> The Wraith
>  by The Lunar Samurai
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Come on daddy!” Constance said as he eagerly bounced next to the door. “Let’s go!”
“Hold your horses, Constance,” Noctus said as he placed a hat onto his son’s head. “Your mother wants to come along too.”
The little colt rushed to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “MOOOOMMMM! We’re going to be late!”
“Constance, calm down. It isn’t a race.”
“But we always have ice cream at 5, it’s 4:37!” Constance said as he snuck a look at the old clock on the wall.
“Being a few minutes late won’t hurt you.” Noctus said as he patted Constance’s head.
“Yes it will!” Constance protested as he dodged the pat and raced back to the stairs. “MOOOOMMMM! What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m waiting for you to calm down,” Glimmer said as she emerged from her room with several hair curlers in her hair. “I’m almost finished, but you need to settle down before we leave.”
“Alright,” Constance sighed. His voice carried a sense of defeat, but his body was still quivering with anticipation. “Can we go and have her catch up?” he asked as he looked back to his dad.
“No, you need to learn how to wait. Now go sit down, mom will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Alright,” Constance said begrudgingly as he sat on the and busied himself with one of his wooden cars.
“I’m ready!” his mother shouted from the top of the stairs moments later. In an instant Constance was on his feet and next to the door.
“Me too!” he shouted.
“Alright then, let’s go get some ice cream!” his dad said as he opened the door and strolled out onto the dirt covered street in front of their small apartment. The air was nearly as stale as the air inside, but less dusty. Gullies of water carried sheets of paper waste and grime down the road, a sort of makeshift sewer to keep some of the trash off of the walkways. They lived on the western side of Manehattan, notorious for its tiny apartments and less than spotless living conditions. The section was not completely downtrodden, however. Ponies pitched in every now and again to help clean the streets when they could. It was a good place for a unicorn to live, anyway. The residents were nice, the crime was low, and the rent was affordable.
“Taking the family for a stroll, eh Noctus?” an old stallion asked as they passed by his makeshift porch.
“We’re just on our way to get some ice cream,” he replied.
“Oh really? I just came back from there, I recommend the butternut fudge. It’s really good.”
“Sounds delicious, take care!” Noctis waved as he continued down the street.
“What time is it?” Constance asked nervously.
“Its ten till fiv-” Glimmer started.
“We need to hurry!” he interrupted as he picked up his pace.
“Life isn’t always about being right on time, you know. Have you ever heard of being fashionably late?”
“I think fashion is dumb.”
Noctus looked at his wife as he bit his lip to contain his laughter. The moment their eyes met the two burst out laughing, slowing their pace to a crawl.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, dear,” Glimmer said as she wiped a tear from her eye. “What kind of ice cream do you want?”
“Oh come on, you should know what ice cream he wants,” Noctus said with a smirk. “It’s the same thing every time: Mint chocolate chip with pink, yellow, and blue sprinkles.”
“Yeah,” Constance said excitedly, “It’s my favorite.”
“Its your favorite because you’ve never had anything different,” Noctis said as he lifted him into the air with his magic.
“Hey, put me down!” Constance whined as he flailed his legs. “We need to get there!”
“If you look to your right, you’ll see that we’re there already.” Glimmer giggled as she pointed to the ice cream store.
“Perfect, and 3 minutes to spare!” he exclaimed. He tried to run into the store, but his body still floated in the blue aura of his father’s magic.
“What’s the magic word?” Glimmer asked.
“Pleeease?” Constance moaned. His parents laughed, but their levity was cut short.
A low, dark sound filled the air. At once the other noises of the city grew deathly quiet, the movement stopped, everything seemed to pause as the siren continued its chilling drone. A few moments later a monotone female voice replaced the hum.
“All citizens are to move indoors, the southeastern levee has been breached. I repeat, all citizens are to report to their homes immediately.” The ominous hum picked up again. The city began to move again.
“Constance, I’m sorry, but we can’t get ice cream today,” Glimmer said in a gentle yet worried tone. “But we can get some as soon as the Wraith passes, how about that?”
“But mom!” Constance protested, “Dad promised!”
“Look,” Noctus said with a slight tinge of fear in his voice. “We can’t get ice cream right now. I know I promised, but we just can’t.”
“Bu-”
“Constance, look. I don’t have time to explain, but we have to go,” Glimmer said as she looked to Noctus.
“But you promised!” Constance shouted in a fit.
Noctus blushed at his son's behaviour as he walked over to him and firmly placed a hoof on his back. “We are leaving.”
“No! I’m getting ice cream!” Constance shouted. Immediately he wiggled free of his father’s grasp and darted to the ice cream store.
Noctus tried to lift him into the air, but it was no use. The little colt had already shot through the mass of ponies that was thickening by the second. “Constance! Come back here this instant!” he shouted as he tried to peer over the moving crowd.
“I want mint chocolate chip with pink, yellow, and blue sprinkles!” Constance’s small voice could barely be heard through the din of the crowd.
When a stallion hears the voice of his colt, he is predisposed to wander toward it, ignoring many obstacles that may be in his way. Through his frantic embarrassment, Noctus had disregarded how large the river of ponies had grown, and how it had formed between him and his son. He took just a few steps into the stream, and then it hit him. A stallion, rushing home from his dinner pushed Noctus out of the way. It was not an ill intentioned shove, only a way to move an obstacle out of its path. Noctus came to his senses, but he was already off balance. Everything grew quiet as his body bumped, brushed, and knocked against the bodies of the nameless crowd.
He looked with fear filled eyes back at Glimmer. Her hoof was outstretched toward him, her mouth open in a silent scream. Tears were streaming out of her fear filled eyes as the world began to spin around him. Beside her stood Constance, his ice cream cone floating in the air beside him. He had just learned how to use his magic a few days ago. Noctus was so proud. The world toppled sideways as one of Noctus’s hooves caught a protruding stone. His body off balance, and his mind not operating quick enough to catch himself, Noctus fell to the ground.
A hoof struck the ground next to his head. Another landed on his tail. Soon a barrage of unintended hooves came crashing down onto him. Within seconds, his body began to give way under the weight of the crowd.
Glimmer stood in shock as she watched her husband disappear into the crowd.
“We need to go,” she said as she blinked away the tears from her eyes. Constance said nothing as she lifted him from the ground and placed him on her back. She started to gallop toward their home. Constance rode on her back, his eyes still affixed to the place where Noctus had fallen. 
The torrential river of ponies slowly thinned into a small stream as Glimmer darted onto the road next to which their apartment stood. She raced to the doorway and bolted into the building. She threw the door closed and pressed herself up against the door as if to barricade the reality out of her house. Her body began to heave as the tears began to flow from her eyes and form pools on the ground.
“Mommy?” Constance asked as he watched his mother’s trembling figure. “When is daddy coming home?”
A small wisp of light brown liquid smoke flowed underneath their door. The wraith had begun to fill the streets, its ethereal form searching for any sign of life to overtake. Its ghostly form quickly coalesced into a small indentation in the floor. Glimmer grabbed a towel and pressed it underneath the door. The Wraith moved on, ignoring the now inaccessible house
Glimmer turned to Constance, with a weak smile she replied, “Let’s go to the kitchen and make some dinner. Maybe...” she paused as she squeezed her eyes shut in bitter sorrow, “maybe he will get here in time for dinner.”
“Okay,” Constance whispered as he walked over to the table and sat in his chair, his car floating in a dim magic beside his head. Glimmer painfully struggled to make dinner, once in a while pausing to hold back the tears. Slowly she lifted three plates from the cupboard and began to fix their meal.
It was a painful spectacle to watch. She would stumble to the ice box only to return to the plates with the wrong ingredient, which would then force her to place it back and search again. Constance waited at the table, gently pushing his car along its wooden surface. Eventually he grew bored with the terrain of the table and moved to the floor.
“Constance,” his mother said, her voice distant and soft. “You need to come back to the table. The floor is dirty and I don’t want you sick.” She sat herself at the table and rested her head in her hoof.
Constance scrambled up into his chair and placed his car next to his plate. “Umm… mom?” he asked, almost afraid to question her dark silence.
“What is it dear?”
“There isn’t any food.”
“Yes there is,” she said as she continued to stare at her own empty plate. “It’s a wonderful meal I cooked for you and your father.”
“But mom…” he started, his confusion slowly turning into irritation.
“Just eat your dinner….” her voice trailed off as her eyes welled up once more.
Constance looked to the empty plate in front of him. The off white surface bore various stains from decades of use. The plates, forks, knives, and bowls were a wedding gift to Noctus and Glimmer, they were the only items that had any value in the old apartment. Save the few utensils, the cupboard was empty and the dust of the Wraith had formed a crust on the rough wooden surface. The air was dusty too, lending it an almost choking staleness that permeated through the house. The only pleasant smell came from the half smoked cigar that sat burning next to Noctus’ chair. A small wisp of smoke curled from its tip and into the air. It was not a miserable existence, but neither was it pleasant. The small family would often take trips outside of the city to the farms that were so vital to the life of Manehattan, but life had always been difficult.
Constance picked his car and jumped off of his chair.
“Constance, dear,” his mother said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come back and eat your dinner..”
“But I want to make sure I see daddy coming home,” he said as he started toward the door.
“He will be home soon,” his mother whispered as she continued to stare at her empty plate. “If you aren’t hungry then go to bed.”
“But its only six.”
“Then come over here and eat, you must be hungry.”
Glimmer continued to stare at her empty plate, her body barely moving save the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She seemed detached, like a statue pondering its own existence. She would not blink, she could not refresh her eyes from the pain they bore. Her consciousness locked into the tragedy her mind continued to play. She was trapped, her mind holding her hostage with horror and fear.
For hours Constance paced the house, unable to contact his mother. He tried to create a distraction, following the typical structure of his day, but most of the structure still revolved around his parents. He could not feed himself, he could not bathe, he could only perform the few menial chores given to him. He grabbed the old straw broom and swept the apartment. The task took a few fleeting minutes, and for those few minutes, the structure of his life returned. It was not much, but the familiarity of a repeated task gave him some comfort.
“Mom?” he would ask occasionally in a vain attempt to wake her from her silence. It would never work, she remained in her statuesque pose at the table. Eventually, the clock struck 8. Constance placed the broom back in the closet. He had effectively swept the small apartment a few dozen times, continually searching for a structure to hold onto.
“It is time for bed,” his mother said. If Constance had not seen her mouth move, he would not have heard her faint voice.
“Can you tuck me in?” His question was one that reflected a ritual their family had since his birth.
Glimmer did not respond.
“Mommy?” Constance watched his mother with tear filled eyes. “Mommy, wake up.”
“It is time for bed,” she whispered again.
Constance stepped away from his mother and walked to his room. His bed was nothing more than a stained mattress on the floor. Constance settled down into his bed and pulled the covers over himself. Try as he might, he could not emulate the security and comfort he had when his parents tucked him in. Soon his eyes closed, but sleep did not come.
A loud, familiar, haunting sound filled the morning air. It was the siren, but this time it came with a different message.
“All citizens, the wraith has been contained, and the levee has been repaired.” The second announcement was as uncaring as the first, an anonymous, emotionless voice that carried with it a horrible memory of the day before. Constance was unable to fall asleep, his mind continued through the night, trying to piece together the events that had happened. The more he pondered, the more confusing the situation became.
The peaceful sounds of morning, and the bustle of activity outside heralded a new day in Manehattan. Something was missing, however, it was the stir in the house that was missing. Days had always begun with the movement of Noctus and Glimmer as they raced through the apartment to prepare for the work day. They would constantly talk, trying to beat the clock out the door. Today, everything was silent.
Constance quietly stepped out of his bed and trotted over to the door of his small room. He looked to the table to see his mother, still staring at her plate. The clock on the wall slowly continued to tick its rhythmic song in the silence.
“Did daddy come back?”
Glimmer’s statuesque silence said enough. He had not returned. Not knowing what to do, and his body exhausted from the sleepless night, Constance trotted back to his bed and let himself fall into its warm embrace.
When one does something all of their life, they begin to anticipate its arrival physiologically as well as mentally. If, for instance, a pony went to get ice cream every day at 5:00, his body would begin to anticipate, and desire that reward through cravings and hunger. And, if said pony were to not have eaten for a good while, that hunger would rouse him from his sleep. This was the Case for constance, whose internal clock triggered his hunger which stirred him from his sleep.
As Constance’s mind slowly restored itself from his sleep, he realized his raving hunger. Painfully he struggled out of bed and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 4:45, he was late for his daily ice cream. He quickly galloped to his piggy bank and grabbed a bit from its bloated porcelain cage. He ran out into the hall and froze. His mother still remained at her seat at the table, staring at the empty plate in front of her. He looked at the clock, and then back to Glimmer.
“M-Mom?” he started toward the door as he spoke. “I-I’m going to get some ice cream.”
She did not respond. The restless night of tormented self captivity had begun to take its toll on her body. Her eyes were tired, but they still held the carnal fear that had gripped her since she had sat down. Constance looked at the clock, then back to his mother. With each tick his mind raced faster, it craved the consistency.
Constance, as if hiding from an enemy, furtively grabbed his scarf and wrapped it around his neck. He silently walked to the door and tiptoed into the windy street outside. The air whipped around the doorframe and howled, but constance’s mother did not move. He took one more timid breath before stepping outside into the street.
Constance knew the road like the back of his hoof. Take a left, then a right, then another left, then ice cream. As he walked toward the shop a gloom seemed to precede him. The stallions and mares no longer looked at him with smiles on their faces, instead their looks held pity and sorrow. He had no idea why, but that did not stop him from getting his mint chocolate chip ice cream with pink, yellow, and blue sprinkles. He rounded the last corner to see a crew of ponies standing before the small ice cream shop. Constance did not recognize the winged ponies, nor did he care. All he wanted was his ice cream.
As he crossed the cobblestone road, he notices a small spot of melted strawberry ice cream on the ground, or what he thought to be ice cream. He shrugged it off and walked up to the vendor.
“I would like one mint chocolate chip with pink, yellow, and blue sprinkles.” He placed a bit onto the counter, but the vendor slid it back to Constance.
“It’s on me, Constance.” His voice was shaky, his mind still trying to comprehend the travesty that had occurred to the small colt before him.
“Thank you!” Constance took the cone as he carefully lifted it from the table and trotted down the street. The ice cream tasted good, but the best part was that it reminded him of that structure he craved. The small bits of chocolate in the frozen mass of mint tasted of accomplishment and security, and he liked it.
Constance strolled up to his apartment, happily licking his ice cream. The small bit of consistency was enough structure for his day. The moment he opened the door, his spirits faded once more.
“Where have you been?” his mother asked. She still sat at the table, staring at the plate.
“I… I went to get ice cream…” Constance said as he feebly lifted up the cone that floated in the aura of of his magic.
Glimmer’s only response was silence.
“People kept looking at me funny and saying they were sorry. And there were some unicorns cleaning up some red juice on the road.”
“Noctus!” Glimmer said as she rose from her spot from the table. “Oh thank Celestia you are back!”
Constance’s ears flipped up as he turned to meet his father’s warm embrace, but Noctus was not there. Confused, Constance turned back to his mother. She had risen from her seat and was beginning to walk to the hallway.
“Mom?”
“Not right now, Constance, I have to be with your father.”
“But… he isn’t there…”
“Of course he’s there, can’t you see him?” She pointed to the empty hallway.
“I… uhhh…. I can’t.”
“Stop playing games Constance,” She muttered as she kissed the air where her hallucination stood. “Oh Noctus, I’m so glad you came home. We were so worried about you.” She paused for a few moments.
“Mom?”
“Oh that’s alright dear, as long as they got you home safe.”
“What are you doing mom?”
Glimmer looked to Constance with a quizzical expression, “Why, I’m talking to your father.”
“Mom, daddy isn’t there…”
“Come on constance!” she growled. “He is standing right there!” She pointed her hoof to the empty space before the door.
It started with small things, she continued to address the hallucination she percieved, and Constance played along. For a short time the structure of the family remained the same, but chaos soon came. Constance walked into the dining room one day to discover his portion to be a tenth of his usual. Glimmer claimed Noctus was sick, that he was not acting as usual, so he would get more food. Constance did not argue out of fear he would send his mother back into those awful trances. At least she was active…
Then the madness began, and a new wave of discord entered their household. The clock stopped, the only thing keeping Constance’s schedule had perished as well. Glimmer began neglecting Constance, becoming completely infatuated with the vision of Noctus. Constance was forced to forage for food during the wee hours of the morning from the piles of trash that had begun to accumulate on the floors from weeks of untouched food. Then came disease, a sickness of the mind and body that sprung from malnourishment coupled with neglect. Then came the hatred.
He began to blame the disorder and chaos for his father’s death. Then he came to the conclusion that it was the chaos and the Wraith that had killed noctus. After several days seeking revenge against the two, he began to realize a third party was involved, himself. His persistence had pulled Noctus into the torrent of ponies, and had killed him beneath their hooves. It was his fault.
Eventually Constance’s grandfather visited their small disheveled apartment. On occasion he would come visit to see his son’s family. He lived in an even smaller house on the edge of the Apple Plantation that dominated the southern district. He worked as a hired hand to the Apples, but he enjoyed the hard work despite his old age.
The moment he opened the door to Constance’s house, he immediately sensed something was amiss. Glimmer had shouted for Noctus to get the door, and he never did. Constance was almost as thin as Glimmer, and large piles of rotting food were left on the floor. Noctus was nowhere to be found. He took Constance to his home on the edge of the plantation and tried to persuade Glimmer to come with them, but she remained.
When Constance arrived at the small home he was immediately awestruck. Dominating the horizon, was a massive brick wall that reached high into the sky. The huge structure spanned from east to west with no end in sight. His grandfather laughed at Constance’s reaction.
“You see surprised,” he teased. “I didn’t think my house was that extravagant.”
“Th-Th-The wall. What is that?”
“Oh! Of course,” his grandfather said with a laugh. “That thing is called a retaining wall.”
“Wow.”
“It holds back the Wraith so we can farm the land below. It is one of the greatest things manehattan has ever constructed, and it remains the tallest wall of any city in Equestria.” His grandfather stopped on top of the hill and pointed to the massive entrance. “Do you see that?”
Constance could only nod.
“That is a port gate. It is how travelers and convoys move between cities, or how they used to. Ever since the Wraith took over the countryside, more ponies go through for war rather than diplomacy.”
“Was it always like this?”
“No…” His grandfather’s voice trailed off as a small wisp of the Wraith spilled over the edge of the massive wall and drifted to the ground. “It used to be different…”
“Can you tell me about the first time you saw the Wraith?”
“As a child I can remember galloping through the tall grass with my friends. We didn’t have much, but we amused ourselves any way we could. I still remember the day I stumbled across a patch of browning grass on my way to the schoolhouse. I jumped into it, to this day I cannot remember why, only what happened. A small tuft of smoke rose around my hooves in ghostly plumes that slowly returned to their hiding spot in the withering grass. It seemed to beckon me to jump again, to lift it from the ground once more. I obliged and watched curiously as it rose and fell like light water. I soon grew bored with the patch of brownish smoke and trotted to school.”
“Is that the first time you ever saw it?” Constance asked. The story beginning to intrigue him even more by the minute.
“After that I didn’t see anything like it for nearly a year. I went on with my life, forgetting altogether about that little pool of brownish smoke. Then, it came. At first, it was just another puddle I discovered during a harvest. The fields were never completely even, and small pools of the smoke would form in the rows. Everywhere the puddles formed the plants would wither away and die. The puddles grew in number and size, and our crops began to drop like flies as we frantically tried to bring in the crops. A few weeks after the harvest, which was our worst yield in a decade, our farmland was covered in the smoke to our hooves. Luckily the apple harvest was still profitable, but a month later, the trees began to die as well.”
“What did you do?”
“After the apple harvest my father was forced to abandon the farm that spanned generations and move to the city. I vividly remember staring out at our home that was half submerged in the smoke as we trotted off to Manehattan. Father was scared, but he never showed it. He tried his best to get a well paying job, but everything except hazardous jobs were off limits to unicorns. He struck a deal with the stallion who ran the Apple Plantation and worked as a hired hand.”
His grandfather stopped. The two standing before the small shack of a home.
The two trotted down the winding path to his grandfather’s house. The interior of the small shack was run down, but Constance immediately embraced it as homely. His grandfather was a methodical stallion, and that methodology was passed down to Constance. He quickly built a routine around his grandfather’s structured life and found peace in it. It took only a few weeks before Constance was put to work by the owner of the Apple Plantation carrying bushels of produce to the massive warehouses around the fields.
A new life is not easy to settle into, and Constance found himself trying his hardest to do so, but he could not adjust. He began searching for something he could really sink his teeth into, something that he could use as a way to dispel his negative energy, a physical release, a sport… boxing.
The repetitive nature of the sport make itself extremely appealing to Constance. The punches were similar, repetitive, constant. It was perfect. Constance threw himself into boxing, quickly mastering the strikes, blocks, and counterattacks. It slowly changed from a hobby to an obsession, taking a completely new precedence in his life. As he grew his talents grew with him, until that fateful day.
“I’m off to the gym!” Constance shouted to his grandfather. It was 8 in the morning, just like every day. He grabbed his gear and quickly trotted to the door. He nearly ran over the Manhattanite before him. “Oh… sorry there.”
“Are you Constance?” The stallion asked firmly.
“Yes.” Constance raised an eyebrow.
“You have been selected for the Manehattan army.”

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Take a good look,” The decorated General whispered as he stood in front of the small group of stallions. They stood atop one of the few hills that was tall enough to peek over the surface of the Wraith. Ethereal waves of smoke lapped against the grass, spreading fingers of itself through the network of stalks beneath the hooves of the stallions. “This world was once free of this monstrosity below us. The cities at one time had been unified under the reign of two royal sisters that ruled in tandem over the land.”
Constance stood at attention as his General continued to address his squadron. Had he been younger, the tendrils of smoke that curled around his ankles would have sent shivers down his spine. Now, however, he stood as a statue, his mind had been sharpened and fixed on the reality of war. He had been drafted a year ago today, and he relished the chance to be in such a structured environment. His focus was solely on the words of his General.
“Stallions, for some of you, this is your first time on the battlefield. It isn’t pretty, nor is it enjoyable, but it is a necessity. The ponies out there are not allies, they will not negotiate, they are murderers. We have tried to send convoys, establish communications, even diplomatic peace talks, all of which have resulted in more body bags and increased tensions.” The commander stopped his pacing and faced the massive expanse of ocean-like smoke before them. “So if it is a war they want, it is a war they will get. If you look on the horizon, you will see your target barely protruding above the wraith. That massive wall, similar to ours, is what keeps their city Wraith-free. Your objective is to blast a portion of it to smithereens.”
He pointed to a small dufflebag, his assistant gingerly pulling out a series of cables and small shape charges from the bag. “These are your new best friends. Treat them well, and the war will be won. Treat them poorly… well… let’s just say they have a nasty temper when they're angry.” He placed the explosives back in the bag and gave it to Constance.
“Chev will be carrying the explosives. Ensure his utmost safety, but with the route we have plotted for you, that shouldn’t be an issue.” The General stopped and looked back to the squad. “Do you understand your mission?”
“Yes sir!” The group shouted in unison. Their voice echoing the power of their  deceptively small size.
“I expect the Phillydelphian wall to be destroyed by the time our armies meet on the battlefield.” The general saluted 
The group trotted down the hill, plunging into the body of the Wraith. Constance kept good pace despite the explosive load on his back. The group’s hoofsteps were in perfect synchronization as the group marched through the dense Wraith. For miles they trudged onward, halting only for the occasional stream or tree. Phillydelphia was a great distance from their location, but they had trained months for this. They had built their endurance through months of training, preparing for this very moment. Sprints, marathons, and obstacle courses had honed them for the task, but nothing could have prepared them for the war itself.
Arrow held up his hoof, bringing the group to a standstill. Silence overtook the air, something was out of place.
“What’s the issue, Arrow?” one of the squad spoke up.
“I heard something, like a distant explosion.”
“According to the map and to the time, the skirmish is taking place around fifty miles east of our current location,” Constance said as he checked the weathered map. The day was just beginning to fade, the time when the first mortars of the W-1 would be fired. “I say we keep on mov-”
A low roll of thunder echoed through the Wraith. The hearts of the squadron’s members simultaneously skipped a beat.
“Was that-”
“Yes.” Arrow said as he began to stretch his body.
“What are you doing ?” Contance asked as he slowly placed the bag of explosives onto the ground. “We need to get out of here.”
“If we can hear the mortars, we are too far off course. Time for plan B.”
Constance’s eye twitched, how could they have traveled so far off course? His mind began to fire frantically, his body refusing to believe the structure was destroyed.
“What are we going to do now?” one of the others asked as another explosion echoed through the air.
“We fight.” Arrow looked to Constance. His sly smile and cocked eyebrow displayed his sheer confidence. “You are a boxer aren't you?”
“I am.”
“Then this should be second nature.” Arrow winked and turned to the others. “Stallions, the enemy will be upon us in just a few moments. Use your wits and keep your heads, literally.”
“What about our objective?” Constance eyed the dufflebag at his hooves. “Aren’t we supposed to draw attention from the fight?”
Another explosion flew through the air, this time more powerful. A faint shout resounded after the explosion.
“I can hear the enemy just beyond the smoke. Prepare yourselves.” Arrow calmly strapped his blade to his hoof and faced the enemy. “Let’s dance.”
It took only a few seconds for the first, overzealous scout to come galloping through the fog. He tried to raise his weapon. He tried to strike the stallion before him. He tried to wipe that confident smirk off of that colt’s face, but he failed. Arrow waited until he could smell the stallion’s rage before gliding out of the way and letting him run into the blade on his outstretched foreleg. The Fillydelphian let out a bloodcurdling scream as the piece of steel sunk deep into his side and tore his flesh like paper.
“Let them do the work,” Arrow said as he gently slid his blade into the neck of the writhing stallion on the ground. “Stick together, leave no pony behind.”
A trickle of bloodthirsty stallions began to assault the group. One made his target the stallion next to the dufflebag, Constance. “Come on!” Constance shouted in a whisper more to himself than his assailant. The stallion swung his sword at Constance’s neck, but it only soared through the air. Constance, realizing the condition of his opponent, threw three quick jabs to the stallion’s neck. His opponent stumbled backward, gasping for air. He was off balance. Constance threw a hard punch to the side of the stallion’s head. He collapsed under the blow.
Another figure darted by Constance, pulling him back into his default defensive stance. His forelegs slid into position, and instinct took control. Another enemy emerged from the Wraith, his nostrils spewing the toxic W-1 that had rained down on their troops. The stallion threw a nasty punch in an attempt to connect with Constance’s temple. Constance easily brushed the blow aside with his forearm and popped the stallion’s shoulder out with the other. He screamed in agony as his body came crashing to the ground. Instinctively, Constance drove his hoof into the stallion’s temple.
A glint flashed through the fog, a stallion bearing a small dagger came charging toward Constance. Immediately Constance dialed in on the blade, ever wary of its movements. The opponent lunged at him, bringing the blade inches from Constance’s neck. Constance quickly gained his stability again as the opponent prepared for another swing. Constance dropped to his back, throwing his back legs before him, and let the blade sail over his body. The opponent seized the chance and quickly spun the blade into a ice pick grip. As he brought his blade down toward Constance’s chest, Constance stopped the stallion’s hoof and propped his back leg against the stallion’s chest. He quickly threw the opponent over his body, twisting the knife into the stallion’s stomach. Constance threw himself over his opponent and twisted the knife out of the stallion’s grip. With a quick motion, he snapped the neck of the opponent.
Constance dropped the knife and rose to his hooves as he prepared himself for the next attack. A loud crack echoed beside his ear, tossing him to the ground from sheer force. One of Manehattan’s W-1 shells had detonated not three feet from him. Suddenly, Constance’s mind began firing on all cylinders. The opponents galloped around him in complete silence as they yelled their screams and brandished their weapons. One ran out his momentum as he noticed a disgruntled Constance lying on the ground. A sadistic grin stretched across his face as he tapped his club against Constance’s head.
“Night night,” he said, but all contance could hear was the deafening ringing in his ears. The stallion lifted his club and brought it hard against Constance’s temple

> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Constance’s contorted limp body lay twisted in a small hollowed out cavity in the dirt. The corpses of his fallen teammates were haphazardly scattered around him, each outlined by the staining red blood that had been spilled from his body. The air was filled with the Wraith, that choking brown haze that had spurred this war and hatred. Death was everywhere. Ally and foe lay side by side, frozen in the last position of their life.
His body heaved as his mind slowly drifted back to reality. He tried to gasp for air, but his lungs filled with a different substance. The blow to his head had chipped a few of his teeth and cut into his cheek. Constance turned his head to his side as he gagged out the bloody vomit that had pooled in his lugs and throat. The acid burned his mouth and stung against the deep cut in his cheek. He struggled for another breath only to choke out more blood in the process. His body continued to struggle for air as he tried to rid himself of the stagnating blood. Another cough, another spatter of blood on the ground.
What seemed like hours later, his coughs only stabbed at his throat. He let his head fall back to the ground, now covered in vomit and blood. His body refused to move from the small indentation in the ground. All he could do was lay there, eyes barely open, watching the endless swirling of the Wraith over him.
Slowly he began to remember what had happened. A war, a battle over farmland. He propped himself up and slowly surveyed the area. Everything was covered in bodies, blood, and the tan powder residue of the Wraith. Then he noticed the rows, those haunting lines, that scarred the earth. Years ago, a hardworking farm pony had dragged a plow for miles to plant the crop only to be choked out by the wraith. Dead plants, buried in years of soot left by the Wraith, lay like the defeated soldiers around them. Their frail forms had succumbed to the choking poison of the eternal swirling smoke that strangled their life out so many years ago.
Constance painfully rolled over onto his stomach, resting his body onto one of the decades old plants beneath him. The rolling hills seemed to stretch on endlessly around him, each one etched with those scarring rows of a forgotten farm and littered with the bodies of the fallen. A large gust of wind briefly swept away the haze enough for the choked streams of sunlight to alight on a hill in the distance. It looked almost surreal, those few pillars of light illuminating a small town that rested atop the mound of barren land seemed to beckon him. And, like a child, he absentmindedly began to crawl toward the light.
Inch by inch, hour by hour, Constance dragged himself across the war ravaged landscape as he tried to find some sense of security in the city of light. His body tore and cut against the rough terrain and scattered abandoned weapons and soldiers. The Wraith seemed to breathe easy as its tendrils flowed over the land, fingering the dead in some sickening fascination at its doing. It almost seemed to relish the bodies that lay twisted and broken in the organized rows of ancient farmland. The amount of dead was countless, innumerable among their brothers and invisible in the Wraith, but the legions freshly slain were a small trophy compared to what the Wraith had taken from the nation.
Constance could barely hear a still small voice in his mind, a yearning to understand what his eyes could see.
“I remember when I was a child…” the voice muttered through the foggy haze. “When the Wraith was only a rare pool on the ground.”
Constance lifted his head from the ground. Before him stood a magnificent city filled with ponies enjoying life. Above him the sky was blue and around him the air was clear. The world seemed to be restored to its former glory, its pre-Wraith setting of carefree joy.
“It did not come quickly, but like a thief in the night.” A small curling tendril of tan fog quietly flowed down the crowded street. No pony seemed to give much attention to that foreboding finger of destructruction that meandered through the city. Then, as suddenly as the vision started, the world faded back into the dark, cruel existence of reality. Around him the buildings faded into ruins, the ponies that had galloped in the streets reduced to wisps of ashes that drifted through the air like spirits.
“But when it did arrive,” the scene of the city came back, but this time the Wraith covered the ground. “Nopony seemed to pay attention” The entire air of the town had changed from carefree to careless. The ponies trotted down the streets, their hooves kicking up the Wraith like it was merely dust. “They never did anything to stop it. They just… ignored it, like it would go away.” The wraith slowly began to rise. “It never did.”
The image flickered away as a gust of the wretched fog passed across the scene. The abandoned buildings stood if they could, others simply lay destroyed on the ground, unable to provide shelter for even a mouse. The powder, that wretched awful aftermath of the wraith lay as a smothering blanket of desolation. Constance looked back, his hoofprints had marked his path in the layer of dust.
They disappeared once more as the image of the once peaceful town reappeared. “Many thought they could stop its progress, its slow encroachment onto their lives.” The Wraith now grazed the bellies of the ponies as they trotted through the town. Many were coughing, a beginning marker to the death from the Whispers that they were sure to contract. A group of stallions stood out from the rest, their white lab coats kicked up the wraith as they galloped down the streets. “Some tried to stop it with science, others with acceptance, and others with death.” The stallions stopped next to one of the sewer covers and waited for the few ponies in the street to turn away. The image flickered away again as the stallions darted into the sewer.
Constance cocked his head, a new wave of pain hit him, nearly driving him to the ground. The concussion he had received still continued to alter his mind, sending him through bouts of pain as he stumbled in a vain attempt to regain his balance. “They either died...” three ghosts stumbled out of the manhole cover, their coats scorched and their bodies reeling. They coughed violently, expelling blood with every breath, until their bodies collapsed under their own weight. “...slept…” A stallion walked out from one of the shops and leaned himself onto the wall. His chest heaved as he tried to take in enough air to fuel his dying body, but it was useless. He let his eyes droop as he gracefully dropped to the ground. “...or killed…” A stampede of stallions, armed for battle, stormed through the town. As they passed the image passed as well, revealing the battle stricken city covered in the Wraith.
Constance took in a deep breath as he tried to shake the pain from his head. It only worsened. His mind still concussed from the crushing blow, he looked down, the only direction his eyes would dare to meander. Beneath his chin rested the waffle patterned manhole cover. Its gritty texture had held onto a layer of decades old dust like glue.
“They almost succeeded…” The manhole cover vanished from sight to reveal a secret laboratory where a group of stallions scrambled from beaker to beaker trying desperately to study their contents. “...but almost is not the same as did…” The stallions disappeared one by one as their lab became a desolate, chaotic chamber inhabited by one, mask wearing stallion. He stumbled to the base of the ladder, suitcase floating in the aura around him, but he could not bring himself to lift his weight up the ladder. A tendril of the wraith slipped down into the shaft and fingered its way into the intake vent of the menacing mask. The stallion inhaled, coughed once, and collapsed to the floor. The scene vanished and the cover of the manhole faded into view.
The world faded into darkness once more, and the wraith grew silent.