Chapter 40 - Wake Up (Retitled)
The first thing that greeted Light Flow as he woke up was not- as he'd been vaguely hoping- a warm bed.
No comfy sheets, no comfy mattress, no creepy presence at his back. Thankfully.
No, thinking about it, that had been an entirely dumb thing to even consider. He had been warned off of that kind of thought beforehoof, and vainly expecting anything else was just naïve. No place for wishful thinking and all that.
Instead, as he should have been expecting: he awoke to the cold, hard feeling of stone pressing unflinchingly against his cheek. A literal return to stone-cold sobriety, was it? Quite the departure from floating merrily through his dreamscape.
If he'd been in a position to sigh, he would've.
Face first on the dirty old floor, how wonderful. What had She said: that She wouldn't be showing kindness? Okay, fine; but did She really have to just dump him on the ground? Like garbage?
Queen of Nightmares was right: because Her manners were right out of his worst dreams.
How long had that been, thirty seconds? Thirty seconds well spent, then; because oh how he had missed being snarky. His claws had been more or less clipped in his previous state, sad and mopey as he was.
He should stop fooling around though, he really didn't have long. While he was having fun, urgency was pressing at the back of his sleepy mind like a rude houseguest, and he would have to let it in before he ran out of time and it broke his door down.
How long did he have, five minutes? That seemed right to his hazy recollection. Though, his time from the incredibly awkward period of The Summer Sun Celebration didn't seem to be entirely clear. Maybe a little blurry.
Like everything was; he had been figuratively asleep for two years. Of course he'd be a little mentally drowsy.
His jaw was incredibly sore in his awkward position, and it was working steadily at his nerves. He clenched and wore the sore muscles as he smacked his lips and gathered his splayed, sleepy hooves under him as best he could. Getting pulled out of his dream literally mid-sentence was disorienting in a way that he thought he could only experience around Pinkie Pie, and his body was taking some time to catch up.
Recently deadened and forgotten nerves and senses were waking as if for the first time, and his mental checklist of bodily effects were ticking back mostly green. Thank the heavens for that; it'd be a huge damper on the mood if his ability to smell had been lost in the multiple scuffles.
Opening his eyes, though: seemed to be particularly difficult. Or: maybe he was just hesitant to see what there was to see in... what he was guessing was an unfamiliar room.
The room he had been in before- Nightmare Moon's old room, as was obvious in previously blind hindsight- had been persistently lukewarm.
This room was cold with the unfortunately familiar chill of the encroaching night eternal. First guess was that Nightmare Moon had moved him; probably somewhere more open and less sentimental.
If She could even feel sentiment.
Okay, that was an entire minute and a bit of change wasted, now; and he was still burning time with the hot lash of sarcasm. He was absolutely ecstatic in a whole lot of suppressed ways to have regained that part of himself, but he had already weakly established in his dreamscape that he needed to disregard dithering if he wanted to survive.
There was a lot to unpack, and he'd love nothing more than to spend an hour or seven going over each individual crisis, but the niggling memory of present danger wouldn't go away. Somewhat thankfully drowning each daring individual panic under a wonderful sea of a bigger panic.
He could think about new feelings and old jokes later; and think about a way to get out of this situation now.
No time for a soliloquy, no time for a breakdown.
Unfortunately for him: every plan started with forcing his sore face to allow him the gift of sight. Groaning in his throat with the effort: he delicately lifted his head an inch off the floor, and pinched one eye open.
Blurry and confusing, what else had he expected? He had been physically asleep for some indeterminate amount of time, and mentally for much longer. Of course he was going to be disoriented, it would be strange if he wasn't.
The winding groan turned into a full-on sigh as he reared his head back fully, and forcibly peeled both of his eyes open as far as he could manage in one quick action. The immediate pain, loss of sense and muted colors made his world spin a bit, but he quickly set to blinking in an blitzed attempt to clear the ocular blockade.
Obtuse metaphor, but at least his eyes were clearing up. A minute and a half gone, though.
Oh.
Oh, oh, oh.
As his sharpening eyes made their way around the room, widening from the sights: he was suddenly wishing that he had been a little less wasteful. The Nightmare was really stiffing him on time, and there was a lot to take in.
He would have to think quickly; rather unlike him.
Or was it?
The room itself was fairly plain, if somewhat leading. It seemed to be a great, arching hall of some sort, with all the once ceremonial vestings that randomly chosen moniker brought.
Large stained glass windows along both walls that had unfortunately only kept their very bottoms over time. A big, draping tapestry sat between every neat set of window; all of them torn and faded beyond comprehension, of course. Travesties in historical documentation that he could drown his sorrows about when he wasn't timed.
Columns and pillars set a distance from- yet still along- the sides of the walls: all worn and toppled over the floor like a foal's board game; whole pieces and chunks lost, broken, and scattered haphazardly. It rendered most of the floor a dirty, uninhabitable wasteland.
To his immediate right, just a hoof-length or so away: a very dirty looking red rug that somewhat predictably lead from the dark entrance of the room behind him up over the stairs to the head in front of him. The irony was not lost on him; because of course he hadn't been left laying on the carpet.
A big dreamy jerk, She was.
Oh, but maybe he should direct that sentiment somewhere else? Because there was something in the room he had been trying not to stare at too directly; despite its overpowering presence and its status as the only really interesting thing in the room.
Maybe it was pointed, or maybe he was just obtuse?
He imagined there was probably some kind of symbolically broken throne at the very head of the room, right where the carpet lead over the raising steps into an arching alcove; but he couldn't really see too well on account of the very obvious mare standing front and center on a central dais.
Two minutes gone by now, and he was only just taking in Nightmare Moon Herself.
It was hard to judge, laying on the floor as he was, but he was pretty sure that She stood over double his height. It was the most immediately obvious thing about Her, even as strange and grand as She was by a general rule.
He tried to keep himself from looking too obviously awed, but it was honestly difficult to keep an air of sleepy defiance on his face. She was towering, and thoroughly intimidating; though it might have been the literal choking presence that She exuded.
He had sort of been in Celestia's presence once, and now he had been in Nightmare Moon's; and he was pretty sure that Goddesses just had some kind of aura that overpowered lesser creatures' minds.
And, of course, when he said 'lesser creatures': he'd meant ponies. It was tangible in the air, and he swore he could feel it attempt to block his throat as he took a light swallow.
He hoped it wasn't an intentional effect, because this would be a very concerning thing to note about the all-powerful ruler of his country. Not surprising given how prone Her Royal Highness was to abusing Her power, as he now knew; but still justifiably concerning.
Anyway: She stood like an obsidian titan, immaculately sculpted and to perfect specifications as if She had been forged to the most exact detail by the greatest artist who ever lived. Yadda yadda, She was big and pretty. He could do better than mindless admiration, come on!
Wake up, and work some details! He had to get his mind working if he was going to survive this!
Her admittedly beautiful chest was covered by what was probably a priceless silver peytral that was emblazoned with a stylized crescent moon in an inlaid crest. Said crest was also covered in little geometric lines that ran along its edges, and dropped sweepingly into an encircling circle to further frame the lunar picture.
Just in case literally everything else about Her failed to tip somepony off to who She was. 'Moon Goddess, here; look at Her!' Two and a half minutes.
Pretty as it was: the peytral actually, on further inspection, looked to be somewhat more function than simple form. It was far more grand and intricate than simple chest jewelry should have been, and seemed more like a piece of armor than anything else.
From the bedazzled center, it dropped into a rounded, upside down point that nearly cupped the curve of her stomach. Just below the supports hanging around Her neck, it extended in two jagged, curved wings against the immediate sides of Her chest; with three smaller, segmented plates above it all rising up against and nearly around the curve of Her long throat.
He could even barely see some kind of cloth that was almost completely hidden between each seam and joint: leaving the plating likely breathable and somewhat comfortable.
The entire thing covered nearly every part of Her chest, and a few scarce parts besides, as well.
It was armor: for protection; rather unlike the decorative finery that Princess Celestia wore. He'd love to take the time to ponder on that if he wasn't already wasting a bunch of time pondering that, idiot.
While he was wasting time on the subject of Her armor: She also wore large, jagged shoes that perfectly rose up around the front of Her legs in an interesting pronged pattern. They would probably... not serve the same purpose when She bent Her legs, but it looked like they would do pretty well at preventing Her from chipping a hoof?
Unless they were really tight or something. It would probably be fine, then. Uncomfortable, but maybe She deserved that.
While he was looking at Her legs, it was mentionable just how toned She was. It wasn't especially obvious throughout the rest of Her body given Her fur and armor, but it was definitely on display in Her long, sleek legs. They didn't exactly bulge with muscle, but the flexing cords underneath chiseled flesh were absolutely more than noticeable.
Moving on: at Her perfect sides sat two perfect, black wings.
That was all there was to say about those, now what about Her face? Three minutes.
He so badly wanted to say that it was as cratered and pocked as the moon, but it was just as perfect and blemish-free as the rest of Her stupid, unattainable self. Granted, Her expression was cast in one of the most chillingly apathetic stares he had ever seen; but that didn't diminish what he hoped wasn't Her natural beauty.
Her mouth was stonily set into an unwavering line of a frown, showing little hint of any further emotion other than apathy. The cruelly cold look in Her painfully familiar, slotted cyan eyes was absolutely disparaging in a freezing, piercing way.
The unsaid depths of pure indifference behind those accented eyes- it hurt. She wasn't angry, she wasn't ready to fight, She was barely even registering him as she stared down at the spot he sat in.
Small. Insignificant. Weak. Pitiable. Finite. Fool.
Child.
How dare She?!
The unsaid spectre of years of abuse poked the stoke of fire that had been flickering away since the spark of his memory had returned, and he let the meanest sneer he could manage rise on his face as She stared through him; as if he wasn't even there. He refused to be intimidated, not after everything She'd done to him. Not after all he'd learned and suffered through.
He knew better. He knew Her better.
The choking silence stretched for precious seconds as Her face remained resolutely unchanged from his small act of aggression, and the imaginary ticking of an imaginary clock drove him to wipe his not-imaginary expression off. There was no point to the strain if he wasn't going to get anything out of it, and there was no point in squeezing at that stone any longer.
She just kept staring, unwaveringly, creepily: in all the worst ways. She was waiting for the time to be up. Three and a half minutes.
As much the rising apathy coldly clawing at his shoulders made him want to lie down, close his eyes, and wait for Her to skewer him on Her... Okay, Her horn was ridiculously long, and he didn't want to linger on that very sharp looking point.
Seriously, it was probably four times as long as his! Apparently, ascending into a Higher Form just bestowed huge endowment or something...
The duller- yet still decently sharp- point was that he wasn't going to back down! The sneer didn't have to be received with any measurable response or emotion, because it was about the defiance! It was about taking a metaphorical stand!
Now She knew that he wasn't going to lie down and take his fate, no matter how much time he wasted thinking about it!
But really, he should stop wasting time. Four minutes, wow it was going by quick.
What next to waste what could be the rest of his life with? The gaseous cloud of ethereal mane floating wispily around both of Her ends: seemingly surfaces filled to the brim with pools of animatedly twinkling stars and nebulae? Blowing and swirling in on itself in a mostly fake breeze like it was some kind of endless river affixed to Her that had pledged eternal worship to the night itself?
Nah.
The last thing of any real note he could remark on was the helmet sitting snugly on Her head, made out of the same material that the rest of Her armor was. It seemed really form fitting, with how smoothly the metal blended directly into the black surface of Her horn. No crease at all, at least from where he was sitting.
It couldn't be comfortable. Good.
It covered nearly all of the surface of Her head, though it was almost entirely open below its eye holes. It ran along and over Her nose, back behind considerate holes for her ears, and down along the sides and against the nape of Her neck; providing near full protection against blows to the head.
Her armor was ultimately utilitarian, yet it was still beautiful and attractive. It served a function, yet still made a statement.
Power without sacrificing terrifying authority.
Why, in every aspect, did She have to be so frustratingly breathtaking?! Thirty seconds left, time to get ready. Did he feel ready? No, but he had a hint of a plan, anyway.
Was it a good plan? No, but when did he have any of those?
A snarl threatened to break over his lips as he sat up onto his haunches, and set his eyes directly to the hooded, broken pools that would probably haunt him forever.
The seconds ticked audibly in his head as he stared bravely into the creased abyss, as She likely did the same. There was no going back now, for either of them. The time would toll the end to their conflict soon enough, one way or another.
Ten seconds. The air seemed intent on suffocating him, and Her ethereal mane seemed to grow more encompassing in spite of the atmosphere. Shading and shadowing the room in unnatural shapes.
Seven seconds. Was that the motion of the muscles in Her neck clenching, or was it his imagination?
Four seconds. Was She as nervous as he was?
Zero.
A metal-clad hoof raised and stomped onto the floor with shocking force, sending a nearly visible wave of pure, magical power through the room. The discharge sent buzzing shocks through his coat as it passed, standing his fur on sudden end. Debris picked up and flew messily against the walls as Her wings unfurled to their full, magnificent span; and he was forced to close his eyes for a moment against a breeze that sent his mane fluttering and thoughts scattering.
Awesome, in the least Rainbow Dash way possible.
"Time has run out." Her voice raised to a thrumming, painful volume; iron-clad strength clear in its throaty undertone. Her head raised even higher to somehow stare down at him even more condescendingly, as Her hoof raised to hover menacingly in front of Her chest, showing rather helpfully that Her horseshoe was kept on by straps running up and along the back of Her hoof.
Neat; but if She was nervous, it wasn't coming across. She was certainly making a large spectacle of this; showing off, trying to cow him.
Well it wouldn't work. Awesome and entirely domineering though She may be, She was also far and beyond a familiar quantity. If he was just meeting Her for the first time now, then maybe he'd be falling prey to Her very valid intimidation tactics; but She had been in his life since he had been a child.
Apparently.
When he looked into her unnatural eyes, full of cold fire and death and promises of things worse than pain, he couldn't stop himself from seeing his own reflection behind them. A little brown unicorn trapped behind the ancient eyes of a Goddess.
So much he remembered now; so much he knew.
It was really rather odd, having new memories that nestled unfittingly between what he had once known to be fact; but it was absolutely undeniable that Nightmare Moon had been in his life for a long time. Longer than he ever could have imagined could even make sense.
All the way back to his childhood, She had been in his dreams: speaking to him candidly about magic and the subconscious and everything in between.
Through his adolescence, She had been in his head: whispering and forcing suggestions and improvements to his speech and thought patterns.
Throughout his entire youth, She had crept in the dark corners of his eyes: waiting and watching him so carefully.
And when he'd gone insane, in his darkest hour, out of anything he could have chosen: he'd chosen to hallucinate Her.
So no, he wasn't afraid; not of the monster nestled beneath his bed. He wouldn't fear the shadows, or the void poised to tear him apart with inky tendrils. He wasn't going to back down from a ghost he had long since come to terms with in his own way.
She had forced him through a certain kind of death before, but not this time. He wasn't going to die, never again to Her.
The fire of rebellion roared to a rage in his heart, and it opened the floodgates to a strength of a kind he had never felt. It didn't burn or zap, and it didn't make his hooves itch with energy. It was more like a steady flow: whispering a sordidly pure secret to his muscles that brought true invigoration.
It wasn't misgiven faith that brought him fully up onto his hooves. It wasn't humorous spite that raised his head to match Her stare from where he'd dropped out of necessity. It wasn't false confidence that squared his shoulders, widened his stance, and brought fresh breath to his tight chest.
It was certainty. Certainty: for the first time in so long. Certainty in himself. Certainty in his mind.
Certainty in a plan he had known since before he had woken. It filled his mouth with a hot zest to be cracked against Her hide; as he stood resolutely against the rising moon, like a child sitting on a hill looking at the sky.
So much higher than him, but he would bring it down and tether it to his level. He would break Her façade of superiority, as a quiet moment of comfortable vulnerability told him was so finitely possible. There was a crack, and he could chip at it.
All possibilities, all strategies: all from one sentence. It all started with five, simple words.
One insult.
"You are not my mother!"
The venomous hiss of his words spitting from his curled lip was a near whisper in the quiet hall, still ringing from the echoes of an authoritative shout; yet even still, it carried with little effort. Just from the unassuming weight of them.
The immediate reaction was no more than a slight widening of the eyes on Nightmare Moon's part, but any reaction at all was very telling. He couldn't resist a small, scornful smile in spite of the situation; just to reward himself as he pursued the weakness with a glare. He was on the right track here, he knew it.
He was taking risks on levels unconceived by even the most drunken of midnight gamblers, and a wishful payout was almost certainly some new definition on hubris. It would take a miracle for his gambit to pay off the way he was hoping, but he was feeling lucky.
As he saw it: the challenge of a fight was in itself a test. Any normal pony would immediately assume that She'd meant a physical confrontation, but that had to have been a trap. He knew from various sources- self-aggrandizing and otherwise- that Nightmare Moon was practically unassailable in single combat.
She was certainly dressed for the part, at the very least.
If he couldn't beat Applejack in a fight, then there was no way he was going to beat a kitted Goddess. It just wouldn't happen.
In the end: hoof to hoof blows would solve nothing but all of his problems all at once. This was the first, real test: seeing past Her words, and realizing the true form of promised combat.
Tricky old donkey.
'Full intent to harm' was an obvious lead, since there were all sorts of ways to harm somepony. He was useless in the most traditional understanding of fighting, something that he was pretty sure complete strangers knew about him. He couldn't even do magic very well, which might as well have been a form of physical combat for all the good it did him.
All things She definitely knew: all things She had taken into account. There was no possible way She would ever assume him fit for a fight with Her.
A physical contest was out: one thing left. If he wasn't meant to assail the unassailable, then he would have to find another way: the next most immediate option.
What was left after strength? What did every dime store wisepony preach like wonderous gospel? What did a smart fighter use?
His intellect, his mind! If he wanted to win in any way, it would have to be through discussion and debate. Low blows and trickery. Plans and plots. Any and every conversational trick he could muster; just as She had been trying to teach him.
It was a sour feeling: playing where She directed; but hitting Her where it hurt would wash the tepid flavor down a bit, and he was pretty sure he was hitting in the right spot.
Going back over all of their recent interactions, it wasn't hard to see that She wanted something certain from him. Her words, Her mannerisms; even the simple ministrations She had taken.
She had never quite been gentle, that didn't seem Her style; but She had never been as harsh as She clearly was around other ponies. Random passersby She had met while using his body- and Zecora, to use a horrifying example- had been treated with criticism and impatience as a general rule. And violence.
But when She'd dealt with him, even in the past, it'd always been with a certain measure of... fondness. Maybe never even that, but there was always some kind of... padding? A removed caring?
'Child' may have been the insult he was taking it as, but there might've been something behind the mock. Some kind of.. sincerity, almost. And when She'd returned from doing... something to Her Royal Highness, She had come to him for what could be interpreted as mutual comfort.
Vulnerable and wistful, like a mare who'd just gone through something emotionally difficult. She hadn't even been wearing Her armor. He could still so strongly remember the slightly sickening feeling of Her fur against his. She had literally let Her guard down to nestle closely to him.
Such a warm embrace, as he had only ever known from his mother. Her breath trailing Her voice into his ears as he drifted away in Her hold... Her wing wrapped in such a comfortably suffocating way around his waist...
It was hard to gauge how exactly real any of that was, but...
It had felt real. She had felt real.
How did She see him, now? What did She really want from him?
What was he to Her?
He didn't know; he really didn't. And- as the silence continued to stretch and She continued to stare- he began to feel his once solid shield of certainty flicker; and it was a concentrated effort to keep a waver out of his furrowed eyebrows.
What if he was wrong? What if this wasn't the test, or if he'd chosen the wrong option? What if he had taken a plunge without checking his parachute? What if he'd gone diving without double casting a waterbreathing spell? What if- What if- What if-
He blinked, the frenzy cleared, and She was smiling.
He barely had a moment filled with an incredible height of panic before She threw Her head back; letting loose a heady, genre-redefining cackle.
He could only stare in deserved awe as Nightmare Moon delivered the most textbook evil laugh he had never known was feasible. It rolled and pealed, shaking and leaping with each painfully emphasized syllable; yet it still somehow managed to sound so natural.
It just went on and on, and- as his mind took belated notice of the unnaturally sharpened fangs at home in Her gaping mouth- he could only imagine what that kind of exertion could be doing to Her throat. It just sounded like it really hurt, with the sheer force behind the saga of black mirth.
She hadn't been meant to find his jab funny, especially not to this point.
It felt like minutes before the auditory assault tapered off, and even longer still before the empty hall stopped ringing with the echo of it. A toothy grin edged with far more points than were necessary filled the space where strange levity had been moments ago, as Nightmare Moon aimed Her focus back at him.
Her pupils seemed to contract as Her eyes hooded, and Her large smile sharpened into a far more devious smirk. The action alone played and leapt horribly on the hint of whatever nerve he had, and he couldn't stop the edge of his lip from curling as the urge to hide attempted a siege over his rational thoughts.
"Oh.." Her first spoken word in their upcoming back-and-forth, and he already wasn't feeling great about the volume of underlying cunning hanging in the air. Her raised hoof lowered back to the ground to stand in front of the one already there, as the fading ember of a chesty chuckle crept into Her voice. "..are you so sure, child?"
He narrowed his eyes in as thin a veil of disgust as he could manage as the words processed; to which She simply chuckled again. What was She even trying to say? As far as he knew, She hadn't birthed him or raised him. Not in any way that mattered, at least. "I'm quite sure, thanks."
His barbed words- as expected- only seemed to drive Her amusement further: as that infuriatingly infatuating chuckle rose in Her chest again. The thoroughly broken silence filled anew with the sounds of ruffling feathers as Her wings folded and found their place at Her sides; and She topped the action off by promptly lowering Her backside to the ground where She stood.
Somehow, She seemed even taller when She sat.
As much as he wanted to cringe away from Her as She tilted Her head to the side with some kind of smugness, he firmly kept his stand where he was. It was highly uncomfortable standing less than fifteen hoof-lengths away from where The Queen of Nightmares simply sat; but he would find a way to manage.
Having a conversation with the literal boogeymare; what a spectacle his life had suddenly become. Maybe he could write a book about his experiences one day? 'The Nightmare and Me'?
As She apparently made Herself comfortable on the uncomfortable, cold floor: She spoke again. "If you so say, child; though, are you sure you would begin this foray with such a line?"
In a simple, subtle moment: Her laughing eyes lost their mirth, and Her smile turned down. A biting chill nipped unexpectedly at his spine as Her face killed all defining features of warmth, and something undefiningly dangerous took its place in Her gleaming, slit pupils.
"I would.. advise a different topic."
As he stared up at Her, and she stared down at the spot where he stood: he obviously felt the pressure of fear in his throat as he struggled through a swallow, but he also felt an undeniable amount of indignance behind it.
It wasn't showing on his face, mutinous and concerned as it was, but he was angry. What was the point of 'testing' him if She was just going to 'advise' him to stay away from topics She didn't like?!
He wasn't going to pursue that particular thread, of course; but it didn't have anything to do with Her 'advice'. He just didn't think it was a very good place to start. He had only said it to get on Her nerves.
A smug smile had inexplicably returned feeling to Nightmare Moon's face, and it took him a second of momentarily enraged puzzling to figure out that his nose had begun to bunch up and scrunch at the end. He sniffed indignantly and straightened his expression, though it did little to fix the one on his tormentor's face: which only seemed to deepen with knowing amusement.
He wasn't trotting off along after whatever She said like a good little colt, he had a reason. He needed answers: a lot of them; so he was going to have to ask some questions. Biting at the hook out of spite wasn't going to do anything but leave him gasping for air.
Ugh. He needed to calm down, he was getting all worked up over nothing. If he was going to let let every little tactic She threw at him get a rise, then he was going to lose.
Keep a steady head, take a deep breath. She was specifically keeping Her hooves out of his head for this, and She needed him. He would be fine; he would be safe.
...She would allow him a moment of solace, surely? Just to catch his breath?
He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply through his nose. The sharp, somewhat wet smell of night; almost drowned out by the dampening smell of copious dust. What a greeting.
Breathe out, and count it. One, two, three, four. Listen to his heartbeat; feel the steady flow of life, there.
Bump, bump, bump; deep beneath the fuzzy sound of silence. Regular, and steady. He was doing just fine.
Opening his eyes with new clarity brought him the sight of a face returned to chilly indifference. The joke must have lost its humor for the moment, though he had little doubt She would find another punchline sometime soon.
For his part, he returned to glaring defiantly; for all the good it did him. His thoughts were falling into line now, and he was beginning to remember his plan of attack; what he'd wanted to do. The most burning, prominent question he needed to ask.
He let his glare ease up a little, though he kept a reasonably questioning furrow in his eyebrows. "Actually, you're right. There is something else I'd rather start with. A question, if you wouldn't mind."
His tone was decently conversationally hostile, but he was still finding his legs, and he wasn't sure how straight his voice had kept. Regardless, the leading end brought Nightmare Moon's expression to a pointed quirk, as if She expected him to continue speaking.
But he was going to wait for Her to speak again. If he let Her sit in on a one-sided rant like a removed spectator, he would never get anywhere. She had to fall into a similar rhythm of communication, so She was less likely to refuse him answers.
Make Her just as invested as he was.
It was a technique She had taught him in one of his forgotten dreams, unfortunately. There was little he could do here to actually catch Her off guard; when She was the one who had implanted most of his tactics in his head to begin with.
That was the point of the test, though. Using what She'd given him to successful effect.
It was only a few moments of Her staring down questionably before She took the hint, and Her head raised another inch as Her eyes shadowed themselves against an already dark backdrop. "And what would that be?"
This entire thing would be far easier if She wasn't literally looking down on him, but they had a height difference anyway. She'd probably be doing that if She laid down.
And yet, some- freakishly unfair -how: Her proportions looked natural and beautiful. It was ridiculous.
His envy was the mere side course of his contempt, though; and he should really focus in on what was relevant. Keep a handle on the conversation, don't drift away, and stay prompt: above all things.
And what was most prompt on his mind was a very simple question. A very simple demand of knowledge to make, yet one that should be very hard to refuse.
He raised himself up, squared his expression, and stared directly into the regally distant eyes set on him. The words felt dumb in his mouth before they even came out, but he pushed the regret lying in wait aside. He needed to know.
"Why me?"
Yeah, he really just wanted to know what in Tartarus's name he was here for. She couldn't possibly dodge an easy question of intent, could She? What would be the harm in telling him at this point, when they were already here?
Whatever harm there was, She must have considered it: as Her response to his question was to re-quirk Her eyebrow. As insulting as the action was by itself, the hoof She raised to rest under Her chin was a burning seasoning into the wound.
Pondering, She seemed to be. Sure She was...
He didn't know if the questioning glimmer in Her eye was meant to seem so disingenuous, but the urge to kick his hoof against something hard flared regardless.
"Child, you're going to have to be more specific. What choice are you bemoaning, now?"
She was mocking him, yeah.
His bottom lip curled inward for him to bite at roughly, and he sighed hotly through his nose. Fine, if She wanted to really dot the i's, he would be more specific. Tartarus burn him, he would be overly specific! That'd show Her for implying that he was short-winded!
He didn't know if he surprised Her as he threw his hoof out with a flourish, but heavens he hoped he did: because all he did was lay it exaggeratedly on his puffed chest as he began to speak as broadly as he could. "A question I pose, Nightmare Moon: why have I been summoned so indirectly to this cursed locale?!"
He wanted to pace dramatically, but the urge to stay front and center overpowered it. He would have to make due with a comical emphasis on his theatrical frown and hoof gestures. "For years, as I understand it: you have groomed me in such a strangely indirect way." He brought his hoof up to jolt roughly at his head as he grimaced. "Prodding and poking at my mind even through extreme adversity; and for what?!"
He swung his hoof out to his left: Nightmare Moon's vaguely interested eyes instantly following the motion. "To have me play at so-called tests as though I am a schoolfoal?! For amusement?!"
He dropped his hoof heavily to the floor as he shook his head as widely as he could, even through the neck pain it caused him. "I don't think so."
He had to hoof it to Her: whatever She was thinking about his best attempt at an impromptu theatre production, she kept it to Herself like a long-suffering director. He thought he caught the edge of an eye-roll, but he ignored it in favor of sweeping his hoof in a wide arc to land in a direct point at where She sat.
"You've some purpose for me, haven't you?! Even putting aside your end-goal: you could have waited for any point to retrieve me and have me in any fashion you so chose; but you specifically had me come here at this very moment!"
He liked to imagine his eyes shone with some kind of gleam or inner fire as he finished with one, magnificent shout. Silhouette tall and strong against a backdrop of victory. "Why have you brought me here?! Tell me!"
His powerful bellow bounced generously off the rough walls of the hall; though the volume didn't really matter in the end, no matter how empowered it made him feel. He was slightly out of breath and out of practice for monologues, but the slight shake he noticed in his hoof as he dropped it was definitely more from the excitement rather than the exertion.
He could have gone for the baser question of why She had chosen him in the first place, but it would probably be better to work up to that. It just didn't seem as important as the most current moment. For all he knew, She had brought him out here to perform a ritual killing or something.
Best to get an estimate, as soon as possible.
It was another moment of a slightly spirit dropping stare from Nightmare Moon before She spoke again: dry kindling in Her voice threatening to set him alight. "Light Flow, child: I have met and judged many of the theatre's greatest champions over lifetimes, and you," Her mouth turned down a little, barely exposing the edge of a grimace. "are far from stage ready."
Ouch. Okay, that hurt his confidence just a little, but whatever. What did She even know about dramatic speeches, anyway?
Hurtful comments apparently said and done: Nightmare Moon's expression took... an interesting turn. He really didn't like the small quirked, fanged grin that grew, or the catlike interest plain in Her eyes. "Child... how would you like to play a game?"
Whatever 'victory' was on his face fled like a coward as His tail instinctively tucked between his legs, and he took a sharp swallow.
He didn't like this at all. What could that possibly mean?! A 'game' by the standards of a genocidal war-queen could cover anything from a rousing round of Jenga to literal blood sport.
If he could shake his head no, he absolutely would've; though something about the way Her head was tilted to the side told him that would be a bad idea. She was staring at him awfully predatorily, and it was beginning to make him very uncomfortable.
He sucked his lip in to bite at again, and shuffled his hoof the barest inch away from the potential danger. "What.. kind of game?" Caution was the flavor of the day, and he was doing his best to put it on display in all of his mannerisms.
She must have found his sudden reluctance amusing, because a patented chest-chuckle was Her immediate response. That probably wasn't a good sign. Her voice was sly and smooth when She spoke next: lending great credence to his theory that he was falling into some kind of trap.
"Oh, nothing so exciting, child; don't fret. It's a rather simple thing I propose; just to... lighten the mood, you might say." She laughed again as Her head tilted back, this time more completely. Less of a chuckle and more of a light cackle: as She seemed to be so good at.
He audibly gulped: he couldn't help it. Tense stereotype or not: the trepidation at camp in his chest was desperately attempting to drag his hooves into running away; and he almost had half a mind to give up and get out.
It was the tension more than anything else. She was dragging the spectacle out on purpose just to drive his imagination wild and put him at edge, he knew. Chiefly because She had taught that to him!
Thankfully, whatever joy She was getting out of watching him visibly squirm must have reached its end; as- in yet another near instant- She blinked languishly and Her predatory air took a turn to something approaching casually businesslike. "You seem intent on beginning with an exchange of information, from me to you." She scoffed, though somehow with a smile on Her face. "Somewhat conceited, but I suppose you it would be cruel to deny you the inherent right of information."
She chuckled quietly as She regarded him with a creepy amount of what seemed to be fondness. Her voice slowed to a drawl, edging over and on his rising nerves. "I've something a little different in mind, though; something a little more.. Fun. Instead of just telling you the answers, I believe I'd rather you guess them."
Her head turned slightly so that She was regarding him out of the corner of Her fluttering eye, showing him the side of Her devious grin. "Puzzle the beginning of each riddle out on your own. Present to me your theory, and if you've landed anywhere near the mark, I'll gladly spill each and every Honest detail you desire."
Her head turned again, this time against Her chest: so Her gaze met his as directly as it could. Her hooded eyes over unnatural pupils seemed to dance with mirth and challenge, beckoning him to leap ahead and join in. "An interesting thought, isn't it? Guaranteed honesty at a risk? What might you choose, child?"
Choice, right; as if he had one.
10/26/22 - Renamed chapter from 'Wake Up 1/?' to 'Wake Up'
Hey hey, it's me! That guy who sometimes writes long-winded horse words! How's everybody in the crowd tonight doing, huh?! 
G-Get it? Cause- Cause it's gonna be night forever?
I ' m f u n n y .
Anyway, here we are with the first part of the next chapter! Yeah, you heard me: the first part.
'How many parts?' Who knows! I haven't finished writing the entire chapter yet! 
Oh, how much fun writing is. Writing and writing and writing endlessly and never really finding the point. I'm probably going to be writing this chapter for the rest of the entire year at this point! get it get it get it
Okay, that's enough jokes. How's about this chapter, huh? Well, you probably know better than I do, actually. Aside from a few parts here and there, I haven't read this chapter in a few days. 
I'm really tired right now, you see? And- I sorta said something about putting this chapter up today in that blog post I put out a bit ago. And- And I know this chapter is pretty mostly good, because I've gone back over it just about a million times in the past.
So, I'm just kinda... putting it out! Here you go, a big mess of words dropped in your hands like... like candy! Yeah, your favorite candy, sure! 
or something unmentionable, depending on how you feel about the chapter
So, what happened toda- tonight? Well, we've got Light waking up real abruptly, Light bein' real snarky, some crappy descriptions courtesy of yours truly, and some stilted dialogue! Fun, right?!
Oh, you've already read the chapter, you know what happened! I had a bit of trouble writing it at times, but nothing so out of the ordinary. This is really just the first step in the entire overblown saga this will be!
Oh, and I don't know when the next chapter's gonna be out. The contents of what it will be are technically already written, but I don't think I'm ready to finalize it. There's still a lot more after it that I have to write, and I don't want to burn the path too close to my heels, here.
Um, I think that's it? I'm tired, and I just kinda want this to be out, already. As usual, let me know if you hate it and me! Or if you liked it, that'd be much nicer
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Here we go! Can't wait to see how this turns out and what the purpose NMM has for Light is.
Interresting....
Always happy to receive more word sal... 3 course meal from you. And good chapter, the interest has been doubled
That was long and uncomfortable.
Just like you wanted, probably.
I wonder, if you ever reread you first chapters of this story and thought about how's much you changed the way you write.
Let me try to express positive side: you are quite good at expressing the flow of thought, the way his confidence dwindles while he tries to convince himself not to be afraid.
It's very natural how he constantly gets distracted only not to think about what he is supposed to do because he is afraid.
It's very clear demonstration of uncertainty and uncomfortable atmosphere where we perceive situation from the perspective of weak and powerless side.
But seriously, it's like 85% of the chapter is just his inner monologue, where 78% of that is just him going off the tangents and thinking useless thoughts.
Where did the story go?...
Tl;Dr: Woke up on the floor, looked around, noticed NN watching him coldly, observed her very very closely (4 min), winded himself up, said "You not my mom!" and she laughed at his face in ridiculous fashion and dispelled most of his courage and determination. Then he questioned her motives (Why me?) and she answered that he must guess now.
Are you sure you spent all this time writing the story and not just trying you damnest to stretch this one paragraph as much as your possibly could?
Now, I'm not really saying you shouldn't add water... But isn't it a bit too much? It's a goddamn flood.
11077273
So... not your favorite candy, then?
Yeah, the thing about every one of your comments is: it's pretty much everything I already know and tell myself. Yes, my writing is endlessly and entirely uselessly wheeled to the point of ridiculous, horribly off-putting staving. I'm drowning you; I know that, and I feel that. I can almost guarantee that I know that far better than anyone else, because no one goes over these chapters with a comb as fine and comparatively worthless as mine.
I know my writing is mostly filler; and, you know: the entire chapter could be condensed to a few simple notes. Like you did, and like so.
Light woke up, told some jokes, looked around, stared at Nightmare Moon for five minutes, said something cliché and self-servingly dramatic, Nightmare Moon laughed, they insulted each other, Nightmare Moon wants to introduce a stilted plot element in the form of a 'game', end of chapter.
That's it. You don't need to read the chapter if you just internalize those key, reductive bulletpoints. You can do that with any piece of media, really; but again: that's reductive. But, is it more reductive to crowd a page with endless nattering for no reason? To bury the point under a mound of fluff? Am I doing a disservice to whatever semblance of a plot my scattered brain is trying to mold together here?
Absolutely. There is no doubt in my mind that I am hurting the story's narrative tremendously.
But you know what? I don't know how else to do it. You're right that I've changed my style of writing from how it used to be; but, the funny thing is, I cannot bring myself to read anything that I used to write. I've gone back through every chapter multiple times as I've crafted a comprehensive story bible/analysis, and it was a laborious endeavor. I hate my old style of writing and how short it all is.
I don't know how to write this story any other way; because I can't imagine any reason why I shouldn't describe every miniscule detail of Nightmare Moon's armor, or the seven different turns Light's mind takes. If I don't mindlessly overcrowd every detail with ten more, then my mind screams at me that I'm leaving out a page in the lexicon, and that the scene just isn't right. I write like I expect my story to be adapted into a television show someday, because it's my pathology.
I am not a good writer, and I've come to terms with that. You should never write the way I do, because It is just painful for anyone that doesn't just enjoy the simple act of reading. It is boring, and I know that.
Once again: I am sorry to have put a textbook into your lap, and I am grateful that you took the aggregate time to both read it and comment. I'll be honest: I cringe every time I scroll down to see your name above a comment, because I know I'm about to do some painful self-reflection. I know you're dissatisfied with how I write, but I really can't stop writing like this; because I don't really know how else to, anymore.
TL;DR I'm making excuses again, but I'm aware of everything you said. Your criticism is valid and constructive, but I can't stop doing any of those things, so: I'm genuinely sorry if I'm alienating you.
I dunno, maybe i'll improve over time. i'll try, okay? I take things really personally, sorry for the essay
11077296
No, I'm saying you are a bad writer. You are not.
Your writing is pretty damn good, why else I would read it even if it was boring? You are very good at describing emotions and atmosphere.
You just like to stall.
Maybe you should try writing web novels, they literally build around stretching plot across 1000s of chapters.
That's one way to use your love for water.
And honestly, I cringe everytime I'm about to post a comment, because I know how harsh it is, and I keep editing it to soften it several times... And sometimes don't post it at all. I'm just too honest and I have to say things as is to the author's face.
I have to break off here. I've tried to stick it out but I don't want to read 50k words over 14 captors to get to the end of this conversation. This really interested me at first but now I just have to ask, how does this involve necromancy at all? It happened once and he read about it off screen, that's it. This story is more about NNM then anything else.
11078953
Yeah, you're completely right. I've completely strayed off the original focus of the story; and at this point, I'm really just writing an overplayed drama.
But you see: I've never written a story before. This is my first time ever writing any sort of narrative, and I've become somewhat intoxicated by it.
I started doing this because I had a bipolar urge to write cool things about Necromancy; but once that wore off, as all bipolar urges usually do, I was still left with a lot about this story that I really liked. I like the character I created, I like the overarching plot threads I managed to randomly string together, and I really like MLP.
So, that's what I'm writing: a My Little Pony fanfiction. This story will contain Necromancy. It'll have Necromancy relatively soon, even; but I can't force my narrative to speed up to something that just isn't ready to happen, yet. I know I messed up with this chapter especially, and I'm going to try to do better moving forward, but the story is what it is.
Any half-blind fool looking at this story would know that it isn't really what It was when it started, anymore. By now, it's less about Necromancy and more about the Necromancer.
I'm sorry that I've wasted your time here, and I really should make some things more transparent about what's been going on. It's not fair that I've drawn some people in with a dishonest promise of something that won't happen for 200k words that aren't even there yet.
The story is still in its relative infancy, though; which is why I'm comfortable with taking so long to let anything happen. As far as I'm concerned, everything that's happened up until about this mark is just the prequel. It's a little diminished by the fact that I'm a lazy bum with consistency issues the size of Canterlot, but I figure I can get anybody who still cares there eventually.
So again: I'm sorry that I've taken so much of your time with so little in return; but I also want to thank you for staying with me for so long. Giving me the chance to disappoint you was enough to skew a debt that I won't be able to repay, though maybe it's a little lessened by your harsh tone, there? If I didn't already hate myself for all of those things you said, I might be feeling a little worse, right now.
So, I guess I'll see you on the relative flipside.
Well, I'm having a blast. I don't mind reading an eight to twelve thousand word chapter that describes five minutes of waking up and three minutes of conversation opener. I mean, I understand it's ridiculous, and pacing is, quite obviously a joke to you, but I'm enjoying the ride. I can't wait to see how this night ends. Y'know, thirty chapters or so and a year of real time from now. <3
I wonder How long chapter two will be it has been two months. Last time it took one month
11079005 yeah this story has just been a bit too slow for my liking which made me check out personally. I’m back to see if something has actually happened tho lol. But yeah there’s a LOT of dropped plot threads and narrative elements. My biggest problem is that he has forgotten all his arcane lore and shit tbh and is just a character things happen to. But a little narrative creep isn’t bad, just a learning experience. I’m still here my guy
FMA has done it. No need to feel insecure. You’re bound to lose people as the story changes
siento como NM fue insultada, y con ella toda la generacion antes de ella, de una manera muy irrevocable... y fue lo mas epico que ha hecho Light desde que empece a leer la historia, si llega a hablarle a las versiones malvadas de las alicornios, en un mismo lugar y estan listas para pelear... bueno, diria que seria el segundo personaje mas epico de todo FIM sin tomar en cuenta a los desplazados/Universos Alternos en los que Ecuestra esta relacionado con otra realidad, el primero es un Anon, y no cualquier Anon, es el Anon de "Los diarios de un loco" (o asi era creo)
I have to say I absolutely love your writing style. I know it's rather slowly-paced for a lot of people, but honestly that just makes it even better imo; none of the buildup has really been filler, and that'll just make the payoff all the more sweet.
The only downside to it in my eyes is that I had been planning to finish reading this arc tonight, but by this point it's 3:30 in the morning and I should probably go to bed.