Chapter 50 - The Healer
"So, you live in Ponyville, don't you?"
The mare walking ahead of him did not slow down. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."
Okay... running into a wall with that... How about..?
"How did you know where to find me?"
The mare walking ahead of him did not slow down. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."
He frowned. Had that sounded colder than the one before it? Best to try again.
"How am I going to be interrogated when we get back to Ponyville?"
The mare walking ahead of him did not slow down. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."
Light Flow was feeling sort of snubbed.
He supposed it was to be expected from a government mare like her, but the cream-colored secret agent was even tighter-lipped than the depictions of her job in books would imply. Those types of ponies would kick doors down and pose dramatically and declare that they were Bond. Bonding Agent. She wasn't doing any of that. Well- she had kicked down his front door, actually. Maybe she would've shouted her name if he'd had the presence of mind to gasp loudly and ask?
The mare with a limp that was somehow moving at a faster pace than him was just... shutting him down. They'd been walking for about an hour- trotting around brambles and crawling under fallen trees and jumping ravines- and in all that time, she wouldn't tell him anything about her or her job or what was happening. Completely understandable and he'd be the same way, of course, but he wanted to know! He hated being so clueless!
Her total, business-like silence did give him time to think, at least. And as he swatted fronds aside and trudged through the undergrowth, reveling in the simple sensation of living, he was thinking.
Mostly about Applejack, though when his mind wasn't totally dominated by the wonderful picture of the least agreeable pony in the world, he enjoyed random thoughts about the night's events and the coming days. A little about his previous death and his incoming incarceration, though he tried to keep anything too intrusive at a low rumble.
The day had come, so Nightmare Moon- Nightmare Moon- had probably lost, which meant his friends had won, but that didn't mean they hadn't been hurt. He didn't care so much about most of them losing a leg or three, but Applejack? Even Rarity, to a certain point... He just hoped the few of them that he actually cared about made it out alive. Rainbow Dash could probably stand to get maimed. Would knock her down a few pegs.
Of course, he couldn't think about the night's outcome without thinking... about the Night.
He didn't really want to, though, so whenever She entered his head, he just tried to focus on the rhythm of his walking hooves, instead. Ignoring those dark, slotted eyes in the back of his head step by step by step on the grey, grassy walk, until- oh good, there were those gleaming green emeralds, again. The pony whom he loved, kicking back in the sunlight with the day dappling her glowing orange fur. Forehead damp with sweat after a day's work; legs rippling with working muscles under the skin as she stretched them out one by tantalizing one. The scent of sweet apple blossoms on the breeze as she softly sighed: the least objectionable sound in the world...
...Yeah, the pony he loved. It had used to frighten him to admit that, but it just didn't seem so hard anymore. Actually kind of... nice. He loved Applejack, a whole lot. Probably from the bottom of his heart, if that tired hyperbole was even applicable. She was... well, she was...
She was beautiful, for one. And sort of saintly, except where it counted, thankfully. He didn't really have to think about the reasons why he loved her, it was just... The feeling in his chest when he thought of her- it was just right. Time spent with her was just better.
He guessed that... admitting something so benign just seemed... easier after all he'd been through.
He wondered if he should tell her?
Would he have a chance?
His eye fell down, as he rounded a tree after the retreating purple-and-pink tail ahead of him.
He'd nearly forgotten who he was walking behind.
And he didn't even notice she'd slowed down until he nearly bumped into her.
Cream fur scrolled into his downcast vision, and he managed to stop just short of crashing into the panting mare with her head down. The big, tough, secret agent mare with the lolling tongue and the sweaty forehead, as he saw when he trotted around to her front.
Her eyes were unfocused and her head was hung, but she still met his curious gaze instantly, and the small hesitance there was instantly covered. "I'm fine," she stated forcefully, though he actually hadn't said anything. Was she okay? What was normal for her? Did he even care?
Though she clearly wasn't fine by anypony's standards and he could tell she wasn't fine, she raised her head steadily, and she took an unsteady step past him. "Let's... let's go. We need to- we need to..."
It was obvious several seconds in advance that, as she wobbled forward on her one good hoof, she was going to fall down. He had plenty of advance time to notice, think about what he wanted to do, think again whether he really wanted to help her, before finally deciding that it would probably be best for both of them if he didn't let her pass out.
Oh, but how wonderfully spiteful would it be to just let her smack her head on the ground. Best to reel that thought in, though. He needed her to carry her own weight.
So, he stepped forward, leaned down, and let her falling body crash into his outstretched hoof. His legs buckled and he blew out an exerted seethe as the mare's weight fell onto him: her head pushing into his neck, and her hooves clutching at his withers.
Now his ears were burning, and he was immediately regretting his decision to be kind. He was barely fit enough to hold a book, and he could already tell he needed to put her down, quickly, before he collapsed with her on top of him. Never mind that it would seem compromising: her head was nestled into his neck! This was officially violating his ban on all Light-to-stranger contact, and he hated it.
His teeth chattered from the stress as he spied a good-looking tree by their relative side, and he slowly shuffled towards it. The mare's breath was blowing hotly across the back of his neck: uneven, lilting gasps fluttering in her chest as her back hooves dragged lifelessly behind them in the dirt. What had happened? She'd been just fine a minute ago, and now she couldn't even stand?
He was worried about her. Granted, it was mostly because if she died, then he'd be more or less collared to her stinking corpse thanks to the stupid tag on his hoof.
Also he'd... feel bad, or whatever. Not really.
The tree accepted the mare's grasping hoof in his place readily, and she collapsed into it instead as he breathed a silent breath of relief. He rolled the muscles around his withers to relieve a little bit of the growing soreness, as he turned his attention to the red-faced, panting mare who was just about hugging the arboreal giant.
"Don't... I'm just... taking a second..." Her raspy response to his continued silence was punctuated by a throaty cough, which really just sealed the deal. The mare was sick, and he could clearly spy the most likely suspect for her illness, even as she angled her body to hide it from him.
He leaned down towards the mare, whose eyes snapped open and steadied on him as he sat down. Her expression was hard and very unpleasantly cross, but her lips stayed firmly closed as he gently reached a hoof out to touch his frog to her forehead.
Clammy and sweaty and hot.
"You're burning up," he murmured, and she shook her head dismissively. With a mental note to slap her if she started to pass out, he dropped his gaze to the shaking hoof she was keeping at her chest. His hoof crept cautiously out to take hold of it, and though the mare fixed him with a tempered, reproachful look, she still let him gently guide the limb away from herself. Her stare wasn't nearly as threatening as Nightmare Moon's, anyway, and her sickened state only made it seem all the weaker.
His heart skipped a beat as he pulled her limb out of the shadow of her body, and he bit his lip: something unnameable flicking on like a switch in his brain as he took in the sight of the red. The heady, beautiful, iron-rich red so distinct amidst the dull grey background.
Focus. It was just blood. Don't get weird. Noticeably. He could freak out in his own mind all he wanted.
She was bleeding: the dirty grey bandages around her pastern slowly staining in a growing wet blot. He could see, tilting her limb around, that the cloth was beginning to fray in the few small places where red was seeping through.
Her wound, whatever it was, had reopened. Depending on how long it'd been since she'd actually been wounded, it made sense she'd finally collapsed. There was a point where the body naturally overwhelmed the mind, after all.
He almost wanted to say she deserved it.
...But she probably didn't. Well, maybe she did. Or, maybe she didn't. Urgh.
"When did you bandage this?" His question was answered by another shaking of her head, before she pulled her hoof away from him, and then, very foolishly, tried to push herself to her hooves. Her breathing hitched and her legs shook as she leaned into the tree; he only watched impassively as she managed to get her back legs up, before they slid out from under her and she fell forward: smacking her head into the bark as she cried out.
Her eyes were growing glassier with every labored breath she took, but there was a notable determination there as she turned her gaze back to him. "In... my saddlebag. A pill... Energy sup-supplement... I need... I need it..." she managed to choke out between heavy breaths, as the sweat continued to pour down her matted forehead. Her teeth grit, and a bout of noticeable shaking broke out over her tense body: broken eventually by a seething, whimpering groan.
All the while, he sat back and watched. Silent and still, but he made sure to make up for comfort in judgement.
This... was very sudden, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. On the one hoof, he'd be entirely justified in leaving her to die out here, but on the other hoof, he'd never survive if she died out here. Even if he got the dumb tag off, she probably had ponies expecting her back at Ponyville who wouldn't be ecstatic to see him arriving without her.
He could get his revenge on her for helping the Princess erase his memory, and it would only cost him his second life.
Decisions... decisions...
Yeah, he should probably help her. He was angry, not stupid.
Light shook his head, and reached to grab hold of her hoof again. "You don't need energy. Trying to force your body to move like this is just going to kill you." The limb was guided into his hold with little prodding, and at his mental prompting, the mana in that placeless source of power began to churn. "You need treatment."
Treatment that would have to come from him, he didn't say. She was lucky that, barring an actual medical professional, she was stuck out here with him. The next best thing: a fact that she was trying to use to throw him into prison. What? No, he wasn't bitter.
Perish the thought.
He felt her tug weakly away, which really spoke a lot about her condition if she couldn't overpower him. Her eyes, though, were still full to the brim with a fierce strength. "What are you doing?!" Her angry grumble was more like a mumble, and he wasn't impressed in the least by her attempt at intimidating him. She'd have to grow fangs for that to work.
He'd been trained, he supposed. A rather unconventional sort of training, but he'd learned a lot from the experience all the same. Small blessings, again.
With the memory of having faced down a livid Goddess, Light let a familiar, proven hardness creep over his frown. "I need to see your injury if I'm going to do anything about it. At the very least, I need to get this dirty bandage off or it's just going to get worse." His firm statement shut the agent up for that moment, though her eyes were still narrow and full of distrust. That was fine, she didn't need to trust him, she just had to let him look.
Now, how to go about this..?
Her breathing audibly ramped as his horn lit and he tugged the end of the wrap out from itself, then began to unwrap it from itself loop by loop. He could tell by the way she tensed that the contact was making her uncomfortable, but she'd just have to deal with it. Not his fault his magic did what it did...
He had to admit, she was biting her lip pretty well. Too hard, though, and she'd bite right through.
The cloth fell away easily enough for the outer layers, though with each pass the bandages underneath were exposed, and that red stain beneath just grew and grew. Pass by pass until the bandages were thin and thickly colored, then there was suddenly resistance. He tugged again at the moist, red-stained cloth, and the mare noticeably flinched.
The cloth must have fused to her skin with blood. Or it was just stuck: blood was pretty sticky. Either way, this was going to hurt. He was just glad it wouldn't hurt him-
He ripped the last layer of the bandage away in one, firm motion, then braced for impact as the silent air filled with the mare's shout of agony. But it was only a short cry, and not an agonized scream, as he'd expected. And when he cautiously opened his eyes to see her face, he only found her gritted teeth grinding together, and a very slight glimmering tear at the corner of her narrowed, cerulean eye.
A very strong mare, but he'd known that already. He'd even tried to catch her off-guard by not giving a warning, but she'd handled the pain remarkably well. It was actually almost... off-putting how butch she was trying to be. What was she trying to prove to him?
He gradually tore his gaze away from the mare struggling not to show weakness to inspect the uncovered wound. Immediately, he felt the pressure behind his wide eyes as his nostrils instinctively flared, and he took in the cloying scent of sickly sweet iron coming from the disgustingly blackened, swollen, pockmarked pastern.
A familiar, slightly comforting scent, but also- ew.
It was... difficult to remain as confident in his ability as he'd felt a minute ago when he was faced with the mare's obviously serious wound. Whatever had happened had clearly happened right around the pastern, as was obvious, and the thin skin there had swelled to disfiguring limits. And, squished as it had been by the bandage, the flesh was all the more puffier and... dense. Nearly right on the bone, too: no wonder it hurt so much. Where... was her fetlock in all the mess? He couldn't tell; it was all too swollen.
There was blood welling from the small, rubbed pocks all over the black flesh, and judging by the dried flecks around each hole, it had probably clotted before he'd ripped the bandage off, which was good. That meant less bleeding. The bad thing was that- guessing by all the swelling- all that irregular clotting had screwed up her blood flow, and then all the dirt and grime of her romping about had let infection enter the limb, which only made the swelling worse, and...
Well, it was a whole mess, and he wasn't even a doctor. From a regular medical standpoint, he had absolutely no idea how to help her. He couldn't even make a guess as to how it had happened. What sort of trauma led to such an awful injury? Had she been mauled or what?
But the mare- the complete stranger- seemingly had some kind of faith in him. She was staring at him with clear pain and dormant anger in those tired blue eyes, but she was letting him look at her wound. She'd let him unbandage it. Whatever she thought he could do, she must've wanted him to do it.
Did she know?
A short time ago- yes it was just a short time ago, despite how long it had felt since then- he'd been nose deep in a book about Flesh Manipulation. A terribly-named subclass of Necromancy that involved the manipulation of flesh, obviously. Manipulation, recombination and longevity, but most importantly: restoration.
He'd been in a terrible state at the time, what with the screaming Goddess in his head and the many growing holes in his memory, but he was better now, and he'd actually managed to glean a lot from those books. Nothing he'd had any use for yesterday night- it was the day after, wasn't it?- but now, it was all coming through clearly. Now, everything he'd learned might finally be useful. Finally, he could actually practice Necromancy!
Granted, a subclass, but still. Very exciting.
He was beginning to feel a bit inappropriately giddy, so he occupied himself by gently touching his hoof to the swollen limb: listening to the mare seethe as he explored the satisfying feeling of full flesh and warm, welling blood under his frog. It was probably the wrong thing to do, since it was really just exciting him even more.
The wonderfully squeamish sensation of small holes of open flesh rubbed raw rubbed open was beginning to make his heart race, and the feeling was only amplified all the more by its intoxicating warmth. He didn't even mind the slightly nauseating sensation of swelling; he was just enjoying the chance to feel, while imagining what he could do.
There was a unstoppably fast sensation of growing exhilaration rising in his chest; a nervous shudder stilling his breath for a quiet moment of relaxed bliss as he ran his touch down to gently touch upon her hard heel. He wondered if she was prepared for the pain; did she really want him to heal it for her? Necromancy was illegal, did that mean she was willing to break the law? Was he? Yes, of course he was. What a dumb question.
His own hoof had been very stained with the running red of her wound, and as it trailed across hers, it left a small streak of crimson across the dirty black. It was a very intimate, very beautiful moment he was enjoying, as the mare bit her lip and tried not to shiver from the pain of what he was doing. He could care less.
Touching her wound really didn't have anything to do with his magic, he kind of just wanted to make the mare hurt for what she'd done to him. Also, because he was a freak and he got a very perverse enjoyment out of touching blood and sick, but the preferences he'd trained into himself as a foal were far less important than the revenge.
With his hoof still exploring hers, he flicked an eye up, and caught her unfocused, twitching gaze. "I know a spell that can help you," he murmured, and her eyes focused onto his. A hope, smothered instantly by a reproach. She knew what he meant by spell.
"I- I c-can't. That's... that's illegal. It's- it's profane. Sac-sacrilegious." She was beginning to shiver from her illness, now- or was it the forest's cold?- which only made the bravado she forced into her voice sound all the less impressive. For a mare denying precious magical aid while being stranded in the middle of the Everfree, there must've been a serious dedication to her religious views behind that stoic façade.
So Light pressed insistently down onto her open sores, and waited until she stopped shaking in pain to speak. "Listen, this isn't that serious, but I'm assuming you know how bad our situation is, and where we are." He stopped to let that sink in for a moment: watching the visble war on her grimacing face for a moment until he spoke again. "You've been lugging this lame thing around for... who knows how long, and it isn't gonna go away before we reach Ponyville."
He tugged her hoof slightly higher, and a small shimmer of red trailed down from her clenched lip. There it was. "If you wait until then, it will be serious."
Deciding to spare her the cliché do you want to lose the limb or your pride speech: he went silent to allow her the moment to think, as he cast his eye down and tried to work through what spell he would actually use. He'd learned a couple, though he'd never tried any of them... He'd had the time to learn the most basic theory and the methods of casting, but he'd been stopped short of actually using any of it. Typical distractions like possession and mental regression: it was always something, wasn't it?
As he ran his hoof over her swelling flesh again, a quiet, devilish little voice whispered that it was probably best he was testing his magic out on somepony other than himself.
And he agreed with it pretty readily. Wasn't like he was overly fond of this mare. The only problem in having her head combust or her liver explode would be the subsequent reckoning from the government. He wouldn't miss his longtime stalker, that's for sure.
Was it twisted to be considering her accidental death while playing with her wound? Yes. Yes it was.
After everything he'd been through last night, he figured he deserved to be a little twisted.
A short, pained seethe brought his attention away from the dark, and he realized he'd accidentally pressed down too hard, and now there was blood spattered a bit up his hoof. He blinked, and tried to communicate he was mildly sorry through a sheepish glance, though... since her one eye was screwed shut in pain, it was a little hard to tell if it got through.
He let his hoof hover away for the moment, and in the moment after the mare broke a heavy breath with a gasp. "F-Fine," she muttered through a shaking jaw, which contracted jerkily in an evidently difficult swallow. She nodded her head shakily, though her eyes were all on her hoof. "Fix- fix me. I'm- I'll allow this... this one time, just- I just want you to make it hurt."
He blinked bemusedly, and he almost opened his mouth to ask before he stopped, thought, and realized he didn't care. Whether she wanted to punish herself or punish herself, it didn't matter to him. He was just the bonehead with a collar and a sick handler.
He furrowed his brow, and set his attention onto her hoof: doing his best to keep his mana circulating and getting used to the anticipant feeling of preemptive casting as he stalled for a moment. A moment that felt pretty massive, since it... it was the first Necromantic-adjacent spell he'd ever cast... He'd waited his whole life for this moment: for the chance to touch another in the most intimate of ways, and change them from the inside-out. Necromancy involved two basic parts: half spiritual manipulation and half physical, and now he was about to complete his experience.
Of course, it felt all the more bitter that he was wasting it on her. He'd have much preferred a rotting corpse to practice on; he was sorely missing the company.
But, putting the resentment aside, he needed to decide which spell would help her the most, the fastest.
Which spell... Which spell... What treatment comes first..? What came first in the medical method..?
...Ah!
He nodded to himself. That would do nicely to begin with, and it would work quite well with that. She'd be on her hooves in no time.
...She just... wouldn't be able to tell she had hooves.
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Bon Bon was sure she was going to die. From the pain- from the sin- from the sheer embarrassment of letting her condition overtake her when she was trying to keep it cool! What a great first impression to make in front of her charge!
But the pain was probably the frontrunner, as much as it made her want to vomit to admit. Or maybe that was the pain- or the vertigo- it was just so hard to tell when everything hurt. Except- except her hoof. Her hoof was just growing so numb...
It was worst behind her eyes, she decided in a moment as she struggled to keep them open. The pounding in her head that had grown and grown that she'd ignored until she could barely see straight and the path ahead had begun to look like wavy lines that burned in her vision like the hot lash of a barbed whip- bad memories!
But then- as she hung her head and threw it back with a heavy breath that stalled in her throat and made her cough raggedly- the worst pain was probably her chest. It felt like fire was running through her veins- like she'd been dared to drink lava on a barracks razzing, and now it was just sitting and eating through her stomach. Hyperbole- she knew it was just hyperbole- but it was so hard to stop from screaming!
She- she had to remember- if she screamed, then the predators would come. She had to make sure they weren't found... She- she had to keep a low profile... Had to- had to remember her training. Her training... Keep out of sight... Keep- keep away from isolated areas... Blend into crowds... Never... never let a target catch you alone... Never... never go to dinner alone...
Dinner... tonight... what- what's for dinner, Lyra..? Lyra, honey..? Honey... cool... sweet... sweetheart. Lyra, sweetheart... Come- come back to bed- it's so hot... Get out of bed- it's too hot... Hot... The hurt... Lyra, you're hurting me... Stop... Stop the hurt... Sorry... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... The hurt... Didn't mean to hurt you...
Hurt. Pain. A sting- ouch!
A pain- a real pain she felt on her cheek brought her screaming back to reality from a foggy void of names and numbers and scenes she'd tried apologizing for. She blinked muggy memories out of her bleary eyes that still hurt, but it was easier in a moment to remember the hurt. The pain of her sickness.
...Her sickness- her sickness!
She'd lost focus, and she- she'd given Light permission to perform magic on her- but how long had she been out? She- she needed to identify.
So, she identified, as her sleepy mind was telling her to. And what she identified was Light's unnatural red eyes staring at her with muted concern, as his- his horn was glowing bright, shimmering red. Her nerves on edge- the wrong feeling of his mana brushing up against hers. He was doing his spell right now!
She tried to say something, but her mouth- it felt oddly cottony. Everything was beginning to feel sort of cottony- even the pain was beginning to grow... numb. The sickness felt... faint. She shook the feeling of clinging cobwebs away, and tried again. "What- what happening? How long... been out?"
Too few words were coming with far too much difficulty, and she couldn't figure out why. Her tongue felt- didn't feel like anything. Her jaw- no. Was she still breathing? When she tried to- she couldn't make her body- Everything felt- nothing felt.
She couldn't... why did everything feel like she was staring at it through water?!
"Hey. Hey, focus." Light's voice snapped her out of a spiral, and the reminder of the unicorn was a sober realization that she was Special Agent Sweetie Drops, and she should've been more alert, damnit! She couldn't just let this happen without her consent! Wait- no- she had acceded to this... Celestia damnit, she needed to focus...
It was... actually easier to focus, all of a sudden. Without the pain blinding her every other second, she could really focus onto the shock of red in her vision, as it stared at her stilly. The red- Light's expression was a mixture of intense concentration, exertion, and a very real exasperation. "I need you to- I need you to not pass out or drift off while I'm doing this... so you can tell me if blood starts leaking out of your ears..."
His tongue drifted out between his lips, and he bit it as his eyes unfocused. The shimmering she'd not heard in her ears until then grew louder as his horn shone brighter Then, the light dimmed slightly, and his eyes focused on her again. "I need to know if that- that starts to happen... 'cause I want to watch."
She didn't feel annoyed at his disregard for her wellbeing, but then again, she wasn't really feeling much of anything. Even the concern was- it was just the barest sensation. Like a gentle brush of emotion. It was very strange- she couldn't feel the pain or the sickness or the ground underneath her, and if she hadn't just peeked down to see if she was still laying on it, she could've sworn she was flying, instead.
Had Light drugged her? No, he didn't have anything on him; she'd checked his body when he fell. So, it must've been his spell. What spell had he used on her? Some... kind of anesthetic? She'd not been briefed on any Necromantic spell like that. She should've been more critical when he'd said he could help her- but damn her, she'd considered herself lucky to have suppressed the urge to vomit when she'd given him the go ahead.
Not just from the pain- abjectly allowing a Black magic practitioner to... to practice Black magic, and not just near her, but on her?! If word ever got out, she could forget about excommunication, she'd probably be slapped with jail time to go right along with Light's!
That was bad. Even if she couldn't muster the feeling to go along with knowing, she still knew the typical punishments for Black magic practitioners, and it was conceptually sobering. Light had a fair chance to dodge his sentence because he'd been magically compromised- he couldn't help what he'd done, before or after. But for Bon Bon?
It had been said by certain zealots in the past that dying was a preferable alternative to Black magic corruption, and she'd agreed with that sentiment once upon a time. Oh, she was eating crow, now. Didn't matter if times had changed; she hadn't always been the friendliest pony around the agency, and there were more than a few officers and bureaucrats who would jump at the chance to see her in chains.
She... She wouldn't tell anypony about this. She couldn't, as much as the thought otherwise would've disgusted her. For the good of the faith and its defense, she needed to continue that defense. Even if... even if it meant breaking her faith, just this once.
It was apart of the oath of the EIA to operate outside the law, but she considered it a sort of blessing she'd come around to this realization while under some kind of magical anesthesia. Normally? Bon Bon was sure she'd have had some kind of attack- panic or otherwise. Laws were far below divinity, and there was no excuse for a sworn agent to go against the faith.
She'd have to repent, in total solitude. She had a cellar for a reason, didn't she? No reason better than embarking on a journey of pious meditation for twenty to thirty hours- maybe even more if that was what it took to regain spiritual purity. That was the very start of what she'd have to do to prove to Her Majesty that she was still worthy.
But Bon Bon was no longer worthy, and the thought of it lingered in her mind. Because she knew.
And she would never forgive herself.
Time passed, and it was- well, it was difficult to tell how long she was under, because all she could really do during was watch. Light never really changed position throughout or did anything horrifying to go along with his profane magic, he only sat there next to her with that ultra-concentrated look on his face; though, his horn lit brighter and shimmered louder a few times. That was always sort of exciting, except it wasn't.
What still wasn't exciting was watching the swelling on her pastern shrink, slightly. Not... immensely, and it was over the course of very long minutes, but the extremely painful black color eventually faded to a mostly agonizing purplish color. Then, an opaque, whitish fluid began to slowly leak from the previously bleeding pocks in her limb, and the swelling eased that much more. Over... an even longer period.
It was still an incredible effect from just unicorn magic, though, and he'd done it completely without any alchemical reagents or sigils to speak of. Disgusting and intrinsically anathema to her faith, but still incredible in its own right. For all that Bon Bon often pondered Her miracles, there was a very terrifying voice in her head that whispered it was an awful lot like a miracle.
But that was wrong, and she had to believe that. It was a core tenant of the enduring Solar Faith: Black magic was profane, and so was she for allowing it to happen. She had to believe that. She had to believe that.
Even as Light's head rose, and his baggy, red eyes blinked at her, she knew she couldn't ever thank him.
"Okay... I've- I think I've done all I can..." She snapped back to muted attention as Light flicked his eyes down to her hoof, and he peered down at it. "I- I haven't ever done this before, but the swelling's gone down, at least."
His eyes- his corrupted red eyes- flicked back up to her. "You're not dead, either, so I probably did it right."
She blinked- she was pretty sure- and tried to work out which nonfeeling muscles in her nonfeeling face worked her tongue. "What... you do? What... m-magic?" The letter 'm' was harder than she'd expected... and she could swear it was getting even harder to speak...
She... was starting to feel really tired.
Light's eyebrow rose- he'd better not make fun of her temporary speech impediment- but then, something dawned on him, and he made a sound of quiet realization. "You're talking strangely because of my spell." He nodded, and patted her hoof: clearly proud of himself. "Well, that makes sense. The first thing I did was snap a bunch of your nerve endings."
Her head jerked up in a motion that felt uncontrollable- but then there was a hoof at the bottom of her vision, and she was leaning back down: a strangely calming look in those red eyes staring down at her. "It's alright, it's alright, I swear. I only damaged the ones that affect senses... and movement, I guess." She allowed herself to be pushed back down against the tree; though, she wasn't sure how much she could've done otherwise. "It's not permanent; the spell I used will help your body heal itself... um."
He stared upwards for a moment of consideration that he ended with a smile and a nod. "Soon, I think."
She wanted to strangle him- just as soon as she found where her hooves were. She occupied herself with prodding around her disconnected body as Light's voice continued to yap in her ear- at least until she figured out how to punch him. "I don't actually know the spell for anesthesia- if there even is one- but I do know the one for disabling a victim's motor functions, so I just altered the basic concept of that."
She jerked her gaze to him in- she tried to make it horror mixed with anger, but Light had his attention on creepily caressing her stained limb. "I think I learned it at the time because I thought it sounded like a really terrible thing to do to a pony, but even though this isn't what it's meant for and even with how badly I cast it, it was still pretty helpful here." He returned his gaze to her for a moment, and hummed thoughtfully. "Aren't you lucky?"
Sweet Celestia, she knew Light could be cold, but now he was acting cruel! He'd never been so... indifferent to suffering, even as she'd watched him try to force himself to be. She'd been there, through most of his life, and all he'd ever managed to seem was grumpy and childish!
Now he was... now he was just... idly touching her pus-covered wound as he casually talked about possibly torturing a pony!
He'd... used the word victim...
If she could've, Bon Bon would've felt a sick feeling in her gut.
What had happened up in that tower?
How much had he changed?
If she let her terror show on her face, Light didn't see it. He only continued to run his hooves over her red flesh: turning and tilting his head around as he inspected her wound. "Let's see... It looks like it's all closed up... which is good, but the swelling's not completely gone, which means I messed up somehow..." He frowned, probably to himself, because he was making it clear he didn't care about her or what she thought.
For... for good reason, she guessed. She had done some pretty terrible things to him... which felt... odd to admit as she stared him in the eye. It had been her intent to make Light hate her just so he'd forget about her, but she'd not expected it to work so well. It... sort of put everything that had happened up until now in a different perspective.
She'd never had to actually spend time with anypony she'd arrested or detained; she'd really only ever thought about it from the perspective of the mission. The ends justify the means justify those meaningless little statistics that her eyes glanced over as she signed her name at the bottom.
But now, she was sitting in the silence with a pony she'd fully wronged. A pony who she'd observed and detained because he'd been a threat at the time, but who she'd also stalked and attacked.
She'd never had to actually... see what her actions had amounted to... Never had to think of any action as anything other than a means to an end. Meaningless statistics that she'd never had to actually focus on.
It had always been... less important than results. Less important than... resolve.
For the Crown...
Completely oblivious to her turmoil, as he was to everything: Light leaned back from her limb, and scratched his hoof through his mane. "I forcibly sped up the body's natural healing process and the swelling went down, but not enough..." he muttered to himself. His hoof fell down, to tap rhythmically against his chin. "Was it the amount of mana? Did I use the wrong method? Did I not channel for the right amount of time? Was it even the right effect?"
Bon Bon felt... she felt a little snubbed, watching her healer talk over her body. It was always a little strange to see how openly Light spoke to himself, and it was only making her feel colder than her own thoughts were. So unreservedly, as though he was talking to something that just wasn't there: looking even more insane from this angle than he'd ever looked from thirty yards away.
She could take comfort that it wasn't her fault, at least. He'd always been like that, and if being like that was how he kept himself sane, then Light could talk to himself all he wanted. If it kept him from hurting anypony, then he could act just as terrible as he pleased.
He'd been kind enough to put her under, at least. That was something.
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Exhilaration.
Satisfaction.
Weariness.
Joy. So much joy.
Light had never felt so alive!
His heart was racing- but he was just sitting, and not running, even though it felt like he'd been running- and his head hurt- but it was the good kind of hurt like when he figured out a math problem or thought logically- and he was very very aware of his tongue which is why he was gnawing at it because there was so much energy pumping through his tired veins and his tongue felt like it wanted to escape so he just had to bite it to stop it from running away!
Of course, he didn't let any of that show on his face. He was smiling a little too much for his tastes, and he might've been a little too absent when the mare with the too-relaxed face had asked him 'what happening,' but that was all pretty much to be expected. After all...
He'd done it. He'd cast a Necromantic spell.
His vison blurred for a moment, but of course his hooves were too dirty from the operation- the operation he'd operated on a pony!- so all he could really do was blink a little and wish it away. Thankfully it did disappear after a moment, but then his cheeks were a little wet- oh but who cared!
The mare certainly didn't: her face was still really droopy and jerky from when he'd disconnected her nerves- he'd done that too, and it had worked because he'd made it happen!- and her eyes were pretty unfocused to the world at large, so she probably didn't even notice he was crying.
But he wasn't really crying, just like how he wasn't really touching an open wound like a freak. He was expressing his joy as he inspected his hoofiwork. A very mature thing he could do because he was a mature pony with a skillset, with a special talent, who could cast spells, who had just cast a spell! He'd actually performed a Necromantic spell! He wished it wasn't so highly illegal because he wanted more than anything to climb to the top of Ponyville's clocktower and scream it to the heavens!
He'd waited a long time to cast magic like that, and of course it had been just as fulfilling as he'd always imagined it would be. Waiting and abstaining from learning any other type of magic had been absolutely worth it no matter how debilitating it'd been to his prospects, and it had still gone so smoothly! It was- it was actually a little incredulous it had gone so well, because he'd really never cast a real spell before.
Things like Levitation and the low level light spells like Spark didn't really count; basic spells really only involved the ability to manifest mana, rather than the ability to really make any sort of change to it. Barely spells at all. Spark at least was a little more advanced, but making mana glow was pretty much just a matter of wanting it to, which was why it was one of the first 'spells' taught to unicorn foals.
This, though, involved the actual spellcasting process! The visualization and the concerted application of will, and the constant mental sport of keeping mana flowing in just the right amount without going too far... and the- the neural pressure of casting so much mana- and that was another thing, he wasn't even that tired! The spell had taken so long, but the amount of mana he'd pumped through his horn had actually been... pretty offset.
Well- it wasn't as though he hadn't used a lot of mana, because he had. His magical pathways felt cold and empty even as he thought about how they should've been more so, and his fount- wherever that ephemeral feeling was coming from- felt kind of like a deflated balloon. The thing was- he just felt like he should've been exhausted. It had been pretty mentally exhausting, but he was pretty far from mana exhaustion.
He didn't know why, so he made up for the unsatisfying feeling by raising the mare's hoof, and clopping its heel to his. The noise and the physical feeling were satisfying, and he did it again because it was fun- but the feeling in his head stayed sort of stuck.
What was wrong with it? Had he done something wrong? The spell was- well, it could've been better, for sure, but it had worked. She'd mostly healed. His rudimentary disconnecting of most of the least important nerves in her body had involved a bit of guesswork- which is why she was slack-jawed and unable to speak- but she hadn't felt any pain. He didn't think.
He... didn't really have to disconnect her nerves, he guessed. With that spell, as well. It was meant to render living subjects unconscious and insensate so the caster could have them at their further leisure: not at all for picking and choosing which nerves to disconnect. Not to act as faux anesthesia- and he did not like imagining that as a good deed.
Maybe that was what was throwing him off; though, it really wasn't an especially important part of the operation. She had told him to make her procedure hurt, so other than spiting her, he wasn't really sure why he'd gone out of the way to make it easier on her.
If... well, if she'd experienced too much pain, then she could've died. And... it was just good practice. If he ever had to operate on somepony he liked, then of course he would put them under before messing around with their body. Not with that spell, certainly, but... it was still pretty good practice for the method.
Sure, that was a reasonable explanation to his completely rational mind, he would go with that.
The process would've been painful, to be sure. Applying his mana directly to her cells to force them into overdrive seemed like the sort of thing that would've been agonizing. Mana wasn't meant to exist in a body outside the magical pathways, and it certainly wasn't ever supposed to come anywhere near another pony's fount. Not even to speak of what sorts of things the actual sped up process would do. Just by guessing, it probably would've felt like the entire sickness, the convalescence and the hangover had hit her all at once. It probably would've killed her.
He wondered if she'd noticed the side effect, though...
He'd been very in his own head at the time as he'd channeled and imagined and felt the ethereal sensations of 'seeing' in another pony's body, but he had paid half-attention to the smoke coming out of her eyes. Just a few wisps of purple gas, and only after the process had been well underway. A totally benign artifact, but a concerning one to witness all the same.
Well, he couldn't actually remember if it was benign. He sort of remembered reading about it... but only a little... and- it was really only a passing look anyway...
He'd have to check when he got home. He was just- he was pretty sure it was just a side-effect. He even knew it happened to him sometimes, and he was completely fine!
His hoof stalled from where he was trying to work its edge into a tiny, fleshy scar.
Well, mostly.
Eventually and because it was taking a long time for her nerves to reattach, he got bored with poking her wound. He'd never thought it possible, but he was well and truly bored of staring and touching and smelling the open flesh. He really had changed, hadn't he? Bleh.
So, he'd let her hoof fall to her side, and took to staring at his own. The one with the magical imprint tag on it, to be specific; he wasn't just schizophrenic. Probably. He didn't really know, actually.
At his first, inquisitive glance, it only seemed to be a sheer band of bland silver metal. Rung around the narrowest part of his pastern- which felt really constricting and kind of panic inducing- and sporting nothing protruding along its length that he could play with.
But then- when he peered much closer- he could see the very fine engraving.
Actually, maybe engraving wasn't the right word.
Dull, bronze lines cut in even geometric patterns ran across every inch of the band, even running up and behind its hidden edge. He still didn't know a lot about artificing, but if he could ascribe the sparsely-used term of magical sigils to anything, then he would to what he was looking at.
Artificing... It wasn't as though he wasn't interested in the art, it just seemed really complex. To a younger, more foalish Light, it had seemed as easy as magical lines make magical stuff happen. Checking a loaned practitioner's tome about everyday uses for artificing out of the Grand Canterlot Library had, within the first few pages, proven him completely ignorant.
He pretty much just knew the difference between artificing and mana lattices, and only because it seemed like a very easy mistake. Artificing was the act of casting sigils into physical objects to instill magical effects, while a mana lattice was an ethereal mana construct that autonomously cast magical effects. They did sort of similar things- mana lattices were what pretty much powered the world- but they were evidently very different, as a snooty library-goer had once explained to him.
He just didn't understand exactly how. He also probably wouldn't ever understand how, because it had nothing to do with Necromancy, and therefore sort of fell outside his natural purview. Maybe if he ever achieved immortality and had a spare decade lying around...
Very soon, his head was swimming with intrusive thoughts about mana constructs and the varied meanings of the word cast, so he flung over the no swimming sign, and turned his eyes to the mare's dull stare.
"Is it alright if I go through your saddlebag? If you don't explicitly say no, then you've officially given me full permission, okay?"
He stared for a moment- and it sure was funny to watch as she tried to muster anger in her unfocused eyes- but for the most part she only made a few, guttural groaning sounds. Her jaw jerked to the side and gnashed upwards against her lolling tongue, but he didn't really think that was the word no.
She'd been much better at speaking a while ago, but it seemed to him as though she was fully in support of his invading her privacy. What a compassionate mare she was, sacrificing her personal belongings to keep him from getting bored.
He lit his horn- and seethed as something behind his eyes twinged, but the pain wasn't quite enough to stop him from snooping. With her back to the tree, her saddlebag's latch was on full display at her stained-green stomach- as well as... just don't look- so it wasn't too difficult to work the now-freed bag out from under her limp body.
He stared at it for a moment in the air, scrutinizing its every salacious detail, before letting it fall unceremoniously to the ground with a very loud rattle of what sounded like mostly metal objects. It was kind of heavy, too: it made him wonder how she'd carried it around for so long. The mare was still giving him her best evil eye mixed with slovenly disinterest, but he didn't let it dissuade his new fascination with another pony's belongings.
He undid the latch and flung the flap open, and made a very appreciative noise of oooh as the treasures within were revealed. First came a small stub of metal laying between a junction of a compass and a watch, and he was sure his eyes were shining with greed as he slowly rotated it in the air.
He let it fall over and over itself in front of him until a glimmering detail caught on his eye, and when he brought it closer, he noticed a few small, concentric creases in the metal. A thought occurred to him, and he sucked in an excited gasp.
"No way," he murmured as he let the object float away from him. He shifted the grip of his mana to one side, and then swung the nub as hard as he could without giving himself an aneurism. His suspicion was immediately justified as the nub lengthened through the swing with an audible sound of polished metal sliding against itself, and then, he was holding a weapon.
"You've got a baton!" His excited cry fell on deaf- or mute- ears, but he knew it wasn't her fault. He looked over, and he could clearly see her flapping her limp jaw in protest, but she just couldn't make anything come out. It made him laugh a little, and his joy grew deeper as he swung the baton recklessly through the air- and the swish was so cool! Everypony look out, Light was armed and dangerous! Now everypony who'd wronged him would really get theirs!
But then his head twinged again, so he decided to cut the fun short. Only so he wouldn't... pass out or anything- he'd hate to miss out on any time he could spend annoying the mare who'd done so many terrible things to him.
It was easy to push one end of the baton into itself until it was a plain, uninteresting nub again, and off to the side of the bag it went. He pulled out a compass next- but he put that aside pretty quickly. It wasn't very noticeably interesting, and the Everfree's weird magic made compasses freak out for some reason, so it was pretty useless. Why would she bring one?
The golden saddle watch, as well, was mostly uninteresting. It was pretty, and the engraving was nice- though in a language he didn't understand- but it was just a watch. Even flicking its face open- and he couldn't believe what time it was- didn't show anything secret agent-y, so if there was a secret, it was pretty well hidden. Stealing it wasn't an option with its owner glaring at him, so to the side it went.
Next came a... oh, it was a pretty blue crystal on a length of white twine! How mystical! His eyes gleamed with interest as it spun and shone and dazzled with a very otherworldy blue light that was visible even through the glow of his magic. The crystal must have been magic: that was so neat! He nearly turned his head to ask what it did- but then, what would she have told him? Even if she could move her jaw correctly? 'Oh, that? It's a magical spy device that lets me eavesdrop on my targets, nothing special.'
He spent the next few minutes looking at it, and though It was shiny and pretty and interesting, he didn't know what it did and he couldn't keep it to find out, so he was forced to put it aside in favor of more interesting sights.
He peered in- and the next thing that caught his eye was... some kind of rubber mask? He pulled it out to stare at it better, but then something fell off of the bottom of it. He blinked, then frowned. Holding two things at once in levitation was... not one of his strong suits.
He'd managed a crow and a soul once, though, so he split what little mana he had left, and brought the small mouthpiece up to his inspection. A rubber ball flanked by two reed-like structures with holes cut through their sides, all of which definitely looked like a diving mouthpiece. That, at least, wasn't too enigmatic. The mask, too, was just a pair of diving goggles with a strap on its back.
Pretty boring, though still sort of cool in its own way. She was prepared for every situation. It was secret agent-y in concept while not being so fantastical. It was actually pretty disappointing. If he'd wanted conceptual awe, he could've read a book.
He tossed the two boring pieces of everyday minutia to the side, wincing as the feedback burned, and looked deeper into the bag. There were still a fair few things in there, most of which weren't immediately interesting. Rope... A canteen... A box of matches... A crumpled scroll... Oh, there was the...
He pulled out a small, brightly colored box which was clearly labelled 'NRG' in a bold font across its face, under which was written 'Produced with applicable warnings for specialty agents by the Magical Research and Development sub-branch of the EIA.' in much smaller writing. Underneath that and written even smaller was some kind of additional warning, but who read those? He wouldn't waste the time to peer at it.
That summarily answered the question of which secret government organization the mare belonged to, as well as what kind of secret agent she was. A very impossible secret agent, because he'd been fairly sure since he was a foal that the EIA was fictional. Maybe there really was a secret civil war being waged in Griffonstone if the myth about the EIA inciting it- as well as the entire institution- was real?
He held the tiny box up to his ear and shook it; a lot of small somethings rattled about inside. "You're probably gonna want to take one of these after all," he said out loud, as he lowered the box and began to magically grasp around for the seam. "I didn't have any supplementary materials, so your body naturally used up a lot of energy and fat and stuff to speed up your healing."
The edge creased as he pushed, and he smiled victoriously as the flap flapped open. "I don't know how they work, but you're probably gonna need one of these to even stand up," he joked, as he held his hoof out in anticipation of shaking a pill onto it. "I mean, if you can't even speak, then there's no way you're gonna be able to-"
A brown-stained cream hoof slapped the box of pills out of his magical hold. Shock turned to fear turned to agony as the feedback of the interrupted casting immediately exploded behind his eyes, which he threw his hooves over as he gasped in pain.
Magical feedback..! Damn the Moon- that hurt..!
He gasped and seethed and tossed his head for a long minute as he endured something far worse than the worst ice-cream headache, as the subtle sound of small somethings rattling filled the silence when he wasn't moaning in pain.
He recovered bit by bit, until he was at least able to crack an eye open just in time to see the up and about secret agent throwing her head back and swallowing. She was just- just gonna take one of those dry, huh? Buck it still hurt... Felt like ice picks jabbing through his eyes and into his brain...
The mare- the stupid, big jerk of a mare dropped her head with a sigh, focusing for a moment on closing the box of pills as she eyed him with very pronounced malice. There was even a little vein popping in her forehead- wow, the pain was just gonna keep on going, wasn't it?
"If you-" the mare stopped short with a breath, then continued to speak as she put a shaking hoof out towards him. "If I hadn't been exactly ordered to keep you safe, then this-" She stopped for a moment- and he barely had time to brace before the small box of pills was forcefully thrown into his face. It didn't hurt all that much, but then... "-would be that baton you were so interested in."
He nodded, as he continued to hold his head in his hooves. He deserved that, he knew. He would just really miss the time when she'd been comatose. A fond memory to look back on in the many years he would surely spend in prison. Oh, the many silent days to come, spent reliving all his most glorious moments of cruelty.
He continued to suffer through the pain as the mare likely gathered up all the things he tossed about, judging by the noise. At some point, something poked him in the side of the head- which made the pain pound worse- and the mare spoke to him again: a clear aggravation in her dry tone. "Thanks for just throwing all my stuff everywhere, by the way. Makes me real glad I scraped your worthless carcass off the pavement."
Huh.
Okay, well- discounting the fact that he'd actually found that a little funny, it was the first outside confirmation he'd gotten that he had died. He'd been a corpse, on the pavement, dead as a doornail after he'd jumped out of one of the castle's windows.
...How had he come back?
It was something to ponder another time- and he would- because the pain of having a measurable force of matter in constant momentum turned inward was beginning to fade to a dull howling. He could even flutter one eye open- though the light exacerbated the pain for a moment.
And just as soon as he could, he was witness to the sight of the mare standing amidst the dead greenery, securing her saddlebag to her side again, and scowling in his direction. "Keep this in mind: silence doesn't equate to consent!" she barked: his ears instinctively turning down from the incensed mare's shout that made the pain just that bit worse.
She sure was touchy. She made it sound like he'd done something horrible to her, when all he'd done was rifle through her stuff a little! Not like she had anything to be embarrassed about. She made it sound like- well, she kind of implied...
...He hadn't done... that. He'd- seen a little... but it wasn't as though he'd... gone out of his way. And he'd never... never... do anything...
He... didn't really... He'd not... really even thought about...
He swallowed, and there was something uncomfortably thick in his throat.
...He wasn't like that. He didn't do that, and he'd- he'd never considered it. Never.
His eyes were getting kind of blurry all of a sudden, that was funny. Hah. What a- What a thing to get upset about, after he'd trapped a mare in her own body and then proceeded to violate her privacy. How- how illogical... He was a real whackjob...
"Hey. Light, focus."
For better or for worse, Light snapped out of his reverie at her voice. "Sorry," he blurted on instinct to the mare's face that had grown so much closer all of a sudden. He'd blinked, and in-between the sudden sadness she'd stepped up to his front: glaring at him with her same, hard expression.
And when he apologized, it only hardened further. "Save it." She turned away, and he flinched back as her tail snapped up and whipped across his face. Ow. That was a dense mat of hair. "You... healed me, and you had your fun, but we need to get moving."
Her slight hesitance at admitting he'd helped her brought some spiteful comfort, but it was smothered as quick as it'd come when she shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. It was angry and it still didn't intimidate him, but at that point... he didn't really know... It kind of made him feel a little sad.
It had been sort of... idyllic, sitting there with her silent companionship, and rummaging through her bag. Casting magic like he'd always dreamed of and reaping the scintillating physical rewards: pretending all the while that he had a future ahead of him. Having a long, quiet moment to himself... just... calm, and companionable.
He would miss it. Just... everything about it.
But then, the mare turned away, and began to stalk through the undergrowth. A clear end to their brief stop. She glanced over her shoulder once more in a moment of hoof-hovering hesitation, even as he gathered himself up with a sigh and made to follow after her. Their eyes met again, except something... there was something in her gaze.
Her eyes flicked away, and she turned her head as her ears pressed back. "...Bon Bon," she muttered, which he had to perk his ear a little to hear. A moment passed of wondering before she shook her head with an aggravated sigh, and began to stomp forward. "My name is Bon Bon, okay? There's your thank you, now let's go!"
He couldn't see her face as she shouldered through the thicket, but he couldn't help imagining there was a huge blush there.
Just the kind of vibe she was giving off.
He sat in the tiny clearing amidst the trees for a moment after she left. Pursing his lips and thinking of the mare- Bon Bon- who had sent him approximately a thousand different signals for how she felt. Did she hate him? Was it apathy? Did she like him? Was it pity? How should he be feeling?
But then the cold feeling of the metal band around his hoof snuck by his patented veil of ignorance, and he remembered that Bon Bon- if that was even her real name- had walked away. As in: she was leaving, which meant she was getting further away.
So he stood up, and hurried after her. Because he never wanted to find out what she'd meant by concussed.
Knowing her as he was starting to, it probably meant something painful.
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Ooooh, good chapter. I loved the full and thorough description of the spellwork, and that realisation from bon that Light had absolutely no empathy for her... mwah.
Although... Light. I felt he'd gone through some significant character growth during his stint with NMM... but at the end there he felt a bit pathetic again. Before Bon got back up he felt great, afterwards it felt a bit unfufilling and while the sarcasm was great, the feeling hurt over bon being a bit mean was less appreciated.
Keep up the awesome work, the fanatacism of the church was well portrayed, and I adored the coldness from Light, it felt like the next natural step.
Thanks!
Love it overall. I personally enjoy the back and forth of how Light acts. Being able to bring out that force to talk down Bon Bon when she needs help and having that almost cruel coldness when operating, but still being able to feel love for AppleJack and sadness when Bon Bon calls him out. Makes him a more complex character imo.
Okay. This Celestia is fucked up.
I was half expecting Light to get ahead of himself by finding the key to the bands... then strapping both bands to himself so no one can concuss him. And inadvertantly breaking the key while strapping the bands.
He'd honestly be on his way to look like Zecora if he did. Good way to honour her life.
Ps. I hope Light get some kind of future arc or sequel where he deals with, his lack of, pleasures of the flesh.
Hey, back again. Quick question, what’s happened to his Timberwolf?
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We haven't seen it since chapter 15: the assumption being that he left it in the woods when he went home. He obviously hasn't seen it since then for whatever reason, despite spending more time in the Everfree than is usually survivable.
To be transparent: It's coming back eventually; I have had plans for the Timberwolf since the story started, and they're still in place. The massive detour this story took just pushed it slightly to the side, but that doesn't mean I've given up on it. Maybe I should've melded those plans to fit the current mold, but I didn't, so it's a matter of waiting 'till it shows back up.
Nice to see you; thanks for reading. Sorry for the story's faults; etcetera.
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I should've made it more clear in the chapter, but Light didn't get sad because Bon Bon was mean to him; he broke down because she implied he could've done something... well, salacious to her. The implication alone was evidently very upsetting to him, for whatever reason.
He was certainly well positioned for it: he'd rendered Bon Bon completely insensate, laying on her back, and unable to move or stop him from doing whatever he pleased. Of course, the thought had never crossed Light's mind, but the situation was very potentially... um- explicit.
Maybe it wasn't really necessary to have the implication considered, but since we're transitioning back into the slice of life aspect of the story, I thought now was a good time to showcase a lesser-realized facet of Light's personality. He's eighteen and he thinks about Applejack's legs more than is healthy, but otherwise, he seems pretty stolid- you know, in those matters.
I won't go as far to say that he's repressed, but he may be repressed.
He was also pretty sad about the moment coming an end, as well. The quiet moment spent practically alone, having the chance to practice his dreamed-of special talent, and otherwise having a lot of fun annoying somepony he ostensibly hates. He knew that as soon as it was over, he'd have to return to the cold reality of the present. The present in which he's presently being arrested, where his future in Necromancy is dead. He just wanted to pretend for a while that everything was okay.
Afterthought: it was sort of my intent to make Light seem a bit pathetic at the end again, because it's Light. I think we all know Light is pretty pathetic and whiny at his most sincere core, no matter how much growth and hardship he endures. It basically wouldn't even be the same story without Light getting upset over some minor provocation; this is the colt who fell down and cried over a box. Call it a character flaw.
Thanks for reading, and for being here in general.
i'm sort of joking about light being pathetic but sorta not. i want him to be cool, too
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Ahhhhhhh, either I didn't analyse that bit enough, or it may have needed to be a bit more explicit that was why he was crying lol. Light being the most unreliable narrator ever, as per usual. Thanks for the explanation it makes that bit make more sense.
Also yeah Light can be pathetic, but he managed to do the unthinkable to save the ponies he cares about, managing to use the only bit of control he had in the face of overwhelming power... he removed NMM's control over his life forcibly and I deeply respect him for it.
Light IS cool, I'm hoping we see even more of that, and a gradual transistion to him hopefully learning a couple of coping skills armed with some confidence after how he handled NMM. I think (?) we're starting to see that with him thinking about NMM being defeated, but we'll see.
Thanks for the awesome story, I constantly look forward to the updates :)