenzied, targeted strikes would have brought lesser ponies to their knees many times over, but she remained stoutly unfazed.
The spirit simply squeezed as tightly as she could around the zebra's jaw; and- with conscious effort to force the unicorn's displaced consciousness to watch the spectacle- jerked their hooves in opposite directions with as much failing strength as she could muster.
The spirit knew, in the forced quiet of the Everfree, the sound would be unforgettable.
Pop. Snap.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
With what he imagined as a dusty click and a hiss, the slideshow that had played brokenly in his head came to a sudden, harsh end. The final rattle of a zebra's last unfortunate moments still rang endlessly through the desiccated halls of the imaginary theatre of his mind; as She had promised it would.
Light Flow was whole again.
For the first time in two years, he was himself in all the ways he had forgotten.
For the good and the bad of it, he had remembered what he'd tried so hard to forget.
What he'd been forced to remember. What he'd been allowed to forget.
His eyes long since closed: he took a single, solitary breath through his nose; though it was more for the action than the actual necessity of it. He didn't really need to breathe; not here, at least.
Here being... some kind of encompassing misty blue void- you know, he didn't really care. He had been floating around in a weird neighvana bliss in some kind of creepy ascended form for way too long, and the sights weren't of much interest now that he wasn't just a bunch of thoughts.
Not that there were any; not really. The basic premise- as it had been so rudely shoved onto him like a disgruntled evil mailpony delivering a package- was basically that the space was more of a concept than a place he actually inhabited.
Like a dream. He had been floating along in a dream, as a stalled ship would at sea.
With the zebra taken care of and the unicorn trapped in his own mind trying his best to cry without tear ducts, the spirit knew she had to move fast. The spy that had lead them there could have been watching and waiting to take sudden advantage over her growing weakness.
The spirit fled the shack in the woods, dragging the body of the zebra with her as best she could.
Both she and the unicorn knew the woods well, so it wasn't much of a matter at all to return to the unicorn's own modest home. She hastily stowed the body in the cellar, and allowed the borrowed body to finally crash to the floor of his home.
The zebra had accomplished her last task, and the unicorn's entire being was actively rejecting the spirit. The spirit would soon find that attempting to take control as she had would do nothing but tear his body and mind apart.
Years of plotting, years of manipulating, years of molding: all gone.
Unfortunately, in a regrettable display of foolishly misplaced pride and arrogance: the spirit was not dissuaded from what she viewed as her right. She threw sense aside, and did everything she could to test the limits of her newly shortened reach into the unicorn's mind.
She wielded him brutishly and inefficiently- magnificent sword turned to dull club- as she raced to fix what she viewed as unacceptable mistakes. Nothing the zebra had done would stand.
The spirit tore the foolish shaman from the unicorn's memory entirely; inadvertently- yet undeniably stupidly- leaving a hole that she soon found to be too large to fix.
Nothing would stop the spirit's blinding hubris, it seemed: as she disregarded the warning signs entirely. She pushed the unicorn to his limits, and lead him by burning binds into purchasing a portable freezer.
Under chain and lock and key- as well as a poorly crafted compulsion to be ignored- the appliance found itself becoming the final resting place of the zebra once known as Zecora.
More words filling the air; passing before his eyes like a book played in impossible motion. Passing through and across the floaty blue clouds, glowing brightly with some kind of magical force that he could certainly make a guess as to the origin.
His memories: scribbled out into the pages of his mind like a teenage colt writing shameful, grim poetry.
If he'd had breath to sigh with, he would have.
Zecora... Oh Zecora...
She hadn't deserved what he'd done to her. Sure, yeah, she had poisoned him and subjected him to the worst pain he had ever experienced up to that point in his life; but she'd done it for good cause.
Without even knowing of the horror she was waking, she'd tried to save him from a monster hiding in his mind that he'd been totally unaware of. The poison had never even been meant to kill him; rather, she had been trying to protect him. Maybe in a somewhat painful way, but the sentiment was still there.
She'd even called him friend.
And after that, for all her troubles: she'd been stuffed into a small box meant for apples and left to rot for years. Nopony left to grieve, and nopony left the wiser.
That same sensation of grieving rose over his shoulders after years spent being denied, and he fully allowed the belated right to cover him and pull him and his mood lower. He gladly welcomed the chance to feel something for what had essentially been a bystander; especially since he'd been shortly denied the right at the time.
He narrowed his conceptual eyes, and turned his attention to what he was hoping was the general idea of a direction in which he could glare at 'the spirit'.
Fat load of rubbish She was piling, She knew he knew Her name! And his own name! Who did She even think She was being coy for, an audience?!
What a nut She was... Which one of them was supposed to be crazy, again? Because he was starting to think he'd been the sane one all along.
A humorless laugh bubbled without air in his chest at the immediate thought, and he shook his head with a pitying, self-serving smile on his face. Yeah no, he was definitely crazy; he was entirely sure of that. No question or doubt.
Didn't mean Nightmare Moon wasn't crazier, though.
With little left else to immediately fix, the spirit allowed the unicorn to return to his day-to-day life; though, it was not without complication. The day of her predestined return to Equus was approaching, and preparations for the unicorn's place at her side had to be made ready. His compliance would be a given, though his Loyalty would be what was deserved.
The spirit would find that the task was all but impossible though, as their bond gradually grew strained to the point of breaking. She had been desperately searching for some way to purge the poison from the unicorn, leaving little thought as to how her strings were cutting her puppet.
She had been completely uncaring; at least, until the problem grew too large to ignore. How late her Kindness would matter, when there was no help in being Honest. No matter what she did, the spirit could not fix the unicorn; not when she was the one causing him pain.
He'd begun to hallucinate her presence where she'd not been, and her attempts to patch the leaks did nothing but saddle him with strange new habits and affectations. Side-effects that had never been intentional, for what use would she have for a headless knight?
She could no longer speak to him clearly through his dreams, instead appearing to his eyes as a dark, frightening shadow. Her once subconscious whispers now registered as painful screams and shouts. When she took control of him, it was without precision or grace; and his body would often convulse and physically reject her essence.
It wasn't long before the spirit's former playground was as strange and unfamiliar to her as it was to the unicorn.
The zebra had ruined everything, and the unicorn was falling to madness. He would no longer listen to her, and he could no longer make sense of what was real and what was imagined. He was even beginning to remember when he'd seen her in his dreams; which left her one method of communion with his inner self utterly useless.
The spirit was left to bunker helplessly in his mind; to wait regretfully for some kind of change.
More and more words filled the space around him; up close and even in the distance, they were crowding the abstract of his mind rather rudely. He did his best to suggest the potential of a scornful eye-roll at their general existence, and hoped that the scape would get his point.
Who was Nightmare Moon writing his story for at this point? He had already regained most of his wits, and the past was as clear as any poetic mirror or pond had ever been in any great work. Justifying Her actions would do as much to ingratiate Herself as an apology would.
Well, he supposed he didn't really know Her viewpoint. For strange instance: while it was excessively creepy to know that She had been 'whispering' to him in his dreams for possibly his entire childhood, it was also nice to know.
In a weird, twisted way. It was a familiar way, though; and even comforting. It was the same kind of feeling that had driven him to read books about murder as a child, to drape himself in a cloak styled with skulls, and to lick a dead bunny.
He liked the creepy. It made him happy in an off-putting, detached way.
If She wanted to keep babbling on about things that might not even be true, and giving him more time to sort of literally collect himself, then he was happy to continue floating along in a non-descript way. Whatever made Her happy.
Whatever gave him more time to think about what to do.
Less than a week remained before the fated final day, and the spirit's hope for the unicorn's mind seemed nearly lost. Not even the arrival of one of the unicorn's fabled packages could do much to excite her; though she still found some grim amusement at seeing somepony she'd once respected sending warnings about her.
Oh, but how wrong she had been. The package brought with it a kind of incredible miracle that the spirit thought too lucky to ever be a possibility. Luck had never favored her, but it seemed she'd found an uneasy alliance for the moment.
Beginner's fundamentals on Flesh Manipulation covered as little as its tragedy of a name implied; but the fundamentals of a magic she had never before touched were more than enough of a base to go off of. She was ancient, and she was wise, and she could work with very little.
With as much difficulty as she had ever known in the task: she took control of the unicorn in a pivotal moment, and cast a spell of her own design. If her spellcasting was to be trusted, it would send the unicorn into a detox capable of purging him of the chemicals that inhibited her.
And slowly: it did. Very slowly.
Perhaps it was due to her own inexperience with the craft, but the spell was not quite as effective as she'd hoped. It allowed her a hoofhold in his mind to begin rebuilding hasty binds where there had once been grand chains; but it would not wipe him in a week's time.
She had to work as best and as quickly as she could, and her plans had to be altered. There was little time to fix the damage, and no time for Kindness.
She had learned her lesson, though; or so she'd thought.
Regardless of her fervor, there were yet more infuriating complications. The day of her great eve, the spirit's greatest enemy took belated notice of her influence; and conflict soon followed. The spirit could not use her weapon with the ease she once could have, and she was meekly defeated by an adversary she had never considered a threat.
His expression hardened as the literal deluge of words processed. The Nightmare was beginning to lose literary cohesion, and that was unacceptable. Was she going to use a formal tone, or not? She should just make up her mind, already!
That obviously wasn't the thing he was really concerned about, though.
The secret agent. What was her name? No, that didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was that he was under surveillance. If he could trust the memories that were surfacing about his time under the Nightmare's thrall, then he had actually been under surveillance for a long time.
What had he ever even done? Well.. he had murdered somepony... but the secret agent had begun watching him long before that! This was predetermined discrimination!
His eyes narrowed as, incredibly, a visible picture began to form out of the space in front of him. Flat as it was.
An earth pony, standing at average height. Pale, creamy fur. Blue and pink mane set into bouncy curls. Tired, cerulean eyes. Three wrapped candies as a cutie mark.
Don't trust her face. Don't trust her voice.
He knew to watch for her, now. She and Princess Celestia would regret robbing him of privacy and dignity.
Just as soon as he figured out a way to topple the government. That shouldn't be too hard.
The silly addendum thrown in like a rubber chicken locked in Tartarus finally deflated his stern glare at his conjured picture of his spy, and it vanished in a breeze as he sagged his shoulders and sighed in consternation.
Consternation at the nation, what a combo. Perhaps he should publish a joke book or something. He was so funny, it was sure to make a killing!
Okay, enough puns and ego; he was ready for more useless recap from the Queen of Hot Gas.
The erroneously victorious interloper chained and barred the unicorn's mind, once again shutting the spirit from her claim. The short progress she had made in the week allowed her small glimpses, but real access had been all but denied.
The unicorn had been reset; and while he had found a strange measure of sanity, he had forgotten the spirit entirely.
It drove her into a frenzy. Her rage consumed and blinded her, and- once again flouting every lesson she'd ever learned- she attempted to break the golden words that whispered libel with might and force. She pounded relentlessly on the guarded walls of the unicorn's mind, though it was to no avail.
It did nothing but bring harm to the both of them.
Sense thankfully returned in time, though not before the spirit's misplaced cruelty wore heavily on the unicorn's mind. The situation was grim, and the day had all but escaped from her.
Her options few: the spirit found but one path left in the clarity leading from her most recent outburst. With as little deliberation as she had taken any of her decisions with, she chose to take a reckless gamble; even despite chance's chafing curse. The decision was unassumingly simple, but it was far and above the most clever thing she had considered thus far.
She would go all in, bank on what little influence she had, and let the unicorn rest. He would go about his day, and the golden words of the golden sun would eventually wear. If enough of herself remained in his mind when they were both freed from their prisons, then he would come to her.
When her hooves found solid ground for the first time in ten lifetimes, he would find his place at her side.
And then, he would be tested.
He blinked as the shifting sentences trailed off, and his literal headspace was left wordless and almost coldly empty.
Well, not his actual mind; he still had plenty to think about. Chief among especially crooked thoughts being the specter that had apparently haunted his entire life.
He closed his eyes, and crossed his hooves over his chest as he hummed deeply. His hooves kicked out in tandem into the open space before him, and he could almost imagine for a moment what it might be like to be a pegasus.
All he needed were wings, and he could probably actually challenge Nightmare Moon.
But that was a side thought. He was really concerned about the mess that his life had become while he wasn't paying attention. Or been conscious. Or sane.
If he was getting the gist of Nightmare's nearly senseless rants filled with contradictory information- and he was pretty sure he wasn't- then She was the cause of pretty much everything that had gone wrong in his life.
She had used his body to kill Zecora... She had chosen to let him slowly go insane while She traipsed around in his head... She had brought the wrath of The Pure Goddess down upon him... She had broken him again after he'd been sorta fixed by said Pure Goddess...
And to top it all off: She had the gall to act like... like his mother, when he was still entirely under her control! It was like some kind of sick play, only She was playing literally every role!
What was She gaining by acting like this? Was it all just to mess with him? Was it a kind of manipulation to see if he'd be willing to just follow Her blindly, even after he'd been fixed?!
There was another thing: why was She fixing him?! Did she want a challenge or something?! Could she not do better than some eighteen year old colt who had never made any real progress with the one thing he was supposed to be good at?!
Probably! What was so special about him, anyway!? Necromancy was cool, but so were a billion other things! Honestly, Twilight would probably be a better match for her! In both weird meanings!
He groaned in exasperation, the sound ballooning from his mouth in a visible, red cloud. He blinked owlishly as he looked down at it in disbelief for a moment as it floated gently away in a directionless direction, before throwing his hooves down against his lower body.
This place was ridiculous! He wanted to wake up, already; so he could have some real words with the so-called Queen of Nightmares! Would that work?! Naming her?!
He glared heatedly into a nearby cloud, watching passively as it eventually shriveled in on itself and imploded in what seemed to be nervousness.
Yeah, he was just going to have to wait.
He let his features soften before he blew up any any more of his dream-mind-clouds, and bonelessly let his head loll back against his neck. It was probably best to just.. enjoy the time he had here. He hadn't been himself in so long, and he was going to have to fight for his life when he woke up; so why was he trying so hard to escape?
It was weird... he kind of felt like he didn't really deserve the time to rest? Maybe it was the weird high of having himself be himself again, but it was kind of hard to get truly comfortable. Any second now, he could wake up: and then the confrontation would begin.
Things should probably be settled before he celebrated. He could let Pinkie Pie bust out the party hats and indulge her close-minded view of cheer later; when the world wasn't still in danger.
The world in danger... It hadn't been something he'd considered while sane. Every time before had been after the occasion he'd broken down crying while hugging a box; so really, he hadn't had any opinion worth considering.
Well: now he did. The world ending was bad. He liked the world. Nightmare Moon was bad, and he wouldn't be joining Her.
Duh. So much for Her big plan. What was She going to do now that he'd renounced-
AAAA LOOKIT ALL OF THOSE ANSWERS! TOO MANY ANSWERS! TOO MANY TO FOCUS ON! 
Well, here we are: the penultimate chapter. The next chapter is the finale to this... uh... twenty chapter arc that we've been on.
I'll be honest, it's a little scary. There's no real pressure, of course; but the potential to make something truly spectacular is here, and I don't want to blow it.
Even this chapter really worries me, because It's pulled the curtain back on nearly all of the mysteries in the story thus far. I'm really concerned about a potential information overload. 
But these questions all had to be answered eventually, and the only thing I can do at this point is hope that I've made it all comprehensible. It might feel like some of these reveals have come hurtling out of left field, but there have been hints here and there.
Nothing that would correlate at the time, but at least it all makes sense in hindsight?
Ugh. I can't help but feel as though I've horribly butchered this chapter; especially with the risks I took in changing up the narrative style. In the end, it's up to you guys to tell me how you feel: whether it be good or bad. 
Oh, I might as well add a bit of trivia here to fill space. I wrote the beginning of the scene in Zecora's house way back in May; just after chapter 21. It's just been sorta sitting around since then, waiting for the story to come back around to a point where it would be used.
And here it is! Chapter 22, after all this time! 
super worried about it, but here we go. putting the chapter out: now.
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Oh no! Poor Zecora..
So we finally learn about what happened in the Everfree
Light getting his memory back was fantastic though, I'm glad to see our boy back in the driver's seat at last.
Wow, Ch 22 was more intense than I anticipated. So Light's been influenced by NMM for most of his life, huh? That kind of explains a lot actually.
Not having Zecora around is going to shake a few things up in the future. I wonder how they'll defeat the Plundervines now, assuming the story goes that far.
Minor typo in the Zalgo text; it says Chapter 23 when it means Chapter 22. Most people couldn't actually read it because Zalgo text resists normal means of stripping it but...
11043017
It says 29, too!
I wonder what the deal with that is..?
hint it's chapter 22 and 39 meshed together, creating 2329 for added spooky affect
also thanks for commenting <3
also whoops i messed up the reply, sorry
fuck i'm really tired I didn't mess up i'm just stupid and I fixed it for no reason
What's up with the ending? Did your forgot to copy all the text?
Does he really just going to do exactly what she told him to do? Or he didn't know about the time in the tower? He just said she was acting motherly, it was exact that moment. So he must remember about her ordering him to fight her.
Should have expected it to be part of her plan.
And on case he somehow didn't know, F in the chat guys.
11043078
Nope, that's how it ends! Abruptly and with little warning!
Oh wow, I didn't see Zecora's death coming - what a twist! Most enjoyable! I wish I could upvote your story again.
11043090
You're too kind!
It's funny, I had thought that pretty much everybody had placed Zecora's death as an absolute certainty; so it's pretty heartening to know that it may still catch some people off guard! Amidst all the other bombshells I was constantly dropping, I had figured that -admittedly very tragic- one would be the least surprising.
I actually burst out laughing at this point. At somepony so completely broken that it takes them a moment to realize that something tastes like burning and then a second moment for them to realize that that's not good.
Ah it is a terrible shame about Zecora. Still The title of the story and all that. He did keep her in the freezer.
Man if I was Light Flow I would be pissed. This is basically confirmation of what was suspected about her letting possessed Light Flow run around.
He was possessed for years, and he committed at least one murder while doing so. To say nothing of doing god knows what else.
All of which was... to be fair sort of known? Both Celestia and Bon bon were shocked by how far the possession had progressed, and M&Ms was all but helpless by her own measure then.
Lets find out if life or death confrontations can disrupt Light Flows internal monologue :V
And lets see if the necromancy he learned can be put to good use.
shame about Zecora, maybe have him live up to his title and resurrect her as a undead, having a rhyming minion would be sweet
11043086
Like suddenly waking from... a... dream...
Hey thats clever!
Also, great chapter! Holy shit it just keeps getting better and better, I've been blown away by these last few chapters. The constant stream of answers for questions I almost forgot I asked is great! It's all coming together. I'm always left wondering what's gonna happen next, and even when I have a vague idea of what's gonna happen next I'm either wrong or somehow still surprised! I still have no idea how the next chapter is gonna play out, it's exiting!
11043292
I’m more concerned that there’s been a corpse decaying in his reading room for the past couple years. If he actually goes back to his house conscious he’ll probably have to burn the place down just to remove the stench.
11043280
I don’t think they should leave post-element Luna anywhere near Light Flow. I can imagine he’d try and kill Nightmare Moon, and from what he’s suffered Luna would just be an easier to kill Nightmare Moon.
Hang on... does Light actually know what's happening now? YES.
Finally! Let the un-fuckening of the mind commence!!!
Aight, so going by what NMM mentioned the sender of the books is probably Star Swirl instead of Celestia since she pretty much admits they're a long-dead mage... Though, that depends on if this fic is still following the core universe to an extent...
Which brings it up, last I checked this story didn't have an AU tag so I'm assuming it'll somewhat loosely follow the events of the show to an extent, which so far it has. To keep following it though, we're going to be seeing something that we've all been hoping to see for a while; i.e. Light Flow bring someone dead back to life. (Or somezebra in this case) Zecora, while not super important to the show I think, still held quite the part in Ponyville, so her having just died and not being there hence forth is disappointing.
This leaves some cool options though, such as...
- Light bring her back, possibly with Celestia's help, and she's 100% alive and there. Reason why he can't do the same for Mom is that due to weird fantasy logic Mom's time has come but Zecora's was interrupted via outside malevolent forces. (NMM)
- Light brings her back, and succeeds! But her body is long dead so she comes back as a fully sentient undead zombie but at least has all her mental faculties. She must now deal with trying to live her new life with disability of now being mortally challanged...
- Light attempts to bring her back! It... kinda works... but now she's an undead thrall. May have some mental facilities but is forcefully servant to Light. Will also likely have to deal with having a very dead body and needing to have Light constantly care for her to maintain it.
- Light attempts to bring her back and just straight up gets a mindless murder zombie. Zecora's soul has long since passed/dispersed and so he now only has a mindless construct. Mayhaps he is able to throw a soul into her and try to mold it into something that can at least pretend to be Zecora without raising too much suspicion. (This option I dislike the least since just straight up a lot of bad shit will happen. So many problems...)
- Light attempts to bring back Zecora, but ultimately fails due to being too inexperienced and Zecora's body being dead for too long. On the flip side though, he would have been able to recover her soul and so has her possess another dead body/construct or something similar and she is forced to live a half life, ever reliant on him.
There are many paths that this can go, so I hope they're explored to an extent and she doesn't 'just stays dead, the end' like with Light Flow's mother. A brief tangent while talking about continuity, I realize that S.S. is likely not the sender since he's technically still alive, just trapped in limbo somewhere I think... Possibly the sender is Clover the Clever then? Can't really remember many wizards in MLP FIM and outside of originally gunning for the sender to be Celestia I'm kinda out of ideas.
Irregardless, still super weird that NMM is having a change of and just letting Light Flow *go*. Glad you reinforced though allt he bad shit she's done since due to him always blacking out whenever she mind-fucked him the details kinda get confusing and for a while it seemed that Celestia might have possibly done something almost as bad to him, but from all this exposition on past events (really appreciate the clear summary btw, very nice/much easier to read than Light Flow's usual rambling) it became clear that what NMM did was even way worse, so she's like 200% evil now. Great chapter though and love that we're finally getting some god damn answers.
Final note, I find it interesting/like the detail where at first Light Flow is referring to Celestia as someone who is scary/to be feared and then briefly considers overthrowing the government and such in revenge for spying but the moment he finds out that Celestia tried to block out NMM (he thinks fix but in reality what she did might likely still be seen as something bad that she's done to him) he starts referring to her as 'The Pure Goddess'. Talk about an immediate change in perspective.
Good job with the chapter, can't wait for the next one.
So...is he gonna bust out that diamond and 3th level revivfy? If that freezer kept her fresh enough Zecora could be brought back if we operate on D&D logic.
Otherwise...I vote for a Zecora as his first undead champion.
Or just zap it with the rainbow that works everytime.
WAIT A MOMENT DID HE STUFF HER SOUL INTO THE TIMBERWOLF SOMEHOW? IS THAT WHY IT WAS SO TAME???
Regardless, thank you for the nice chapter. Can't wait to see what comes next.
it's weird but I've realized after light regains his sanity and memories I don't actually like him as a person lmao.
a unique and flawed character I sort of root for though? yes
11043986
I'm glad that, after all this time, I can still manage to capture Light's original, jerky feel. I was actually pretty worried I wouldn't be able to write a character who is an actively bad person after all the insanity and memory shenanigans.
11043995
is it sad that i liked Light without his memories more when now?
his personality is just being a giant jerk.. but i think he will get better
can't wait for more
11043922
Revivify definitely doesn't work that way, having to be cast literally immediately. Most of the other resurrection spells, on the other hand, let you wait a few weeks like they did.
11045504
The Spell Gentle Repose preserves the corpse, prevents it from being turned undead, and extends the effective resurrection time frame.
So if that's a REALLY good freezer it might have done the first and last part of that spell possibly allowing Light to unmake his involuntary homicide. Which was the assumption upon which I made that comment...because no way in hell is Light proficient enough in necromancy to pull off anything beyond a third-level spell of that school.
Hope that clarifies any misunderstanding about my comment.
rip zecora. hopefully (or not in Light's circumstance) someone finds your body!
honestly i would have imagined Light being a lot more angry or hateful of NMM considering what has been done to him and such.
11045562
It took way more than 6 seconds just to to leave Zecora's house, so we're way past Revivify even with Gentle Repose.
11046687
Nothing says that the author has to follow dnd rules to a letter.
It's just a possibility they could take advantage of, also there can be other circumstances that could modify the resurrection cost and time window.
For example; Zealot Barbarian's "Warrior of The Gods" ability or a, funnily enough, potion/oil that can serve the same purpose. Considering her druidic/shamanistic stereotype as a, let's call it, "medicine woman" and her apparent knowledge of souls and their maladies such a theoretical "class feature" could be very well what she has access to.
Now do you still wish to go on with this rule lawyering discourse or is this enough to satisfy your disagreement?
11046983
11046687
Alright, alright, let's nip a potential argument in the bud so I don't have to call the internet police.
I've got a perfectly reasonable, satisfactory compromise for everyone involved; so there isn't any hardcore quarreling about semantics like we're all cosplaying as Quibble Pants.
You see, as unfortunate as it may be, it doesn't much matter whether I use dnd concepts or not: because, as it turns out, I've never had enough friends or moxie to actually play the game!
Compromise achieved! The potential argument is flawed because the author is a loser! All's good and everyone who doesn't hate me for not playing dnd is happy!
or maybe i've made it worse, i dunno we'll see
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OBJECTION! The Author is perfectly fine! Care a bit more about yourself buddy. You don't have to play the game once or more to enjoy the fantasy and media.
As for the little back and forth don't worry I intended not to continue it, thank you still for caring to interfere.
Regardless can't wait to see the coming confrontation between death and the nightnight, as well as the possible wholesome interaction between Cured Luna and Light. Or some more interactions between our Necromancer and Applebloom.
Here have links some links that might serve to provide inspiration (Sorry if it's annoying):
https://pathfinderwrathoftherighteous.wiki.fextralife.com/Lich+Powers
https://pathfinderwrathoftherighteous.wiki.fextralife.com/Lich
https://pathfinderwrathoftherighteous.wiki.fextralife.com/Necromancy+Spells
https://oiipdf.com/d-d-3-5-libris-mortis-pdf
Good chapter, and good story so far. Can't wait for the next chapter
This chapter was a turning point for me. I thoroughly liked this wrap up, because the amnesia and weird multiple character traits fighting within one single character was difficult to follow while relaxing and reading. This is good tidings for chapters to come.
Primero, pobre Zecora, con razon no se sigo ese capitulo, realmente me entristece que alguien tan valiente, amable, paciente y generoso haya muerto a manos de un ser espeluznante que se atrevio a poseer el cuerpo de otro... Realmente pense que se debia a su estado de Nigromante, pero esto me ha llevado a reflexionar... desde cuando Light ha estado poseido? y hasta donde lei los pensamientos de Light y empece con la manipulacion de la pesadilla?
uh, creo que no, ya que eso ella ya lo tenia planeado, parece
Finally some answers! I had been dying to know what happened to Zecora! Good job!