Midnight Rail

by daOtterGuy

Onboarding Passengers VII

On the outer reaches of Equestria were the Badlands, a massive expanse of lifeless wasteland. At the border between these places was the ruins of an old Haven and its Burn Out. No one knows what it was once named nor how it had been destroyed, but it was regarded as the inciting incident that led to the creation of some of the nastiest Deviants still present to this day, like Bride at the Funeral and The Banner That Never Fell.

There were several oddities to the unknown Haven. For one, the Burn Out had easy access to the Haven itself, which had never been the case with any other Haven. Additionally, there were a number of strange buildings made of six conjoined spires that dotted the landscape around the central Haven, their purpose unknown.

They found themselves before one such building, guided by Leap. Soarin, his main companion Hinton, and the three new passengers: Wilde, Shelley, and Grahame.

Wilde had changed their outfit for something more practical: cotton pants and a leather vest over a blouse with two rapiers at her side. Shelley had opted for similar, but with a matching skirt, a single short sword and a bandolier of needles. Grahame was the only one still dressed in their prior outfit, with the strange curved metal plate still in hand, though minus all of the blood.

The conversation had been pleasant enough, a departure from his prior two missions, which Soarin was extremely grateful for.

“How tacky,” Wilde remarked, surveying the spires with a look of disdain. “Spires are so Princess Era, and frankly come off as trying too hard. Who even lived in one of these abominable places?”

“An old order from the pre-modern Haven days that operated primarily out of what was once known as the Appleloosa Haven,” Leap answered. “They believed in the ‘Old Virtues’ and provided basic necessities to the populace in the wake of the Burn Out.”

“Why am I not surprised you know that?” Wilde huffed. “They were some sort of cult, then?”

“Or a type of charity?” Grahame provided.

“A bit of both,” Leap said. “They were similar to the Order of the Sun in certain aspects, but significantly less zealous.”

“Ugh, similar to them?” Shelley made a fake gagging sound. “Then they must have been utterly detestable, their ‘charity’ some form of brainwashing or bribery to pad their numbers.”

Soarin glanced toward Leap and noticed that they had clenched their fists. He presumed out of anger, but there was no way to be able to tell due to all of their expressions simply being ‘big moon head’.

“...This is the second time someone has expressed measurable dislike for the Order, but I only recall that they are a religion based around the worship of some Sun God,” Hinton said. “Is there something else they have done to garner such a bad reputation?”

“The issue is that they haven’t done anything,” Soarin replied. At Hinton’s confused expression, he continued, “Are you aware of the Cull?”

“...No,” Hinton said. She glanced askance, seemingly embarrassed to admit it. “I don’t know much about the greater happenings in the Havens due to… circumstances.”

“On a yearly basis, all the Havens participate in the Cull by sending volunteer hunters to collectively take on what is considered the most dangerous Level 5 Deviant at the time. Any person that participates gets a higher standing within the Haven and something of a safety net from being cast out.”

“Every Haven sends participants, as the Level 5s are a national threat. However—” Shelley hissed the last word through clenched teeth “—the Soladelphia Haven, and by extension the Order of the sun that rules it, feel it unnecessary to provide anyone for the Cull as it is ‘against their doctrine’.” She air quoted around the statement. “They’re a bunch of lazy zealots that use their cult as an excuse to not participate while the other Havens do all the work to keep us safe.”

“Furthermore, the Order of the Sun is very extremist,” Grahame added. “Many of their doctrines are either incredibly strict, strange, or violent. I’ve read a few of them and—” She shivered “—I can’t say I’m a fan.”

“An understatement.” Wilde snorted. “They’re disgusting, creepy, and obsessed with their stupid ‘god’. Useless, the lot of them.”

“What even is their god?” Hinton asked.

“That’s the best part!” Shelley threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s—”

“Need we remind you all that the purpose of this venture is to hunt the Deviant Rites to Rest?” Leap interjected. “You will have ample time for idle debate when the mission is done.”

The group looked askance. Soarin felt shame and anxiety bubble up inside of him. He needed to take charge before their boss got any angrier.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

“Of course. We will begin immediately. Firstly, is anyone familiar with the general layout of a building like this?” The assembled group shook their heads. “Then we’ll go through the front and be as cautious as we can. Grahame, Wilde, you take front. Hinton, Shelly, both of you stay with me. Remember, that just because it’s a Level 1 doesn’t mean you should let your guards down.”

With the semblance of a plan in place, the assembled crew entered the spires.

---

“Do you think this is where the Deviant is hiding?” Hinton asked.

“I daresay there's a good chance of it,” Shelley remarked.

“Yes, but… butterflies?” Grahame said.

Before the group was a massive open archway leading into an atrium. Or at least they presumed, as a kaleidoscope of blindingly glowing white butterflies swarming the area was making it difficult to see inside.

They moved in clumps, clinging to the ceiling and upper columns. They looked like bouquets of flowers — massive, white, pulsating bouquets of flowers. They made Soarin feel calm and uneasy in equal measure from their beauty and possible dangers.

“Deviants don’t follow standard conventions,” Soarin explained. “Though normally harmless, I wouldn’t expect those butterflies to do nothing.”

“Oh, I never would. Butterflies are monsters,” Grahame said.

The group looked at Grahame in confusion who appeared equally confused by their reactions.

“What?” She asked.

“The small non-Deviant pretty insects that flit between flowers? Those are monsters?” Wilde said. “You aren’t serious, are you?”

“I suppose the standard versions are fine, but the Crystal Haven has crystal variants. They're facets are pretty, but razor sharp. It's a total horrorshow if you’re driving down a track or highway and then go through a cloud of them.” Grahame held onto herself, shivering as she seemed to recall a past event. “Without going into the details, there’s a saying in the Crystal Haven that you should never follow red butterflies, because you’ll only find the remains.”

Various expressions of shock stared back at Grahame.

“...Well, hopefully these ones aren’t as bad as that,” Soarin said.

“Only one way to find out, darling. Tally ho!” Shelley pointed her sword toward the open archway.

“Wait,” Soarin said. “We should try to come up with a plan.”

“With what information?” Wilde asked. “Like you said, Deviants are unconventional, this is clearly not the Deviant itself, and just from our conversation, I can tell that ‘butterflies’ means basically nothing in terms of figuring out its gimmick. Not unless someone would like to test whether these butterflies are harmless, in which case, not it.”

“...She has a point,” Hinton said.

“Hinton, I always have a point.” Wilde tossed her hair back with a hand.

“...And a correct one at that.” Soarin sighed, feeling his anxiety spike at going into another situation blind. “Alright. We’ll move forward in the same formation. Have your weapons ready. No telling what we’ll be dealing with here.”

They moved as one cautiously into the atrium, careful not to touch the beautiful monsters that flitted nearby.

As they inched their way in, the room began to take shape. A massive hexagonal space with arches leading toward a raised, central dais. Stone pews, worn down by time, were arranged evenly between columns, all facing toward the center. Soarin noted wearily that the entrance they came through was the only one not heavily blocked by debris, meaning it was going to also be their exit.

On the raised dais, sitting upon a pile of rubble, was a humanoid figure. From the neck down, they were like any other human dressed in an orange suit with a white butterfly bow tie. Within one hand was a massive leatherbound orange book, from which more of those white butterflies spewed forth. Its head was one mass of butterflies, their bodies replaced with giant eyeballs that blinked in random patterns.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed to Soarin that they had stumbled upon Rites to Rest.

“I confess that I’ve never seen a Deviant before. Are they always this creepy-looking?” Shelley whispered.

“...Yes,” Soarin replied.

“Ugh, how tacky,” Shelley said.

“...Sure,” Soarin said. “Now that we have a confirmed visual, does anyone have any ideas of what this Deviant might do while it's not paying attention to us?”

“No comprendo,” Wilde said.

“I’m still getting over how creepy this thing is,” Shelley added.

“...Not that I can see,” Hinton said.

Grahame narrowed her eyes, brow furrowed in thought.

“Grahame?” Soarin asked.

“...Does it not resemble one of those preachers from the Order of the Sun?” Grahame said. “The ones that go from Haven to Haven spouting the doctrines of their Order?”

Soarin did another quick survey, this time matching its appearance to his vague recollection of the Order Members that visited the Cloudsdale Haven.

“...Huh. It does,” Shelley said. “Though admittedly more classy than those abysmal Orderies, I can see the resemblance.”

“Strange to see a Deviant emulate that of all things,” Wilde said. “Like, how TOS of them.”

“TOS…? No, irrelevant.” Soarin shook his head. “I agree with the others, it does look like one of their preachers.”

Grahame nodded, then, uncertainty in her voice, she said, “So it looks like a preacher, do you think it acts like one? Like it may initiate its… effect?” She turned to Soarin for confirmation. He nodded. “By making a sermon, or through sound of some sort?”

“...There is a precedent for Deviants following closely to what they attempt to mimic,” Soarin remarked. “A great observation, Grahame, though an unfortunate one. We don’t have any way to stop—”

“I can stop it.”

They turned toward Wilde. She smirked.

“My Manifest is particularly suited to this, though, I’ll need the rest of you to do the dirty deed of killing the Deviant once I do my work,” Wilde said.

Manifestation. Soarin had known that the other passengers were capable of it, but found it strange how easily Wilde could offer to use it. He was extremely uncomfortable with his own, a feeling he knew Shelley and Hinton shared based on their expressions, and had just presumed that the others were the same as him.

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, if Widle was offering…

“...Can you control it?” Soarin asked.

“No, but Timeless Entertainment is rather…” She waved a hand as she searched for an appropriate word. “Docile. She’ll do what needs to be done, and nothing more.”

“...And you’re comfortable using it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Wilde asked.

Hinton, and Shelley both flinched. Soarin hoped he hadn’t as well.

“I personally find my own rather difficult to use,” Soarin said. “So long as you’re comfortable using it and it will help more than hinder, we’ll kill the Deviant once its effect is active.”

“Then allow me to take the lead,” Wilde said.

Wilde sheathed her swords then stepped forward, moving into a strange position with her feet crossed and both arms held out. From what little Soarin knew, he presumed it was the opening move to some form of dance.

She moved toward the Deviant, spinning as she did so. There was a shift, as time seemed to slow and Soarin felt his gaze glued to Wilde’s form. Flecks of gold burst along her skin as sound died to bring full attention to her presence.

Feathers grew along her, dyed in a myriad of pastel colours. Her face twisted into a swirl of psychedelics, a constant vibration of noise given physical appearance.

Rite’s attention was drawn to Wilde. It held out a hand toward her. No sound gave out as no effect happened.

Wilde curtsied. The spell over Soarin broke.

He charged alongside the others.

Grahame smashed Rites in the torso with their shield. Shelley stabbed it through the neck with her sword. Hinton’s barrage bullets fired into the book. Soarin sliced through its free arm with his whips, the voltage set to its highest setting.

Butterflies spewed from its open wounds. Slowly, sound returned, its screams increasing in volume. The flapping of thousands of butterflies began to fill the silence as the swarms barrelled toward them.

“Stab it through the head before the butterflies can reach us!” Soarin shouted.

“Thou are children of sin.” The voice of Rites echoed in Soarin’s mind, calm despite its current circumstance. He felt disoriented as the Deviant continued, “let go of thy pain to be—”

Its sermon was interrupted by a wet schluck as Wilde leaped forward and stabbed the abomination through its head with her swords, a twisted expression of bliss on her face.

“No, I think I’ll keep that, thanks,” Wilde said. “Tata, loserino.”

The Deviant fell off of Wilde’s swords with a wet plop. The multitudes of butterflies dissipated into white light. The group stood over the corpse, satisfied at having efficiently taken down their quarry.

“...Well done, team,” Soarin said. “Especially you, Wilde and Grahame.”

Grahame smiled warmly.

Wilde tossed her hair. “Obviously, I’m the best one here.”

“Second behind me, darling,” Shelley remarked. “But I suppose you can take the spot temporarily.”

“I plan to keep it.” Wilde smirked.

Shelley answered with a wide grin.

“...Regardless, let’s report to Leap,” Soarin said. “We’ll need to have it captured before it disappears completely.”