Chapter One

Samael’s Prison

By Craine

Wrong. Everything was wrong.

Princess Celestia’s eyes snapped wide open, her chest shifting and crackling with a sharp inhale. She threw herself to her hooves, only to crash back down onto the cracked marble of her destroyed throne room.

She tried again, now feeling every quake of her own brittle legs. She straightened her posture to breathe normally, which four broken ribs and the bleeding gash on her side made quite impossible.

She glanced back at the marred amethyst throne she so graciously crashed into from the roof, then glanced up at the jagged hole she made in that roof.

She saw him. Through the darkness molded with thick black clouds, savaged by lightning and bellowing winds, Celestia saw the winged beast hover before that hole in the roof. Deformed, inverted wings flapped once, twice, then folded aside as their owner fell to the throne room.

Those arched, three-clawed feet—callused like diamond—crushed the marble beneath his weight. Celestia’s hooves planted wide apart and dared not wince at her torn hamstring as she prepared for another attack.

“You seem winded, princess.” His voice coiled and sprang into the white mare’s ears, deep like mountains crumbling into molten lava. “Surely the great Celestia of Equestria has more to offer than flailing and a few sparks.”

Had this been the beginning—where Celestia stood proud and still against the beast with a stare honed by eons of battle, compassion, and leadership—she’d have smiled at the challenge. Which she had, at first.

Had this been the climax—where all of the now-charred and broken Canterlot had become their battlefield, and the skies cried with thunder and hurricanes—Celestia would’ve answered him with spells that would melt diamonds, bend iron like clay, and, by some stretch of the imagination, throw him into the sun.

But now… Now, Celestia stood trembling and broken, her blood decorating his sharp, golden gauntlets, and her horn—with barely a shimmer—gathering what energy she had left.

That three-clawed foot lunged forward, and Celestia flinched at how suddenly loud the chains hanging from his sashed waist rattled. The other foot lunged forward, and her nostrils flared; a snort that filled her head with the smoldering decay of her castle and her impending doom.

She watched his gangly, lunging walk; how his back always lurched forward—like he would attack any moment—how his shoulders sank with every step. She studied his fire-red, half-armored hide, searched for some weakness, some way to pierce that fortress of muscle, bone, and steel.

Celestia’s cracked hoof scraped at the floor.

“She’d be disappointed, you know,” he said with a toothy grin. “And who could blame her, really? Just look at you… legs ready to snap like toothpicks, gasping for air, racking your brains trying to figure a way out of this mess…”

Celestia snorted again. “Never… never speak of her, Samael!” she spat.

“Personally,” Samael continued, his lunging steps bringing him closer, “I don’t think your sister would’ve enjoyed this, despite her… situation. After all, five-hundred years on the moon could make anyone forget. Perhaps even forgive. But you’d never know that now, would you, Celestia?”

The alicorn charged.

With burning legs and stiff wings, Celestia soared at the horned demon with speed that lifted tides of debris in her wake.

Then she blinked.

Samael was already gone when something like sharp steel clamped around her ankles. To Celestia, the throne room bounced, flipped upside down, then plummeted right-side up again when her body slammed into cold, unyielding marble.

That same cold grip slapped onto her shoulder and flank, grimy claws sinking into her flesh. The floor fell away from her, then rose to meet her again with a deep, earthy shatter.

Three more ribs bent into her lungs and snapped as a giant foot swung into her chest. Celestia tumbled across the room, every bouncing roll spitting chunks of marble, blood, and feathers.

Celestia crashed to a halt, a deep groove in the marble leading to her broken body. She shut her eyes tightly, like the sun was too bright, her limbs became rigid and cramped as if she’d been running for days. Her left wing felt awkward and misplaced, like it was turned the wrong way with bone protruding from…

Oh.

Her breath burned inside her lungs, clawing to get out. She tore her eyes from her maimed wing and back at the cackling fiend sitting on her throne. A skin-crawling, stomach-twisting laugh that echoed through the castle’s crumbling hallways. A laugh with which thunder and lighting were all too happy to boom.

His breath slithered from his stony chapped lips like boneless snakes, and the room suddenly reeked of ash and sulfur.

“Pathetic…” Samael muttered.

He rose a single fist and Celestia yelped to attention, her horn coursing with yellow magic. A bright circle surrounded the alicorn, tiny jointed lines clicking and interweaving beneath her, forming a sickeningly familiar symbol. Suddenly it was hot. Scorching hot.

With the roars of thunder and a crumbling kingdom, Celestia was swallowed by a column of fire.

Seconds passed, Samael grinning widely as the orange light reflected in his dull-yellow eyes. He flicked his wrist and the fire wisped away like it was never there. He leaned forward in the throne, petting his horned chin as he waited.

The smoke cleared and, sure enough, a yellow protective bubble was left in its wake. Samael laughed again.

“You surprise me, Celestia,” he bellowed, rising from the throne. “I was sure you’d try to escape with the energy you’ve been storing. But I suppose fortune doesn’t always favor the foolish.”

Celestia’s protective spell vanished, and she once again fell limp to the floor, panting like a dog in the desert.

Her ear flicked at Samael’s heavy footsteps, and she winced. She brought her hooves beneath her and pushed. She fell. She tried again, her torso lifting a few inches that time. She fell again, crying out from the broken ribs shifting and grinding in her chest.

Samael’s winged shadow cast over Celestia and she dared not look up. She just lay there, panting and rueing the moment she’d ever thought Samael could be trusted, nevermind reformed.

“Tell me something, princess,” the red demon demanded, crouching over Celestia and bathing her with breath that could burn forests and petrify oceans. “In all these years—this entire century—surely you saw this coming.”

Celestia coughed, slapping blood onto the marble like an angry painter.

“So, why then, do you persist when this very moment was predestined when I got here?”

The toxic breath started to burn her nostrils and dampen her lungs. Her own breathing became more labored, as though her every breath might rid her of the stench.

Iron claws clutched around her neck, and Celestia’s legs kicked and shook like a startled spider. Slowly, she was lifted off the floor, her hooves dangling under her, her muzzle now disgustingly close to that cracked red face.

“Could it be that you still hope? Hope that ‘friendship’ can be salvaged out of… all this?”

Celestia’s lungs burned again, beating in her chest, crying for air that simply couldn’t fill them. She choked and gagged.

“Or maybe you are simply throwing your life away. Perhaps you finally realize I was right all along—that your ‘Harmony’ is but a farce,” Samael growled.

The sad truth of it all? Celestia did see this coming, ever since the day they’d first met. Her eyes rolled back, and Samael’s gravel-like tone faded in and out of her ears. He lifted her higher.

“Huh. You always were more of a negotiator, weren’t you? Always one to talk before plunging head first into conflict. But this…” Samael dropped the now twitching alicorn like a broken tool. “I expected far better.”

Celestia writhed on the ground, coughing and gulping for air. She blinked the blur from her eyes and darted them to Samael.

To her amazement, he was no longer upon her. He was, in fact, clear across the throne hall, staring out over the pillars of fire and smoke scattered around Canterlot, his hands folded behind his back, his pointed, snake-like tail grazing the cracked floor.

Miraculously—stupidly—Celestia willed herself up again. She fell.

With a chaste grunt and teeth gritting so hard her gums hurt, Celestia found only the strength to glare.

“I almost can’t believe how long I’ve been here,” Samael said. “More so, how many times I’ve looked down over this pitiful city. Just… watching.”

Celestia became maddeningly aware of her tongue as she kept silent. It wasn’t a submissive gesture by any means, no. Celestia wouldn’t allow a lick of authority to this cretin. But his words promised her answers that’d escaped her for years. Decades.

“I’ve learned a great deal from you all, truly,“ Samael continued, a quiet but deep shudder in his voice. “Even if I was trapped here for the longest century I’ve ever endured. Such was the punishment for my insurrection, I suppose.”

Celestia’s uninjured wing twitched a little—a habit she cursed behind her breath. She’d learned very quickly that sudden movements around Samael were… problematic.

“Strange…” the demon muttered, staring at his stone-calloused hand. “When I devoured the final heart of the Chosen, and restored my powers, I swore I’d never come back here.” His hand crackled with red lightning. “In a way… I’m still unsure why I did.”

Celestia remained silent, her vast patience keeping her mind open and calm. Personal experience with Samael’s cryptic nature may have aided that, she thought.

“But I cannot leave,” he said, turning to the alicorn with smokey glowing eyes. “Not without a lesson to share.”

Celestia kept still, recalling—with a thick taste in her mouth—how adamantly Samael called her stupid and weak. How sharply he said that her ‘Harmony’ would doom her and her people. How proudly he claimed he could change that given the right time.

“Have you not wondered why I spared so many lives here, knowing how easy they are to take? Have you not wondered why I observed your festivals, studied your politics, and dissected your history? Have my actions held no impact? No teaching?”

“What…” the mare’s voice was cracked and dried as the very demon she squinted at. “What could you possibly teach me from all this?”

Samael chuckled deeply. “Surely I’ve told you. This peace you’ve projected toyour subjects—this ‘Harmony’ you’ve imposed upon the world—it blinds them from truths that could push them forward. You’ve set them all up, like glass walls ready to be toppled and shattered.”

“No…” Celestia croaked. “You’re wrong, Samael.”

“Am I? A third of your ‘Royal Guard’ would likely disagree. If they weren’t dead, of course.”

Celestia hissed through her nostrils. “You… treacherous… filth!” She jumped to her hooves… and whinnied loudly as her cracked hoof finally snapped apart. She collapsed in a squirming heap.

Samael laughed and turned to the window again.

“Yes… There was one in particular that fascinated me. His determination was unparalleled. He lead his troops to their doom without even batting an eyelash, not that it served him; clearly, as you lay bloody and broken in my wake, he sacrificed his life—his entire clan—for nothing. Poor Captain Dusk. Such a waste of life,” Samael said.

Celestia tore her wide eyes from her snapped hoof. “They… they had nothing to do with this. And you slaughtered them all…” she muttered.

“One cannot be blamed for self-defense. The test was yours to endure, Celestia. This was your battle, but what could they know of it? They merely saw fang, wing, and claw lashing at their fearless leader and acted. A mutual reaction, as it were.”

Celestia ground her teeth. “They had families, Samael… A future to look to. Peace to maintain.”

Samael scoffed and said, “Ah, yes… ‘Peace to maintain’. That was always the problem, wasn’t it, how they all threw themselves into Hell just for that? Just for you…”

“Murderer…” the alicorn hissed.

“Oh, the pride in their calls. So sure of themselves and the so-called ‘Harmony’ they swore to protect. So bold. So blind. The Sparkle-clan was truly something.” Samael’s inverted wings stretched, and a deep groan rumbled in the throne room like grinding stone. “To think they might’ve still lived… if they hadn’t stared into the sun for so long.”

Celestia’s eyes stung from the tears she’d held back, and she eased her teeth off her now bleeding lip.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” The alicorn tried and failed to even her tone. “Why do you do this? What are you trying to prove? Why do you crusade to end all we stand for? Haven’t we shown that we are capable? Haven’t we proven Harmony’s benefit?”

The demon turned his head to the left.

“Surely you’ve seen it too, Samael. Surely you’ve seen all the wonderful things we ponies have accomplished. The unity that spurs our every step. The cities raised from magic and bare hoof alike. The economy that flourishes to this day, never fading, never stopping. The peace we’ve forged between nations great and small—griffins, goblins, minotaurs, dragons.”

A shy bit of hope returned to Celestia’s face as she awaited Samael’s response. Until it came, that is.

“Dragons? Dragons?” Samael’s shoulders crackled with tension. “After what you and your sister did to the Wyverns?”

Celestia blanched. “I… No! We never meant…! We didn’t know the Elements would…!” Her argument wilted like a burning rose. “We were young. We didn’t know what to do.”

“So that’s the foundation of ‘Harmony’? Destroying what you don’t understand? To prevent war through death?” Samael prodded.

“Stop it…” Celestia whispered.

“So very flawed,” he said, turning to the fallen princess once more. “Your race is young, Celestia. Too fragile and inexperienced to know the terror—even the spoils—of war.” He chuckled at a joke only he understood. “As they are now, your people are doomed to suffer, to behold slaughter and genocide by neighboring lands. Lands that’ll grow withered and hungry while you grow fat reaping your lush grounds.”

Celestia stared at the demon like he’d laughed at the Equestrian anthem. “You… You’re wrong. War is not the answer. It’s never had to be. Negotiations can be made, treaties agreed on. The spoils of our lands can be shared. They have been for centuries.”

“And what will happen when the tiny dish of fertility you’ve given them isn’t enough? What happens when their hungry eyes turn to your treasures, lands, and food? What happens when they stop scraping the bottom of the barrel and move to the buffet?”

Celestia’s mouth just hung open.

“The cosmos was founded on war. Nations, great and small, have risen and crumbled because of it. Be it by other nations, or their very own. Outcasts—their very purpose lost with their extinct people—have learned from it. Grown from it. What of you, your Highness? Would you learn the same?”

As Samael’s words sank in, a tearing force yanked at Celestia’s heart, and with it, her composure.

“You! You won’t lay a claw on my little ponies, you… you…!”

Samael laughed.

“Celestia, I’m crushed! You think me a genocidist? I’m merely... an observer of sorts,” he said.

Celestia winced at the grinding pain in her mangled wing. “Is that why you were condemned here to begin with?! Is that why you betrayed the one you call ‘master’ like the traitorous dog you a—”

Samael vanished in an orange flash, and Celestia’s sentence finished with a long, wrenching gag. Her eyes rose into her sockets as grimy claws squeezed her tongue.

“Guard your tongue, horse, or I will tear it out!”

A mighty fist met her muzzle and buried it into the cracked marble. Celestia looked up at the glowering demon, her eyes slitted and teary, her brows scrunched together.

Calm again, Samael stood tall above the alicorn. “Though, to be fair,” he began, “many of your questions have been unanswered, and as such, many shall remain. But surely, I can at least tell you how I came to be here,” he said.

Celestia said nothing.

“As I said, I am an observer: a well of information, a book without chapters, a story with no end. I’ve watched the rise and fall of many a civilization. I’ve watched creatures evolve from even the tiniest amoeba. I’ve watched countries, kingdoms, and empires touch the skies of countless worlds. This knowledge and observation, I shared with my master.”

Celestia found little else to do but lay there and listen.

“But when I learned of a betrayal that threatened the Balance of all things, and that my master allowed it, I took a more… direct role. I tried to restore the Balance myself by destroying the one who bent it to his whim.”

Celestia’s ear flicked at a certain memory, a snippet of information from their very first actual conversation decades ago.

“The Destroyer…” she whispered.

“Indeed. I challenged the Destroyer and failed. For my insurrection, I was stripped of my power and banished to the Scalding Gallow. How I ended up here, unnerves me to think about,” Samael said with a microscopic grimace.

“I… I still don’t understand,” Celestia said. “Why did your master allow this? Why incarcerate you?” Truthfully, Celestia wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She did know, however, that asking gave her more time for the healing spell gathering in her horn.

Samael petted his horned chin. “What stands before you now, Celestia, is what the Destroyer faced during my resignation. My powers rivaled my master’s, and—I won’t fool myself—many in the Dark Kingdom have called me a ‘threat’, that I’d one day overthrow the Prince of Darkness. Disagreeing with his word did not quell the rumors.”

Celestia’s tongue swam in her mouth, her horn giving merely the tiniest crackle of power. “And when you questioned him,” she kept her prone face still and impassive, her wounds shifting and soothing, “did you want to dethrone him?”

Samael was silent for but a heartbeat. “Well, I did not approve of the Destroyer’s reign. His influence… it corrupted the realm. It drove greater demons to undirected madness. That insufferable dullard would’ve sail the universe in a blistering inferno, with no purpose but destruction! I would not stand for it!”

A numbing pain sat in Celestia’s stomach like a block of ice. She was unsure how long she’d been outright staring, but couldn’t stop even as she realized it. It seemed impossible, of course, but she saw something else in the demon right then.

For one who’d once cursed and threatened without end, she saw not hatred, but grief. For one who’d bared his fangs to her with every extension of friendship, she saw not fear, but pride. For one who’d learned and tolerated their culture, only to smash through the throne-doors, march to her, and swear to all Creation he’d prove her so utterly wrong, she saw not arrogance, but compassion.

Celestia searched the marred floor like it would tell her what to say. “I… I…”

Samael vanished in another flash of orange and sat on the throne again.

“Save your breath, horse. You don’t understand, but you will soon enough.”

“Help me understand!” Celestia demanded, yelping when she hit the floor with her snapped hoof. She collected herself with short ragged breaths. “Just… let me in, Samael. You’ve lived here for a hundred years, and until today, never raised a claw to my little ponies. Why? What are you hiding? What is your purpose?”

The barest hint of trembling vibrated his flesh. “To change the inevitable,” he said.

“Speak plainly, damn you!” Celestia cursed.

“War will find this world. Famine, Pestilence, Death? As surely as you raise your sun and draw breath, your civilization will succumb to the endless cycle of the universe. But…”

Celestia froze, her every breath shooting ice through her lungs.

“I see much potential in your people, Celestia—the first, among countless others, who may just have a place in the Second End-war eons from now.”

Celestia’s squinted eyes opened a bit. “End-war?”

Samael vanished again, and for an impossibly relieving moment, Celestia felt the crippling presence leave with him.

Then a binding, suffocating pressure gripped every curve and crook of her body, and squeezed her like a clump of wet sand. She gasped, yelped, then screamed as her every wound protested at once, and her horn spat out the fizzled healing magic.

She heard Samael’s voice behind her.

“I offer you a choice, princess,” he said, the unseen bindings tightening evermore. “Webbed of many paths, and many possible ends.”

The hallways sang to the music of Celestia’s screams, growing louder and louder; a deafening choir of pain from inside, but a quiet groan from outside. Samael twisted around and swung his arm down. Celestia followed the motion through the air and crashed to the floor with another earthy shatter.

Samael took a lunging step, his chains rattling again. Celestia’s efforts to rise were now completely gone, broken by pain that left her gasping on the floor.

Samael took another step.

“You can fight until the bitter end—down to your last fiber of strength—and die a warrior’s death. I would disappear and you would be remembered as the monarch who gave herself for her people. From the afterlife, you’d watch your very kingdom crumble without you. You’d watch the throne be taken, bargained, fought over, killed over, and inevitably destroyed by a civil war led by deprived uneducated horses who’d think they know better.”

Those heavy footsteps grew louder, and Celestia could only twitch on the floor, watching him close in.

“Or you can live on, and make three other choices.” He stepped closer still. “You could drag your broken carcass before your people, and tell them that the image you’ve contrived through centuries of lies means nothing, that your ‘Harmony’ is an illusion, and that you must prepare for the wars hanging over you like a ceiling of nooses.”

Samael was upon her again, his breath as molten-hot and withering as ever.

“Or you could live on, and keep the dream alive.” His fist cracked deeply as he clinched it. “You could erase all evidence of this entire century any way you choose. You could erase the memories of me and my time here from your fellow horses--or have them executed. Heaven forbid you make me happy. You could continue your pointless pursuits of peace, while your so-called ‘allies’ rally together and end you.”

Celestia’s eyes stung again, shutting tightly as if it would block out the harrowing words.

“Or…”

Samael’s fist raised, and beside the two, a blackened, gangly statue arose from a pond of fire. Hunched over with tattered wings. Claws resting on its bent thighs. Its corded, muscular arms and torso riddled with spikes and chains. Its reptilian head, jaw gaping open with empty eye-sockets, staring at nothing and everything at once.

“Or you could live by what you’ve learned here, and prove me wrong. You could watch your kingdom flourish and strengthen without ever knowing the thirst for blood and conquest. You could eternalize your ideal, instill it in your people. And your progeny.”

Celestia found herself entranced by the statue, her chest tightening with something she was too afraid to figure out.

“And when you’ve achieved a prosperity that countless nations across the universe have destroyed themselves to attain,” Samael’s hand flashed with a smoky red, and an obscenely large key fell in his grip, “you can open the gate to the Dark Kingdom, invite me to chat, and tell me all about it.”

Any other time, Celestia would’ve scoffed at this proposal. Clearly, it was a trick, a promise smothered in half-truths and unspoken threats. The key dropped to her side with a frightening clank and her shoulders jumped a bit.

“And… and what will you do, Samael?” the alicorn found the courage to ask.

“I am free now, my full power returned to me. There is much to restore because of my absence, “Samael said solemnly. “Much to rebuild...”

Celestia looked up and her eyes widened at the clawed hand fuming with raw power and volcanic heat.

“Live or die, Princess Celestia?” Samael offered. “Either way, it will be quite a show.”

Chapter Two

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The Princess of the Sun swallowed thickly under Twilight Sparkle’s frown. Even now, Celestia was unsure if telling her former student was wise.

The wind whipped the white mare’s mane against her forehead, but she ignored it. In fact, many times, she’d completely forgotten that she was sitting in the flying chariot, never mind why she was there.

But for the fourth time since take-off, Celestia peeked at the neighboring chariots adorned by her fellow alicorn princesses, and remembered why she was there. The fifth chariot, the one holding a certain winged statue—confettied with moss and vines—made her try to forget again and again.

Celestia glanced at her other colleagues, frowns disturbingly similar to Twilight’s knitted to their faces.

For the fourth time since take off, Celestia thought this was a terrible idea. Yet, for the fourth time, she knew the time was ripe.

The ride from Canterlot was quiet; the silence thick and murk, like drowning in a bog. Though it’d only been minutes, the trek to Ghastly Gorge took days for Celestia. Her failed attempts at small talk and icebreakers only made it worse.

Their descent into the deepest chasm of the gorge was also silent, the dismounting of their chariots was too. Celestia noted how much longer it took Luna to dismount, but said nothing.

Celestia looked to the guards that guided their chariots and nodded. As she expected, they hesitated, looking on with concern that could frighten a litter of kittens.

“We will return shortly,” she said. “Go. Defend our capital.”

The guards all shared uncertain glances, but after a few moments, saluted and obeyed.

As the chariots were hoisted away into the blue, Celestia’s horn glowed, and the statue—which had collected all that moss and all those vines deep beneath Canterlot’s Hedge Maze—levitated from its seat. She set it down nearby.

There they all stood before the statue. The chasm stood widely around them, caves and rocky paths decorating it all. Dim sunlight curtained that very spot, dotting the darkness like Manehatten lights.

Celestia closed her distant eyes, listening to every echoing drip from the natural caves.

Luna released a gusty sigh. “Sister…” And there it was. “This… I don’t like this.”

Celestia waited.

“I second that,” Cadence added. “I should’ve said something back in Canterlot, but…”

The white mare’s eyes remained closed, listening for rhythmic patterns in the dripping caves. She could probably find an old folk song somewhere among those patterns.

“Princess…”

Celestia’s eyes lifted open, surprised. She’d certainly not expected Twilight Sparkle to say anything. But lo, as she turned to see, Twilight was staring directly at her, those big, impossibly bright eyes trembling, all but demanding answers.

“I’m not questioning your decision—I hate questioning your decisions—it’s just…” Twilight’s eyes fell to the ground, and she took a practiced breaths. She looked back up to Celestia. “Why? Why would you want to see him again? Why would you even want to remember?”

Celestia had thought she was more than prepared to answer that question. She’d had five centuries to dream, deny, curse, then finally accept the reason herself. Yet, all she could do was turn back toward the statue, close her eyes, and listen to the singing caves.

“Twilight’s right,” Cadence said. “When you told us the story in your own words… I can’t imagine why you’d ever want to endure that again.”

Celestia counted the seconds until Luna’s chime.

“Sister, I’ve always respected your choices and the wisdom behind them. You know that. But this…” Luna’s throat trembled a bit; from anger or fright, Celestia didn’t know. “This is sheer recklessness. Bringing Samael back could put all of Equestria in danger!”

Celestia sighed quietly through her nose, if only because she’d heard this at least twenty-seven-thousand different times from royal advisors throughout the centuries. Celestia wasn’t stupid, and Celestia wasn’t reckless.

And she was tired of explaining herself.

“I know.”

When the tidal wave of shouts, insults, and questions about her sanity didn’t come, Celestia safely assumed, without turning to look, that her colleagues were floored.

“I knew that long before I allowed Discord’s reformation. I knew that when we gave all of our alicorn magic to Twilight.” She could feel her former student wince behind her. “And I know it now, more than ever.”

“Then… why?” Twilight’s voice was sharper than before, more demanding. “You chose to live and he let you. I get that. But do you really trust him?” She got louder. “Do you really think he’ll just sit here and talk over a nice cup of tea like nothing happened?!”

Immediately, Twilight’s ears flattened as she gasped. “Oh no, I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I-I didn’t mean to yell! I just… don’t understand.”

Celestia’s distant eyes focused again. She stared hard at the demonic statue, memories trickling before her eyes as she studied it for the first time in five-hundred years.

“You know,” Celestia began, never looking away from the statue, “when Samael left Equestria for good, I was going to burn this relic and throw the ashes into a lake.”

She didn’t wait for the, ‘Why didn’t you?!’ She knew that she’d never be able to do this if she had.

“But, in his own twisted way, Samael…” Celestia gauged her next words, ignoring the wrench in her chest for admitting this. “He taught me something that day.”

That time, though she expected the exact opposite, nopony spoke. Celestia released a breath.

“He taught me many things, actually. One of which, I assure you all, is the only reason I even told you that story, never mind preserving a single document of him.”

Again, nopony spoke. Finally, Celestia had full leave to talk.

“That day, I learned that the sheer vastness of the universe not only supercedes us, but knits us together. Samael was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He did not belong in our world, yet he spoke our language. He didn’t agree with our values, yet he… wanted better of them.”

“I learned, that day, that even a demon can want for the sake of others. He had a cause: to protect a balance so vast, we can’t even imagine it. He forswore duty to his master to do what had to be done. He lived and acted—sordid as it may be—by a code of honor. He would’ve killed me outright if he didn’t.”

Finally, Cadence spoke, but not quite as tersely as before. It was inviting, curious. “You mean… after everything he did, he…?”

Celestia continued. “I didn’t want to acknowledge it at first, but there was good in him, Cadence. Someone devoid of gentleness or care wanted our salvation, something more than destruction and war.”

Cadence looked away, once again unsure.

Celestia’s eyes fell to her hooves and she smiled bitterly. “It’s strange, really. I… I used to hate him for what he did to me.”

A tiny gasp came from Twilight, and Celestia realized she’d never really spoken so openly around her, despite their recent equal standing in royalty.

“I’ve spent decades nursing those wounds, swallowing the most crushing defeat in Equestrian history.” Celestia closed her eyes again, only vaguely aware of her darkened tone. “Decades…”

There was silence, dampened only by the dripping caves and the chasm’s quiet howl. A hoof fell upon Celestia’s shoulder, and her own hoof gently touched it.

“My apologies, Luna.”

The moon princess gave a soft nod, her brows creased together again.

“I see now, sister.” Luna’s hoof fell from Celestia’s shoulder. “You believe Samael can be an ally to us.”

The white mare nodded.

“But that’s…!”

The other alicorns turned to a distraught Twilight, her teeth bared and ears flat. She threw her eyes to the ground. Celestia smiled, approached the youngest princess, and lifted her chin with a delicate hoof.

“Speak, Twilight.” That wasn’t a command, but a humble request. “There are no reservations here.”

No sooner were they spoken, than Celestia wished she could lunge forward and eat those words before they hitTwilight’s ears.

“I hate this!” Twilight shouted with an echoing pitch. “You’re talking about a despicable, bloodthirsty monster like he founded Equestria! After manipulating you for a whole century, reaping every page of Equestrian lore, turning on you, killing ponies—for light’s sake—and nearly destroying you and Canterlot in one day, you want to bring him back?!”

Cadence placed a cautious hoof on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “Twilight—”

The purple mare jerked away. “No! No, no, no! I can’t be part of this! I just can’t!”

Celestia lifted a hoof to her muzzle, her eyes bright with concern. “Twilight, you know I could not do this without a unanimous decision. I thought we all agreed—”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind!” Twilight shouted. “I won’t just sit here and let some… some freak waltz in here and ‘talk’! Are you kidding me with that?!” By now, even Luna had stepped back from Twilight’s outburst. “If he’s as strong as you say, then what’s to stop him from turning on us?! What if he just decides we haven’t lived up to his expectations and WIPES US OUT?!”

Twilight was panting, her faced lined with tears, her teeth clenched.

Again, all things Celestia considered more times than she cared to admit. And again—again—she forgot the whole reason she made this trip. The sun princess looked aside, regarding the waiting statue more thoughtfully.

It was true, Celestia vowed to leave the statue unused until all princesses agreed on it. Such was the agreement during the three months they’d spent organizing security, combat, and evacuation procedures for the entire kingdom.

Celestia should’ve seen this coming. Then again, maybe she did. Just as she sighed and resolved to do this another day, Luna stepped forward.

“Twilight Sparkle, Celestia may be right,” she said.

“What?!” Twilight shouted.

“If Samael is as she described,” the moon princess continued, “ then he could no doubt teach us invaluable things. And we, in turn, could teach him.”

Twilight sputtered, her hoof slapping against her forehead. “Are you even hearing yourself?! Okay, sure, Celestia learned something the first time around, neat! But what can we teach someone who hurts ponies and laughs about it?!”

At that point, the alicorn sisters looked to each other and nodded. Celestia looked back to Twilight.

“Perhaps nothing. Or, perhaps,” Celestia knelt down, leveling herself with the now flustered Twilight, “the same thing you taught Discord.”

Twilight sputtered back like she’d been slapped. “I… but…”

“Surely, young Twilight,” Luna intervened, “Discord has taught you that friends, when given time, can come in any form and from any background?”

Twilight’s head whipped from one sister to the other like a deer trapped between wolves. She turned to her only hope.

“Cadence, for the love of Faust, please talk some sense into—” The princess of love offered nothing but a guilty smile. “Oh no. Not you too,” Twilight groaned.

“Twilight,” Cadence began, crouching beside her sister-in-law. “I’m scared too, you know. This may very well be the most dangerous thing either of us has ever done.”

“Exactly!”

“But…” Cadence cut in with a shadow of a smirk. “Don’t we owe it to ourselves to reach out, to show him what we’ve overcome? Clearly Samael sees something in us. He could’ve rampaged across all of Equestria, but didn’t. He could’ve destroyed Canterlot Castle, but didn’t.” Cadence looked up at a smiling Celestia, who was still knelt before Twilight. “And he could’ve done so much worse. He didn’t.” She looked back to Twilight. “Maybe we should give him a chance.”

The purple mare fell to her haunches, her features saggy and dull. Tired. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Any of you,” she said.

A gold-clad hoof returned to Twilight’s chin and guided her to Celestia’s eyes once more. “Surely you’ve surmised, that there’s always that risk.”

“Such was the case in all of your adventures, through Equestria and beyond,” Luna chimed in.

Twilight started shaking. “But… but…”

Cadence swooped in for the kill. “Twilight, nothing valuable in life was ever gained without taking a few risks.” Her cheeks tinted a slight red, and she looked away with a wry grin. “Just ask your brother.”

The cave was silent again, the seconds counted only by the soft drips echoing off the walls. Finally, with ears now erect and brows flat above her eyes, Twilight gave a strong nod.

Celestia smiled and said, “Then let us delay no longer.”

The white alicorn rose to her hooves and faced the statue. Soon, her colleagues mimicked her, standing side-by-side.

“Cadence?”

The pink mare nodded. “The Crystal Empire is on lockdown until we return. The Crystal Guard stands ready at all sides, and the train station is closed.”

Celestia nodded and turned to Twilight, who clearly strained to keep her resolve.

“The new gates around Ponyville are fortified with unicorn magic and mine. Everypony’s barricaded within their homes, as per instruction. And my friends agreed to stay inside the castle until I give the signal. No one gets in or out,” Twilight said.

Celestia nodded again. She turned to Luna, who nodded in return, a mute consensus passing between the two. Canterlot was in similar affairs.

“Good,” was Celestia’s only answer.

Her horn glowed a bright gold and in seconds, a thick, black key, nearly Twilight’s size—half as thick as a pony—appeared before her with a loud burst. She approached the statue, almost feeling the infinite, hollowing gaze from those empty eye sockets.

“Friends. Lend me your ears and listen carefully,” Celestia said in a tone that brokered no nonsense. “I’m uncertain what will happen when Samael comes through this gate. Be certain of this, however…”

The air grew thick, their hooves becoming heavy and immobile.

“I know what you’ll find in him. Knowledge. An endless well of it. Knowledge that makes him unimaginably powerful—not for his physical strength or arcane mastery, but for us.”

Cadence raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“He’ll study you. Learn you. Pick you apart, thought by deeply-buried thought. And before you can even ask who told him about your obsession with cake, he’ll know everything about you.” Celestia couldn’t hide the light growl in her tone. “Your loves, your fears, every layered secret that even you’ve forgotten will be torn away and laid bare before him.”

Celestia spotted the challenging glint in Luna’s eye, but tried to ignore it.

Sister,” the moon mare intervened, “you speak of omniscience: an awareness of all things. That is absurd.”

“He’ll test you, wear you thin until you’re driven mad with rage or begging him to stop. His power is vast, like the sky. To this day I’m unsure if it even has an end. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, and he doesn’t stop. Do not cross him.”

She heard Cadence shift on heavy hooves, and Twilight gulp embarrassingly loud.

“Do you all understand?”

A unanimous ‘yes!’ bounced through the damp cave walls, and Celestia smiled. Soon, however, that smile dropped as she lined up the key with the statue’s head.

“It’s time,” she said.

She jammed the key in its open mouth and listened to the deep, rusty clank. The jaws closed around it. With some effort, Celestia turned the key and its jaw flew open. Its tattered wings unfurled. Its nonexistent eyes burst into blood-red light.

The lock was undone.

Celestia stepped back, and waited with her colleagues. After only a beat, those piercing red eyes beamed bright, and shot pure concentrated heat into the ground.

The alicorns yelped as they barely leapt away in time.

The lasers whisked to and fro, a fiery symbol burned into the ground, a thick circle drawn around it. The symbol shot flames into the cold chasm air, and shifted within the circle. Loud clicks and clacks assaulted the ears, and the symbol undid itself.

Soon, only a well of smoke and flame remained in the circle. And from there, the alicorns waited.

“Sweet sun! Do you feel that heat?” Cadence blanched, physically straining to stand her ground.

Celestia’s eyes became distant once more, like the sky’s infinite expanse. Twilight was the first to notice, but was too busy with a cooling spell to voice her concern. Celestia was the only one among them who stood passive to the heat. Even Luna winced and edged away.

Then, they heard it.

A deep, gravel-like tone reverberated through the caves, through the ground—no—through everything. The air. The mana. Even the drips from the cave were quelled silent by the soft rumbling chuckle.

That chuckle burst into gruff laughter, and purple, blue, pink, and white wings sprang open.

“So…” Twilight gasped at the booming voice, just barely squashing the urge to teleport herself to a mountain. “Princess Celestia, ruler of Equestria, summons me at last.”

The flames lifted and roared as a large winged form burst from the open circle. Two arched, heavy, diamond-calloused feet shattered the rocky ground on landing.

“Though, I’m surprised,” the demon continued. “I didn’t think we’d have guests.”

It was the same. All of it. The towering height, the fiery red skin, the thick, iron-like muscles, the black horns curled on his head like a terrible crown, the stench of ash and sulfur as he spoke.

And those eyes. Yellow and dull, daunting and sinister. Celestia, for the longest minute she’d experienced in centuries, felt like a child staring up at a talking volcano.

“Samael,” came her steely response. “It’s been a long time.”

Samael stepped forward. Even that was the same; long lunging strides that seemed to scale miles at a time.

“Indeed it has,” he said, taking another heavy step. “I started to think you didn’t want to see me again. You can’t imagine my relief.” His smile was the same too, wide and gridded with white fangs. “But where are your manners, princess? You haven’t introduced me to your lovely friends.”

Samael stopped and hunched before Celestia, his face mere inches from hers. The alicorn remained passive as stone, despite her surprise for actually forgetting her fellow princesses.

She turned her head to the right. “But, of course.“ She addressed Luna with a nod.

Luna, for her part, had to consciously try to clamp her jaw shut. She put greater effort into restraining a traditional Royal Canterlot greeting, complete with howling tone. The same greeting used to impose dominance during peace conferences with other nations.

“Welcome, Samael,” Luna said, her face and voice now even. “I am Luna, princess of the night.”

The demon’s head whipped to the dark mare, his eyes slightly broader than before. He grinned.

“So you’ve returned. How noble of you, Celestia, to spare your sister further torment on the moon. Further still, to let her reclaim her throne.”

Luna swallowed thickly, squashing the curses rolling beneath her tongue. Samael’s eyes narrowed and his grin dropped.

“No. No, your return was… unsanctioned.” He stroked a claw along his horned chin—another habit Celestia noted. “You returned with no intent to share this kingdom, and you almost succeeded in taking it. Something stopped you. Hmm… A mystery.”

Luna’s chest started to shake, her muzzle unwittingly wrinkled into a frown.

Samael turned to a smiling Cadence. But even Cadence herself could smell her own nervousness. The sweating and constantly-shifting eyes didn’t help.

“And what of you, pink one?” the winged demon asked.

Cadence cleared her throat and bowed her neck. “I am Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. But I prefer Cadence, really.” Am I still sweating? Heaven help me, I’m still sweating. “I am the princess of love, and ruler of the Crystal Empire.”

Samael raised a stony eyebrow. “The Empire has returned as well? Hah! Then the tyrant Sombra is vanquished again!”

She tried to hide it. Cadence tried so very hard to hide her shameful grimace. But she failed. She failed and Samael caught it in a heartbeat.

“Wait… Not vanquished, no.” Again, Samael stroked his beard of sharp bone. Then came a sound that nearly drove Cadence’s hooves into her ears. Laughter. “The Crystal Heart, of course! You killed him, didn’t you?”

“N-no! We didn’t know the Heart would…!” Cadence stopped with a blink, collected herself with a deep, quiet breath, and stared firm at the beast. “You are very well informed.”

The demon’s low chuckle rumbled through the cave, as though every treble grinded the earth’s crust. The three alicorns stood firm against the light shower of dust and pebbles.

“There is little you can keep from me, Cadenza, once I’ve a mind to know it,” Samael said, tapping against his temple.

Cadence nodded, her brows flat and firm. “Noted,” she said.

Samael looked left. Then looked right. His smile faded with an almost mute growl.

“Something the matter?” Celestia asked, her stony, infinite expression never changing.

“I thought there were four of you,” Samael replied.

At first, Celestia’s face twitched with confusion. Then her eyelids lowered shut as she sighed, long and heavy. “Princess Twilight…” she called flatly.

After a beat, a shaking purple alicorn emerged from behind Celestia’s hind leg, her wings bound tight to her sides. Her legs shook, but were soon stilled. Her teeth clattered behind her lips, but were soon clenched firm. And finally, her ability to talk crawled from the hole in which it buried itself.

With her thirteenth practiced breath, Twilight stood tall, gently unfurled her wings, and looked Samael right in his yellow eyes.

“My name is Princess Twilight Sparkle and I—”

Samael’s wings twitched painfully loud and his claw lowered from his chin. Twilight swallowed dryly at the fiend’s now broadened eyes.

“... A-and I’m the newly crowned Princess of Friendship?” she finished uncertainly. She cleared her throat and regained herself. “Pleased to meet you, Samael.”

The horned demon resumed petting his ‘beard’, studying the youngest princess. He smiled.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Sparkle-clan.” He ignored Twilight’s quirked brow and turned to Celestia. “You never cease to amaze me, Celestia. Such a prestigious military name, granted royalty? Heh. I shouldn’t be surprised. The Royal Guard wouldn’t be the same without them, after all.”

Twilight’s brow furrowed, then softened when she stared up at her former mentor. She looked between the two for a time, and it did not escape Samael.

His smile pulled over his black gums. “You didn’t tell her…” he muttered deeply.

Celestia’s face didn’t change. “No,” she said, granting her a worried look from Twilight. “No, I didn’t.”

A tsunami of questions twirled and twisted in Twilight’s head. But when Samael’s cracked red face hovered to hers, she’d forgotten every one of them. He stared into her eyes.

“Yes… I sense much power in you, Sparkle-clan. Power untapped until only a few short years ago. A familiar power—ancient and undying.” Samael’s narrowed eyes darted to Luna. “Now I understand how you’re here, Luna, and why Equestria still has a sunrise.”

Luna swallowed another gaggle of profanities and nodded curtly.

Samael turned back to Twilight. “So, the Elements of Harmony have new owners. To think what one can accomplish with mere trinkets,” he said.

Twilight cleared her throat again and said, “Y-yes, of course.”

There was a another beat of silence, and Samael’s smile dropped again.

“Except…” He stared at Twilight even harder, and the alicorn shifted on her hooves by complete accident. “They’re not quite ‘trinkets’ anymore. Are they, Princess of Friendship?”

Deep, growling, protective rage churned in Celestia’s bones. Between the thought of tackling Samael into the fiery pit he crawled from, and then how easy it’d be—given that it was mere feet behind him—Celestia considered that maybe she’d jumped the gun on this one.

She stayed her hoof and watched with a careful eye.

Samael lifted away from Twilight and stood tall before the alicorns. “Yes. The very obstacles you’ve all overcome… they define you, they’ve shaped you,” he said with a loud crackling stretch of his back and wings. “But perhaps we could discuss those accomplishments elsewhere. It’s a little… cramped in here for me.”

Without another word, Samael’s inverted wings stretched fully, and pushed down with a force that cracked the bedrock below. The alicorns shielded their eyes for but a moment and hastily opened them when the dust cleared. Samael was gone.

“Princess!” Twilight cried.

“Go,” Celestia sharply replied.

The alicorns burst from Ghastly Gorge with whistling speed and stopped high above, floating. Their backs faced each other, each pair of eyes combing the land for that which didn’t belong.

“There!” Cadence shouted, with a pointing a hoof.

All eyes turned to a towering mountain not far from the gorge, a faded shadow on the summit. The winged mares made their swift trek, slowing as they closed in. They reached the summit and landed with feather-light hooves.

From behind, they watched Samael sit casually on the summit’s edge, an arm resting on his craned knee, deathly still against the bitter mountain wind. He stared silently at Equestria’s lush-green expanse.

“It hasn’t aged a day, this world.” Samael offered a clawed hand to an empty space beside him. “Has it, Celestia?”

Celestia understood the gesture. With her face as steeled as ever, she stepped forward, but was stopped by a pair of hooves around her hind leg. She turned to Twilight’s big pleading eyes and felt her heart lurch within.

Celestia looked to the other princesses, noting similar expressions. She nodded to them in what she hoped was a reassuring way, eased Twilight off of her, turned, and approached Samael.

A single shiver among the thousands of shivers Celestia had barricaded ran down her back. She stopped beside Samael, and sat.

“In a way,” she began with a lighter tone, “no. No, it hasn’t.”

Samael gave a low, rumbling hum. “To the naked eye, not much has changed.” He turned to the stoic alicorn. “But I can see a great change within you, Princess. A change due, in no small part, to your ilk.”

Celestia nodded with a silent breath, gently closing her wings. “Indeed, Harmony wouldn’t be possible without them.”

The demon ‘hmph-ed’. “There’s that word again: ‘Harmony’.” He paused, regarding Celestia more carefully. “Although, it seems a great many threats have endangered it. Hmm… Yes. Your corrupt sister, the Changeling army, the Unicorn King, and the Spirit of Chaos. The latter of whom you’ve tamed for the better.”

Celestia closed her eyes to the slow, deep, near-deafening claps of the demon’s solid hands.

“Color me impressed,” he said.

“You mock me, Samael,” she replied. “Most of those were but recurring nightmares we’ve quelled in the past. It produced the same results then, as it does now.”

Samael stopped clapping and stared at a blackened claw. “Even so, it took a more… capable generation to sever the head of such toil. Indeed, they’ve tasted the same strife you had one-thousand years ago. The difference?” He chuckled softly. “Well, perhaps there is no difference, after all.”

Finally, Celestia looked to the towering demon. “What are you getting at?” she asked in a low tone.

“Your ‘Harmony’ is a fickle little thing. Too often is it threatened by conquest, destruction… war. In fact, the Changeling army seized your land because of the love and unity here. Surely, Celestia, you’ve known this.”

She did know that. She could do nothing else but know that.

“Every threat has been eliminated,” Celestia claimed. Her gaze became strong and even. “Such will happen with every threat after.”

“Bold words, your Highness,” Samael replied, his claws returning to his chin. “Is that what you thought when the formidable Tirek returned and ravaged the land? Or when Discord betrayed you?”

Celestia’s wings tightened at her sides.

“Can you not see how fruitless it is? To overcome the same obstacle only to do so again in a new form? Do you truly believe you’ve obtained peace?” Samael asked, his eyes now gouging at Celestia’s head.

For another long, long moment, Celestia felt like a child, scolded by an angry parent telling her she should’ve known better. It was preposterous, really, how vividly she remembered a similar conversation five centuries ago.

Celestia, however, would not be swayed again.

“You once told me, Samael, that the cosmos was founded on war, that every nation—great or small—succumbs to the same throes of conquest and destruction. I didn’t believe that before we met.” Celestia’s eyes returned to the green horizon of her sunlit land. “I’d always believed we were above such triviality after Discord, Sombra, Tirek, and… Nightmare Moon.”

Samael’s bony cheek rested on his fist, sharing Celestia’s view.

“When they returned, one by one, I… I didn’t know anything anymore,” Celestia said, her ears lowering. “Every time an old foe returned, your words haunted me. And I started to wonder for the first time in a millenium, ‘Is this true peace?’”

Samael’s fist lowered from his cheek. “And your answer?”

Celestia paused, then turned to look Samael in his endless, ancient eyes. “No…”

Those eyes narrowed.

“You’re right, Samael—Harmony is a fickle little thing. So easily broken or tossed aside. For as long as we draw breath, strife will find us, hunger will test us.” Celestia released a long sigh. “And war will threaten us.”

Samael looked directly at his host. Anticipating. Listening.

“Yet…” A sagely smile graced the mare’s lips, her eyes returned to the land. “Here we stand at another age of peace. A pattern that has taken me full circle. We’ve faced many threats, and we may face many, many more, all for Harmony’s sake. Friendship. Peace. Love. It’s not always easy, but…”

Celestia turned her head, regarding her colleagues—no, her family—namely, Twilight Sparkle fretting far behind her. The white mare smiled.

“But it’s always worth fighting for,” she said, turning back to Samael. “In your own way, you’ve helped teach me that, Samael. I’d forgotten…” She closed her eyes soundly, and took her first real breath after three whole weeks. “But the most important ponies of my life were kind enough to remind me.”

“So I see,” Samael replied, staring at the princess for another moment. “Interesting…”

Celestia stopped herself. In her venting, she’d almost forgotten the real reason she opened that fiery gate to begin with. She closed her eyes again, collecting herself and her next words, sorting and arranging them with the precision and care of an underpaid clocksmith.

“Samael. There is another reason I summoned you here—”

“Ah, there it is!” the demon bellowed. “The point.”

“I... beg your pardon?”

Samael’s fist returned to his cheek. “Surely, you didn’t invite me just to talk over a nice cup of tea. Something drew you to that gate and key, Celestia—a goal.”

If Celestia weren’t trying to hold her composure, she’d have laughed herself off the mountain for being surprised.

“Astute, as always…” she said flatly.

“It’s a curse, I’m afraid,” Samael replied with a shameless grin.

“Very well.” Celestia resorted to a few more prepared—and briefly rehearsed—words to be sure. “Samael, you taught me a great and valuable lesson all those years ago. If you hadn’t, I dare say Equestria would be… a very different place.”

“I’m in your debt.” Celestia rose to her hooves, ignoring the creaks in her joints. “Your knowledge, though cold and unforgiving, is also vast and unbelievably useful. There is much you can teach an old foal and her ‘ilk’.”

She turned away from the now pondering demon, and back to her colleagues, who were all leaned in, each with an open ear tipped to the discussion. They snapped back straight like nothing happened and Celestia smiled.

She leapt to the other alicorns, her landing softened by her flapping wings. She stood tall and proud between Cadence and Luna. Twilight in front completed the set.

“And I believe there is much we can teach you, as well,” Celestia continued. “The result may benefit us all. One day, when ready, we could finally integrate into this ‘Balance’ of which you’ve boasted.”

Samael didn’t turn back. He just… sat there as still as the statue in Ghastly Gorge. Twilight stared back to her old mentor, unsure. Worried.

“We offer you a choice, Samael,” Celestia said. “Will you accept our friendship?”

Samael didn’t turn back.

From behind, Celestia saw one of his arms slightly raised, no doubt stroking his chin. The silence thickened the air. Cadence’s hooves shuffled. Luna’s flowing midnight tail swished to and fro. Twilight’s mouth became malted and dried.

Samael’s hand rose high, then fell to his rocky seat. With the sound of grinding stone, he rose to his feet. A brief pause. Then a mighty leap. And finally, a shattering landing before the gasping alicorns.

The moment Celestia saw those yellow eyes—no longer dull, but piercing and bright—she knew she’d made a terrible, awful, unspeakable error.

“No,” Samael answered, tiny embers wisping from behind his lips.

Twilight shuffled back a bit.

“Why would I befriend a bunch of ignorant equines, who don’t even know who they are, or what they’ve become?”

Destroyed. Every thought, fantasy, and prospect of allying Samael was completely and utterly destroyed. Celestia tried to reclaim the stony face that greeted him. But she could only gawk in disbelief.

“You think me a fool, Celestia? You think I don’t see how little you’ve really learned? How you still shape your world with half-truths and falsehoods? Pathetic horse.”

Samael was not smiling. He was not laughing. And he was not amused. And Twilight, for some unknowable reason, found her voice and her bravery in that moment.

She stomped the ground. “Y-you can’t speak to her that wa—”

“SILENCE.”

Twilight yelped and shuffled back again, her rib cage rattled by the booming command. Instinctually, Celestia gently shoved Twilight aside and stepped before her.

“What is the meaning of this, Samael?” Her voice was stern and pitched. “You claim to see change in us, but I find your tone disconcerting.”

Samael practically threw his face before hers, their noses nearly touching. “I meant what I said, princess; I see a great change in you. Change that has turned you from a brash young warrior who dived head first into blood and pain for her people, to a spineless old jellyfish who allows puppets to fight her battles.”

Celestia’s teeth clenched behind her pursed lips. “How dare you…” she whispered.

“You claim to have learned something, but the foundations on which you’ve fortified your Harmony are—even now—nothing but lies. Lies that, if ever revealed, would break the legs that carry your society.”

Celestia narrowed her eyes.

“I hail from the Dark Kingdom, Celestia: the Woeful Realm. Its very foundation is the antithesis of all things good in the universe. It thrives on the corruption you’ve lived by, and you think I can’t see through it?” Samael lowered his tone only a little, and backed away from the now scowling Celestia. “Since the first End-war, the denizens of my realm have been condemned to the fires. With the Balance restored, they cannot leave the kingdom.”

Samael’s wings flung open, expelling debris off the mountain.

“They’ve thirsted for blood and revenge for nearly a century now. Even then, demons, great and minor, tiny and gargantuan, winged or otherwise, have prepared for the second End-war. One that I’d hoped you horses would rise to meet eons from now.”

“With no way to escape the fiery depths, they’ve lain in wait, sharpening their claws and fangs, brandishing their swords and axes, waiting to burst through any open gate, and sink their blades into fresh new worlds.”

And just like that, a switch flipped on in everypony’s head. Cadence choked on her own tongue, Twilight swayed on her hooves, Luna’s coat had a white tint, and Celestia’s eyes nearly fell from her head.

Samael looked to the sky, a finger on his chin in mock thought.

“Funny, that. If I recall, such a gate had opened just recently,” he said. He returned his glowing eyes to the distraught princesses. He grinned again, and lifted his now smoky hand. “A gate that can only be closed…” a familiar key fell into his palm, “the same way it was opened.”

The key. The key to the statue. The key to the statue that opened the gate. Celestia left it in Ghastly Gorge. Unguarded. She bat an eyelash, and the key vanished from Samael’s palm.

“Give me the key…” Celestia evenly demanded.

The red demon’s smile, again, pulled behind his black gums. And he vanished in a flash of orange.

Celestia took a breath, prepped to voice a defensive command, but her allies were torn away and flung off the mountain like swatted flies. She spun toward their fading, screaming forms and opened her wings to fly after them.

Or, she tried, at least.

A binding, suffocating grip closed around her, cramping her limbs and squeezing her ribs. She grunted and hissed as her body lifted from the summit. She mustered the strength to lower her eyes. Sure enough, there was Samael on the ground, his glowing hand stretched toward her.

“Pitiful,” he muttered.

He leapt high, leveling with Celestia, his fist reeled back.

A shock wave rippled in the great blue, birds squawking and darting from the trees. Echoing crashes of wood, stone and earth roared across the land, a tidal wave of debris darting through the forest below.

When it stopped, Celestia found herself shaking under a pile of broken wood and stone. Her eyes creaked open, blurring in and out, barely registering the destruction in her wake. With a grunt, and tightly shut eyes, Celestia willed herself from the pile, chunks of debris raining off her dirtied, blemished body.

“Great all-consuming eye of the sun…” she muttered, finally tasting the blood on her lip. “That hurt.”

She fell listlessly to her side, panting and cursing.

“Celestia!”

Her eyes creaked open again, barely aware enough to smile at the three winged angels falling from the afternoon sun. She passed out the moment hooves landed around her.

Her eyes snapped wide open, her sharp breath filling her lungs with cold, very welcome air. Three glowing horns lifted away from her, and a very frantic, very familiar ‘Thank goodness!’ rang in her ears.

Celestia rose to her forehooves, but was stopped by Luna’s stern hoof.

“Easy does it,” Cadence said, a thin blood trail painted on the side of her head. “You took quite a fall.”

Right then, Celestia felt the twinge in her back and legs. Not a good start.

“Right. Thank you all—oof!”

A shaking purple body lunged onto to her chest, a surprisingly powerful embrace pushing her achy ribs together.

“Stupid! You’re so STUPID!” came Twilight’s cry, muffled behind Celestia’s chest. “I thought he…! I thought you were…!”

Understandably, Celestia was speechless, just sitting there, jaw agape. With every weakened assault from Twilight’s scuffed hooves and every heaving sob, Celestia’s heart stung. She nearly returned the gesture and promised Twilight she’d never leave her.

She frowned instead. “Enough, Twilight.” She wrested the sniveling Twilight off her chest, holding her shoulders firm. “Get a hold of yourself. There’s work to do.”

Twilight’s shocked, tear-stricken eyes whipped up to Celestia’s, and the sun princess was certain she’d lose her own nerve and drown Twilight with apologies.

There was a long pause. Then Twilight sniffed one last time and wiped her face dry. She nodded tersely with knitted brows, and Celestia rose to her hooves, closing her eyes to every relieving crack.

“We must get that key,” Celestia said. “At any cost.”

“But, sister,” Luna interjected, “Samael could be anywhere by n—”

An orange flash cut her off, and a deep shattering landing threw the alicorns on defense. There he was, his body soaked with red light, wafting off his shoulders like smoke off freshly snuffed candles.

He lifted his head, yellow glowing eyes smoking with power, licking the air like narrowed flames.

“You really thought it’d be that easy, didn’t you?” He walked toward them, his heavy lunging strides snapping branches and crushing stone. “You thought you could summon me, boast of your lessons, and walk away, untested?”

He vanished again. And with gritted teeth and glowing horn, Celestia did the same. A writhing, shrieking whistle racked the air, and a funnel of wind and power exploded before the yelping alicorns. In the center of that power, Samael’s glowing hand held firm against a glowing horn.

His eyebrow raised at the grunting Celestia.

“And do you think, Samael,” she began, her voice as harsh as a desert sandstorm, “that after five-hundred years licking my wounds, I’ve gained nothing?!”

With a guttural shout, Celestia reeled her head back and pushed. The funnel of power burst apart and stopped with Samael leaned back. With wide eyes and a slowly growing smile, he glanced at the grooves left by his feet when Celestia pushed.

“Ahhh, yes…” Samael growled, staring at his electrified hand. “It seems you have learned a little something, after all. But tread carefully, princess.”

He vanished again. Twilight, Cadence, and Luna leaped forward as Samael reappeared behind them, sitting on the rubble that once buried Celestia. The four alicorns united, horns aglow, facing the demon.

“Or this story’s ending will be a tragic one. Sometimes, the hero dies in the end.”

Celestia did not listen. She spread her magnificent wings, her eyes bright with power and wrath, as were her allies’.

“Samael… Surrender the key. Now.”

Samael threw his head back and laughed, as though he’d just heard the most absurd joke in the universe. He stopped. He frowned. And his eyes beamed again.

“Make me…”

He raised his fist, and four swirling portals burst open behind the mares. He flicked his wrist, and every one of them was flung screaming into the circles of twisting light.

“You will learn, Celestia,” Samael muttered. He closed his fist, and the portals faded away. “One way or the other, you will all learn.”

Chapter Three

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Twilight’s eyes snapped open, her first deep breath scratching her throat with dust. She ripped her face from the broken soil, coughing and gasping.

She ran a hoof over her throbbing forehead with gritted teeth and closed eyes, collecting herself. She opened her eyes and combed her surroundings, lifting off her prone hindlegs. She glanced behind her, noting the deep, thirty-foot groove leading to her.

A rueful smile pulled on her lips, knowing a fall like that would’ve killed her if she wasn’t an alicorn.

But when she recognized the area, nothing made sense anymore.

Ponyville.

With a gasp, Twilight threw her eyes skyward, and saw the magical force-field raised to protect her home. She was sure there wasn’t a gaping hole in it before she left to her… diplomacies. It was wide and jagged, like a stone had been thrown through glass.

Quickly, Twilight put two and two together.

“Must’ve have been quite a drop,” she said. Twilight gave her legs an experimental stretch. Then her back. “Good. Nothing’s broken.” She carefully rose to her achy hooves and unfurled her purple wings, eyes narrowed. “I’ve got to get back to them. I’ve got to get the key--”

“You know, Sparkle-clan...”

Twilight’s wings bristled and stiffened. She spun, ears flat, eyes bright with fury, hooves pressed to the ground.

There he was, leaning on a house, staring at one of his claws. “Standing there talking to yourself won’t close that gate. But then, when have you ever taken sound advice for what it was?”

“Samael…” Twilight growled slowly behind clenched teeth. “What have you done? Where are the others?”

The red demon chuckled, a habit that quickly grated on Twilight’s nerves. “Heed me well; you should worry little about your fellow princesses,” he leaned forward off the house, “and more about yourself, Sparkle-clan.”

Twilight’s horn glowed with a sharp zap. “I. Have. A name!” she warned.

“Horse, it is, then,” Samael said with a careless wave, grinning at the alicorn’s puffed red cheeks. The demon scanned the dead-silent village, his toothy smile never fading. “Such a quaint little place. Yet so thick with fear and ignorance. Locked in their homes. Cowering beneath their beds. Holding loved ones tight. You were wise to keep them inside, Horse.”

A slight twinge in the temple made Twilight’s eyes twitch. Samael’s vast knowledge slammed back into memory like a speeding train into a sandcastle. Right then, Twilight feared her mind would break before her patience did.

“Enough, Samael!” she shouted. “Just hand over the key and go home!”

Samael’s smile dropped like an asteroid, and no matter how hard she tried, Twilight couldn’t keep from gulping. He stepped forward, the heavy impact caving her eardrums as she stepped back.

His steps were like boulder-sized diamonds falling from Mt. Canterlot, every dip of his head and sink of his shoulders hardened with purpose. An inconceivable dominance. Twilight stomped the ground and stayed her hoof, her glare held strong. A cold sweat prickled at her body.

The gap between them was closed, reduced to mere inches. He hunched over, his face looming unbearably close to hers.

“You’re making demands? You, who are no better than your worthless compatriots?” His voice twisted and crackled in her ear, like stone pressed and crushed onto her skull. “Don’t delude yourself, Horse. Once, you were strong, a force of nature, a great wind that toppled mountains and bent the very sky to your whim.”

Twilight narrowed her glare.

“But now…” Samael lifted from the sweating mare and stood tall. “Now, you aren’t even a shade of what battled Tirek. You are naught but harmless dust, a child gawking stupidly upon the universe. And you dare command me?”

Twilight wanted to stop it. With every deep-breathing exercise, and meditative chant, Twilight tried so very hard to keep her mind intact, to regain her shallow ragged breath and take a more reasonable tone with the demon.

But the unforgivable urge to be stupid crashed into her logic like a wrecking ball.

“Yes! Now surrender the key, or else!”

A rock-solid foot swung into Twilight’s body. Her airborne journey was only a blur, made even more hazy by soil, buildings and sky flipping and spinning around her. She crashed back-first into the village clock tower, the resounding gong shaking the air.

Eyes blankly open, Twilight free-fell from the clock’s dented face and bent arms. She hit the ground with a bounce and a shower of glass, wood, and gears followed.

There she lay, face in the dirt, motionless for a time.

She twitched to life, her arms craning up. With a deep scratchy groan, Twilight lifted herself up, one eye wide and sharp, the other half-lidded and blurred. She saw him, marching toward her, step by prevailing step.

Her eyes rolled back and her face hit the dirt again.

She gasped sharply, throwing herself to her wobbly hooves, but fell back onto her haunches. With strained eyes, she looked up and saw Samael only a few feet from her, still marching.

“Hah,“ the demon laughed. “It escapes me why Celestia dubbed you the perfect student. Sunset Shimmer was always stronger than you.”

His clawed hand whipped out, fingers curled like dead tree branches. Before Twilight could even fathom why her lungs felt ready to combust, her hooves lifted off the ground. Samael stepped closer.

“Perhaps she pitied you, wanted more from a fallen warrior’s descendant.” Samael paused. “But it seems your brother filled those shoes quite nicely.”

Twilight ground her teeth as Samael closed the gap again, her limbs bound.

“Ah, yes,” he continued. “Captain of the Royal Guard. Ruler of the Crystal Empire alongside Cadenza. Captain Dusk Shine would’ve been so proud.”

Twilight’s glare softened, her eyes glimmering with curiosity. Samael grinned.

“You really don’t know. Do you?” the demon taunted. “Oh, the things Celestia has kept from you, Horse.”

Twilight’s ears pressed flat to her head, as though it would block out the words. She wasn’t listening to this—she couldn’t listen to this. He was just trying to distract her, to waste time before demonic legions flooded the fiery gate and sailed Equestria on a sea of blood.

Samael clenched a fist, and Twilight hissed as her every limb ground together. Then she shrieked. The red fiend swung his arm aside, and Twilight followed, crashing and tumbling across the dirt.

Samael slowly turned to the downed mare. “So many lies. So many lies…” He stepped forward again. “And you’ve looked up to her most of your life, wanted to be her to some degree. It only begs the question, Horse…”

Twilight found only the strength to remain conscious, training her blurry sight on her assailant. Samael crouched beside her, an arm resting on his knee.

“How many skeletons are hidden in your closet?” Samael finished.

A sickening grip of despair closed around her heart, and a maddening question with an even more maddening number of answers bounced in Twilight’s head.

Why, Celestia? Why did you open the gate?

Just as his deep rumbling chuckle began, however, it ended. He turned his head to a gleaming fortress; a jeweled tree with a vaguely familiar symbol atop it. His bottom jaw trembled and his smile grew.

“Oh, yes. Your friends...” he hissed. “I can taste their despair. And it’s delicious.”

Twilight’s right arm twitched.

The demon laughed. “What were you trying to do? Protect them? Is that why you shut them inside, too?” Samael’s glowing eyes fell back on the now-shaking Twilight. “Did you actually plan to confront me alone, to make them watch as I rent you apart, piece by piece?”

How?

The word hung and flopped behind her lips like a freshly-caught fish. She wanted to ask it, but already knew the answer. Soon, Twilight realized Samael wasn’t lying. There was, indeed, very little they could keep from him.

Samael turned back to Twilight’s castle. “They’ve been watching the whole time, you know, driving themselves bedraggled waiting for ‘the signal’. Why haven’t you given it, Horse? Is there a fool-headed pride pushing you forward? Or do you still believe they’ll be safe when I’m finished with you?”

Twilight’s right leg twitched again, her vision finally cleared enough to take in every disgusting crack and stony wrinkle on Samael’s face.

“You… you won’t win,” she growled weakly.

Samael laughed again. “Oh, what? You think your fellow princesses will swoop in and save you?” Twilight scowled. “Don’t hold your breath. They’re not going anywhere without going through me first.”

Twilight’s eyes brightened, a whole new possibility clutching at her throat. A horrible possibility.

“What are you saying?” she asked.

Samael brought a finger between his eyes and shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly fathom the concept, Horse—to be anywhere you choose.”

Slowly, like tall weeds hacked away with a scythe, hope was diminishing, leaving Twilight with a growing pit in her chest. Whatever she was up against—whatever Samael even was—Twilight wasn’t ready for it.

And she knew it now.

“Why, I could be in there right now,” Samael continued, jabbing a thumb at Twilight’s castle, “enjoying the scenery, feeling the smooth, radiant jewels crafted into every design… Getting to know your friends…”

Twilight’s right arm twitched again, and her horn gave a crackling white spark.

“Shh. Listen… Can you hear them? Screaming for mercy, their throats gargling with blood, being twisted apart, limb by snapping limb?”

A brighter, louder crack of power.

“Like music to my—”

A thick white wave threw a roaring Samael off his feet. A crater in the dirt, a hole in Quills and Sofas, and a shattered cart littered the demon’s wake. His clawed feet dug into hard soil, gouging his path as he finally stopped before Carousel Boutique.

He lifted his head with a grim smile, and punched at a ball of power soaring toward his face. The ball popped like a balloon, sparks floating about like harmless fireflies. Samael slowly rose to his feet, stray dirt and masonry falling from his shoulders and chest.

He stared ahead, and saw Twilight Sparkle land several yards away, teeth bared, eyes narrowed, forehead wrinkled, and wings jutted out.

“Don’t you dare hurt my friends!” she roared

“Ahh, that put some fight in you! Very well…” He flicked the remaining debris off his shoulder, and opened his enormous, inverted wings. “Show me your power, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

With an earth-shattering takeoff, Samael soared toward the enraged alicorn. With wings bristled and horn beaming brightly, Twilight did the same.

Iron-like claws pressed into her shoulders, the demon roaring as he furrowed the soil with Twilight’s back. They stopped, and Samael was upon the prone mare. She yelped and her body glowed just as a mighty fist dashed upon her. The protection spell shattered.

The other fist fell and Twilight leaned aside, grazed by only a hair. With a squinted eye, she blasted her magic in Samael’s face. He reeled back with a grunt, and Twilight rolled to her belly to fly away.

Claws snatched her tail, leaving her flapping hopelessly in place. An elbow to the back drove her to the dirt again.

Twilight gasped at the hand clamping onto her skull, and shrieked when that hand bounced her face off the ground. She rolled onto her back again, a clawed foot smashing the ground, missing her by an instant.

With glowing eyes, surging horn, and shrill cry, Twilight threw her arms and head forward. A blunt wave of power hit Samael with a deep cracking pop. His torso was twisted back, saliva jetting from his fanged, roaring mouth.

By then, Twilight was already several feet away, darting into the air.

She flapped like she’d never fly again, her eyes stinging from the wind whipping her mane about.

A distant cry tickled her ears, past the whistling wind. The cry grew louder. Deeper. Closer.

Powerful claws clamped around her wings. Twilight fell, screaming all the way down until her and Samael crashed in a rolling tide of dust, rocks, limbs and wings. Twilight’s eyes blinked into focus, barely grasping the growling demon upon her again.

She gasped and yelled, “No!”

A blazing fist hammered down on her, a purple wave blanketing the Town Square. Samael lifted his arm, grinning at the protective bubble around a now terrified Twilight. He dropped the other fist. Then the other. And the other again. Again and again. Without end. Without tire. Without mercy.

The bubble cracked.

With an echoing roar, the demon raised both arms.

“Samael, stop!” Twilight cried.

All of Ponyville was swallowed by a purple rippling wave, a deep shatter tearing at the sky. The wave subsided, and at the center of a shallow crater, stood a growling Samael. And below him, a twitching, groaning alicorn, her horn flickering like an old lightbulb.

The horned beast stared down at her for a time, his growling calmed, his smile gone.

He clicked his tongue and wedged a clawed foot beneath the limp mare. He kicked up, lifting Twilight to waist level. He drove his knee into her back and relished her pitched whine as she was lifted higher.

Samael lept to Twilight with his head thrown back. He knocked the alicorn away with his skull, a thin bloody trail left in her wake. Samael vanished in orange light. Twilight would’ve hit the ground with more rolling tumbles if the fiend wasn’t already waiting with a clothesline.

His arm crashed into her, and he vanished again.

She flipped away like a thrown knife, and her face crashed into Samael’s waiting palm, her body stretching forward, pulling taut away from her. Her body swung back. Then swung forward again. A few seconds and it stopped. Motionless. Hanging from Samael’s firm grip.

He lifted the limp mare high, adjusting himself on the house he sat on.

“Is this all Equestria’s newest princess can offer me?” Samael muttered.

He tossed Twilight like a useless tool, watching her flip and twirl. She hit the ground with a loud thud, rolling only a little more until listless on her side. The wind whistled past the still pony, her mane and feathers dancing to its sad tune.

An orange flash burst behind Twilight, and there stood Samael with his arms crossed.

“You’re as disappointing as your predecessor, and I’m tired of this game,” he said. He received only silence. “Fear not, though, little one; you will not be long alone in death.”

Still, there was only silence from Twilight.

“The war beyond even your darkest nightmares, will ensure that.”

Twilight twisted around and shouted, her horn launching a swirling beam of color. Samael tilted his head, the beam missing his cheek by a hair. He straightened again, ignoring the loud fireworks above with an unreadable face.

“Huh. Well… That may just go down as the most anti-climactic assault in history. Commendable.” His raised a fist as it swirled and crackled with power. “But it ends here.”

Twilight strained and grunted, struggling to rise. But soon, her head fell back down and all her legs spread lifelessly aside. She had nothing left.

Samael crouched over the bloodied mare, nudging her onto her back. His terrible claws brushed over Twilight’s soft, vulnerable chest, as gently as a morning breeze.

“Know this, as I reunite you with your ancestors, Horse.” Samael unfurled his crackling fist, his fingers straight, pointing at Twilight’s chest. “You died losing everything you’ve fought for. And you died alone.”

Samael lifted his hand, like a spear ready to plunge.

“No…” Twilight croaked, gaining a raised brow from Samael. “Never alone…”

The demon smirked and raised his pointed hand higher. Higher. Higher.

A deep, booming burst rattled the sky and earth, and Samael stumbled forward.

He paused for a moment, frowning ahead trying to decipher the sudden bang. He slowly turned to look behind him, and was sure he’d never seen such a colorful shockwave of power. The sky became a prismatic explosion, a snippet of Creation painting Equestria’s sky.

“What in the nine Hells is th—”

Samael was ripped away by a yowling streak of colors. His arms, legs, and wings flapped forward as a screaming, rainbow-colored pegasus took him to the sky. Tears broke and sprinkled from her tightly shut eyes.

Samael could only watch in unutterable shock as he was sailed through the blue, beyond the clouds even. He watched Equestria’s horizon sink below his vision, and his stomach caved as the winged mare took him right back down.

A pair of blue hind legs braced onto his large chest, and the first things he saw were blazing magenta eyes. The next thing he saw was a blue hoof. In fact, he saw that hoof again. And again.

And again.

“Leave! Her! Alone!” The mare’s cries matched every strike, her wings still jetting the demon toward the earth.

The mare raised both arms and brought them down with earth-shattering force. Samael’s body whistled to the earth like a shot-down plane, burning with color instead of heat.

He met the earth.

Trees, rivers and buildings alike, rumbled and shifted at the resulting shockwave. The deep boom and crumbling earth cried into the sky, filling it with a mushroom cloud of debris.

A rainbow streak zipped from the destruction and toward a very frantic group of ponies. Specifically, the beaten and broken alicorn sprawled on the ground.

“Idiot!” Rarity shrieked, clutching Twilight’s bloodied face with shaky hooves. “Dolt! Simpleton!”

Twilight could only smile weakly, but cringed a bit at Applejack’s hard nuzzling.

“Darnit, Twilight!” the orange mare cried, her hat tipping off her head. “Why didn’t ya signal us sooner?! We could’a stopped him from hurtin’ you!”

“Baffoon! Oaf! I-ignoramus!” Rarity continued, tears finally collecting at her eyes.

Twilight gently shut her eyes, a hoof brushing against the weeping farm pony’s head. She felt nudging pressure at her sides, turned her aching neck, opened an eye and saw a sobbing Fluttershy on one side, and a quaking Pinkie Pie on the other.

Twilight, just soaked it all in. “You’ve never let me down,” she whispered.

“Stupid! You’re just… so stupid!” Rarity finally crumbled, burying her loud, hacking sobs in Twilight’s neck.

The alicorn flexed her neck, trying to rise. Applejack and a sniveling Rarity hurriedly aided her. Twilight sat up, her hooves lazily plopped on the dirt, wobbling side to side.

She was quite suddenly strangled by crushing blue arms and peppered with kisses on her head and face. Twilight gave a quiet squeal, her eyes tightly shut.

“Are you okay?! Is anything broken?! Can you walk?!” Rainbow Dash’s hurried words were chopped between kisses. “I swear, I’ll never let anything happen to you again! Never, ever, ever!”

After a final, loud kiss between Twilight’s eyes, Rainbow froze in place, and realized the others were gawking at her. Speechless. Rarity, in particular, started giggling behind her hoof despite her tears.

“Goodness, Dash. We’re all happy she’s alive, but, puh-lease, a little restraint?” Rarity teased with a little sniff.

Rainbow lept off of Twilight with a sputter, also realizing she was straddling the alicorn. “U-uh, what are you talkin’ about? I was, uh… just a little concerned. Yeah!”

Applejack dried her own tears with a soft chuckle. “Thinkin’ your lips were a bit more concerned than you were, sugarcube,” she said.

Dash shot to her hooves with stiff wings and a red muzzle. “Spur of the moment! Any of you would’ve done the same thing!” she finished, throwing her nose in the air.

There was a pause until Pinkie Pie burst with laughter. And soon, everyone else but Rainbow Dash followed.

Twilight hissed in pain, and the laughter swiftly died. Her friends closed in on her, leaning in with concern. Rarity offered Twilight a hoof.

“Come now, darling,” she cooed. “Let’s get you to the hospital and—”

“No…” The word left Twilight’s mouth like venom from a cobra’s fang.

Rarity flinched back. “Why, whatever do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Not yet…” Twilight muttered, straining to lift herself. “It’s not over yet.”

She collapsed, but Rainbow Dash darted forward, catching the alicorn with her neck.

“We have to stop him,” Twilight weakly added.

Applejack stepped forward. “Uh, hate to burst your bubble there, Twi, but…” She turned toward the fading mushroom cloud made from Samael’s impact. “Seriously? I think we’re good.”

Honestly, Twilight admired AJ’s confidence, but she didn’t show it. No. That would give the wrong idea, that would imply that the battle was over. Twilight knew it was anything but.

She lifted herself from Rainbow Dash and steadied her hooves, standing tall against the wind.

“We’re talking about someone who challenged Princess Celestia and won.” Twilight didn’t even turn to see the hope ebb away from the others’ faces. “He’s every bit as powerful as she described, and… and...”

Pinkie, now worried, stepped to her side. “And?” she urged.

Twilight glared hard into that fading mushroom cloud. “Girls, Samael is dangerous. More so than I imagined. One little hundred story drop won’t change that. Trust me, he’s alive and well.”

There was a thick silence. Then a cautious clatter of hooves.

“Are…” Applejack gulped. “Are ya sure, Twi?”

“Yes,” Twilight almost spat, glaring even harder at the debris. “I can feel it. I felt it the first moment I spoke with him; something deep. Overwhelming.” Twilight’s achy wings twitched at her sides. “Unknowable.”

Her horn glowed, and a soothing spell enwrapped her body, making her wounds shimmer.

“It’s not something you forget, Applejack,” the alicorn said, a few of her wounds healing. “He’s there…”

Another beat of silence. Then another careful clatter of hooves.

“Then… What do we do, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked, her usual timidity all but gone. “What does he want?”

Twilight growled with a stomping hoof. Fluttershy meeped away. “That’s just it! I don’t know!” Twilight shouted. “When he got here, he actually seemed reasonable, like he wanted to talk. Then he turned on us!” She threw her head aside, as though wrenching away from an unbearable stench. “I warned them. All of them. I told them this would happen, and they didn’t listen…”

The bitterness in Twilight’s mouth poisoned the very air they breathed. This wasn’t her. She knew it, her friends knew it… This ordeal was taking its toll.

Twilight took a cleansing breath and said, “We need to close the gate he came from, the gate to his world. But he has the key.” The others gasped. “We get the key, we close the gate.”

Yet another pause, and another clatter of hooves.

“Twilight,” Rarity called gently, her brows knitted with concern. “What happens… if we don’t close that gate?”

Twilight’s eyes fell to the ground, silent for only a moment. She turned to her friends, noting the dread in their eyes.

“Then we’ll have a war on our hooves.”

No one spoke. For one insufferable moment, Twilight could feel five pairs of eyes boring into her—boring through her. Just when she started to wish she was somewhere else, a strong hoof sat on her shoulder. She turned to a determined Applejack.

“We’re with ya, Twilight,” the farm pony said. “Always.”

Chatters of agreement buzzed around Twilight, and she could only smile and nod, fighting back tears that shouldn’t have even been there.

“Yes…” she whispered to hide her shaky tone. “Yes, I know.”

An orange burst blinded them for but a moment, and they screamed at the hulking beast now standing before them. Rainbow leapt over and landed between Twilight and the red demon, prone for attack alongside a growling Applejack.

Samael slowly turned to look at the all-but-gone mushroom cloud, then back to the ponies.

“Disguising ‘the signal’ as a final attack,” he began with a wide, toothy grin. “One of the oldest tricks in the book. Now you have my attention, Sparkle-clan.”

Rainbow’s face brightened with disbelief. That can’t be… she thought, her hoof scraping the ground and her brows plummeting over her eyes. There’s not one scratch on this guy!

Samael crouched over and studied the group with no small intrigue, stroking his horned chin.

“I was beginning to think you’d abandoned young Twilight in her time of need, cowering in your little corners like the rest of your village. Clearly, I’ve misjudged you, trinkets.”

“That’s right!” Rainbow shouted. “We’d never abandon our friend!”

Samael’s yellow eyes whipped to the now-gulping pegasus, his grin remaining, his words unspoken but crushing.

“Samael…” The demon’s eyes whipped back to Twilight. “The key.”

Samael’s brow raised, noting the faint glow around the group, a power seeping into the air like gas from a broken can. His smile grew as he saw the rest of Twilight’s wounds close and heal. Every scrape and scuff was gone.

“Hmm… This power. The same power I felt from you when I arrived.” Samael looked toward Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie, prone at Twilight’s flanks, their eyes locked with a warrior’s focus. “Indeed, I see much power in you all.”

Rarity frowned and said, “Yes. And if you comply, we won’t have to use it.”

Samael threw his head back and laughed. In a heartbeat, he was standing tall before the ponies, his wings and arms stretched out.

“Spoken well, Generosity!” he bellowed. “Perhaps, now, I’ve something to work for. Hmm… Let’s put this power through its paces, shall we?”

He vanished again, and was now sitting atop the City Hall. That, though, wasn’t what skyrocketed the temperature and thickened the air with the smell of burning stone.

The three massive fireballs hovering over Samael’s head, however…

“Live or die, Princess Twilight?” Samael asked, clenching a fist. “Choose.”

He threw his fist forward, and one fireball soared toward the Elements of Harmony. The ball hit, and a near-melting blast of heat blew against Ponyville’s building and trees. The hot, gusty blast stopped, and only a pillar of smoke remained.

Samael sat with two remaining fireballs, stroking his chin. Waiting. A faint glimmer shone from the smoke, and when it cleared, Samael’s eyes brightened with amazement.

There they were, a sphere of raw power and magic embracing them, protecting them. Their bodies, riddled with stars and streaks. Their manes and tails broadened and bold with new colors.

And in the center of it all? A very, very unhappy princess.

With a deep grunt, Samael launched the remaining fireballs, and watched with great interest as they popped into thin streams of harmless light.

His grin widened.

“Ah, yes… ‘The most powerful magic of all’,” he muttered, a tiny chuckle in his tone.

His eyes met Twilight’s. “Samael,” she began, her voice dripping with strength that could move mountains. “This is your last chance. Will you surrender the key?”

“Silly little horse,” Samael taunted, craning a knee up on his seat. “You already know the answer.”

Twilight’s eyes slowly fell closed. Then shot open, glowing like a bright shining star. The sphere around the six swirled and writhed, whisking the trees with a warm, soothing wind. The sphere beamed like the sun, and Samael squinted one eye.

“Entertain me,” Samael grumbled.

A thick rainbow blasted from the sphere, careening toward the smiling demon. In an instant, that smile dropped.

“What’s this?!”

He vanished in a flash of orange. The rainbow hit City Hall and a blinding light whitened the town square, whitened Ponyville, whitened the entire sky.

Ponies, barred in their homes, gawked at the display, their loved ones-—husbands, wives, and foals alike—clinging to each other. Smiles returned to their faces, and hope flickered back into their hearts.

The light faded, City Hall still intact, and Samael was nowhere to be seen. The powerful sphere around the six heroes faded and, one by one, their eyes opened. They peered at the black stain on City Hall’s roof.

Silence fell between them all. But a slow, deafening clap of hands shattered that silence like glass. The Elements whipped their heads to a house beside them, gawking at the figure leaning on it, clapping.

“Hold on, he can’t do that!” Pinkie shouted. “Can he do that? He can’t do that!”

The clapping stopped, and Twilight frowned.

“I’ll admit: I didn’t expect that much power,” Samael said, leaning on an elbow. “It was faint, but for a moment I saw a power that could stand alone against any army. How disturbing.”

For once, Samael didn’t smile. His face was grim, seething with… resentment. This did not escape Twilight.

“You can’t win this Samael,” she said. “You had your chance to finish me—to secure victory—and you lost it. If you surrender the key and give up, I’ll see that you’re judged fairly for your crimes.”

Samael said nothing. He just stood there, steamy breath wafting from his nostrils.

“What say you?” Twilight asked.

He was silent for but a moment longer. Then he smiled.

“It seems I’ve met my match,” he muttered deeply. “Your combined power vastly exceeds my own. Only a fool would deny you at this point.”

Twilight’s frown softened a bit, and so did the rest of her friends. Well, everypony except Applejack, whose frown only hardened.

“Yes, a power that transcends your very history. Clearly you’ve all been chosen to take the next step in evolution. You should be honored.”

Applejack frowned even harder, and leaned toward her friend’s ear. “Twilight, I don’t like this…” she whispered.

Twilight turned to the orange mare, still frowning. “Relax, AJ,” she whispered back. “This is obviously a lie. Just let him monologue for a bit.” She nearly let a smile slip.

“But that’s just it,” Applejack argued. “He’s tellin’ the truth.”

Twilight’s brows lifted high. “What? How can you tell?”

Applejack turned her hardened eyes back on Samael. “I can tell.” she said.

Twilight’s frown returned, but was more thoughtful. “Then, let’s say you’re right. Why is that a problem?”

“I… I don’t know.” Applejack never looked away from the smiling demon. “Sure we’ve got him on the ropes, but just look at him. He’s so… calm.”

“Perhaps Celestia was right. Perhaps your ‘Harmony’ can be maintained.” He held out his smoking hand, and the black key burst into existence, yet again. “Far be it that I deny those who earn their keep.”

This time, that smile escaped Twilight’s grasp, and she stepped past the protective circle of friends. “You’re making the right choice, Samael,” she said.

“Indeed,” the demon replied, holding the key tightly.

His smile pulled behind his gums. He flicked his wrist, and the key was gone. Twilight stopped dead in her tracks and scowled.

“Although,” Samael began, “there is an… obstacle… you must overcome.”

“No! No more games!” Twilight barked, her friends leaping to her side once more. “We’ve already been through this! You’ve challenged us and lost!” Her horn crackled with power.

“Did you really think that’s why I brought you here? To ‘challenge’ you to mortal combat?” Samael restrained his laughter with a curled finger to his lip. “You misunderstand me, princess; I was just having a little fun.”

Twilight just glared.

“My true intention is far more meaningful, and I reveal it now.” Samael’s breath was like smoke before fire, his voice as deep as the earth’s core. “You… All of you—the alicorn royalty—believe you are beyond reproach. You believe your secrets well-hidden, and your lies infallible. Lies that have carried the weight of your society for… well, it’s difficult to say how long, really.”

Twilight’s frown softened.

“Each of you carry a burden of secrecy. Princess Celestia. Princess Luna. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.” Samael paused, then threw his glowing gaze at the flinching Twilight. “And you…”

Samael’s wings stretched out.

“You’ve accomplished many things. Passed many tests. Your path is righteous. Your cause is just. Your heart is pure. One could only guess what you’d be like without him.”

Twilight’s frown crumbled, her eyes now bright with despair, her chest tightening.

“Just remember, Princess Twilight,” Samael continued, his rising hand set ablaze. “Secrets always shine brighter.”

He reached his flaming hand toward Twilight’s distant castle.

“No!” she barked as strongly as her worry would allow.

“Yes!” Samael retorted.

His hand curled, and his joints crackled. And before anypony could breathe a word of opposition, a yelping purple dragon burst into the fray. Right in Samael’s magical grasp.

“What the…! What’s going on?!” Spike screamed, his eyes catching the Elements of Harmony. “Twilight, help me!”

“Spike!” they all cried.

Samael stroked his chin as he studied the whimpering Spike, his eyes vivid with wonder and curiosity.

“Yes… So remarkably filled with power. Yet so wholly lacking in knowledge and vision. So you’re Equestria’s dirty little secret,” he said.

Twilight’s eyes glowed again, the sphere of raw power returning. “Let him go, Samael! He has nothing to with this!”

“He has everything to do with this,” the demon retorted. A familiar glow caught his eye, and he looked down upon the Elements charging another attack. “Careful, ladies. I’ve brought the child here without harm, every scale on his little head intact.” His smile fell. “You go on being ungrateful, and I’m liable to get upset.”

His curled hand twitched, and Spike yelped in pain.

“Stop it!” Twilight shouted.

“What’s that, now?” Samael’s hand twitched again, and Spike yelped again, tears collecting in his eyes.

“Samael!” Her horn glowed even brighter, and Samael’s smile returned.

“Go ahead and try it, Horse,” he said. “But how much power do you think you’ll need to take him from my grasp? How many seconds will you need to gather it up? At least three. But for me,” he lifted a finger, “all I need is one second and a bent finger...” He curled that finger ever so slowly, and Spike’s head began to turn. The young drake screamed.

Twilight’s teeth ground so hard she was sure she tasted blood. Her hoof burrowed at the dirt, her wings flapped on their own, her ears burned, her breath hissed between her teeth.

And finally, the dam holding her tears crumbled.

“Just… just let him go,” she begged. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

Samael stopped, his eyes slowly shifting to the purple mare’s tears. He levitated the now gasping Spike closer to his head and gave Twilight a withering glare. One that assured her, beyond any doubt, that the tables had turned, and victory was only a dream.

Samael spoke. A deafening buzz of a thing. A force that crumbled the chasms of will and rebellion. A single, inexorable command breathed by fire.

“Submit.”

Twilight felt as though her heart teleported into her throat, destroying all air flow and rational thought. She looked up at her tearful assistant--her baby--and knew she’d lost. She glared at the ground like it would somehow show her the way, show her how to stop this.

A gentle hoof fell on Twilight’s shoulder. She turned. It was Rarity, chest shaking with held sobs, tears and mascara staining her face. She nodded silently, and Twilight knew what she had to do.

A breath of which she didn’t know left her in a swift gust. Her horn dimmed, and soon, the sphere around the group did the same.

Manes shrank. Tails shrank. Colors faded. Power depleted. With another bright flash, six ordinary ponies stood before Samael.

Defeated.

“You learn fast, equines,” Samael said. With back bent forward and arms swung back, Samael sprung away from that house, his limbs spread victoriously. He landed before the scowling mares, who flinched at the dirt and rocks pelting them. “That will serve you well.”

He regarded the still-whimpering dragon in his thrall, turned him away with a twirled finger, and set him down to the ground.

“Look away, child.”

Samael threw his head back and drove it into a shrieking Twilight’s cranium. A ring of dust blew out, and Twilight lay still in a cracked imprint of her own body.

“Hey!” Rainbow barked, leaping at the demon.

Cold claws clutched her mane and yanked her face into a waiting, armored knee. Samael glared at a screaming Pinkie Pie, lunged over, and slammed the limp Rainbow Dash onto her, their bodies crashing into a tangled heap. Unconscious.

He swung his foot left and kicked a yowling Fluttershy away, her legs and wings twisting awkwardly as she tumbled across the dirt.

He whipped around and lifted his foot, catching a powerful buck from Applejack with it. In one motion, he swooped down, snatched her up by the belly, spun on his heel, and threw her head-first to the dirt. He watched her body snap rigid as a tree trunk, then fall limp to her belly.

His flashing, smoky eyes turned to a hyperventilating Rarity. He marched toward her with heavy, crushing steps. The unicorn shrieked and turned to run, but immediately fell on her face. She twisted to her back, fighting the paralysing grip of Samael’s eyes. She frantically backpedaled away, her breath shallow and sharp.

Two more steps and he was upon her.

He threw his terrible grip onto Rarity’s scalp, and squeezed. Hard.

“Ow!” Rarity cried. “Ow! Unhand me, you brute!”

He yanked up, hoisting her high.

Ponyville echoed to gibbering squeals as Rarity tried in vain to loosen the vice, her hind legs kicking and flailing, her now-bedraggled mane pulled by the very roots.

Samael squeezed harder, and Rarity screamed long and loud.

He curled his arm aside and swung a chopping hand into the unicorn’s side, listening to a symphony of snaps and pops. The screaming stopped with a final squealing bark. Samael took his hand from the mare and her arms fell limp to her side.

He watched her dangle lifelessly in his grip.

She coughed a hacking cough, and thin lines of blood dribbled from her lips, over her chin, and finally onto her chest.

Samael dropped her and turned back to the beaten Twilight. He smiled at the little dragon trying to nudge her awake.

However…

Just as he was going to step forward, something weakly grabbed at his ankle. He whipped his head down, and his eyebrow raised at the biggest, brightest, most pleading blue eyes he’d seen in eons. He noted the blood-streaks from her nostrils.

“Why…?” Pinkie Pie whispered, her tears falling without a fight. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

Samael stood rigid for a time, gravely contemplating whether or not to punt the pink pony into a lake. Instead, he turned to her and crouched down, his arm resting on a knee.

“Do not grieve, little one,” he said with a deep gentleness that widened Pinkie’s eyes. “Your leaders… they must see this struggle to its end, so that they may understand. So they may finally grow.”

Pinkie’s eyes somehow found a way to become bigger and more pleading than before. Samael almost looked away.

“But… but what do you mean?” Pinkie begged, squeezing tighter around the demon’s ankle. “What do they have to understand?”

Samael snorted wistfully and remained silent for a very uncomfortable moment.

He leaned in closer and said, “You strive for happiness in all things. Your heart bleeds for that purpose. You feel when you’ve achieve that goal, and when you fail. Tell me, Laughter; can you also feel other’s pain? Their despair? Every piece of their heart torn by the very fibers? Do you share their sorrow?”

When he felt Pinkie’s grip weaken, and her eyes crumble into a horrified frown, he smiled in triumph.

“Pray that you don’t…”

A hand chopped the back of Pinkie’s head. Her eyes rolled back and her body fell limp at the demon’s feet. He wiped his hand on the ground, stood up, and marched away from the sleeping earth pony without another word.

“Twilight! Come on, Twi, ya gotta get up!” Spike cried. “The others, h-he took them out! What do I do?!”

A heavy rumble made him stop. And another made him look up. It was Samael. Walking straight for him with smoky yellow eyes. Grinning.

“Spike…” came Twilight’s dry call.

Spike’s eyes darted to his caretaker, blood trickling from her head and over her closed eyes.

“Run…” she whispered.

So he did. As fast as his little legs could carry him. Twilight’s eyes opened just as his little form became even smaller, his patting steps fading. Then she felt it. That constricting, suffocating vice, binding her limbs to her body.

She felt herself rise and her eyes closed solemnly. Before she knew it, she was floating in midair. Her eyes opened with a scornful, piercing glare and saw Samael grinning at her, just as she knew she would.

“Those eyes…” Samael muttered. “The same eyes that glared upon me centuries ago. The same as Dusk Shine. You are indeed his progeny, Sparkle-clan. Funny, I seem to remember that exact look—in this exact pitiful state—right before I killed him.”

A wad of saliva hit his cheek. Samael’s smile was practically frozen at that point, the loogie sliding down his face.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, blinking several times.

He raised a glowing fist, and a yelping Spike poofed right back where he started: in Samael’s thrall. This time, though, Spike had company.

“Damn… you…!” Twilight cursed through gritted teeth. “Don’t… hurt him!”

“Here’s where your true test begins, Sparkle-clan. It should be easy, it’s multiple-choice,” Samael said, twisting his wrists and forcing them to face one another. “Will you tell him? Or should I?”

He forced them closer, and Twilight looked to Spike with wide, unsure eyes.

“Tell me what?!” Spike hollered, flailing like it would actually get him somewhere. Then he glimpsed his caretaker’s face, and his struggles ceased. “T...tell me what?”

Even as she tried to harden her eyes and find her strength, her lips trembled, blocking the words she wanted so much to say.

“Spike. Whatever he tells you… don’t lis--”

Samael open his fist and Twilight dropped to the ground.

“Well, that answers my question,” the red demon said. He guided the scared dragon face-to-face with him. “Tell me something, whelp…”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. Samael smiled and pressed his thumb and index finger together. Spike’s arms shook away from his ears, forcing them uncovered.

“What do you know about your heritage?” Spike’s struggles completely died, leaving him gawking at Samael. “Do you even know what you are?”

Spike spluttered for a response. Surely he knew the answer—he was a dragon. Thick scales, breathed fire, and ate gems. The works. But his tongue tied around his teeth. Samael turned a disgusted frown to Twilight.

“You feared that I would hurt this boy? With his knowledge so limited? I would not have the Wyverns’ glory die with their child.”

Spike cocked a brow. “Wyvern?”

“Yes,” Samael hissed. “You come from a very ancient line of dragons, boy. A line that Equestria has severed.”

Spike frowned thoughtfully, “W...What do you mean?”

Twilight jerked up and shouted Spike’s name. Samael scowled and threw a curled hand toward her. Her throat caved in a bit, like something squeezed it, and her mouth clicked shut.

“Quiet!” Samael barked. “You’ve had your chance.”

Spike frowned at the horned beast. “Hey! Leave her alone! What did she ever do?!”

Samael smirked at the dragon and said, “Ohoho, so fiercely loyal to one who kept your heritage away from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spike demanded.

Samael lowered his curled hand and Twilight burst with a long-held breath, gulping for air and caressing her sore throat.

“Does it amuse you, Sparkle-clan? To deny him what’s rightfully his? To jerk him around at your side like a blindfolded dog?”

“Samael, stop it! This isn’t fair!” Twilight shouted.

“And was it fair to slaughter that which did only what it was born to? Was it fair to take a lost Wyvern egg, hatch it, and mold the whelp into the weapon Celestia’s always wanted?”

Twilight dragged herself forward. “But he’s not…! I wasn’t…!” She stopped, then glared at the ground.

“Oh, right, of course. It wasn’t you. ‘Not your fault’. ‘You weren’t even conceived,’” Samael continued with a jabbing finger. “Pathetic. Professing your innocence when corruption gargles in your veins, when you knew the whelp’s fate and did nothing but aid it.”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Twilight bellowed, the tantrum stabbing her temples with more pain.

Smoke jetted from Samael’s nostrils. “You’re right, of course, princess. I’ve been taking the spotlight, taking every chance to talk about that which doesn’t concern me. So why don’t you share a few words? Go on, tell us how you stifle the Wyvern’s knowledge, to keep him on Equestria’s leash.”

Twilight’s lip trembled, her frowning eyes glistened, and her ears lay flat.

Samael whipped his horned head to Spike, his eyes flashing a rusty yellow. “Boy,” he said, the depth in his voice putting a jump in the dragon’s chest. “You’ve been a blinded dog for far too long.”

With every grunt and whimper, Spike tried to wrest his head away, block the foul monster’s words. But he was held completely still, bound by Samael’s magical grip, and could do nothing else but listen.

“You are a Wyvern, a child of the lost. Yours was a proud race; a beautiful race. Your ancestors carved a path for all of dragon-kind to follow. While only a few thousand strong, they were a force of nature—no, a force of reckoning. Fighters, builders, artists, pioneers, prophets—they created a means by which dragons could break their greed and share their spoils with all, to share knowledge, vast and ancient, with minotaurs, goblins, griffins… and equines alikes.”

Spike no longer tried to resist. He was hooked like a big-mouth bass.

“They were powerful, young whelp, for theirs was a power that could vex even the Grim Reaper. With their every breath, they consumed the world’s mana. More so, they consumed the mana of creatures around them. As I said, they were only a few thousand strong, but their power?” Samael paused to laughed deeply to himself. “They. Were. Formidable.”

“Wh-what happened to them?” Spike’s hand shot to his mouth, shocked that the words fell out.

Samael smiled. “The Wyverns learned to tame their consumption eons ago, in that the world and creatures from which they fed were unharmed—none the wiser, one might say. They allied with several nations of this world, teaching, learning, giving. Feeding on their power, but sharing limitless knowledge and potential.”

Samael paused with a frown. Spike stared back, confused, then followed what Samael was staring at. It was Twilight, her eyes wet and pleading.

“Then, only a few hundred years after Equestria’s founding, they met equines. A race so rich with magic, the Wyverns were drawn to them like sharks to blood. And, predictably, they were welcomed with open arms. Their philosophies were… compatible—a common goal sought. Harmony. Soon, the Wyverns gained their trust, and after a time, pledged their loyalty. This was not unnoticed by their rulers, Celestia and Luna. As such, the Wyvern leaders were called to a summit, to discuss further negotiations.”

Samael stopped again, and turned to the now awestruck Spike.

“In that instant, their fate was sealed.”

“Samael, please…” Twilight could only whisper.

The demon ignored her.

“Once the royal sisters learned of their consumption, they dubbed the Wyverns a ‘threat’, and not to be trusted. And with all the power they’d consumed from their subjects, an angry Wyvern might have very well proven them right.”

Spike gulped as everything sunk in like a knife through the chest.

“But they never had a chance,” Samael continued. “There was no warning or clue of what came next. The sisters, who’d allied the same nations as the Wyverns, enlightened those allies, warned them, told them of the mighty dragons’ passive ability. Not long after… the purge began.

Spike looked to Twilight again, his head tilted as she sheltered her head beneath her arms, shaking.

“They all knew, however,” the demon continued, “that a direct attack would doom them from the start; the Wyverns were simply too powerful. So they used… other methods. With unexpected results.”

Samael paused, and Spike felt as though his guts were being pulled from his green fins.

“What? What? What happened to them?” he all but shouted.

Samael ran a claw along his horned chin, studying the young drake. “Tell me, boy. Do you know what happens when the Elements of Harmony are used against a non-hostile opponent? An enemy who, by all intents and purposes, means no harm?” He paused again just to shake Spike up a bit more. “Murder…”

Spike’s eye widened.

“The Elements were only known to punish the wicked. Imprisonment, banishment, usually both. But when they meet the opposite, they become… far more hostile. They are a weapon, after all.”

“So… ” Spike trembled. “So, you’re saying they… they…”

“It started with one, the overseer, the Wyvern King. He was summoned for more ‘negotiations’. Then it happened. The Elements of Harmony tore through the king like a drill, broke him into dust. And it just. Didn’t. Stop. It was an hour that burned into history. All over Equestria echoed the screams of a doomed people, silenced one by one. All too soon, as suddenly as it began, it was over. Wyvern ashes littered the land, thrown into the wind. Silent.”

Spike didn’t say a word. He just stared at the demon. And he continued to stare, his head craning higher as Samael lowered him from his invisible grasp. His feet touched the ground and Samael crouched before the dumbstruck whelp.

“Search within yourself. A great power stirs inside, power fed by the very creatures that tamed you. In your fingertips, you hold your people’s tools. In your mind, you hold their wisdom. In your heart, their anger.”

Spike clenched a fist, staring at it.

“Focus, young drake. Heed the Wyvern’s call. Within you is a lost culture, crying out for reason and justice! You must embrace it! Sever the ties that bind!”

Spike clenched his teeth, staring harder at his fist. Then he felt it. It was only for an instant, but a sharp crack of power struck the dragon’s heart, numbing his every limb. He stumbled and fell back, his now open fist trembling.

He gazed up at the grinning demon, once again dumbstruck.

“You… you were there,” Spike said in wonder.

Samael flinched back like he’d heard a ridiculous joke. “What? Hah! No, no, boy. I was here for a time, but not that much time,” he said.

“But you…” Spike found enough of himself to stand again. “You described it as if you were there.”

Samael continued to stroke his chin and said, “I may not have been there in person, but I hold much knowledge of those days.” He hunched over, his head now beside the young dragon, staring ahead. “And so does she…”

Spike turned around to Twilight, who pressed her forelegs over her chest like her heart would explode any moment. Spike said nothing else. He marched to his caretaker.

His every step was like a stomp on Twilight’s heart, and the alicorn’s eyes darted left to right, searching for escape, so frantic and frightened that she’d forgotten she could teleport. Or fly. Or run.

She did neither of those when Spike stopped before her.

“Spike… I—”

“Is it true, Twilight?”

“Please. I can expla—”

“Twilight.” Spike ignored the mare’s whine. “Is. It. True? Everything he said? Am I…?”

She could see it now: ‘Here lies Twilight Sparkle’, carved into a tombstone on a hill, decorated with flowers fertilized by her own ashes. Oh, what sweet, sweet relief she’d have—never to see that sad, innocent, accusing face. Never to tell him a truth she was forbidden to tell, but was forced to.

Sadly, no matter what she thought, how deeply she dug, or how hard her tears fell, Twilight Sparkle simply couldn’t set herself on fire.

With eyes squeezed shut, she nodded.

And the silence clawed at her heart like a starving wolverine.

Her eyes slowly opened, wishing Spike wasn’t actually there, wishing she’d wake up from this nightmare between her covers in bed. But Spike was there, his eyes very interested in the ground, frowning tiredly.

“And you knew…” he muttered.

Immediately, Twilight shattered the distance between them, knelt and prone before the dragon.

“Yes! B-but I swear—I swear—I only found out a month after my coronation! Princess Celestia told me everything when she felt I was ready!” she defended, edging closer. “When… when we spent that night researching dragons, to find your origin, I knew as little as you did. I wanted… I wanted to help you. I still d—

“Your coronation, Twilight, was a year ago,” Spike said, never looking up.

Twilight’s sentence finished with a mute croak, her mouth shutting and closing like a gasping fish.

“Just… Why, Twilight?” Spike finally looked up, his frown wet with tears that could bend Twilight’s ribs into her lungs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she couldn’t.”

Twilight whipped her head up to the side, as did Spike. It was Samael, slowly marching toward them.

“Only those of royal lineage, or royal privilege, could know,” the demon continued. “But none could speak a word of it to you, whelp. It was forbidden.” Samael stopped close before the two, and like a stony whip, his index finger point upward. “By her.”

Spike followed the pointed red finger, and winced at the sun’s glare.

“Princess Celestia?” Spike asked, dumbstruck again. “But that’s…”

“That, my young Wyvern, was a sacred duty sworn by every guard, advisor, prince, and princess from the very day you were born,” Samael said. “It was not mere secrecy that held their tongues for eighteen years, whelp. Their charge was to prevent the Wyverns’ return at any cost.”

Spike’s eyes returned to the ground, and Twilight’s back to Spike.

“I see,” Spike muttered, his voice a low scratchy thing. “If I ever found out, I might’ve gotten ideas.”

Samael clapped his hands together. “And he gets it in one,” he said.

Twilight ignored the demon, reaching a hoof out to the now shaking dragon. “Spike. Please, please don’t think that? We—”

Her hoof was swatted away and wide, hateful eyes met hers. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Spike barked.

Twilight gasped short and shallow, her breaking heart clutched by her swatted hoof.

“So that’s it, huh? I’m a threat to you like the others were? That’s why you left me in the dark? That’s why you’ve spent the last year pretending you still cared?!”

Twilight’s hoof clutched harder over her chest, her head shaking oh so fast. “No, no, no, no, no, Spike.” She couldn’t bring herself to raise her voice, managing only a pitiful meeping tone. “I’ve always cared, and I always will. I love you Spike.”

She hadn’t uttered those words since the first day she made Spike cry, but she meant it. More than she ever did, perhaps more than she even wanted to.

But she meant it.

“I… I love you so mu—”

“Liar!”

She gasped longer and louder, another piece of her heart breaking like dusty old porcelain.

“You knew what I went through to discover myself! You knew what it meant to me! Still you kept me in the dark, kept my own people away from me! Mentors, creators, my parents…!” Spike completely stopped, his jaw numb. “My… my parents.”

Out of sheer instinct, he looked to Twilight. But turned to Samael instead.

“My parents! Did they…? Are they still…?”

The demon stroked his chin, considering Spike for a time. Misty smoke puffed from his nostrils as he sighed.

“No, little one,” Samael said. “They are not.”

Every glimmer of hope in Spike’s eyes dimmed, flickered, and died, his eyes averting. He looked back up at Samael.

“Spike,” the dragon said. Samael raised a brow. “My name. It’s Spike.”

Samael blinked. Then, out of every snide remark or rude gesture he could have made, he smiled. Genuinely. He crouched before Spike and put an open palm to his own chest. “Samael,” he said. “Understand this. While not a single living Wyvern escaped the purge, that didn’t account for their eggs.”

“Wait…” Spike said with a squinted eye. “What?”

“Your people evolved to survive seasons upon seasons of solitude in their unborn state. Some have said that Wyvern eggs can survive centuries at a time, through hot or cold, land or sea. Like tiny fortresses all their own.”

Spike frowned thoughtfully. “Was I…?”

Samael nodded. “Indeed. Another adaptation, however, proved to be… double-edged. Without the presence of their caretaker—parent or otherwise—Wyvern eggs can still be hatched. But only with powerful magic,” he said.

Spike’s eyes widened. “Wait… Are you saying… Are there more eggs out there?”

Samael carelessly waved a wrist and said, “Perhaps.”

Spike frowned. “‘Perhaps?’”

Samael gave another careless wave. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. For all I know, they could’ve been picked off by hungry predators eons ago.” He leaned closer to the small reptile. “But what in this life is ever certain, until we discover it for ourselves… Spike.”

The glimmer in his eyes returned, if only as a dim light. Something struck his heart, leaving him breathless, a hand against his chest. He turned away from Samael, away from Twilight, away from everything, and stared vastly at the mountainous expanse of Equestria.

His eyes darted to every nook and cranny he could find, his breath shallow, his heart racing.

Then his eyes flashed green fire and he gasped. He stumbled back and stared at his shaking hand.

“They’re… I can… I have to…” Every word was whispered, every whisper, a call for duty. “I have to go.”

A deep-seeded, long buried instinct drove his steps forward, but stopped at a clamping pressure on his tail. He spun around to a frowning Twilight, her face absolutely hideous with tears. His tail between her teeth.

Spike grunted and said, “Twilight, let go.”

Twilight shook her head.

He frowned. “I said let go.”

Her tears fell harder, her head shaking faster. Spike glared straight ahead with a defeated sigh. Then turned back around with small blast of fire. Twilight yelped off the dragon’s tail swiping at her darkened nose like an annoyed cat.

She regained herself and saw Spike turned to her, a solemn frown on his face. She could only stare at those defeated, abandoned eyes, her knees still prone.

“Twilight… I...” Spike stammered. He stepped back, and instinctively, Twilight leaned forward. “Just don’t follow me.”

The alicorn began to crawl. “No… You can’t go, Spike,” she whispered, somehow knowing Spike would hear. “Not like this.”

Spike’s feet rooted to the ground, looking away.

“After everything we’ve accomplished? After every trial we’ve overcome?” Twilight crawled closer, her belly scraping against the soil. “Spike, you’ve conquered your dragon greed here. Your worst instincts were cast aside for us—your home.” Her tears sprinkled the dirt as she crawled closer still. “Your family.”

Spike frowned, but remained where he stood. Finally, Twilight reached him, her a gentle hoof on his turned cheek.

“You’ve even turned down your own to be with us. Doesn’t that mean anything, Spike?” She turned his head to face her. “What about the crystal ponies, who practically worship you? What about our friends? What about Rarity?”

Spike frowned harder. But in an instant, that frown shattered into bright and wide eyes. The corners of Twilight’s mouth twitched, hope returning to her tear-soaked eyes.

“Ponyville wouldn’t be the same without you. I wouldn’t be the same,” she said, daring a nuzzle against the seemingly shocked whelp. “Please, just return to the castle, and I swear, when this is over, everything will be just fine. I swear I’ll make things right again.”

Spike’s hands reached up and grabbed those purple hooves, his touch soft. Soothing. Twilight’s smile shattered when her hooves were thrown away like broken crutches. Spike’s face never changed.

“I… I think I finally understand,” he said. “My purpose here? Why you raised me?” He stepped back, and Twilight couldn’t help but reach for him, shaking her head, her eyes pleading for reason. Spike stepped back again. “Why, Twilight? Were you that afraid of what I could be? Or couldn’t you stand failing Celestia?”

Twilight crawled forward again, her already-teary face accompanied with more tears. Spike stepped back again.

“‘The weapon Celestia always wanted’. Now I get it,” Spike continue with a lower voice. “I’d collect all this power, and Equestria would have their juggernaut. A loyal pet. Of course I’d never think to turn on you. Because I’d never know my heritage—my culture—was destroyed by those I’d protect.”

Twilight crawled onward, her short breaths falling to quiet sobs.

“That was your plan, wasn’t it?” Spike asked, now full-on walking backwards. “To raise me from a lie? You think I’d be a part of this, knowing everything I’ve been taught was a lie?”

“You’ll never make it, Spike,” Twilight said, her child constantly out of reach. “Don’t you get it?! You’ll never make it!”

Spike stopped, and for some unknowable reason, so did Twilight.

“You’ll be hunted, Spike! Not just feared, but hunted! If you leave, they’ll know! Celestia will know! Canterlot, the Crystal Empire, everyone! They’ll hunt you to the ends of Equestria, and they won’t rest knowing you live! And I… I-I’ll have no choice! YOU KNOW THAT!”

A single tear ran down the dragon’s cheek, but evaporated before it fell. He stepped back again.

“Don’t do this, Spike, “Twilight pleaded. “Don’t make an enemy out of me. Don’t leave me.”

Finally, Spike turned his back on Twilight, and that cut deeper than any blade.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Twilight persisted, now knowing the futility. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

Spike marinated in those words, his eyes captured by a rich world he’d only seen from inside his backwoods home. A world he may have never truly known until that day. With a thousand-mile stare, he prepared to take the first real step of his entire life.

“I won’t have to…” he said.

“I’m sorry.” It was all Twilight could say. “I’m sorry.” Her tears fell even harder, sprinkling the dirt. Her teeth gnashed together, her frown as strong as she could muster.

“I know,” Spike muttered.

He ran.

“No, Spike!” Twilight shouted, lifting off her knees and falling back down. “Don’t go!”

Spike kept running.

“We… we can work this out! You and me! Just come back!” Her horn flickered with light for a teleportation spell, but she shrieked with a splitting headache instead. Her chin hit the ground, and she could only stare after the fading dragon.

“Spike.” Long-forgotten memories swept passed her eyes. “Spike!” The thought of waking up every morning without him beside her bed--of looking into a mirror and seeing a coward staring back, of realizing her secrecy caused all of it--finally broke the remains of her heart. “SPIKE!”

Spike kept running, his little form fading to a shallow dot far away.

Twilight’s cheek hit the dirt, and she cried. Loudly. Her tears slowly darkened the dry soil.

Samael, too, found himself transfixed on Spike’s fading form, looking on with great interest.

“The Wyverns are broken, shattered against the walls of history. Forgotten,” Samael said, if only to himself. He pet his chin. “But… from the dusty remains, beats the heart of their child. And with him, beats hope; a new future.”

Samael stared for a while longer, until Spike was completely gone. He nodded and turned away, his heavy steps carrying him past the broken ponies he’d beaten.

One by one, he admired his handiwork; Rarity shaking and clutching at her broken side, Pinkie Pie sprawled on her belly, Applejack motionless on her side, Fluttershy weeping in a pile of broken wood—probably a cart—with a splint shoved through a wing, and finally Rainbow Dash, sprawled on her back, glaring at the demon like a restricted child.

A distant stomp caught his ear.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Samael already knew it was Twilight. But he kept walking.

“Leaving, of course,” Samael replied. “My work here is done.”

Twilight’s hooves gave out again, and she crashed back onto her knees. “‘Leaving’? That’s it? After everything you’ve done, you think you can just leave?!” she shouted.

Samael kept walking.

“How dare you…” Twilight hissed. “How dare you?!”

Samael kept walking.

“We were a family, you monster! I raised him! Me! No one else! I loved him like a son and a brother! I fed him by hoof, I burped him, I sang to him in his crib, I pushed him on the swings, I kissed his bruises and cuts to make them all better!” By then, Twilight knew she was crying, but excused it for perfectly justifiable rage. “You! You took him away from me!”

Samael raised a fist, and a swirling mesh of red and orange light burst open in his path. He kept walking.

“I’ll never let you get away with this!” Twilight swore, lifting herself again. “You hear me?! Never!”

Then, just inches from that fiery light, Samael stopped. Twilight’s wings stood erect, blood pumping through her shaky legs.

He turned to the alicorn with smoky glowing eyes. “You have shown me something today, Twilight Sparkle. Something that, despite your misguided ideals, has put my faith in you.” He faced her completely. “You’ve lied to your oldest companion, stole from him his heritage, and did it with an honest-to-God smile on your face. It seems you too understand that, sometimes, loyalty must be forsworn to do what must be done. For the greater good of your people.”

Samael’s eyes averted, his gaze thoughtful and reflecting.

“Huh. Not so different, you and I,” the demon said.

Twilight quite literally spat at the comment, like raw sewage was thrown in her mouth.

“I am nothing like you!” she hissed. “You gallivant from life to life and trample on them! You hurt others with nothing but delight! You take the most important things to ponies away from them! I hate you!”

Twilight gasped, barely keeping a hoof from shooting to her mouth. Her last three words were like biting into moldy hay and swallowing by complete accident.

“I… I hate you,” she whispered.

Red light trimmed her body.

“I hate you!”

Her eyes smoked with a misty purple.

“I HATE YOU!”

Her horn burst with black energy, a green light dotting the tip. Her irises fell red, her whites turning a murky green.

Samael just grinned.

“Hmm. It appears King Sombra left you a little gift.” He turned back to the swirling light. “Good. Use that gift, and there may just be hope for you yet, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

He stepped through the light, and with a shrill scream that scratched and shredded her throat, Twilight shattered the ground on takeoff, and followed.

The portal bent into itself and collapsed.

Chapter Four

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“And I want the vanguard bolstered at the front gates immediately.”

The crystal mare saluted, her hoof clinking against her helmet. “Yes, Your Highness!” she said.

Cadance held back her grimace, shifting in her amethyst throne. “Status report on our reserves?”

The armored unicorn nodded again. “All accounted for and ready for combat, ma’am! Pegasi units await in the clouds, and all others guard every corner in squads. Underground forces are preparing as we speak. Ma’am!” she declared.

Finally, Cadance grimaced. Perhaps it could’ve been blamed on the light glaring off the crystal walls. Or maybe her shoulder was kneaded the wrong way by the ponies at her sides. It might’ve been the armored cherry-colored pegasus standing beside the other soldier, her jaw shifting side to side, and her hooves clicking here and there. Clearly a fresh recruit for the Crystal Guard.

“I… Very good, solider,” she said with her best smile.

The princess of love turned to an ivory mare—her personal advisor—who gave only the smallest flinch.

“Quartz?”

“Y-yes, Your Highness?”

“Where is my prince,” Cadance asked.

“Prince Shining Armor is detained helping the underground reserves. As far as we know, he hasn’t learned of your,” Quartz cleared her throat, “return.”

Cadance winced a bit, caressing a sore wing. Her horn shimmered, as did her feathery limb, and the stinging cramp disappeared.

“I see,” Cadance said, carefully pulling herself from her gentle massages. “Then I shall tend to my subjects.”

“B-but, Princess Cadance, ma’am!” the soldier exclaimed as the alicorn rose. “Forgive my audacity, but you took a helluva drop. Hit four spires on the way down, no less! Shouldn’t you rest a bit more?”

Cadance grimaced again, but she blamed the ache in her hooves when she stood. “I assure you, I’ve rested enough. For now, I must ensure the Empire’s safety.” She walked down the staircase, every step grinding her joints. “Then, I must take my leave.”

She dared not wince at the resulting protests. Instead, she remained stoic as she sauntered past them. Cadance turned to the bickering crystal ponies and raised her hoof. They all fell silent.

“I understand your concern, my little ponies,” she began as gently as her hidden pain would allow. “But the enemy is ahoof, and he is very powerful. Once I’m finished here, I must confront him again.”

Quartz stepped forward, concerned. “‘The enemy’? You mean… your meeting with Samael wasn’t…?”

Cadance adopted a sad frown. “No. Samael has turned on us. He rejected our friendship and now threatens to engulf Equestria in war. And in his grasp lies the only way to stop it: a key that closes the gate from which he entered.”

The unicorn soldier stepped beside Quartz. “Then we shall stand with you, Your Highness! On your word, the Crystal Guard will rally together and—”

“No.”

The soldier sputtered to silence.

“Your task, along with every Crystal Guard unit, is to protect the Empire.” Cadance’s voice gently reverberated off the crystal walls. “I will not throw any of you into this fire. You may be needed in time, and if that time comes, you will defend your people and your empire till your last breath,” she said, taking a quiet breath of her own. “Is that clear?”

There was a beat of silence, the armored mare’s brow furrowed in hesitation. She straightened her back and saluted.

“Crystal-clear, ma’am!” She turned to her now trembling subordinate. “You heard her, Private! I want this message delivered to every squad leader yesterday! Flap to it!”

The pegasus managed a clumsy salute, her hoof keeping her helmet above her eyes. “Y-yes, Lieutenant!” And so, she flapped to it, zipping out from the throne balcony.

Cadance nodded and said, “You’re all dismissed.”

The pink alicorn watched the ponies bow, break away, and leave the throne room to their respective tasks. All except one. Cadance cleared her throat and leaned toward the unicorn soldier with a gentle.

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant,” she said evenly.

The mare nodded stoutly. “My apologies, Your Highness,” she said, now a lot more calm. “But I was assigned by Prince Shining Armor himself to escort and protect you at all costs.”

Cadance pursed her lips and raised a brow.

“Should he not be available upon your return,” the soldier added.

Cadance rolled her eyes and smiled with a sigh. “Of course he did,” she said. “Very well.”

She walked to the throne balcony, gazing out over the crystal-cut expanse of her empire. She’d always thought, every single time, that the view would never cease to delight and amaze. This time, she couldn’t stop thinking of all the terrible things that would go wrong if she failed.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?” the soldier requested from behind her.

“Granted,” Cadance replied almost too quickly.

The unicorn’s posture nearly crumbled like toothpicks holding a cinder block. She released a mute sigh and stared at her leader’s back.

“You’ve briefed us on your task, said exactly what your plan was and what you hoped to gain from it,” she began. “You’ve only told us his name, but not much else. Tell me, princess; just what are we up against?”

Cadance froze. For some ridiculous reason, she didn’t expect the question. But her answer was clear.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Ma’am?”

“I don’t know what we’re up against. I’ve never seen or felt anything like it. When I first saw him, I didn’t know what to think. Clearly, from what I’ve learned of him before his visit, I should’ve expected the worst. But when he spoke to me, I felt so much more.”

The unicorn was silent.

“It was like staring at a piece of Creation itself; a denizen of history, ancient history, lost history… even history yet to be written. In him I saw something old. Primordial. For a moment I thought he’d actually accept our offer, that he’d find reason to teach us, to show us more than we could even imagine.”

The unicorn gulped dryly as Cadance turned around, glaring at the crystal floor.

“I was wrong from the start, and I knew it,” she said, turning toward her escort. “We were all wrong to trust Samael. Now, our naivety has put Equestria in mortal danger. I… I put my subjects beneath the demon’s blade. I could’ve stopped this, if I’d just said ‘no’.”

The unicorn stepped forward, her eyes bright with fury and her brows knitted. “Permission to speak, ma’am?!” she accidentally shouted.

Cadance sprang back, her left hoof raising a bit. She straightened up and smiled at the determined mare.

“I’ve already granted that, soldier,” she said.

The unicorn’s ears folded back, her blue cheeks slightly reddened. “Right. But…” She hardened herself again. “Princess, it’s not your fault. You did what you did for Equestria’s benefit. You meant no ill will toward your kingdom; only knowledge and peace.”

Cadance suddenly found eye contact very disturbing. But she didn’t look away. “We all knew the risks… and we did it anyway.”

“Yes.” The soldier stepped closer. “For the greater good of your people.” She glanced at the ground for only a moment, then returned to Cadance. “We did the same.”

Cadance titled her head without quite knowing it.

“My clan… we were once a powerful force in the Crystal Guard... before he rose to power,” the unicorn said. “When Sombra slayed Princess Platinum, he took everything—rights, laws, money, food, even the guards. He ordered the entire Crystal Guard to capture civilians, to enslave them to mine more crystals.”

Cadance grimaced again, but only for the recurring sickness in her stomach every time she heard this.

“But not all in the Crystal Guard succumbed to the king’s influence. One segment—a unicorn family—defied him by the very blade. That was my kin. They fought Sombra’s tyranny for days on end until they realized they waged war on old friends and allies. They… could no longer stand to slay their own, so they fled.”

Cadance stopped, and the memory projecting parallel with the soldier’s story snapped apart at the seams. That information was new.

“Only a few had escaped, but swore they’d return a thousand strong and overthrow the mad king,” the mare said. “They never did.”

Cadance’ brought a hoof to her lips, her eyes gleaming with pity. “Do you know what happened to them?” she couldn’t help but ask.

The soldier’s hind hooves clicked on the floor. “It’s said they migrated to Canterlot soon after their escape. Which, I imagine, is how the Sisters of Night and Day learned of Sombra’s takeover. They arrived alone, battled the king, turned him to shadow, and…” She stared back at the floor, her eyes hidden by shadow. “Well, you know the rest princess.”

No. She didn’t. Cadance thought she knew the rest before that day. She thought, after months and months of pillaging the Crystal library for information, she’d know everything a princess of the Empire would ever need.

Cadance brought a gentle hoof to the soldier’s chin and raised it. She was crying but made no sound. Her tears fell but her eyes remained strong and impassive.

“What happened to you?” the pink alicorn asked.

A brief flicker of broken faith and honor flashed in those eyes, but they quickly returned to that stony ‘royal guard’ face.

“My husband… and my son.”

Cadance nearly puked. Her hoof swam from the unicorn’s chin to her withers.

“He wanted me to kill them. It was my duty as a Crystal Guard to kill all traitors, but… I didn’t. I couldn’t. I let them escape, I aided their escape. I watched the only family I had left flee the Empire, and I stayed to serve the ‘justice’ of a tyrant.”

Cadance’s hoof stroked the soldier’s crystalline withers, on the verge of tears herself.

“I couldn’t go with them. I wasn’t worthy. Not after I’d killed my own parents for disobeying Sombra. I was a traitor to my people, to my princess, to myself. I wanted to…”

The unicorn stopped, and stepped away from Cadance out of sheer instinct, drying her tears. She straightened again, her face dry but twice as shiny.

“I stayed behind to atone for my sins. I freed many slaves from Sombra’s hold, pretending I was still following orders. I brought them food, provided shelter, and killed any corrupt soldier that discovered me,” she said, again staring at the floor. “It didn’t last.”

Cadance was tempted to close the distance again and reconnect with the mare. She didn’t.

“Word got out that a traitor had been freeing slaves. And I was discovered, captured, and brought before the king. I… heh. I was sentenced to death.”

By now, Cadance could barely stand. She wanted to sit on the floor like a filly riveted by an elder’s tale. Which, ironically, was very much the case.

“That’s when the Royal Sisters came and defeated the king. And now, here I am. One thousand years later. Wielding the armor and sword I’ve lost every right to wield. Without a husband to kiss and touch.” Her voice fell into a whisper. “Without a son to guide and nurture. I… I never even got see him grow up—”

Pink arms latched around the soldier’s neck, and her breath hitched. Her wide eyes dilated and focused again before she realized Cadance was hugging her. And shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” the alicorn whispered. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Hesitating, trembling blue arms reached up and returned the embrace.

“I… I meant no sentiment, princess. It’s just…”

Cadance pulled away, both hooves now on the unicorn’s withers, and eyes wet with tears. “Nonsense. To us, the Crystal Empire vanished for a thousand years. But to you…”

The armored pony gently pulled away again, and Cadance finally got the hint that this pony didn’t like being touched. She regained her stoic expression.

“My point is this, princess: The Crystal Guard took up the sword and oath, facing war and death for the greater good of their people. My family left the only home they’d ever known for the greater good of their people. And I…” She hesitated for only heartbeat. “I betrayed my leaders and allies, foreswore my family for their freedom, threw myself before the mercy of a bloodthirsty king, and was damned to a millenium of purgatory. All for the greater good of my people.”

“And now, you…” The unicorn continued. “You, my princess, have risked the very sovereignty of Equestria in order to lift it to a golden age of wisdom and peace. And you’d condemn your guards to defend the helpless and wage war against Samael alone.”

“For the greater good of my people…” Cadance found herself whispering.

A mutual, companionable silence fell between the mares. One who’d known only peace until that day, and one who hadn’t know peace for over a thousand years.

Cadance stepped up to the crystal guard.

“Brave soul,” she began smoothly, invitingly, “what is your name?”

The unicorn put a hoof under her helmet and lifted. Cadance’s jaw dropped. Not for the unicorn’s feral, chest-tightening beauty, or the long faded scar grooved over her dulled right eye, but for a white streak that ran along her mane and—after a second look—her tail.

“Sparkle,” the unicorn said. “First-class Lieutenant, Diamond Sparkle.”

Eventually, Cadance found the sense to realize she needed air, and that gawking at the now-shifting unicorn didn’t give the best impression. Her jaw clicked shut, but her eyes remained vivid.

“You… You’re an ancestor of the Sparkle-clan. I never imagined I’d…” Cadance trailed off.

Diamond nodded and said, “Yes. Fourth generation, to be precise.” She curled an arm to brace her jeweled helmet. “I’ll say this much: I’m prouder of my clan now than I ever was. They’ve, at last, ascended to royalty, and still maintain the pride of the Royal Guard. Hence Prince Shining Armor.”

Cadance’s eyes wandered a bit, a smile tugging her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured.

Cadance imagined Shining Armour standing strong at her side, wearing his usual dopey grin, and she immediately felt the tight knot of anxiety in her breast unravel.

She snapped from her musings and focused on Diamond.

“Wait. You know of Twilight Sparkle?” Cadance asked.

The armored mare smiled. “Element of Magic? Newly crowned Princess of Friendship? Yes, I know of her.”

Cadance’s smile widened, as did her eyes. “Oh? Have you spoken with her?”

Diamond’s smile dropped, and Cadance’s followed.

“But… there were plenty of opportunities to meet,” the pink mare said, her brows curled in concern. “What stopped you?”

Diamond was silent for a disturbingly long moment. Long enough for Cadance to bash herself for, yet again, asking things that didn’t concern her.

“I don’t deserve to speak with her, or any of my descendants, really. I imagine most of the Sparkle-clan today don’t even know I exist. Perhaps it’s better this way,” Diamond said. She flinched at her princess’ sharp gasp.

“So you… you haven’t heard?” Cadance asked with a hoof to her lips.

Diamond stared blankly for a few second, then blinked with a tilted head. “What do you mean?”

Cadance hesitated, her ears falling flat. “You haven’t… heard anything from your other clan-members since the Empire’s return?” she asked.

The unicorn sighed. “As I said, it is no longer my place. Especially not with Twilight. Her, a matron of friendship itself? With me, a traitor to my people?”

“H-how could you think that?” Cadance cried. “I’ve no doubt that Twilight Sparkle would trip over her own tail to meet you!”

Diamond almost stepped back, but pressed her hooves to the crystal floor.

“I… I cannot. I’ve watched her during her few visits here. She’s such a sweet young thing.” The crystal mare paused, her eyes, again, meeting the floor. “If she ever learned of what I’ve done…”

Cadance wanted to reach out and touch her, but knew better by now.

“I mean, it’s hard enough speaking to the prince. Especially after…” Diamond stopped, her muzzle a bit red.

Cadance raised a brow, noting the other mare’s blush.

“Especially after what?”

“I… Let’s just say, I’ll never speak to another new arrival without a full briefing on who they are. Again. Ever.”

A natural instinct, honed by years of marriage counseling and pony-watching in Canterlot parks, answered Cadance’s question right there. It also told her to drop the subject without another word. It told her that very, very loudly.

“You flirted with him before you knew you were related.” Cadance smiled at Diamond’s darkened blush. “Didn’t you?”

“Shamelessly.”

It was no surprise, really. Given Shining Armor’s reputation and new status as ‘Prince’, mares had thrown themselves at him more than usual. But Cadance trusted him. He gave her a reason to trust him. Every single night. Again and again and again.

“Ah.”

Diamond’s face lit up with terror, her eye contact now forced. “F-forgive me, princess. I meant no scandal.”

To the unicorn’s surprise, Cadance giggled behind a hoof. “Think nothing of it,” the alicorn said. “I’m curious though, Diamond; The Sparkle-clan derived from you—from the crystal ponies. So…”

“When crystal ponies mate with, well… ordinaries, the newborns lose their shine. When that foal matures and propagates, the results don’t change,” Diamond said.

Cadance tilted her head, her eyes bright. “Huh. A lot like mules…”

Silence.

Every muscle in Diamonds face was frozen—no, permanently grafted—in place, her stare empty and crushing all at once. Cadance cleared her throat.

“My apologies. Bad comparison,” the alicorn said.

Diamond held up a blue hoof with closed eyes an easy smile.

Another blanket of silence fell over the two, and finally, Cadance returned to the balcony view, her eyes hard and determined.

“There’s work to do.”

That was all it took.

Diamond deftly flipped her helmet and slipped it back on. “Yes, ma’am,” she saluted.

Cadance’s shoulders dropped just a bit. She turned back to Diamond and said, “Please, call me Cadance.”

Diamond dropped her salute, her stony look faltering a bit. “I-I’ll work on that, ma’am,” she said.

Cadance smiled and said, “Fair enough.” She turned back to the task at hand, her smile fading. “Come. There’s no more time to waste.”

Her eyes closed and her horn flickered with light. When she opened them again, she and Diamond stood outside the Crystal Palace. Her wings stood stout, and her ear leaned toward strong, steady hoofsteps. She turned to a focused Diamond Sparkle, who adjusted the strap of her sword.

“Our assignment is simple, Diamond,” Cadance began. “Ensure the people are safe. After that, I must go.”

Cadance saw another crack in that stony expression. Clearly, Diamond still disliked that last bit, but reassurance could wait.

Without another word, the two marched toward the barricaded homes. Cadance listened to the steady pattern of hoofsteps, nearly in sync with her own. Then she heard only her own. With a raised brow, Cadance turned back at a perplexed Diamond, who stared at the ground.

“Is something the matter?” the princess asked.

Diamond’s eyes returned to the other mare, then behind her, then to her side. The unicorn frowned.

Cadance followed her eyes, and saw it too. It wasn’t long until they both realized they were standing in a winged shadow. The alicorn’s eyelids slowly, painfully rose.

Oh no.

Her head whipped up, squinting at the afternoon sun blaring behind the Crystal Palace’s pointed peak. A shadowed figure butchered the sun’s rays.

“No…” Cadance whispered. “How did he get in here? I spent days fortifying that protection spell.”

Diamond was immediately at her side, prone for combat. “Princess, is that him? Is that Samael?”

The shadowed blot dropped from the palace, falling like a stone broken off a cliff. Both mare’s heads followed it until the distant, rattling boom.

“No! The Crystal Heart!” Cadance shouted, unfurling her wings and jetting forward.

Diamond’s every muscle snapped taut and, without a word, she galloped after her princess toward the jagged pillar of debris.

As they approached, they saw legions of crystal guards—unicorn and pegasus alike—bound toward the danger with them. Soon, they all arrived, the guards forming a circle of swords and spears with hurried steps. Another squad of guards did the same around the Crystal Heart, spears aimed straight toward the thick rising dust.

A great wind burst out, and everypony squinted or shielded their eyes. Cadance stood still and focused as the dust wisped and streamed away.

There he was. His bulging, winged back to the princess and her guards, facing the slowly rotating Crystal Heart. She noted every widened eye on the Crystal Guard; how some of them nearly dropped their weapons, or how some stumbled back. Some even audibly gulped.

Then Cadance turned to Diamond Sparkle. Her body was as still as death. Her eyes like the calm before a storm. She was actually ready.

And it nearly gave Cadance a heart attack.

The princess of love placed a hoof on Diamond’s shoulder, and the soldier turned to her.

“Stay here.”

“I… What?! Your Highness, I—”

“That’s an order.”

Cadance very nearly apologized when Diamond flinched with a hung jaw. The alicorn kept her stern gaze.

Diamond closed her mouth and nodded. “Y-yes ma’am.”

Cadance turned to Samael, inhaled with a raised foreleg to her chest, and exhaled with a clean swipe of her limb. Her eyes softened, and her chest loosened a bit. She marched toward the demon, ignoring all the gawks and hushed whispers from the guards.

She stopped only feet away from him, her wings closed against her sides.

“Samael,” she greeted.

Samael looked left, and that half of the guards trembled and tensed. He looked right, and that half did the same.

He stared back at the Crystal Heart and chuckled. A deep, rumbling, terrible thing, like a volcano’s molten snore.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Cadenza?” Samael asked, turning toward the mare. “The Princess of Love and the last Wyvern: saving the Crystal Empire.” He laced his clawed hands together, smiling. “No fairytale could ever compare.”

“H-how did you know about Sp—” Cadance blinked, and closed her eyes with a long sigh. “Dumb question…”

Samael hummed and stepped forward, ignoring the clinks of spears and swords pointing at him. “Yes, isn’t it, though? But you didn’t answer my question, princess,” he said. Cadance opened her eyes and frowned. “Did you enjoy yourself? The Heart’s power coursing through your veins? The mindless reverence of the crystal horses?”

Samael paused, grinning at more hushed whispers among the guard. Cadance held her frown.

“Or was it killing Sombra that put it all in place?” he asked.

Cadance’s frown hardened. “I told you,” she began through gritted teeth, “we didn’t know that would happen. We didn’t expect that much power.”

Samael’s smile dropped.

“‘The Crystal Heart has returned. Use the light and love in your hearts to ensure King Sombra does not’,” he quoted with a gesturing hand. “Face it Cadenza: you wanted him dead.”

“No,” Cadance growled.

Samael strode toward the alicorn, his every step a thick clap on the crystal ground. “You wanted the Heart to destroy him—to establish peace in the Empire.”

The guards jutted their weapons toward the approaching demon. Cadance held up a hoof, and every weapon receded like a shore before the tide. Soon, Samael was upon her, hunched over, face-to-face.

“Without all that power, what would’ve happened?” Samael continued. “Your precious empire would’ve crumble into a black, reeking cesspool , carved with the bones of everyone who stood against Sombra. The ones you’ve sworn to protect—those who cower in their homes, even now—would roam these very roads in chains, spurred only by cracking whips and a tyrant’s sickening gaze.”

Cadance’s lips pulled over her teeth.

“Do you deny it?” Samael asked.

The alicorn said nothing. She glared fiercely at the crystal road, her brows twitching, her mane dampened by Samael’s scorching, withering breath.

She wanted to gouge her own eyes out when she felt tears stinging them.

“I... If there was any other way…” she muttered if only to hide her shaky voice.

Samael stood tall again, laughing deeply, triumphantly.

“But I approve, Cadenza!” he boasted. “What other way was there? The Elements of Harmony? The Royal Sisters? The same means by which Sombra would simply return? How many times would you’ve had him defeated? How many wayward generations would you have damned to that cycle? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? A Thousand? Would you have squandered eternity fighting a problem no one could’ve just wished away?”

When blood started dripping off her chin, Cadance was vaguely certain she should’ve stopped biting her lip. She glared up at a clawed finger pointing at her.

“Whether you like it or not, you’ve made the right choice. For the greater good of your people.”

Cadance gasped, and Samael stroked his chin, studying her.

“Makes me wonder, princess, what else you’d do for your kingdom? What other sins you’ve buried from every ear and eye? From the questions they give? From your beloved prince?”

At the mere mention of Shining Armor, Cadance nearly gored Samael with her horn. She inhaled with a hoof to her chest, then swiped the air, exhaling. She looked back up at the fiend.

“The key, Samael…” she said.

Samael’s fingers left his chin, and he hunched over to face her again. “Ah, yes. That. Have I not told you what to do, Cadenza? Was I not clear? If you want that key—if you wish to stop the torrent of wings, claws, and blades from washing over Equestria—you’ll have to stop me.”

Cadance closed her eyes as Samael got even close, his chapped, smiling lips only inches from her twitching ear.

“And that requires strength you don’t possess,” he said. He backed away from the twitching ear, once again face-to-face. “Or are you actually relying on these insects,” he gestured toward the Crystal Guard with a shaking, cracking fist, “to fight your battles? Don’t tell me you’ve picked up Celestia’s habits.”

Diplomacy was quickly becoming an impossibility. Both for Samael’s constant taunting, and Cadance’s crumbling patience. Of course, a frowning Diamond Sparkle stepping up beside the princess didn’t improve matters.

“You’re stalling, demon!” the armored mare barked. “You give your legions time to group at your gate! Relinquish the key and begone with you!”

Samael looked at Diamond like she wore a hat made of wood-shavings and a bendy straw. Cadance caught the look and swore she felt a lung collapse. She narrowed an eye at the brave soldier.

“Diamond, what are you doing?” she demanded. “I told you to stay back.”

The blue unicorn hardened her stance, her sheathed sword glowing as her horn did. “Surely you see his trickery, princess. He means to distract us and gain the advantage! If we strike now, if we give no quarter, we can end this before it begins!” Diamond claimed, shooting the alicorn a harsh look.

Cadance faltered for only a second but frowned again. “Stand down, Lieutenant--”

“Wait.”

Both mares shot Samael a dazed look. The demon considered Diamond for a moment, stroking his horned chin yet again.

“This one is… unique. Familiar, in a way,” Samael murmured. “Though, I’m curious, little one.” He dipped past Cadance, even lower to the ground, a clawed hand on the road. “Who are you to meddle in my affairs?”

Diamond threw her chest out and looked right up at Samael’s yellow eyes. “One who loves and protects her people! Prey on us, and I’ll see our land cleansed of you, demon!”

Between Samael’s quaking silence, and the symptoms of an oncoming stroke, Cadance started to think she should’ve just stayed in bed that morning.

Samael’s eyes glowed that eerie yellow glow.

“I see,” he grumbled. “Interesting. You look at yourself, and see a redeemed mare. Humbled by experience. Tempered by conviction. An absolved soul who destroyed herself for her people.”

Diamond was clearly trying—and failing—to hide the crack in her steeled expression.

Samael frowned and said, “I look at you and see only a traitor. Murderous filth. A short-sighted dog who follows any order, even the murder of her own parents.” He paused with a raised brow, studying the now-shaking unicorn even closer.

His eyes slowly—ever so slowly—widened, and the next word left his lips with hushed awed.

“Sparkle-clan…” Samael smiled.

Whether she noticed or not, Diamond’s jaw hung open, her horn and weapon losing their glow.

“You… How… When…”

Samael pushed himself from the road and stood tall, his arms spread, his fists clenched. Laughing long and loud, he coiled his legs and sprang off the road, vanishing in orange light.

“No!” Cadance shouted, unfurling her wings and shoving Diamond behind her. “Samael! Show yourself!”

Her answer was the deafening cry of a crystal guard, reminding her that they were even there. All eyes darted to the screaming unicorn, the closest ones backing away. His body crackled with violent power, and he dropped his spear, clutching his armored chest.

Another guard did the same. Then another. And another.

It spread like a virus with no cure. One became four. Four became ten. Soon, Cadance and Diamond were surround by screaming guards, all surging with red and orange electricity.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended with a loud boom and a blinding flash. Cadance and Diamond stood amidst the fading light, shielding their eyes with arms and wings. When their eyes opened, the guards were gone.

Diamond started to shake. “No… No, what happened?!” she yelled, galloping to and fro like it would somehow bring them back. “Where are they?!”

Cadance just gaped.

A sharp gleam caught the alcorn’s eye. She looked up, and there, floating from the sky, was a head-sized, blood-red orb. Diamond stopped her frantic search when she saw it. The shining ball touched the ground with the barest clink.

Then, they saw them, heard them. All writhing in that tiny orb. The crystal guards’ muffled scream bounced within, tiny faces swimming beneath the surface like trapped tadpoles.

“My stars!” Diamond shouted, trotting toward the ball.

“Diamond, wait!”

Cadance called too late.

The armored unicorn was inches from them--just a swipe with her arm and she’d have had them. An orange flash, a dropping foot, and a shockwave of broken crystal and power destroyed the notion.

Diamond bounced and rolled away, stopping at a gasping Cadance’s hooves.

“Diamond! Are you—”

“FIEND!” Diamond roared, flipping to her hooves and glaring at a laughing Samael. “Release them!”

The demon knelt before the orb, clamped his iron-like claws around it, and stood rigidly.

“This just got interesting. I dare say, Sparkle-clan,” Samael growled,staring at the red ball, “Had you not interfered, you may have joined these… poor souls.” He caressed the screaming jewel.

Diamond breathed for a retort, but choked on her first syllable when Samael brought the orb to his opened mouth.

“W-what are you…?” Cadance, too, choked on her own words.

His jaw parted with a sickening crack, and large, powerful fangs clamped around the orb.

“No!” Diamond cried.

Samael’s jaw slammed shut, and a loud, gurgling gulp burrowed into their ears. His throat bulged and veins tunneled through his neck. And like that, the deed was done.

“Hmm. Captured more than I thought. I wasn’t aware your underground reserves were so… numerous,” he said.

Cadance’s eyebrows twitched up.

“One of them is particularly strong; familiar too.” Samael stroked his chin. “Hah. So once again, the Captain of the Royal Guard falls to me. A pity.”

Cadance breathed, but only felt ice in her lungs. She swallowed, but only felt needles in her throat. She blinked, but only saw red.

Shining Armor was still underground, helping the reserves.

“You…” Cadance hissed.

Samael vanished.

The moment Cadance blinked, Samael was upon her, knee raised, fist reeled back. Time slowed to a maddening crawl. Cadance knew it was coming, she could see it, could almost feel it. Yet she could do nothing but gawk and feel the raw force collecting in that iron fist.

Time snapped back to normal, and the fist burrowed into her cheek. Her eye squinted and rolled, her mouth clicked open, her tongue flicked out, her head twisted painfully.

Then she flew.

Like a rock thrown across a lake, Cadance bounced along the shattering road, cast through buildings, poles, and statues. A distant boom and a rising cloud of debris ended her journey.

Samael’s arched feet touched the ground, hands on hips, nodding at the marred trail Cadance left behind.

“I trust that will give you time to think on your failure.”

He raised a finger just before a sword sliced at his neck, the blade clanking harmlessly against his flesh. Samael smiled at a small gasp and slowly turned his head toward a now-shivering Diamond Sparkle, her glowing horn levitating the weapon.

Samael flicked the sword away, out of Diamond’s grasp. It flipped and stabbed into the road, and the crystal unicorn planted her hooves wide apart. Ready.

Samael turned completely to the mare.

“Why so hostile, Sparkle-clan? Why the glare? Are you not grateful to be free, so that you may fulfill your duty?” Samael asked with a gesturing hand.

Diamond glared harder and growled.

“Or perhaps you’d like to join your compatriots,” he added, patting his shredded red belly. “Heaven knows you’ve failed them enough ti—”

“Shut up!”

A bolt shot from Diamond’s horn, and was swatted away like a ball of yarn.

“You speak like you know the first thing about me, demon!” the unicorn snarled. “I won’t tolerate your insults!”

Samael just laughed.

“Oh, but I do know, Sparkle-clan.” He stepped forward, Diamond stepped back. “I know the tosses and turns that keep you awake.” He stepped forward again, she stepped back again. “I know the tears you shed every morning for your lost family, and the role you played.”

“Lies!” Diamond’s horn glowed again, her teeth gnashing together.

“Foolishly, you chose duty above all, and lost everything. Your clan, your honor. A mere shell of a mare, trying to justify her existence by dying for a noble cause,” Samael continued.

Diamond’s horn glowed brighter, her eyes sharp and vivid.

“Your husband resented you.” Samael clenched a cracking fist. “Your son hated you. You were branded a traitor, a deserter. When the Crystal Empire fell, all of the Sparkle-clan cared not whether you lived… or died.”

“Enough!” Diamond fired a more powerful bolt. It bounced harmlessly off Samael’s smiling face.

The unicorn glowered, the grain of her teeth cracking together, her horn blazing again.

“I am a being of many gifts, Sparkle-clan. To Equestria, my gift is truth,” Samael said, leaning forward. “And it hurts. Doesn’t it?”

With a shrill cry, Diamond jerked her head aside. Samael turned left with a raised hand. Her screaming blade stabbed and lodged right into that hand. He turned to the feral pony now lunging at him. She snatched her blade’s hilt with her teeth, pressed all fours to Samael’s arm and yanked upward with all her might.

Thick bright-orange liquid trailed the sword as Diamond flipped away, landing deftly on her hooves before a growling Samael.

She stood ready, sword in teeth, only barely aware of her own tears.

Samael stared at his wound in fascination. His hand was split in half, a pair of fingers on each flaccid slab of meat. That orange liquid gushed from the wound and dribbled down his arm, onto the crystal road.

Sizzling smoke rose from the growing puddle.

“My, you’re a bold one,” the demon muttered, the gash searing itself closed. “Now I understand where the mean streak derives. I see much of you in Princess Twilight.”

Diamond stopped breathing, her eyes wide.

“Twilight Sparkle? W...what have you done?” the unicorn demanded through the sword handle, steeling herself again. “If you’ve lain one claw on her…!”

Samael gave a short laugh and cast a thoughtful gaze to the southern horizon. “She fights valiantly; a soldier hiding beneath all those books and social depravity. I’ll admit, I’m enjoying her struggle.” He turned his eyes back to Diamond. “Besides, I’ve no intent to finish what I started centuries ago. Not yet…”

At first, Diamond simply frowned in confusion. The next instant, the frown shattered to terrified realization.

“Who… who are you?! What did you…?” Her shouts slowly fell into whispers. “No. You couldn’t have. You couldn’t have.”

Samael leaned forward, his smile faded. “If you want answers, Sparkle-clan… they’re not for me to say. That task belongs to your prin—”

A red wave took Samael right off his feet. Flipping and ripping across the air, his roar faded in the distance. Diamond Sparkle stood dazed, the sword falling from her mouth.

Gold-clad hooves stomped the ground and Diamond jumped back, staring up at a glowing Princess Cadance. The alicorn’s horn smoked like a fired gun.

“Lieutenant,” came the alicorn’s call. “You will leave me to my task, and see to our fellow ponies.”

The blue soldier couldn’t even fathom how Cadance was still standing to acknowledge orders.

“P...princess? A-are you—”

“Diamond Sparkle.” The unicorn gasped at the crushing gentleness in that voice. “I won’t say it again.” Cadance turned slightly to Diamond, a bleeding eye tightly closed. “Diplomacy is now impossible. Samael must be stopped, and you will only hinder me.”

Every word battered her armor away and brittled her bones. Cadance’s gentle, reverberating voice destroyed her will and left her a shaking, gaping simpleton. Right then, Cadance was no friend, who lent an ear and listened to a dishonored mare’s tales. Or an equal, who swam in the muck alongside her subjects—drank, laughed, sang and danced with them.

She was a goddess. A very angry goddess.

“Go.”

Diamond stumbled back, as if the command itself had pushed her. She stumbled back again, her bottom lip trembling, her vision blurred with tears. She stumbled back a final time, finally realizing how far in over her head she’d jumped.

“Cadance,” Diamond whispered, gaining a softened look from the glowing alicorn. “Stay alive…”

The unicorn warrior turned tail and galloped. She never looked back. Cadance shivered but only from within, and only for a moment. Her conviction was well-placed; Diamond had to leave, lest Cadance lose another to Samael.

Like she’d lost Shining Armor.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Cadenza?”

Cadance straightened out again, closing her good eye. An orange flash, a shattering landing, and a burst of dusty wind hit the pink mare. She opened her eye and saw him. Smiling.

“Are you doing with her what Celestia does with Twilight Sparkle? Are you hiding the truth to protect her?” Samael asked, striding forward with his heavy steps. “Is that why you didn’t tell her what happened five-hundred years ago, that her restored clan was completely slaughtered during the Great Skirmish?”

“A slaughter that you committed,” Cadance spat.

Samael offered a upturned palm and said, “One can’t be blamed for self-defense. My business was with Celestia.”

Cadance scoffed, her wings stretching out as Samael stepped ever-closer. “Your ‘business’ destroyed half of Canterlot and endangered the Equestrian Monarchy! How dare you feign innocence after all you’ve done!”

Samael stopped, chuckling with a palm against his forehead. “Are you so different from me, Cadenza?” he asked.

“Don’t ever compare us…” the mare hissed.

“You, who hides her lust for battle behind prim smiles and tawdry wishes.”

Cadance’s right leg twitched.

“You, who led a destroyed, battle-worn soul to believe she could redeem herself.”

Cadance’s horn sparked.

“You!” Samael pointed an accusing claw. “You, who keeps a loving husband’s own child a secret from him.”

A sharper spark crackled from her horn, her teeth bared, her body quaking with rage. Light exploded from her and beamed to the sky. Samael looked up and saw that light encircle them in a sky-blue dome.

He chuckled low. “You’re sealing your own fate,” he said, looking back to the glowering princess. “You know that.”

A final expulsion of power filled the sky, the magic dome gleaming like a polished window. Samael observed his surroundings, noting the spacious new arena, how no building was trapped inside with it, and how the Crystal Palace oversaw it like a patient king.

The demon grinned at the crystal princess.

“I won’t let you hurt anypony else,” Cadance declared. “There are no more guards. No more bystanders. And no one gets in or out of this dome.” Her wounded eye opened, and the blood-streak beneath it slowly vanished. It healed in seconds. “Now, demon, only you and I remain!”

Samael’s smile dropped. He lifted a heavy foot and stomped the ground with a guttural roar. A fiery ring flung out from him, chunks of crystals shot about, and hissing electricity danced around him.

“Then come for me, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”

And she did.

Like a thrown dart, Cadance soared at Samael, her focus sharper than any blade. Her horn beamed brightly, the light swirling around her like a drill. Getting closer. Closer.

To her amazement, Samael didn’t vanish.

The demon roared and threw his fist forward, meeting the alicorn’s charge. The union lifted chunks of crystal, spouted razor-sharp spires, and strobed of power and might.

With a grunt, Samael pushed, and Cadance careened into a spire, falling prone. She shook it off and glared at the fiend striding towards her.

“Was it worth it, Cadenza? To keep your Sparkle-clan husband in the dark? To deny him an heir?” Samael said.

The alicorn gritted her teeth and spread her wings, rising to her hooves.

“Is the idea of a half-breed son so alien, so unheard of, you’d foreswear your loyalty—your trust—just to hide it?”

“Be silent!” Cadance shouted.

She vanished in a white flash, and Samael closed his eyes. Waiting.

He whirled around with an open-clawed strike, his steel-like fingers grazing Cadance’s mane. The mare gawked as her colorful strands danced in the wind, the burly arm centimeters from her cheek.

Samael smiled and said, “You’re too slow.” Cadance blinked rapidly at him. “All that training with Shining Armor, and nothing to show for it.”

Cadance’s gawk crumbled into a scowl, her lips pulling over her gums.

“Keep his name out of your rotten mouth!”

“A tall order, considering I’ve already…” Samael trailed off, patting his belly. “Well…”

A screaming alicorn pushed her head forward, and Samael slid back several feet, his clawed feet stopping his trip. His eyes darted up, noting the floating crystals above him. The unusually sharp crystals. Unusually sharp crystals pointed right at his head.

He vanished, and the shards darted to the cracked ground. Cadance mimicked him.

And their explosive return cratered the arena’s center. Power and might again strobed like mad, winds and crystal chucks flying and hitting the impregnable dome. Cadance grunted and shouted, her white-hot horn pushing and pushing against Samael’s glowing palm.

“You had no right, damn you!” Cadance cursed, pushing even harder. “Damn you!”

Samael scoffed and pushed back. Cadance shut her eyes, crying out as a funnel of raw molten heat bore down on her, gusty clouds wisping from under her.

“Oh? Had no right, did I?” Samael taunted. “Is it Shining Armor writhing in my bowels that ails you, Cadenza?” He reeled back pushed harder, a stronger heat forcing a shrill scream from the mare. “Or was it your pitiful inability to stop me?”

Cadance whipped her eyes at the demon, a seething hatred brightening them, widening them. Her lungs erupted with a deep, deafening whinny, and pushed. She pushed, and pushed so hard that sweat dotted every inch of her tense, shaking frame.

“He was my husband!”

Samael’s hand was actually pushed back, and he raised a brow.

“Hmph. You lack discipline,” he spat.

Samael lifted his hand away, and Cadance stumbled. She barely regained herself before that same hand fell and drove her face into solid, unforgiving crystal. Her body flopped up, hind hooves standing tall. Like a deftly cut tree, her limp frame fell to its belly and lay still, the same hand bared down on a now-frazzled mane.

That hand clenched tight, lifting Cadance off the ground with a fistful of mane. With a dry groan, her eyes fluttered open, only barely aware that her hooves were dangling.

A large fist drove into her body, curling her backside to the sky.

Cadance hit the ground with a weighty thud, curled into herself like a fetus in the womb. She shook and shivered, her stomach and lungs spinning and burning, breathing all but impossible.

“Look at you…” Samael muttered with a shrug and a shaking head. “Pathetic. Weak. All that barking and you’re finished after a few blows?”

He kicked her side and watched her roll to a crystal boulder. He strode toward her prone body as she shook, her breaths shallow and short.

“Even Princess Twilight fought harder than this. I’m truly disappointed,” the horned beast said. “It’s a wonder you’ve managed anything at all, never mind ruling an empire. How have you gotten this far?”

Candance’s closed her eyes tighter, her teeth bared, her tears falling freely. With a final rumbling step, Samael stopped before the alicorn, stroking his chin.

“Hmm. How, indeed…” he murmured. “That was the most defined thing about Celestia all those years ago; she found her strength in something—her people, her kingdom. I see something similar in Twilight Sparkle: her friends. She’d always protect them, even at the cost of her life. But what of you, Cadenza?”

Cadance coughed.

“What sordid, misguided nonsense spurs you through insurmountable odds?” Samael was silent for several heartbeats, studying, learning. His eyes brightened. “Of course. Love.”

Cadance’s eyes shot open.

“So that’s your muse, your power. The same power that sired you into Equestrian royalty, that vanquished the Changelings.” Samael threw a curled glowing hand toward Cadance, and the mare hissed at her binding limps. “A feat utterly impossible without your Sparkle-clan mate. A shame, really.”

Cadance shut her eyes again as her body lifted toward Samael, the pace tortuously slow.

“And ironic to say the least,” the demon continued. “Such a deep and powerful thing. One that heals any wound, cures any sickness. Yet so remarkably fragile, so easily broken and cast aside. Clearly, yours is no diff—”

“Why…?” Cadance croaked.

Samael raised a brow.

The alicorn’s eyes peeled open, narrowed and fierce, tears falling like curved rivers down her face.

“Why, Samael?” Her even tone was cracked to pieces by her shaky throat. “What did you gain… by taking my husband?”

Samael snorted black fumes from his nostrils. “What does it matter? Despite what you may believe, my being here isn’t for your personal history.” He clenched a fist, bending a mewling Cadance’s limbs harder against her body. “You’ve all asked for my knowledge and teachings, and you shall have them.”

A tiny glint caught the demon’s attention, and his eyes darted left to see a group of crystal ponies. They huddled together with terrified shudders. Samael frowned and looked right, seeing the same thing. He scanned around, smiling at the growing number of spectators.

Gathering by the hundreds.

Samael opened his palm, the glow fading, and Cadance fell listlessly to her side, gasping for for air.

His winged shadow fell over her. She didn’t see it, but Cadance could most certainly feel it. Samael crouched down, an arm resting on a knee.

“But you must earn them,” he said. “You must face your demons, your sins and regrets.”

Cadance dared to open her eyes, and swore she would choke on the demon’s very presence. She squirmed away, pressing her back against a broken crystal spire, scowling at her enemy. Then she saw them; the growing swarm of her subjects gathering at the translucent arena.

“I regret nothing,” Cadance declared.

“Spare me your lies,” Samael said a careless wave. “Remember, there is little you can keep from me, once I’ve a mind to know it. And one regret burns deepest within you: a child. His child… Her child.”

Cadance drove her hooves into her temples, her horn sparking weakly.

“Uhn! Get out of my head,” she groaned.

“Did it sicken you, Cadenza? To listen to the Changeling Queen? To learn that she carried your husband’s foal, because you were too weak to stop her invasion?”

Cadance’s hooves moved over her ears. “Shut up…” she whispered.

“Or were you honored in some way? Honored that your sworn enemy would trust her offspring to you?” Samael continued.

“Shut up.”

“Perhaps it inspired you,” he persisted. “A union of equine and changeling. A catalyst of unity itse… Oh, who am I fooling? Surely you would’ve enlightened your husband if that was the case.”

Cadance shrieked, her horn blasting a blue lightning right at the demon’s eye. His roar rattled the houses, the spires, the statues, the very sky itself. The colorful blanket of ponies backed away from the arena like a receding tide.

Samael stopped, the echo fading into the sky, a hand against his face. Smoking orange liquid seeped between his fingers.

Then he smiled.

“Quick on the draw, I see,” Samael said, his bloodied hand glowing. “That’s one advantage you have over your sister-in-law.” His hand stopped glowing, lowered from his face, and revealed a perfectly healed eye.

Cadance’s scowl melted right then and there. Despair’s icy grip closed around her heart, her breath now ragged and shuddery.

“I’ll ask again Cadenza,” Samael said, his arm resting back on his knee. “Was it worth it?”

“Shut up!”

Cadance vanished in a white flash, and Samael didn’t move an inch. He smiled at the sound of ragged breaths far behind him.

“You don’t know what it was like!” the alicorn shouted, standing on her rickety legs. “The hiding, the lying! Telling him I was fine when he caught me crying! All to keep it from him! To protect what we had!”

Samael rose and turned to Cadance, unsurprised by her returning tears.

“What was I supposed to do?! Tell him that he fathered her child?! That I was too scared to tell him from the start?!” Cadance choked, finally aware that she was crying. “I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk losing him again. Not again…” Her brows furrowed, her voice raising again. “You. You could never understand!”

Samael stepped forward, and despite the distance, Cadance stepped back.

“Oh, but I do understand, princess.” He took another step. “In fact, it’s perfectly clear to me now. You thought he’d resent your secrecy, take the child, and leave you unloved.”

He continued to stride toward her, and she continued to stumble back. Her rump hit the impervious dome that trapped them. A few more steps and he was upon her, his inky shadow spilling over her shaky, coiled frame.

He once again brought his face to hers and whispered, “Selfish. Cruel.”

“No! I-I did for him! For us! For all of Equestria!”

“Hah! Is that right? Not once did you think of cold, lonely nights, staring at an empty bedside? Not once did you believe he’d lash out, and denounce your marriage?”

“No!”

“Or perhaps,” embers wisped from Samael’s grinning mouth, his voice steadily rising, “you did hide it for the good of your kingdom. Perhaps you knew, as well as I do now, that without love—without his love—you’d be the same trifling waste of flesh that shudders before me now!”

“STOP IT!”

Cadance’s eyes dilated, a deep, long-suppressed instinct breaking it’s restraints and flooding her veins.

The need to escape.

Piercing blue light shot from her horn, into the dome. In that instant, the dome shattered like glass, and Cadance darted away, leaving the panicked chatter of crystal ponies. She cared not where; she just picked a direction and went.

Samael shuddered with a predatory growl, his grotesque wings flinging out.

“You can’t escape your demons forever, Cadenza!”

Then he roared. Like a shattering thunderclap, it shook windows and buildings, and sent the crystal ponies on a screaming stampede.

Cadance heard him—she was already yards away, and she still heard him. But she didn’t listen, oh no. She flapped her poorly trained wings as hard as her body and spirit allowed, tears spraying from her eyes.

Then she felt it; that scorching, sulfur-like breath, that crushing, debilitating presence. She turned left and saw him. Flying with her. Grinning at her.

“Face it,” Samael said, his voice somehow overwhelming the whistling wind. “Without his love, you’re powerless. And without power, you can’t protect your empire. You can’t protect anything.”

“Leave me alone!” Cadance flapped harder, her feathery limps flinging sweat.

Samael met her speed with ease, his giant wings beating the air with deep steady wisps.

“That is your secret, Cadenza! That is the risk you pose to your kingdom, to your love, your tolerance, and your ridiculous ‘Harmony’!”

He vanished. And before Cadance could breathe a syllable of confusion, an elbow drove between her wings. She heard a sharp crack, and plummeted, screaming her throat dry.

A flip.

A spin.

A corkscrew.

A nosedive.

And finally, she crashed front-first before the gargantuan Crystal Palace. She slid beneath the royal spire, decorating the road with a long, jagged gouge. She stopped before the spinning Crystal Heart, her arms squashed flat beneath her, her backside raised high.

Just as she became self aware, Cadance felt the long anticipated agony. She mewled at her twisted and useless wing.

But soon, nearly as fast as the pain, a wave of relief washed over her aches and gashes. A reservoir of love and light opened within her, and her horn started sparking to life. Her eyes opened and finally saw the glowing Crystal Heart.

A blue light shined in her eyes, a new hope riveted in her chest, a bright new future flashed before her eyes!

A cold, steely grip on her horn shattered all that. She screamed as that hand yanked and bent her horn, pulling her off the ground. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed so loud the Empire sang of it, bouncing off the crystals like cymbals.

The floor and sky suddenly couldn’t decide where they wished to be, flipping and tumbling up and down like they had nothing better to do.

Cadance smashed back-first into a crystal beam, falling limply on her rear, her legs sprawled apart. Her eyes creaked open at familiar, terrifying foot steps. Those eyes widened at the very sight of him.

“No…” Cadance groan, leaning aside and falling prone. “Stay back, you… you monster!” She slithered away, her every bone shifting in protest.

Soon, as she knew he would be, Samael was upon her again, and she realized escape was utterly impossible. Even from the very start. She lay curled on the crystal road, trembling like a beaten child, her last pillar of strength crumbling to ash.

She turned her head up to him, no longer hiding her terror or grief.

“Why are you doing this?” she pleaded. “What have we ever done to you?”

Samael threw his head back and laugh deeply. Again. “You misunderstand me, Cadenza,” he replied. “If Equestria had wronged me, it would’ve burned by now. But that is not my wish.”

“Liar,” Cadance sniveled. “You lie. You threaten us with war. You… you killed my Shining Armor!”

Samael merely scoffed that time. “Killed? How sad, Cadenza, that your love for him is so weak, so superficial, you cannot sense him,” he said.

Cadance’s trembling jaw slowly parted, her tears now spilling.

“No. Stop lying to me,” she cried.

“He is alive. As are his comrades. They writhe within, wandering aimlessly in that orb, waiting for their failing princess to save them.”

Cadance was breaking at the seams. Her breath was haggard, her eyes were cracked with red, she turned away from Samael, staring hopelessly at the sky.

“Please stop…”

“And your Shining Armor?” Samael paused with a soft laugh. “He is most distressed. He, along with the others, see what I see. Hear what I hear.”

“No more. Your words are venom,” Cadance whined.

“He finally knows the truth, Cadenza. He knows what was kept from him, yet he still wonders.” Samael crouched beside her again. “He wonders why you let me take him.”

Cadance finally screamed.

She crossed her forearms over her shattered heart, her neck beating wildly with her reverberating howl. Her lungs burned as her breath left her. And burned even more when she inhaled and screamed again.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way!” Cadance shouted. “We were meant to be together! To guide Equestria with love!”

Samael’s smile faded, his yellow, unblinking eyes set on the broken mare.

“We were supposed to lift our world to light and peace, not drag it into darkness! We wanted for nothing but Harmony!”

Samael blinked that time, and found his eyes wandering from her.

“I admit it! I’m nothing without my love—nothing without him!” Cadance paused only to wallow in her sobs. Then lifted her head again. “NOTHING!”

Samael’s eyes returned to Cadance, but he wasn’t really looking at her. He stared through her, at nothing, at everything. But mostly, he just stared. The shattered mare turned lifted her sopping eyes to him.

“What more can you take from me…?” she cried. “What more?”

He turned away and marched, leaving the sobbing alicorn to her suffering.

“No! Give him back!” Cadance yowled, crawling after him like an earthworm in the sun. “Have mercy, Samael…!”

He raised a fist, and a swirling orange and red portal opened before him. He stopped, and so did Cadance.

“Even if I did, Cadenza…” Samael turned to the trembling mare. “Could you face him?”

Cadance choked on air.

“As you are now—so woefully broken and distraught-—could you really find any peace with a life turned upside down? With the truth revealed, would you butcher it with more lies, or live by it? Would you hide as you always have? Or would you atone?”

Samael waited for an answer, and it shook Cadance to pieces. “I… I-I…”

He turned back to his portal and said, “Beyond this point lies your final test, one that shall deliver your absolution. Soon, you will know what to do. Soon... you will finally understand, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”

He stepped into the light and was gone.

Cadance was left a quaking wreck beneath her own palace. Her face was matted with tears, her throat was hoarse and dry, and everything she ever stood for toppled over her and left in shattered useless pieces.

She could deny it all she wanted. She could shout and curse the demon for what he’d done, for single-handedly ruining her wonderful life, for humiliating her before her subjects. But she brought it to herself—a fact that stabbed at her chest with every reminder.

She wasn’t worthy of her crown or her wings. She wasn’t worthy to grovel on that shiny road, or to even stand on that shiny road. She was a failure, a miserable husband-betraying failure. And she knew it—she always knew.

Her sobs blotted the clop of hooves against crystal, but stopped when one of those hooves caressed behind her ear.

She looked up into sad purple eyes, no longer crowned by a battle helmet.

“Diamond…” Cadance whispered. “I’m nothing.”

The crystal mare shook her head, partly in disagreement, partly to ward her own tears away.

“Never,” Diamond whispered back. “You’re far from nothing. You’ve pledged yourself to save us. You have then, and you are now. You’re a hero.”

“What kind of hero keeps her husband’s child away from him?” Cadance’s tears fell harder, her throat trembling. “What kind of hero thinks she can protect her people when she can’t protect herself? What hero am I?”

Strong, calloused hooves pressed to the alicorn’s withers.

“The same hero who held a barrier around an entire empire for three days. The same hero who tore through darkness itself to get the Crystal Heart, who showed us we control our fate.” Diamond sat on her haunches. “We’d forgotten once before, and may have never remembered without you.”

In that moment, Cadance finally realized they weren’t alone. Hundreds—no—thousands of them. Some still emerging from their homes. Her eyes shifted to and fro, from crystal pony to crystal pony, all of them smiling. Understanding.

Loving.

“I used to think only I had any real problems, that everypony else complained about their perfect lives, “Diamond began. “But hearing you, seeing you… The sacrifice you made, the sacrifice you’ve yet to make… I was foolish to think you’d never understand me, even for a second.”

Cadance gave a hollow, humorless laugh. “You shouldn’t compare us, Diamond. You are strong. You knew the risks… knew you’d never see your family again when you betrayed Sombra, and you did it anyway. Me?” Fresh tears brimmed at her eyes and her throat trembled. “I knew everything would change forever if he knew, and, still, I hid his own flesh and blood away. Like a coward.”

Diamond frowned, but immediately softened. Her eyes turned to the still-swirling door of power and light Samael had left. “What about now, princess?” she asked.

Cadance blinked, and her tears fells again. She shared Diamond’s glance.

“Even if Samael was telling the truth—even if our prince still lives and now knows—what does that mean to you? What is there left to do?” the unicorn asked.

Cadance couldn’t begin to recall when she started staring at her own hooves, or for how long. But she knew she was still crying, still broken and pathetic before her own subjects.

She lifted her eyes back to Diamond. “I don’t know. I just…”

Diamond’s crystalline hoof found Cadance’s chin. “Then what do you wish to do?”

Cadance, no matter how infinitely smaller she felt compared to this mare, couldn't look away.

“I… I just want to make things right,” the alicorn said.

Diamond allowed a tiny smile.

“I want to see my Shining Armor again,” Cadance continued. “I want… I want him live, to grow old, to have a family and watch it grow with him.”

Her eyes brightened as it all became clear; her task, her mission, her very reason to live. And a chance she could only take once.

“Then you have our blessing, princess,” Diamond said, stepping back. “You are, and always have been, an inspiration to us all.”

She bowed.

They all did.

The shiny road beamed like a Hearth’s Warming tree. A warping sound turned Cadance’s attention to a now-spinning Crystal Heart. A thick wave of light washed over her, and her jaw hung open.

Everything made sense. All of it.

She’d nurtured a budding young filly who would later become one of the most powerful mages in Equestrian history. She’d spurred a brash young stallion to break his apprehension, follow his dream, and join the Royal Guard. She’d swore herself to love and light, and swore to spread it wherever she roamed.

She helped kill a tyrant that lived and breathed against everything she stood for.

And she’d do it again. For the greater good of her people.

The light brightened and boundless relief swelled within Cadance. Her bones healed and hardened. Her gashes closed and sealed. Her wing untwisted and loosened.

She stood slowly, a near-forgotten peace returned to her. She stared down at Diamond, who stood tall again, smiling back up at her goddess. Cadance brought her hoof to the unicorn’s cheek, and couldn’t help but see Twilight Sparkle through all those scars and rugged mane.

In seconds, Diamond’s smile fell. “There’s something I want to ask you, princess,” she murmured. “My clan back in Canterlot… H-how are they?”

Those words were like a stomp on the ribcage.

Cadance was silent. Deathly so. Her eyes never left Diamond’s, though, nor did her hoof leave that shining, expecting face. The silence continued seconds longer, and Diamond began to shake, her eyes trembling.

Finally, Cadance closed her eyes and bowed her head in shame. And everything became clear.

The unicorn’s bangs curtained over her own eyes.

“Go,” Diamond said firmly. “Go and win this thing. Bring our ponies back to us.”

Cadance stood still for several moment, fully comprehending what she heard, but fully immersed in a soldier that had an entire world of knowledge to give, and an ocean of unshed tears.

The pink mare nodded smoothly, her hoof falling from Diamond’s cheek. She turned with unfurled wings and marched toward the still-open portal. With every step, a new uncertainty was disturbingly certain—with every inch, so was death.

“Cadance.”

The princess stopped inches before the swirling light, and turned back to a downtrodden Diamond Sparkle.

“When you see her again, tell her I…” She paused. Then snorted with a sad smile. “Nevermind. I’ll tell her myself.”

Cadance smiled back and nodded a final time. She turned back to the portal with a resolute frown and darted forward.

One way or another she’d make things right again.

Samael's Prison

by Craine

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four