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Pink Scorch11,985 words
Epilogue I1,621 words
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Epilogue III1,045 words
BONUS4,389 words
BONUS #2760 words

BONUS

Stellar Eclipse—Stella for short—didn't like noise. It messed with her echolocation, and she didn't particularly like it when ponies ran about to and fro, banging on things, yelling, laughing, and doing everything else that she found obnoxious, like existing around her.

She hated Tyranny. With all her heart. For even suggesting that this idea was good in the first place. Why. Why did she believe in the hippogriff when all she had to do was hear the idea a second time?

Put on a rockshow. Let there be explosions and sweet limericks! It's the worst possible environment, what could go wrong!?

Stella forced herself to calm down and think of happy thoughts. Yes, happy thoughts, like what they will achieve once all of this is over. If it all doesn't go to shit because her partner is an unfiltered sociopath.

"Stella, are you okay?" Toxic, a brown griffon skinny enough to be more cat than lion, asked. "You've been staring into your reflection for almost an hour."

Stella's eyes broke away from the mirror, two slits dilating in his direction. Toxic pulled back a little.

"What's it to you?" Her voice was smooth, but not too smooth. It had just a hint of rasp wrapped in a buttery tortilla of snark.

"N-nothing, is all..." he looked around awkwardly, noticed the fruit tray at the edge of her vanity desk, and ate a strawberry. "You just—you know—seem preoccupied."

Stella turned back to the mirror. "I hate her. This is a terrible plan."

He chuckled and nervously patted her on the back, or more like, lightly tapped her shoulder and pulled back really quick. "Now, you know how Tyr is, she has to have her fun and all that. Why can't you lightin' up for a change, c'mon, what do you do for fun?"

"Breathe."

Toxic laughed, earning an odd, scathing look from Stella, which shut him up pretty quickly. He looked down at the floor shyly. "Listen, I don't know how her mind works, either. She's from outer space or sumthin', I can't put my claw on it. All I know is to tolerate the shit out of her and things will be peaches."

“Yeah, yeah, peaches…” she huffed.

Toxic pointed at the mirror. “So, are you gonna…” He hesitated.

“Say what you’re going to say and be quick about it.” Stella bit.

He held his talon up defensively. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re at the make-up desk. Are you going to do your make-up? Because we go on in a few minutes.”

Stella didn’t say anything.

Nervous, Toxic backed away. “Yeah, I’m just gonna—see you on stage.”

For a few very blissful minutes, Stella was alone. There was noise—very irksome noise—all around, but she was able to tune it out and focus on breathing.

In… out… in… out…

Her peace was broken when she heard the familiar chatter of her manager nearing. “Why isn’t the pentagram complete!?” Babbles shouted loud enough to be next to her. “Go out there, pour more salt, then get me the shithead that’s in charge around here!”

A red-maned pony dressed in formal attire and wearing an earpiece reared the corner and halted when she saw Stella, still staring in the mirror. She smiled, teeth and all. “Oh, hey there baby, have you seen Tyranny? We sort of need the LEAD FUCKING GUITARIST for the show. If you can go fetch her for me that’d be dandy.”

“You do it. I’m busy.” Stella continued to stare into the mirror.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to keep this entire thing organized. So while I’m carrying the weight of the world on my back, you can make yourself useful.” She dipped her head down and whispered into Stella’s ear, “Go get her.”

Stella groaned but got up.

Tobacco smoke lofted throughout the green room. An inhale, and her cigarette reduced to a worm of ash. She dropped the butt into the ashtray on the end table next to her, adding to the growing pile. She produced the silver cigarette pouch from the chest pocket of her denim jacket that tore away at the midriff and put another in her mouth.

She struck a match, the fire glistening against the lens of her sunglasses. Waved it out. Flicked it away. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. A breathing exercise of her very own.

The hippogriff was sprawled across the length of the couch. Her feathers were sapphire blue, mane and tail a wild array of hot colors ranging from orange, to red, to yellow, and everything else that looked like the vomitice of half a rainbow.

Hors d'oeuvres of many varieties were spread out across a table, all of which had a single bite taken out of them. Cracks spider-webbed from the center of the vanity desk’s mirror. The room was littered with empty beer cans. A single bottle of rum she deemed her “rations” stood next to the ashtray on her end table.

Leaning against the vanity desk was a double-neck electric guitar black as ebony. On the body, there was a red sphere. Occasionally she would glance at it, her fingers plucking away at imaginary guitar strings in front of an imaginary crowd. When she was in this state she’d mumble to herself lyrics to songs yet to be completed, or songs never to be completed.

Crappy jazz music that sounded more like someone putting away groceries blared from a radio on the other side of the room, crinkly ocean wave static overwhelming the music. It didn’t bother her much. In fact, it stimulated her senses in an odd way. Good proper music was so hard to come by that she found the sound of gravel pouring into a bucket to be more soothing to the ears.

Knock! Knock!

Stella slammed the door open. She took a moment to examine the cluttered room, then hissed, tongue slithering between sharp fangs.

“You’re still not ready?” she bit.

Inhale. Exhale. “Soothe your arse, love,” Tyranny replied. “I’m always ready for a good show. Come in and bum a fag off me.”

“We go on in five minutes.”

“And you can’t choke one down for two? Take that stick out why don’t ya, relax a bit.”

Stella grimaced but walked into the green room, kicking aside empty beer cans. “Is this how you live at home?”

Tyranny took another cigarette from the pouch and held it out toward the thestral. Looking at it for a moment, Stella sniffed it. Then she ate it. “Mm, yeah, it’s good,” she said while chewing. “I really love the cigarette taste. Really adds to the flavor.” She swallowed. “There, now can we start making our way to the stage? I want everything to go perfect tonight.”

Tyranny finished her cigarette with a single long drag. Flakes of ember sprinkled onto the couch, burning through the fabric. She flicked the butt onto the floor and got up, making her way over to the double-neck guitar.

“No need to get cheeky,” she said, throwing the strap over her neck and tucking the guitar beneath her wing.”I’ve never missed a show.”

“A lot is on the line with this one. I’d rather not be late.”

Taking a four-pack from the vanity desk, she ripped a beer can from the plastic ring. She stabbed a claw into the side of the can so that foamy white beer came fauceting out and she held it above her open mouth until it was depleted. She crushed the can against her forehead and tossed it lazily to the ground.

“Ya got the book?”

“Of course, I got the book! I just need you!”

“Let’s go, then.”

They walked down the hallway side-by-side, ignoring all the greetings they were getting. Creatures of many types were standing around, happening by, mingling with each other, some wearing T-shirts with the Underlord logo on them. They arrived at Babbles speaking into her headset.

“What do you mean there hasn’t been a sound check? I asked for the soundcheck to be done an hour ago. Who are the lazy douchebags in charge of that?”

Stella cleared her throat. “We’re ready.”

The mare swiveled around, plastic smile spread across her face. “That’s wonderful baby,” Babbles said. “Now let’s just—hold on.” She brought her hoof up to her headset. “No, not you. I’m talking to someone actually worth my time right now. Go make sure the pentagram is done. Adios.” She marched through a propped-open labeled “STAGE ENTRANCE,” the two following.

“Can I get you two anything before the show starts? Breath mints? Water? Headache medicine?”

“Three minutes until stage time!” somepony shouted.

“Shitshitshitshshitshit,” the mare quickened her pace.

They arrived backstage where various creatures were at work. The Tyranny started on another cigarette while standing to the side of the stage, earning an annoyed look from both Stella and Babbles. Even through the blinding lights, she could make out the vague silhouettes of creatures in the crowd. Salt was spread out across the stage in lines that led to strategically placed instruments placed into concentric circles.

“Is the pentagram finished?” she asked.

“Should be,” Babbles said. “Hopefully. Maybe. Better be, or else I’m gonna have to fire someone’s ass.”

She eyed-up Stella. “Are you seriously going on stage naked?” Getting closer to her face and squinting, she added, “And without make-up?”

“Why?” Stella replied in a dry tone of voice. “Does it look like I’m aging?”

“Baby, you’re next to ageless.” Babbles patted the threstral on the shoulder. “But this is a rock show. People want pizzazz!”

She waved at an intern walking by with a trio of coffees hovering in front of her. “Hey, get me some glitter! I want the stars in her mane to sparkle by the time she’s ready for stage. And get me a cape!”

“Seriously?” Stella said. “You seriously expect me to wear a cape? Are you seriously going to perpetuate that stereotype?”

“Hey, it’s a cool stereotype! Not all thestrals are vamps, sure, but at least you can look snazzy when you walk up to your synth.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Starting in sixty seconds!” Another pony shouted.

Toxic came padding up, feathers already damp with sweat and emitting a terrible BO. Babbles squinted and stared into his eyes. “Fuck, are you high again?”

“Hey, I do what I do, you do what you do,” he said, ramming his words together like two vehicles in a head-on collision. “All you need to know is that I can’t do what I do on stage without doing the other thing I do. So you do your thing and I do my thing.” He turned to Stella. “Hey, did you finish that fruit platter?”

Stella scoffed and stomped her hoof. “Where are the Underlings?”

“Over here,” a dead voice called. A dark red earth pony with a spiky black mane with frosted blue tips and sporting a sparkly black jacket walked up to the group at a sluggish pace. Her twin sister skipped along behind her, although her mane was flatter, bubblegum pink with a yellow strip running through it, her coat an opalescent white, jacket equally as sparkly but pink instead of black.

“Sup biatches!” Half-N-Half shouted jovially, stopping alongside her sister. She spotted the threstral and continued with equal enthusiasm, “Whoa, Stella, you’re going on without make-up? That’s, like, a statement or something!” She threw a hoof around her sister’s neck, who didn’t even budge. “It took Ghosty and me two hours to come up with our styles, and here you are looking plain as ever!”

Ghost in the Shell, her I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-goth sister, grumbled, “You look hot.”

Babbles groaned. “Where the fuck is that intern? Somebody, find them!”

“Where’s the book?” Tyranny asked Stella while still watching the stage.

“It’s in your spot, opened to the passage. All you have to do is read the song and get the crowd to perform the chants, and it’ll all be perfect.”

“Lemon squeezy.”

She was halfway through her cigarette when the intern returned while hovering a cape and a small container of glitter in front of her. Babbles took the glitter and shook it over the threstral’s mane, to her annoyance. After the cape collar was clamped tightly around her neck, one of the stagehands started counting down.

“Show starts in ten, nine, eight…”

Tyranny flicked the cigarette to the ground, the intern hurriedly picking it up with her magic and throwing it into a nearby trashcan.

“Six, five, four…”

Outside, the crowd was chanting.

Under-lord
Under-lord
Under-lord
Under-lord

“Three, two, one… it’s show time!”

Tyranny and the rest of the Underlords walked onto the stage and were greeted by uproarious applause. Tyranny approached her mic with the same level of enthusiasm she carried since the tour began—none. Maybe five years ago when she was still properly in touch with her emotions she’d feel the excitement of the crowd. She remembered it feeling like cocaine. The moment they began chanting her name she’d run out and start her guitar solo seconds before the other crew could get to their instruments.

Now she felt nothing. The cheers weren’t fulfilling, nor were they grating. They were simply there.

She pulled out her guitar—the one called Animae—and pulled the mic close to her beak. “How many of you are sloshed and ready to rock!?”

The crowd exploded.

Tyranny connected the amp cord and picked a few chords with her claws. Animae’s sweet vocals reverberated across the room.

“Alright blokes,” she continued. “We’ve got a new one in the works tonight. You’ll all be the first to hear. It is called…” She took a moment to examine the book on the sheet stand next to her microphone to verify that it was opened to the right page. It was. “Rakasha Rise!”

With that, they began playing.

They rocked so hard that vibrants could be felt through the air. It was the closest thing to an adrenaline rush that she could get.

She leaned in toward the mic and sang.

I’m a witch
I’m a liar
I stand on stage
Playing my demented lyre

There’s a vampire
In my life
Sucking blood through my veins
I’ve gone so numb I stopped giving a fuck
Shit just happens, ‘cause I’m outta luck

Hand me a beer
Hand me a cigar
We’ll be good friends
But I might wreck your car

I went to the gas station
Asked for a coffee
‘Cause I needed to sober up
I pulled out a glock and said,
“Gimme everything you got!”

The police arrived
No one survived
I was running through the night
On an adrenaline high

I fell into the river
I couldn’t get out
I was going to drown
But something pulled me out

A demon said to me,
“You look so bleak!”
Then offered me a treat
“Hey little griff! Why not a retreat?”

There was nothing. Not in Tyranny’s world. Not when she played. The crowd no longer existed. The other band members might as well all be ghosts following her lead. There was no Babbles telling her to get on stage, and there wasn’t a Stella demanding for a task to be done. There was herself in a void of transfixion.

Just as she lost herself in subconsciousness, the strings on her guitar emitted a red glow, as if they were heating up by how awesome she was playing. To add to the effect, the headstock smoked.

The orb at the base brightened, a single black slit cutting through. It blinked vertically, then a voice spoke in Tyranny’s head.

“Ready.”

She continued.

I bought a book
It’s a read
It taught me everything I need
Even changed the way I breathe

I opened it up
I read allowed,
“Surge Rakasha ex tumulo!”
And everything became profound

The lights in the room dimmed. The only source of visibility was the red light casting down on her and the candles lied down at every point of the pentagram. They wavered as if a draft was gushing through the room.

O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua

The center of the pentagram sparked, and the floor melted away into a vortex. The candle flames danced wildly.

She repeated the verse, the other band members following her stead.

O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua

Guitar fully charged, “Alright, fuckwads!” Tyranny shouted. “Make these walls rattle! Scream Rakasha’s name real loud and real clear-like!”

The chanting started.

Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!

“Don’t you stop!”

Tyranny continued playing. A magical aura took control of her fingers, guiding her through the necessary chord progression. She could feel it breathing, the base inflating and deflating. The draft turned into a wind that ruffled her feathers and made all of the band members manes dance wildly.

O Rakasha
Sculptor Animarum
Surge in alium mundum
Gratia nobis in praesentia tua

Meanwhile, the crowd kept up.

Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!
Rak-ash-a!

In the center of the pentagram, all went quiet as the air seeped out. Like sparking a match inside a gas-filled room, the stage exploded into bright lights of many colors.

Tyranny finished the song with a series of guitar riffs, the other members following it up with their own little solos. The song died the moment the light evaporated, and in the center of the pentagram stood a twelve-foot beast.

It had six eyes, but it was no arachnid. It had a trunk, but it was no elephant. A horn protruded from the base of its snout, but it was no rhinoceros. Its skin was the shade of dried blood, covered in glowing runes all over.

The song ended, and the crowd cheered, despite not understanding what they were witnessing.

Stella rose from her synth and held her hooves out wide to address the mystical beast. “Dearest Rakasha, Carver of Demons, grace us if you’ll please!”

He did not turn. Rather, he shrunk down in size and reduced his mighty form into a blob, rolling over so that his six eyes bore into the thestral.

He’s trying to intimidate me, she thought. It was almost funny. Almost. She lost her sense of humor two hundred years ago. Go on, try me. You won’t get beyond that barrier.

She continued. “We have freed you from your shackles in Tartaraus so that you may be free to walk the Earth once more.” She bowed in preparation for what she had to say next. “All we ask is for any gift of our choice.”

A stagehand ran up to her and placed a silver chalice atop her synth. Stella took it and held it toward the demon. “Fill this chalice with your blood, and you’ll be free. This is the only debt we require.”

The stage shook, an uncanny echo reverberating across the room. Laughing. He was laughing. Stella’s brow twitched. She sneered. “I know it is a pitiful request toward a being of your greatness, but—”

“Enough of this!” Tyranny shouted. “Little demon wants to play games? Then perhaps he could be of some fun!” In one swift motion, she swiped the salt off the floor in front of her.

Rakasha’s eyes sucked into his gelatinous form and appeared on the other side. The room shook like an earthquake. A voice almost intelligible echoed across the room.

“Freedom…”

His blobish state spaghettified before taking on the form of a hawk, and he zoomed through the gap in the barrier, soaring over the crowd. He dove downward into the ocean of ponies before growing in size once more, returning to his mystical form.

CRAAASH!

The room rumbled, and ponies screamed. They ran toward the stage, away from the monster that had just torn a large hole into the face of the building.

“Are you kidding me!?” Stella shouted at the hippogriff. “We were supposed to just collect his blood!”

“Enough talk, let’s hunt.” Tyranny strummed her guitar. The air around her exploded in a flash of red and she zoomed forward on a giant bird comprised of magic.

Stella grumbled a series of curses under her breath but fluttered after nonetheless.

Outside, the beast was causing mayhem. Cars were smashed, and telephone poles and streetlights were knocked over. Ponies ran, a few stopping to examine the creature that was causing so much trouble. Rakasha stampeded down the street regardless of what was in his path. All he knew was to get to safety, and whatever this place was it certainly was not.

Much had changed in Equestria in the past one thousand years. Settlements were no longer small villages populated by tribes. Instead, monoliths towered overhead, many bright and condensed together so that for a moment he considered that the city was more vast and more ambitious than Tartaraus’s palace itself.

Tyranny flew past. She put some distance between him before doing a U-turn and halting. Her claws glided along the guitar's neck as she played a new chord progression. The ethereal bird she was standing atop of dissolved, and just as the demon was about to collide with her tendrils shot out from the orb at her guitar's base.

They wrapped around every appendage that they could reach. His trunk, his midriff, his legs--ensnared, Rakasha struggled to escape.

Stella soared down on top of the beast. "Keep him held tight!" she shouted.

Tyranny didn't hear. She just continued playing.

Stella climbed down to its neck. She opened her maw wide. With a hiss, her fangs grew in length, and she bit down. Immediately, a metallic taste filled her mouth. The ground rumbled. Rakasha writhed, noodly tendrils stretching from his flesh.

"He's transforming!" Tryanny shouted.

Stella bit down as hard as her jaw would allow, sucked as hard as she could. Demon blood dripped from her lips. Part of her was tempted to pull back and spit it all out. She had to be careful. There was no telling what would happen if she swallowed his blood.
.
Mouth full, she pulled away and fluttered back, and was knocked into the pavement by one of the tendrils, nearly spitting up some of the blood, a rivulet running down her cheek.

What had smacked her out of the air was a wing. One large and bat-like, complete with a forearm and membranes. The ground shook, and an otherworldly screech echoed across the streets of Maretropolis, windows from buildings shattering for blocks. Tendrils on his other side wrapped together like sinew, forming another wing. His body grew slender, albeit muscular, and much longer. His size was now double what it used to be, his head draconic.

In one swift flap of his wings, Rakasha pulled up toward the sky and the ethereal tendrils holding him snapped. Tryanny stopped playing and simply looked up at the demon, waiting for his next move. And waited. And waited.

Rakasha peered down at the puny creature and considered for a moment devouring her then and there. However, she had freed him from his shackles. They may have dishonored him by trapping him and stealing his blood, but he was free to do as he pleased. Fine. He'd be free, and in return, they would be allowed to live. They asked for a gift, and that gift was pity.

He rose through the air, massive wings undilating. When he was just above the skyline, he faded into the night, nowhere to be seen, as if he were a chameleon disappearing among foliage. Tyranny walked up to Stella, who was busy with trying to not spit up or swallow the blood in her mouth. Lucky for her, the intern from earlier came running up with the chalice hovering in front of her. Stella took it without hesitation and spat the red ichor into the container. It was only a quarter-full, but it'd be enough to continue the next phase of the plan.

Stella wiped her mouth with the back of her hoof and turned to the hippogriff with a grimace. "Did you have your fun?"

Tryanny tucked the guitar back beneath her wing. "Ended too quickly for my liking."

"Good. We need the blood of two more demons for the grand summoning to work."

Tyranny took her cigarette case from the breast pocket of her denim jacket, struck a match, little one, and tossed the match on the ground. "Lucky for you I'm type-A."

"Ha. Ha." Stella mocked. "I still don't get why we have to put on a rock show to summon these things. Nothing screams 'I want to go to jail' like flashy lights and loud noises.

Tyranny took a puff. "Take that stick out of yer bum and look alive, love! There's nothing wrong with a bit of show and tell. 'Sides, ya got what you want. Just leave it to ol' Tyr to decide how we procure the supplies."

Handing the chalice over to the intern, who took it into her magic and ran back to the building—careful to not spill a drop—Stella marched up to the hippogriff and jabbed a hoof into her chest. "Let me make it known. If it weren't for that Parasite residing within your guitar, I wouldn't be talking to you, right now. I'd be off somewhere else finding my own way to summon a primordial deity. You want to have your fun? Fine. Have all the fun. But if you compromise these plans in any way, I won't hesitate to suck the blood out of your body. No matter how putrid, and rancid it is. And that's the nicest I can describe it, too. Don't even get me started on the amount of narcotics you digest daily!"

"Oh, look at that." Tryanny flicked her cigarette stub onto the ground. "Your little spiel was long enough for me to finish my fag." She turned to walk away. "I'm going for some hookers and blow. See you at the after party."

Stella stared after her. Her brows twitched, lips itched. She licked her fangs in anticipation to bite her neck then and there, just so she wouldn't have to deal with this again. The amount of strength it took to prevent herself from lashing out was the equivalent of a single pony stopping a high-speed train.

She gritted her teeth.

Dammit, she was hot!

Author's Note:

Stella belongs to NorristhePony while Tyranny is my own OC. He gave me permission to use her. I love her like she's own, so like a protective parent in a custody battle, I'm doing everything I can to keep her.

But Tyranny is hot shit.

Pretty much all of the band members will be getting artwork, but the only character who has any is Stella because Norris already had a bunch at the ready.