> Bloodborne: Oligemia
>  by Digital Media Disk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Crimson Sky
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

		As the sun began to descend to the west, and to slowly die to a tranquil orange, the carriage creaked rhythmically from side to side as it followed the road winding up the mountainside. Its swing was seductive, calling Octavia to relax, to sleep. In defiance, the gray mare sat ramrod straight in the passenger compartment, magenta eyes alert and watchful. It would do her no good to have come so far on her journey only to fail now because she fell asleep and didn’t respond quick enough if and when danger appeared.
The earth pony pulling the carriage, Dusty he called himself, had told her that the road was safe. On his honor, he assured Octavia that there were no bandits or natural dangers to speak of on the way to Yharnaram. “Nothing but trees and open sky all the way up to the city, miss” he had said back at the foot of the mountain. “Bandits don’t bother with this road these days. Too much trouble for too little payoff, and you won’t have to worry about any landslides or rock falls either. Goats built this road a long time ago, and they knew what they were doin’. Chose the safest way up here, one where the rock faces are solid, and the ground is firm.” When Octavia had asked him about animal dangers such as timber wolves, the orange carriage pony scratched his grizzled chin with a hoof, and peered up the mountain toward their destination. “They don’t bother the road either with it bein’ so close to Yharnaram and all. Something about that place… well, I guess they just know to keep clear is all.” Then he had peered at her with a concerned look on his face. “You sure you want to go there, miss? I know you wouldn’t unless you didn’t think you had any other choice, but you must have heard the stories.” Octavia had simply responded by placing a large bag of bits in the stallion’s hoof and requesting that he simply do as she bid him, and take her up the mountain.
Octavia had heard the stories, of course. Everypony in a hundred leagues knew the stories about the mountain city of Yharnaram. It was the last city built by the reclusive goat clans over a thousand years ago, carved out of bedrock and stubborn determination, only to be completely abandoned almost overnight two-hundred years later. A century passed and Yharnaram was claimed as a staging area for the Ironbeak Army during the rise of the second griffon empire, a decision which proved to be a costly mistake that was said to have contributed significantly to halting the empire’s southward push into Equestria when the entire city was said to have caught fire, incinerating a quarter of the griffon army and most of its supplies in a single night. When pegasi scouts from the forward Equestrian guard entered the city the next morning, it stood completely unscathed, leaving no indications of the blaze the night before, save the tormented remains of hundreds of griffons filling the streets, bodies charred almost beyond recognition. Travelers who stopped in Yharnaram overnight would sometimes disappear only to spontaneously come out years later on the verge of death and mad beyond any hope of recovery. Some ponies said that Princess Luna had become Nightmare Moon because she once visited Yharnaram to study the city herself, and had been tainted by the darkness in the process.
There were dozens more stories of course, hundreds probably, but Octavia did not believe them. In spite of growing rumors that it was cursed, Yharnaram had finally been settled over fifty years ago by a reclusive flock of bat ponies, and it was said that they lived peacefully secluded lives in the mountain city. Any threat that Yharnaram might have posed had been dispelled by their exotic magic and knowledge of enchantments. Octavia’s gaze hardened as she looked out over the pine tree forest that ran down the mountainside, and she unconsciously brought a hoof up to rub her temples. Even if there still was danger in Yharnaram, even if every single story she’d heard on her trip here was true, she couldn’t turn back now. Her need in coming here, all the way from Canterlot to the far north of Equestria, was too great.
The carriage rounded a bend in the road, and a large, black building with a high peaked roof came into view up ahead, too big to be a house, yet too small to be considered a mansion. “There’s the toll master’s keep” Dusty called from in front of the carriage. “It’s the only way into Yharnaram from this side of the mountains. It’s a customs house of sorts from what I hear.” 
As the waning sunlight turned the sky behind the keep to crimson, Octavia suddenly thought it resembled a monstrous crow perched upon an ocean of blood waiting to strike down from off the mountaintop. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear the image from her mind. Such thoughts would only undermine her resolve. She had to do this. She had to.
“I can still take you back if you don’t want to go there, miss.” Octavia pulled her gaze away from the building, leaning out the carriage window slightly to look at the pony pulling it. “It jus’ doesn’t seem right for a pretty mare such as yourself to go into a place like that all on her own.”
“I’ll be fine” Octavia said with more certainty than she actually felt. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s really no need to worry. Yharnaram’s been inhabited for quite some time now, and I’ve heard that the bat ponies living there are quite friendly once you get to know them.” Dusty bobbed his head in acknowledgement.
“The Yharnaram bat ponies are decent enough I suppose, if a bit odd, but I hear that strange things still go on in that city. “Anypony who goes out into the streets after dark can up and disappear, just like that.” Octavia looked at the now darkening sky. There couldn’t be more than ten minutes or so of daylight left.
“So if you knew about this, why did you still take me up the mountain just before nightfall?” she asked irritably, a tinge of fear hardening her words.
“Because you hoofed me that large sack of bits and told me to just do what you asked and bring you here.” The carriage slowed to a stop, and the earth pony unhooked himself from its harness. “Anyway, we’re here now” he said mater-of-factly as he massaged each of his shoulders where the harness had run across them.
Octavia stepped out of the carriage, stretching and working the blood flow back into legs that had been curled up under her for the past hour she had been in the carriage. The toll master’s keep now loomed up from the ever lengthening shadows. While the road continued on up to it, it was blocked by an iron gate and a rough stone wall.
“Where’s Yharnaram?” Octavia asked, glancing around. All that she could see was the side of the mountain and the Snowmane Forest far below, reaching toward the horizon.
“Right on the other side of that building” Dusty said, slowly trotting around his carriage as he spoke. “The city’s build where three mountains meet, between their tops.” He bent his head to inspect the chassis and axels. “There was a bit of a valley there before the goats came, from what I know. They built Yharnaram here because of the mineral seams that run through these mountains, and because rainwater in this area flows down to create a river through the valley. “The customs house,” Dusty grunted as he began to unload Octavia’s hooflocker from the back of the carriage, “sits on the rim of the valley. You’ll see the city sure enough once you pass through it.” He sat the chest down with a thud. Octavia suddenly felt light headed, and placed a hoof on the chest to steady herself. “Are you sure you’ll be alright here, miss?” Dusty was giving her another worried look, the twilight drawing dark lines across his features. “I know you’ve got your heart set on going to Yharnaram, but, well…” He rubbed the back of his head with a hoof. “Tell you what, I’ll wait around for a few minutes, and if you decide you don’t want to go, well, then I’ll take you back down the mountain, free of charge.” Octavia smiled.
“It seems I’m in the presence of a true gentlecolt” she said. “Thank you for your concern and your offer, but I think I’ve made my intentions clear. Besides, it’s like you said when we started up the mountain; I don’t have any choice.”
“I said you didn’t think you had any other choice, but this…” Dusty looked past Octavia to the house behind her, then shrugged in defeat and trotted back to the front of the carriage. “Aww what’s the use” he said in a resigned voice as he began to resaddle himself. “I can see you’ve had your mind made up since the start, and nothing I say is going to change it. Well, if you’re goin’, you’d better get to it before full dark.” His task completed he motioned toward a small gate set into the wall beside its larger compatriot that barred the road, its purpose no doubt to admit individual ponies entering Yharnaram by hoof. Octavia gave Dusty one last smile as she picked up her luggage, balancing it on her back.
“Thank you for everything, really. I hope your trip back down the mountain is safe.” Dusty’s expression mirrored her own, albeit with a tinge of sadness.
“And I hope that you find whatever it is you’re looking for here” he replied.
“I hope so too.” With that, both ponies turned and went their separate ways, Dusty drawing his carriage back down the mountainside, and Octavia through the rusted portal toward Yharnaram. The last rays of sunlight finally slid away, leaving the mare standing alone in darkness before the toll master’s keep.
> Chapter 2: Silver Instruments
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

        Octavia quickly trotted up the cobblestone path that led from the pedestrian gate to the keep. To her left, the road continued from the main gate up to the building as well, ending before two massive wooden doors that looked wide enough to admit four carriages side by side and another four stacked on top of those. Octavia felt the tall grass that had forced its way up between the cobblestones brush against her legs and underbelly. She hadn’t seen much of the keep grounds beyond the wall before it became too dark to make anything out, but what she had bespoke years of neglect from any kind of gardening whatsoever. Not something that would make for a good first impression from visitors and merchants, she supposed.
The path led her up to a small pedestrian entrance beside the larger doors, the wooden counterparts of the gates down at the wall. Beside the door was a large window with shutter pulled down over it, no doubt where a toll pony would sit in the day to admit travelers entering the city by hoof, but now there was nopony in sight. Squinting in the darkness, Octavia made out the black line of something hanging down beside the door. Grasping it with a hoof, she felt rough hemp. It’s a bell pull. Eager to get out of the foreboding darkness, Octavia gave the rope a sharp tug.
There was a loud *CRACK* from above, and Octavia barely had time to jump back with a startled yelp before something large and wooden smashed into the ground where she had been standing. The sound roused an unseen flock of crows in a nearby tree to flight, raucous caws obliterating whatever evening tranquility might have remained. Octavia simply stood where she was, eyes wide and heart pounding. She hadn’t even set hoof in Yharnaram yet, and she had already nearly died. She’d only tried to ring the bell, but instead had nearly crushed herself under what was now a pile of matchsticks and useless lumber.
The sound of hooves came from somewhere on the other side of the door, and a warm, yellow line of light grew to trace its outline. Octavia heard various clicks and clacks as bolts were drawn back, then the door opened, revealing an elderly stallion with a grey beard and mane, dressed in a dark brown, almost black coat. He held an oil lantern in one hoof, and wore a worried expression on his face, partially obscured by a cloth that had been tied over both his eyes, and pulled up under the tall, wide brimmed hat he wore.
“Are you alright?” he asked Octavia in a kind, grandfatherly voice.
“I… I think so” she relied, gulping in air to try and steady her breathing. The pony raised his lantern to survey the wreckage on his doorstep. In the lantern’s light Octavia saw long, broken beams of wood lying atop the rope she had pulled on. A hinged metal bracket was nailed to the end of one of the beams, covered in years of rust and twisted where it had been pulled free from the side of the keep. She recognized the object as boom for loading and unloading large objects from the carriages that came to the city. “I’m sorry” she blurted out. “It was dark, and nopony was around. There was a rope and I thought it was for the doorbell, but when I pulled it that just came crashing down. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I have some money. I’ll pay for repairs, and-”
“Oh it’s quite alright, my dear” he said, cutting off Octavia’s nervous babble in an easy manner as if she’d done nothing more than spill a pot of tea at lunch rather than damage a government building. “It’s my fault more than anypony else’s. Something like this was bound to happen eventually. These rotten things should have been taken down years ago—there’s no real use for them these days—but money for building maintenance and upkeep is hard to come by these days, hard to come by indeed. There always seems to be a need for it somewhere else. No, if anything you have done me a favor, and without killing yourself in the process I might add.” Even though the stallion’s eyes were obscured, it seemed to Octavia that he was looking her over and sizing her up. She suddenly had to suppress a shiver. “Though if you had, you would have made a fine specimen, I am sure.” The pony shook his head, as if aware of what he had just said. “I apologize. Visitors to Yharnaram are few and far between, and with so few duties to perform these days I keep myself busy with my own research. Sometimes the two become intermingled in my mind. My name is Sharpened Scalpel, and I am the toll master in charge of overseeing the entrance of all ponies and trade into this fair city, at your service.” He dipped his head into a respectful bow, and Octavia saw a pair of leathery black wings on his back. He’s a bat pony, Octavia realized. Then again, what else should I have expected to find in a city populated by them.
Bat ponies were one of the rarer breads of pony in Equestria, and were considered by most scholars to be an offshoot of the pegasi. They were rumored to be ancestors of pegasi that had dabbled in dark magic it the time before Celestia and Luna, back when the three pony races were still divided. Their attempt, it was said, was to discover a way for non-unicorns to harness the magical energy of the world around them so that they would not have to rely on the unicorns to raise the sun and moon, and they believed they could do so by pursuing avenues of research that had been deemed too dangerous or depraved by the unicorns. The end result was that the pegasi were tainted by dark magic so their very bodies changed, transforming them into creatures of the darkness with an affinity for mischief, cruelty, and blood. All of this was evidenced by the inexplicable ability of some bat ponies that seemed to be able to perform magic, though it was unlike anything a unicorn would be able to do. While she was not sure how much of this story could be taken for truth, Octavia shared the opinion most ponies had adopted after the return of Nightmare Moon and cleansing of Princess Luna. Bat ponies were ponies just like the three primary races, and while they were strange and somewhat reserved, they deserved the same respect and trust as everypony else. It seemed she had to keep reminding herself of that last part though.
“It is a pleasure to meet you” she said, extending a hoof to the bat pony. “My name is Octavia Melody, and I have come to Yharnaram… for medical reasons.” She wasn’t exactly sure how to explain why she was there to the toll master, or if she even wanted to. There was just something about him, something just under that bandaged visage that set her fur on end. Sharpened Scalpel set his lantern down, then reached out and briefly shook her hoof with his own. For one who looked so old he had a surprisingly strong grip.
“The pleasure is all mine” he said. The hoofshake ended as his hoof suddenly slid up hers to rest over one of the arterial veins on her foreleg. Startled, Octavia jerked her hoof away. “Ah, a strong pulse and a good heart” Scalpel said, nodding to himself. “Healthy.” He seemed to savor the word, and his bandaged gaze became lost in the starless night sky behind Octavia. “That’s good. That’s very good” he said in a soft voice as he looked back at her. “We can’t have any sick ponies coming into our city, you see. We’ve had far too much trouble with illnesses in the past, certainly.” He shook his head again. “Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. We should see to your admittance before I begin discussing Yharnaram itself. Please, come in.” Scalpel backed away from the door in an awkward manner. A slight metallic creak matched his movements, and when he turned to lead Octavia into the keep, she saw that his rear legs were strapped into an antiquated hoof carriage with large wooden wheels, meant for ponies who could not use their rear legs.
Octavia stared in shock. Yharnaram was supposed to contain a cure to heal any illness or ailment, but if such was the case, then why was a pony, no, why was the pony in charge of admitting others to the city, the first pony any visitor such as herself would meet when entering Yharnaram a paraplegic—one with eye trouble too if those bandages were any indication? Scalpel continued to move slowly away, apparently unaware or uncaring that Octavia was not following him, and that he had left the door open and unlocked. She glanced at the strange pony, down at the dark shape of her hooflocker where it had fallen, then into the dark toward where the road away from Yharnaram lay, suddenly unsure. A nagging doubt began to burrow into her mind, chewing at her resolve. Is this so-called cure just a lie or a fairy tale? Should I really follow a strange pony into an empty building in the dead of night? Unbidden, a choir of voices and memories from the past few months rose to answer her.
“Unfortunately, this condition is currently untreatable with modern medicine. The average expectancy for your condition is-”
“Something like this is an utter tragedy, and you have all of our condolences, Miss Melody, but, with the nature of your illness in mind, we cannot continue to have you perform here. I know you will understand, and-”
 “Look. I can see what this is doing to you—what I’m doing to you—and it’s tearing me up inside. I can’t stay anymore, for both our sakes. I’m sorry.”
“We should have seen the signs sooner. We should have done something sooner!”
“There isn’t a doctor in Equestria that can do what you’re asking.”
 “You can’t be helped here.”
“This is untreatable.”
 “…inoperable…”
 “…no cure…”
“…hopeless…”
One memory stood out, clearer than all the others.
 “Go to Yharnaram. The ponies there have what you seek.”
No! She would not give up. As long as there was a chance, as long as there was the faintest glimmer of hope that she could find a cure she would do whatever she had to, pay whatever cost was asked of her. If she had to leap through the gates of Tartarus itself she would if it meant she could be whole again.
Grasping a handle between her teeth, Octavia deftly swung the hooflocker back to its place on her back and quickly trotted after the bat pony toll master into the hollow darkness of the keep.

To say the inside of the toll master’s keep was large would have been an understatement. The room on the other side of the door was the very same one that the wooden gates on the outside led to, and was a loading dock meant for the mass transit of goods going to and from Yharnaram on carts coming up the mountain. In the dim light from the Scalpel’s lantern it seemed to be a decrepit wooden cavern more than anything. Rafters at least twelve ponies high crept in and of the shadows above, their forms adorned with ropes and pulleys like massive cobwebs. Tall support beams rose up from the ground to meet it, creating a barren forest of darkness and lifeless wood around the two ponies. Octavia followed Scalpel down a raised platform that made up the right side of the loading bay, trying to stay close but keep her distance from him at the same time.
“This city used to be a beacon of northern trade and commerce.” Though his voice was soft, the sudden noise from the toll master in the dark room made Octavia jump. “At one point, back when the mines still ran, this room was filled day and night with traders coming from both north and south, all seeking to make fortunes, all seeking the precious metals that lie under our mountain, and some”, he turned his head to give Octavia what might have been a pleasant smile, but which only made her shudder, “to find a cure to the diverse multitude of rare and exotic diseases that plague ponykind.” Again, the toll master’s soft tone turned to one of unnerving bliss. “Oh the progress we made in those days. So many test subjects. So many theorists and physicians, all coming here in the hopes of studying and replicating our cure, but it can’t be replicated, oh no my dear. You can only find it here in Yharnaram.” Sharpened Scalpel broke off in a fit of coughing as if his own body were mocking his assertion of a cure.
“So what happened?” Octavia asked, partially because she did not wish to be rude by showing no interest in what the bat pony was saying, and partially because now that there was sound in the massive room, she clung to it like the tedious flame bobbing in the lantern in front of her. “From what I know, the bat ponies have only been in Yharnaram for half a century. If the city was as great a trading hub as you say it was, then why have most ponies forgotten about that aspect of it? I certainly never heard of Yharnaram being known for trade, or for mines for that matter, before I came here.”
“Fame and money are fickle mistresses, Miss Melody” Scalpel said dryly. “The merit of a pony, the merit of a city, both are valued only in how many bits they have in their pockets and in their coffers. When the plague began, trade dried up like a corpse left out under the blasting sun, and soon there were not enough of our kind left to work the mines, not that gold and silver can do much to save a pony from death, but we survived, thanks to our extensive understanding of medicine, and our cure.” The bat pony’s voice swelled with pride. “We were here long before you Equestrians finally took note of us and our mountains filled with precious metals, and we will be here long after Equestria itself falls to dust one day.” The two ponies arrived at a small door set into the side of the room. On it was a brass plate with the word “Toll Master” stenciled on it in flowing letters. “Since we have so few visitors these days I must handle all of them myself in my personal office.” Sharpened Scalpel pushed the door open and motioned for Octavia to enter.
She timidly stepped through the doorway ahead of him, and into a large room that looked like a cross between a three-way cross between a living room, bureaucrat’s office, and an operating theater. At the end of the room across from her was a large oak desk, covered in books, stacks of loose leaf paper and other assorted odds and ends, the clutter spilling over the desktop and onto the floor around it in some places. A large, square window set far above the desks, looking out on the black sky like an empty eye socket. One wall was completely covered by shelves that reached all the way up to the ceiling, which was almost as high as it was out in the loading bay. They were filled with jars, bottles and flasks of all shapes and sizes that contained a multitude of dark, murky objects. Octavia thought she recognized a few shapes that she had once seen in a biology text book—a pony biology textbook. She quickly looked away. In front of the wall sat an operating table with multiple leather restraints intended to hold a pony in place and bolted to the wood floor. Beside it were metal trays filled with a vast array of operating instruments, cleaned to perfection and flashing dangerous silver where the light caught them. Octavia had no doubt that if any one of them were to so much as touch her, its razor edge would slice through flesh, muscle and sinew down to the bone itself with no effort at all. She no longer wondered why the toll master of Yharnaram, a city official, was a pony name Sharpened Scalpel. I just wish I didn’t have to come here to find that out. Oh Celestia, is he going to operate on me!?!
“Is something the matter, Miss Melody?” Octavia jumped so hard that her hooflocker fell off her back, landing beside her with a thump.
“No, no, Mr. Scalpel. I’m quite fine, thank you” she said, working to keep the fear out of her voice, working to keep that fear from turning into outright panic, from bolting out the door and back down the mountain road, starless night or not. How in Equestria did I end up in a place like this?
The bat pony had unstrapped his rear legs from his hoof carriage, and had moved to sit in a large metal wheelchair that had been left by the door, intended for ponies who could not use their legs yet wished to be able to sit while remaining mobile. His lantern now hung from a poll on the side of the chair, but did not do a good job of illuminating the large chamber, not anywhere near a good job in Octavia’s opinion. Long shadows seemed to creep out from Sharpened Scalpel in every direction, a spider at home in the center of his web, and she was the fly.
Reaching down with his forehooves, the toll master rolled himself over to the wall opposite the shelves. A large stone hearth was inlaid into the wall, and before it sat a short table—also covered papers and various odds and ends—a wide couch and two high backed chairs. Sharpened Scalpel picked a small box up off the edge of the table and withdrew a match from it. He struck it across the side of the box, and a tiny flame hissed to life in his hoof. Tossing it into the fireplace produced a loud whoosh as the dry autumn logs with it blazed to life, light and warmth born with it.
“Miss Melody” he said calmly, turning back to face her. “In a city such as ours, it is the duty of the toll master to be a skilled medicinal practitioner as well as an administrator so that he might be of better aid to all the ponies who come here, whatever their reason. It is my duty to see to it that they… that you are administered the best medical treatment possible, if that is why you have come.” Scalpel’s voice carried a hopeful tone. “My purpose is the same as that of any doctor, to heal the sick, to prevent the spread of disease and to alleviate suffering.” Though his gaze was obscured by bandages, Octavia was sure he was looking directly into her eyes. “You have nothing to fear here” the toll master said emphatically, and motioned toward the one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.
Octavia balked, then finally gave in and moved to sit in the offered chair. She sat back gingerly, as if it were a pin cushion she had alighted on instead of a piece of furniture, but quickly relaxed as she found the chair to be comfortable and devoid of any surprises. Scalpel smiled widely at her from under his large hat, an expression that still did nothing to set her at ease, though Octavia could see that he was trying. The toll master rolled to the other side of the table and reached down to begin shifting through a stack of papers.
“Very good, Miss Melody. Now,” he pulled a folded sheet of parchment from the pile and set it on his lap, “to discuss your reason for visiting Yharnaram. Let’s start with where you’re from, your purpose in visiting our city, and how long you intend to stay.”
Ok Octavia thought to herself. It’s just a simple interview, that’s all. I’ve done plenty of these before. There’s nothing to worry about.
“I came-” Octavia had to stop and take a breath when her voice quavered. “I came to Yharnaram from Canterlot because I heard that this city has a cure for rare diseases and afflictions, because I need that cure for myself, and I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. As long as it takes to find out whether the cure works or not, I suppose.”
“Ah” Sharpened Scalpel said softly, and his smile seemed to flash dangerously, so fast that it was gone before Octavia was even sure it had been there in the first place. “And what exactly is ailing you, my dear, to bring you so far from your home?”
Octavia swallowed nervously. “False Unicorn’s Disorder.” Scalpel did not reply at first. The bat pony merely sat, studying her intently. Slowly, his black wings spread out behind him and began to beat the air, providing just enough lift to barely raise him out of his seat. Octavia felt her head began to spin, and lump of nausea formed in her stomach. She bent forward to cradle her head in both of her hooves.
“Oh, yes…” the toll master said, settling back down into his wheelchair and giving a dry chuckle. “Cornucopia Cerebrum, in its mid stage no less. You are a rare patient, Miss Melody, a rare patient indeed. Perhaps even the first ever to come to our city with such a disease.”
“All I want to know,” Octavia took a couple of deep breaths as the pain resided, “is if Yharnaram can cure me.” Octavia fidgeted in her seat. “Every doctor I’ve seen in Equestria has told me that this is incurable. That… that it will eventually drive me mad or kill me, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.” Scalpel nodded serenely as if he’d known exactly what she was going to say.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place” the toll master said. Yharnaram is the home of blood ministration. You need only unravel its mystery. But, where’s an outsider like yourself to begin?” He began to roll himself around the table toward Octavia, his voice little more than a confidential whisper “Easy, with a bit of Yharnaram blood of your own.” The toll master took the parchment from his lap and passed it to Octavia. “But first, you’ll need a contract.” Nervously she unfolded it, gaze flickering from the pony uncomfortably close to her to the neat writing it contained. Most of it was legal writing that granted her entrance into the city to conduct business of a medical nature, and down near the bottom was an area that asked for a detailed physical description of the bearer of the document—for identification purposes—some short background information, and their signature. Scalpel reached over to the table and grabbed an inkwell and quill from atop another stack of papers, and offered it to Octavia, who skimmed, filled out and signed the document as fast as she could, not wanting to let her eyes off the toll master for any longer than she had to. Once she finished, the toll master took and refolded it without a word, and grabbed an unlit candle from off the table. Rolling over to the fireplace, he held the candle close to the flames until the end began to melt, then held it over the contract. Thick drops of wax made a red puddle on the parchment. From inside his cloak he produced a seal and stamped the wax with what Octavia supposed was the seal of Yharnaram, then slipped both the seal and the contract into his coat. “Good. All signed and sealed. Now, let’s begin the transfusion.” The toll master began to roll toward the other side of the room where the operating table lay.
“Excuse me?” Octavia said hesitantly. “Transfusion? My doctor’s all told me that this was a neurological disorder, that is, I was never recommended to a hematologist for it.” Sharpened Scalpel stopped heading toward the far wall and turned to give her a sidelong glance, the sides of his mouth pressed into a grim line.
“That is why your doctors, why most doctors fail” he said disdainfully. “Your blood, all blood, is the foundation for who and what you are.” He began to move back toward her. “It gives you life, makes you grow, shapes your body, carries energy to every cell in it. We are our blood, Miss Melody, and here in Yharnaram we have found that every disease can be addressed by cleansing the blood, by purifying it with stronger blood, by strengthening it with the blood of ancient Yharnaram.” He stopped before her, his bandaged face looming half in shadow, half in the light from the fire.
“The blood of ancient Yharnaram?” Octavia asked, still not understanding.
“Yharnaram ram’s blood” Scalpel replied, sitting back a bit. He spoke patiently, almost as one would when explaining lightning on a stormy night to a scared foal. “You have the blood of a unicorn, and the blood of an earthpony, each inseparable yet incompatible with one another. Your body is attempting to find a physical balance, to acquiesce to two opposing forces at the same time, yet it is failing, and is tearing you apart in the process. The blood of Yharnaram is old, but it is still strong. It will create a balance between the earthpony and the sliver of unicorn in you, just as the three points of a triangle balance one another to create a stable base.”
“I’m… I’m not sure” Octavia said, trying to keep her gaze firmly on the bat pony. She could feel the presence of the door to her right. It seemed a long ways away at the moment. This was not what she had expected at all. But what else is there? she thought to herself. I’ve come all this way, and it’s like that pony said back on the way here. Nopony comes to Yharnaram unless they need a cure to some illness. But still, blood? Octavia was not afraid that she would be sold the proverbial bottle of snake oil—this didn’t feel like that kind of place, and no money had been asked for up front—but rather the adder itself by the tail. “You also said something about a mystery. How does that fit in to curing me?”
“Ah, well that part is… difficult to explain.” Scalpel spoke with infinite patience. “You will understand it better once you’ve received the transfusion. Suffice it to say the process you are about to undergo is one that will affect your mind as well as your body. As I said before, blood makes us both who we are as well as what we are. Our city is a place to heal the sick by guiding them back to an understanding of who they are on a fundamental level, and when you come to know the secrets at its heart, you will have become whole in both mind and body once more.” The toll master’s words didn’t make any sense on the surface, but he spoke with such conviction that Octavia found herself wanting to believe him, and considering she had exhausted every other option…
“Alright, I’ll agree to the transfusion” she said, rising from her chair.
“Very good. This way, please.” Sharpened Scalpel gestured toward the other side of the room and the dreaded operating table. Octavia followed him over to it, thankful he could not see her legs shaking as she walked.
“Please, lie down” he said, indicating the table, then turned to one of the shelves. Trembling and wondering how in Equestria it had come to this, Octavia hoisted herself onto one end of the table, and eased herself back. She stared up at the high ceiling and swallowed, trying to work moisture back into her suddenly dry mouth, listening to the clink of glass coming from Scalpel’s direction. If I see so much as a butter knife I’m going to buck him right in the face and run for it, she thought. The toll master appeared at her side a minute later, a needle and large syringe filled with crimson liquid held in one hoof. He set it down on a tray beside him, and reached for Octavia to fasten the leather restraints across her body.
“Some ponies react rather violently to the transfusion at first” he said when she nearly fell off the table in alarm. “The restraints are for both our safety, I assure you.” He tried to give her another smile, and she looked away, blinking to fight back panic and tears. This whole night was becoming almost more than she could handle. But what other choice do I have? Octavia simply flopped back down on the table, and allowed Sharpened Scalpel to tie her down. There were seven restraints in all: one over the stomach, the chest, the forehead and one for each leg. Any hope of escape if the toll master had any other plans for Octavia vanished as he pulled the last strap tight across her middle.
“This next part can be a bit unpleasant” the toll master said. Octavia could not turn her head, but she heard the sound of him gathering something from the instrument tray beside him. “Oh but don’t you worry, Miss Melody. Whatever happens… you may think it all a mere bad dream.”
There was a flash of movement in the corner of Octavia’s vision, and she cried out in pain and surprise as she felt the needle pierce her carotid artery. She writhed on the table, struggling to break free, but was held firmly in place by the restraints across her. Fire seemed to spread through her blood from the injection point, a cord of burning agony that quickly became a web of molten lava beneath her skin. It felt as if her bones themselves were aflame. Her heart became a burning ember, its every beat causing indescribable anguish, and her head felt as if somepony had just driven a spike of white hot steel through its center. Octavia screamed, cried and pleaded for Sharpened Scalpel to make it stop, for him to just kill her and make it stop, but there was no answer. Finally, mercifully, her vision blurred and sound and consciousness began to slip away, the pain going with it.

After what seemed like only a few seconds, she came back to her senses. Octavia was not sure if she was awake or not.  She did not feel wholly… present, as if she lacked corporeality. Darkness receded from the corners of her sight, and she could see the ceiling again, up above her. She still could not move though. The operating restraints were still in place, even if she could not feel them yet. Is that it? Is the treatment done? Her thoughts were cut off by the gentle sound of sloshing liquid somewhere off to her side.
“Hello?” she said, struggling to turn her head beneath its restraint. “Is somepony there?”
Nothing answered at first. Then, Octavia heard the wind. It made a low, hollow moaning as it trickled through the rafters, rustling the chandeliers and stirring up the dust. The grey particles swirled above Octavia in a lazy circle that began to turn faster and faster, the wind’s dull groaning slowly growing in pitch and volume to siren’s howl. Then there was light. There was no source that Octavia could see, tied down and staring up as she was, but a pool of orange light bloomed on the ceiling, and then, slowly, orange flames begin to peek between the boards in the ceiling, growing downward like swaying stalactites of light. As soon as the first ember touched the swirling dust cloud over Octavia, it exploded into a ring of fire with a roar. Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. The sudden intensity of the fire hurt her eyes, and when she opened them a minute later, the entire ceiling was a cyclone of flames, the eye of the maelstrom swirling directly above her. Like water drawn down the drain, it began to elongate toward her into a funnel of fiery death. Even though she still could feel nothing of the tremendous heat, Octavia screamed in alarm as it reached for her, its center turning to a white hot point set to pierce her very heart and incinerate her soul. Suddenly, a tremor seemed to run through the entire room, run through her body itself, and the flames stopped moving just above her, then vanished into darkness.
Octavia laid there a moment longer, unsure of what had just happened, when another shudder shook the world around her. Glasses clinked as they vibrated in their cases, and books and papers rustled like tree leaves caught in the gentle breeze that came just before the breaking of a storm. Is this an earthquake? The rafters began to groan above Octavia like the hull of a ship caught in a tempest, and finally gave way with ear-splitting snaps and cracks. She winced as she saw them come apart, but instead of falling down to crush her, the fragmented timber rose up and away into a vast chasm of stars. The room began to shake harder and harder, and Octavia saw books, papers, bottles and knives all began to fly past her, twirling gracefully through the air like dandelion seeds caught in a gentle spring breeze until they ascended beyond where the ceiling had been to vanish in an instant, sucked up—or is it down now?—with tremendous force. As if from somewhere far off, Octavia felt the biting pain of leather cutting into her flesh as she began to be pulled against her restraints, up and away from the floor.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. Oh Celestia please no” she whimpered as her mane trailed out before her, drawn toward the starlight expanse. The pain of the restraints pulling against her, or rather she against them, became more and more pronounced and more and more unbearable until there was a loud *SNAP* like a firecracker, followed by six more in rapid succession. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Octavia screamed as she shot out of the room and plunged face first into the heavens.
Falling end over end she caught glimpses of massive steal gears turning slowly, immense pistons pushing, brass cogs whirring and springs winding and unwinding, all inside what was some great, dark machine, impossibly large and filled with a million pinpricks of light.
For a single instant she saw a streak of midnight blue amongst the darkened steel and bronze; a mare, regal and tall with sapphire eyes and a long mane that flowed gently, reflecting the true night sky. Her startled gaze met Octavia’s for a moment, and then she was gone, whisked out of sight as Octavia continued to drop.
Helpless, she plummeted downward faster and faster. Then, in an instant, there was a stone floor below her, and before she could even realize it was there, Octavia’s body and consciousness were shattered against its unforgiving surface, hurling her back into darkness.
> Chapter 3: Amber Flames
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	An eternity later, Octavia began awaken, again. Thoughts came slowly at first. Her mind felt like millions of shards of broken glass trying to reassemble themselves, each piece trying to fit back together and remember where it went and what exact it was a part of. Octavia groaned and gave a weak sob, raising a hoof to rub her aching head which felt as if it had been given a good strong buck or two by a lifelong apple farmer. She could clearly see the rafters above her in the dim moonlight from the window. She sat up slowly on the operating table, then promptly fell back again as nausea engulfed her. Thankful that somepony had removed her restraints. Or did they snap off? She rolled to her side and eased herself off the table to fall to the floor, landing on some discarded parchment. She got to her hooves slowly, not caring about whatever it was she was stepping on. Serves Sharpened Scalpel right! I don’t care if I’m trashing his only copy of Hay’s Anatomy she thought to herself, giving the papers beneath her a few hard stamps out of anger. Whether the cure had worked or not, she was going to have words with the toll master for what he’d just put her through. There certainly hadn’t been enough forewarning, that was for sure.
After she vented some more of her anger and frustration, kicking the pile of loose-leaf sheets out to scatter across the floor, something finally dawned on her. She could see. It was not that her eyes were working properly again, thankfully the cure hadn’t damaged them or any other part of her she noticed, but rather that there was no source of light in the room, except for the moonlight shining in. Wait a second she thought. It was a new moon when I arrived at the keep and not a star in the sky. The moon can’t be out now. Yet there it was, a beautiful full moon, bigger in the sky than she had ever seen before, pouring down soft grey light through three tall windows in the far wall. Octavia stared at it a moment longer before she realized something else. There was only one window in the toll master’s office. She turned to observe the room, staring in disbelief. It was not the same one she had received the transfusion in. For one thing it was smaller, its interior more of a square instead the rectangular shape of the room in the keep. For another, it looked more like a true, albeit antiquated, medical ward than Scalpel’s office had. What she had actually woken up on was a wooden medical gurney, and there was another one beside it, neither boasting any restraints like the ones on the toll master’s operating table.  Between the two was an IV stand with two empty glass bottles hanging from it. Operating tools and primitive diagnostic instruments covered in dust and bottles caked in grime and grit were stacked in wooden cabinets that ran along the four walls of the room. There were two large chandeliers above, no doubt intended to give surgeons enough light to operative by at night, but now home to several hundred spiders as evidenced by the layers and layers of white webbing spun between their candles. Finally, there was a single door in a corner of the wall across from the windows with glass panes set into it, but they were so caked with filth that Octavia couldn’t make out what was on the other side of it.
Unfortunately, Octavia’s hooflocker that contained everything she had brought with her for the trip to Yharnaram was nowhere to be found. Putting a hoof to her neck revealed that even her pink bowtie had been removed, effectively leaving her with absolutely nothing. Great. That quack doctor just drugged me and dragged me off somewhere, then made off with everything I own! Forget having strong words with the pony. If I ever meet him again, I’ll give him two real reasons to wear bandages over his eyes, then drag him all the way down the mountain to the nearest police station! Fuming, Octavia turned and gave one of the gurneys a hard buck with her rear hooves, sending it crashing onto its side. These tables were not secured like the toll master’s. The sudden noise broke the silence of the room like a stone hurled through stained glass, and Octavia’s anger turned to startled fear in an instant. What was she doing? Did she want to attract more attention to herself? Who knew where she was right now, and who else might have overhead the racket she had just caused. For now, her best option would be to get her bearings, then find her way out of wherever it was that she was and back down the mountainside.
Octavia trotted over to the windows and peered out into the night. A dark, unfamiliar cityscape met her gaze, the moon its only illumination. In the distance she could see the silhouettes of two mountain peaks rising up to brush the top of the sky. I’m in Yharnaram she realized with a start. She had supposed that the toll master had simply deposited her in another part of his keep, or some other nearby building, but as she peered out the three windows, craning and turning her head to see as far to each side as she could, it seemed that she was somewhere near the center of the city.
Octavia stepped away from the windows, heart beating frantically. Of all the rumors and myths that surrounded Yharnaram, there was one piece of advice that everypony knew, often the very first anypony ever heard when learning about the city, one that every story teller or adventurer who claimed to know somepony who knew somepony who knew somepony who had been to the city agreed upon: never go out into the streets of Yharnaram at night. The reason why was never given, but if an inquisitive mind were to ask the one telling for it, they would more than likely be met with a hard stare and silence, as if the warning itself were more than reason enough to avoid such an utterly foolish act. Octavia had not planned to arrive at Yharnaram by dark herself, and though she thought she had left with plenty of time to make it up the mountain and have hours of daylight to spare, somehow the sun was setting by the time she reached the end of the road. She hadn’t thought of it much then, but hoped to lodge in the toll master’s keep for the night, before she knew the kind of pony who inhabited it of course. Even then, in no way would she have gone into Yharnaram until sunrise, but here she was, in the heart of the city, right around the middle of the night if the moon was any indication. She felt like a pony stranded on a small desert island with sharks circling all around. All she could do now was wait until sunrise, and then she would be able to freely move about the city. Whatever… whatever was out there in the darkness couldn’t get to her as long as she remained inside. In the morning she could leave if she wanted to, at least, that was what she told herself, but her words lacked conviction 
“You need only unravel its mystery….” The toll master’s words echoed back from earlier in the night. Hadn’t she been cured, hadn’t she, or at least given what was supposed to be Yharnaram’s cure? “Our city is a place to heal the sick…” the toll master continued in her mind. “When you come to know the secrets at its heart, you will have become whole in both mind and body once more.”
“The secret…” Octavia said aloud, musing to herself as she looked back out on the city. “The blood was supposed to be just the start. Do I have to find the secret of Yharnaram for the cure to work? Why?” She ran a hoof up her neck to where she remembered being given the transfusion, and her eyes went wide. She patted her neck in disbelief, first on one side, then the other. She turned away from the window, looking for a mirror of some sort. Taking a metal tray that held a strange assortment of pliers from one of the shelves, Octavia gently dumped its contents on the floor, careful to keep quiet about it, then rubbed it with a hoof to remove the remaining dust from its surface. Standing in front of the window and holding the tray before her, she examined her blurry reflection in the improvised mirror, specifically her neck. There was no mark, no puncture, no blood. Nothing to indicate she’d ever had a needle jammed into her at any point. Sweet Celestia! How long was I unconscious? she thought in disbelief.
A soft scrabbling noise on the very edge of hearing came from somewhere beyond the door at the other end of the room, causing Octavia to nearly drop the tray in surprise. She set it down gently, then listened, ears turning every which way to determine where the sound had come from, or if there had even been one for that matter. Aside from Octavia, the building had been silent as death since she had woken up there. Octavia listened a minute longer, but the noise did not come again. Nothing stirred except the dust motes slowly drifting through moonlight from the window. She released a breath she did not realize she had been holding.
A low rumble sounded, but that was simply her stomach. Octavia realized it had been some time since her last meal, and it finally occurred to her just how tired and hungry she really was. Perhaps there was somepony else in the building, one who could provide her with a hot meal and a warm place to sleep. One who hopefully doesn’t need to be paid she thought to herself, frowning deeply. Whatever the case was, it was either spend a night in this room with all of its knives and glass bottles and probably try to sleep on one of the operating tables—thank you, no—or try to find a better, safer place to rest somewhere else.  Thinking it over only for a moment, she made her way over to the room’s solitary door. Cautiously, she pulled the handle and slipped through it, careful not to make a sound.
She stepped out into a long, narrow hallway running off both to her left and right, and that showed much the same neglect as the room she had just been in. Dust and cobwebs covered the hall from ceiling to floor, and torn, faded wallpaper curled up the sides of the walls like remnants of bark on a dead tree. On a whim, Octavia picked the right side of the hall, hoping it would lead her somewhere safe. And perhaps to the kitchen if there is one. The hall was lined with multiple doors, identical to the one she had come out of, each with a brass plate next to its frame. She stopped and dusted one off to read Patient Room 27. Pushing the door open a crack and peering in, Octavia saw two rusted bed frames holding the remnants of what looked to be formless grey mattresses. The tattered remnants of white privacy curtains were draped around each, swaying gently in a breeze creeping in through an open window across the room. In the dim moonlight, they looked like transparent specters from a foals’ horror story. Octavia shuddered, and closed the door, continuing down the hall.
Well, that explained this building. She was in a hospital or medical ward of some sort, but one that didn’t look like it had been used in years. What kind of city or town of any size let’s their hospital fall into ruin? she thought to herself. Unless… a sliver of hope caught in her chest. Unless the cure works, and nopony in this city has need of medicine or doctors here! she realized. It still was well within the realm of possibility that Yharnaram really did have some sort of magical cure-all, even if it didn’t explain anomalies like the toll master’s apparently poor health, but perhaps there were even limits to something like the cure here. In any case, Octavia was not trying to find a cure for paralysis, just fix what was wrong in her head. A smaller, more feasible healing, she concluded. But still impossible for everypony else to fix, another side of her whispered.
Sighing, she came the top of a simple staircase which led down to a wider hallway below. Octavia stared down it, and was surprised to see a faint orange light flickering from under one of the doors in the lower hallway. Stealth forgotten at the hope of finding somepony else, anypony else to end her solitude, she quickly trotted down the stairs, uncaring of the creeks and groans the dusty wood made beneath her hooves
Octavia made her way over to the door the light was coming from, and, hesitating just briefly eased the handle down, and let herself in. She stepped into a virtual forest of gurneys, all scattered about the room in a disorganized mess. Some were overturned, and the whole jumble created a tangle of wood and metal that obstructed Octavia’s view of most of the room. Despite its desperate need of a good cleaning, the room still retained the sterile smell of a medical center, and Octavia saw a shelf near the door where she entered holding rows of identical glass bottles, all with the label “Alcohol Disinfectant”.
There was definitely somepony—or something… No! Stop it!—there at the far end of the room. From it came the warm, amber glow of a fire, along with soft, squishing and ripping noises, like somepony was tearing a mud covered fragment of cloth to pieces.
“Hello?” Octavia said nervously. The noises instantly stopped, and all was still. Something moved and for an instant, Octavia thought she saw a huge shadow play across the ceiling, thrown up by the firelight. “Hello?” she said again, suddenly unsure of whether it was wise or not to remain in the room. Silence answered her, and Octavia waited. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. A whole minute.
There was a dull thump, and a single gurney at the other end of the room was displaced, its path across the floor marked by rhythmic squeaking from a single rusty wheel. Octavia craned her neck over the mess of discarded medical equipment in the center of the room. She could just make out its shape rolling slower and slower next to a medical cabinet. Wait. Is there something else over there? She took a tentative step forward. The gurney trundled to a halt, and the squeaking stopped.
“Hello?”
The room seemed to explode as something massive and powerful crashed right through the middle of the gurneys in the center of the room like a ship plowing through water, sending them spinning through the air, smashing into walls, furniture and cabinets. The creature dove for Octavia with incredible speed, a giant wolf-like beast with covered in thick black fur. A muzzle filled with sharp fangs snarled, eager for blood, and two long, powerful arms reached for her with large, incredibly sharp claws. Terrified, Octavia only had time to fall to the floor before the thing reached her. She felt a rush of air as its jump carried it over her with mere inches to spare, and heard it crash into the shelf of bottles behind her. She leapt up and saw a set of double doors in front of her, where the creature had originally been. She charged toward them.
As she neared the other side of the room, she finally saw the source of its light. The mangled corpse of a bat pony lay on the floor, its head and limbs almost completely gnawed off. Beside it was a brass lantern containing a few shards of glass, and a single large candle that was slowly dripping wax to mingle with the pool of blood on the floor. Octavia charged past both and hurled through the double doors, into what looked like the hospital’s main corridor. 
She charged down it, dodging around piles of discarded medical equipment and refuse that lined the broad hallway. Thankfully, the corridor had a high, glass-paned ceiling, and moonlight cascaded through it like, clearly illuminating everything around her.
The sound of splintering wood and breaking glass echoed behind her, followed by a loud snarl and the dull clack of claws as the monster gave chase. It quickly began to gain on her, and, Octavia threw herself down a side corridor. In desperation she began to knock over objects as she ran past them, trying to slow down the monstrosity behind her, but to no avail. The creature deftly evaded her obstructions and continued to close the gap between itself and the frightened mare. She could hear it breathing from somewhere behind her.
As Octavia rounded a corner, a flash of color caught her eyes, and she thought she saw a pony vanishing through one of the doors that lined the hallway. Not thinking and not caring, she flung herself at the door with a cry.
Bolting into the room on the other side, she turned and slammed it shut. Just in time she saw an old iron bolt and shot it before the beast impacted with the door, shaking it violently. Octavia braced herself against it, expecting another shock as the creature would no doubt attempt to batter its way in. It didn’t come. She sat against the door, eyes wide and heart pounding, ear pressed against the door, listening for the monster. Nothing stirred on the other side. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, but nothing happened. Is it trying to lure me back out somehow, Octavia thought. The creature had already used surprise once, and had nearly killed her then. Perhaps it was hiding out in the hallway somewhere, waiting for her to feel secure enough to come out so it could kill her without having to go to the trouble of breaking through the door first. Octavia waited a bit longer before taking stock of her situation.
Quickly scanning the room, Octavia realized to her horror that she was trapped. The room she had chosen looked to be some sort of administrative office, its only contents a large wooden desk, a chair, a sagging book case filled with several dusty tomes and no other way out; no doors and not a window to speak of. Her gambled had also failed in that there was clearly nopony else in the room.
There was, however, one thing that stood out from all the bleak dust. A candle sat on the desk in a simple candle holder, bathing the small room in its gentle glow. It did not look like it had been there very long. In fact, the wax point at the top was just beginning to melt away from the flame right then.
Slowly easing herself away from the door so that the monster outside would not hear that she had abandoned her defense, Octavia made her way over to the candle. How strange. She had thought she’d seen a pony enter this room, but no light. Maybe it was just the terror of the chase and the darkness playing tricks on me, or am I starting to lose my mind in this place?, she mused worriedly. As she inspected the candle, she noticed that not only did the candle and candleholder look pristine, free of the filth that covered the rest of the building. Both looked brand new as if somepony had just taken them off of the shelf at a store and placed them here for her. She reached out a hoof to pick up the candle.
Then the wall across from her erupted in a shower of splinters, and the wolf monster catapulted through it. It was on Octavia before she could even scream, crushing her to the ground with its powerful forelegs. She desperately struggled and writhed beneath it, but was held tight by a grip stronger than iron around each of her forelegs.
Up close, the monster was even more terrifying. Yellow, predatory eyes sat above a harsh muzzle, and it seemed that the creature had even more teeth in its mouth than she first remembered. Its breath reeked of rotten flesh and death, and there was another smell about it, foreign, but in her panicked state Octavia could not place it.
The creature began to reach toward her with its powerful jaws. Octavia continued to buck and struggle, flinging her head from side to side to keep it from reaching her. It leisurely followed her movements like a cobra swaying back and forth to a piper’s tune. Idon’twanttodie!Idon’twanttodie! Oh Celestia, I don’t want to die!
Looking around helplessly, she spotted the candle, which had rolled off the desk and fallen onto the floor beside her. Its flame danced before her eyes, the last light she would ever see in this world. Fire… sometimes it was so pretty.
The monster snarled above her, done toying with its food. As the stench of its breath wafted over Octavia again, so did the other smell, out of place yet familiar. She looked to the flame on the candle one last time, and realization struck.
The wolf creature bent down again, this time going for her unprotected neck, intending to rip her throat out. With all of her strength, Octavia jerked her head to the side, seized the candle in her mouth, then reached up and rammed it into the shaggy fur as close to the top of the monster’s neck as she could get. The alcohol that had covered its back when it had first tried to tackle her and had crashed into the medical cabinet containing the disinfectant, the source of the smell that had followed it from that room, ignited, and flames engulfed the creature’s entire back.
The wolf monster let go of Octavia in surprise and pain, falling onto its back to try and snuff out the flames. It rolled back and forth, but continued to burn. It brushed against the book shelf, and like dry autumn leaves all the volumes it contained ignited, and then the ceiling.
Octavia leapt to her hooves, forelegs hurting where the creature’s claws had grabbed her, and ran. She bolted down the corridor. Perhaps if she could find her way back to the main hallway, she could find the main entrance. Don’t go out into the streets, a part of her said, but she ignored it.
Somehow, even though she was sure she was going the right direction, the main hallway eluded her. Too afraid to backtrack in case the monster was still alive, Octavia galloped through corridor after corridor, searching frantically for a way, any way out. She turned to go down one hallway and saw black smoke roiling like an angry thunderhead at the other end of it, so she followed it in the opposite direction. Coming around another corner led her out under a familiar, high glassed ceiling again, and a stifling blast of heat hit her. She had found the main hallway again, but now it was on fire.
Making a snap decision, Octavia galloped further into the hallway, keeping to the center to stay as far away as possible from the flames on the walls. The glass ceiling was no longer visible, obscured by thick, black smoke, and the objects strewn across the floor were all small bonfires for her to dodge.
The entrance to the building appeared ahead of her, two oak doors with beautiful floral hoof carvings in their surfaces reached almost all the way up to the ceiling flanked by large stained glass windows. Octavia could see flames were already eating ravenously at the wood work, and she put on a burst of speed. Sections of the ceiling above began to explode from the rising heat of the fire, and shard of glass fell like rain, some cutting her. She leapt over a burning hoof carriage, and stumbled the last few feet to the massive doors. She set her shoulder against one and pushed. It gave slowly, hinges complaining with a noise that set her teeth on edge as it crept outward. Heat from the fire made it harder and harder to breath, and Octavia found herself struggling to find footing near the door as flaming debris fell around her, forcing her to shift positions a couple times to avoid getting burned.
The door finally opened wide enough for Octavia to squeeze through, but she hesitated. Everything she’d ever heard about Yharnaram at night from everypony she had talked to about it said that the smarter choice would be for her to take her chances in a hospital on fire rather than go out into the city itself. There was a groan from back down the hall, and a large section of wall crashed down across it, and a cloud of smoke, heat and sparks washed over her. Well I guess that just made my decision for me. Octavia pushed her way through the door, and inhaled a deep breath of cool night air.
Something grabbed her rear leg from behind. Octavia tossed her head frantically and looked behind her, and her blood ran cold.
The monster was back. Somehow, it had survived the flames, though at a terrible price. Its fur was gone, and its skin with it, melted almost entirely away by the fire, leaving its body covered in little except blood, sinew and charred meat. It had reached through the gap she had created in the door and grabbed her rear leg in one of its claws. Now it was trying to pull her back into the inferno with it. She and fought back, trying to pull away with her free legs, but could not get loose. The creature snarled, and continued to drag her backwards.
Then there was an ear splitting crack as wood splintered somewhere above. The monster barely had time to look up before it was crushed by a flaming support beam that fell from above the doors. Its grasp loosened and Octavia shot forward, falling to roll painfully down the sweeping flight of stairs that led up to the building’s main entrance, and landed in a dazed heap.
The building groaned and rumbled behind her, and Octavia felt a tremor shake the earth beneath her. A concert of destruction played out as beams broke, pillars crashed down and smoke poured into the sky. Finally, in one great cacophony of light and despair, the hospital fell, folding in on itself as it collapsed inward. A wave of hot air and soot washed over Octavia, leaving her coughing and gasping for air where she lay.
A shrill cry pierced the night. Then a thousand more joined it. Guttural roars met hollowing screeches and almost pony-like screams to form an unholy chorus. In a long chain of puffs, the gas street lamps in front of the hospital and burst to life. Lights sprang up in the windows of the surrounding buildings, and shouts, snarls, rumbles, scrapings, clanks and countless other horrific noises seemed to come from every direction. Octavia felt terror settle deep within her soul as she realized what was happening. Yharnaram was awakening.