Bloody Tears, Part I

The moment she sees it, Twilight Sparkle knows something is very wrong.

Canterlot Castle doesn't carry its usual dignity, grace, and warmth. It's… different, intimidating, standing silently in the mountainside like a giant tombstone. As the moon descends, it looks down at this unfamiliar castle as if perplexed and concerned. The clouds surrounding the castle shudder, afraid to approach it.

When she finally arrives at the Canterlot train station, she is greeted by a few of the Royal Guards, who immediately take her to her brother. The moment she boards the chariot readied for her, Twilight Sparkle looks up and realizes why everything about the castle felt off.

It is not Celestia's castle standing there anymore.

Instead, it is a giant and frightening thing: a monument of terror and oppression standing tall and imposing over a city gripped with fear. As they ride through the streets, Twilight takes note of how many ponies are already up and about, talking to each other in hushed tones, with eyes wide and with faces pale. There are numerous Royal Guards out on patrol, with single guards standing watch at nearly every street corner. High alert.

Something is very wrong in Canterlot, and as the sun finally, reluctantly rises, it brings with it a very hollow morning, devoid of warmth or meaning. Today, Celestia is not here. The sun rises without its mother: it is awake and very, very afraid.

The chill morning air is cut by the roasted smell of fresh coffee as Shining Armor brings it to his lips. The castle before him glares down at him as he drinks. He greets its foreboding stare with a suspicious eye of his own. This castle has him marked as an enemy, and he knows it—and he, in his understandable paranoia, returns the favor.

Finally, his sister arrives. They greet each other happily, almost disregarding these unfortunate circumstances. Their conversation goes from pleasantries, to Princess Cadance's well-being, to the Crystal Empire's current status.

“The Crystal Empire’s doing okay,” he says quietly, his eyes once again flicking to the castle. “I was visiting my old squadron here, when this thing suddenly appeared…”

Reluctantly breaking their conversation, Twilight Sparkle looks up to the castle, her jaw steeling uneasily as she drinks in its appearance.

The architecture of the castle sings nocturnes of an alien world: the dark stone frames black windows taller than many of the buildings in Canterlot, long spires that stick out like claws attempting to scratch out the sky. Much of it is gnarled and twisted, yet at the same time rigid and structured. Almost as if it’s something chaotic or unreal wearing a paper-thin disguise that threatens to get taken away by the wind.

But it’s the statues decorating many overhanging platforms that catch her eye. Creatures with fingers and noses and toes; some wearing clothes, some not; some with wings, others with horns and tails; all in various states of torment, humiliation, or domination.

Twilight Sparkle has read about these alien creatures, Homo sapiens. Before, she had only seen ancient artwork depicting them, or clumsy facsimiles built in their image. These seem closer to the real deal. The largest thing that any of these statues share is the overall air of fear, that quality of horror and oppression.

"From those statues," she says quietly, "I'd say this castle isn't from anyplace ruled by ponies..."

A deep voice breaks the morning. "From the statues?" Twilight Sparkle turns to see the speaker: a tall, big, blonde, dark blue unicorn around Shining Armor's age with a voice like thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. "My dear girl, with all due respect, this castle appeared overnight, and you're concerned with statues!" He speaks with an air of authority and deep intelligence beneath his rude exterior.

Twilight Sparkle elects not to pick a fight with a fellow intellectual. Before she says anything, Shining Armor shoots him a glare. "Calm down, Roaring Yawn. She just got here, and she will be working with you and your team." He explains to Roaring that Twilight is the Princess's very own pupil, and is well-versed in nearly every kind of magic. He then introduces the two, telling his sister that Roaring Yawn is—

"A pioneer in the study of cryptology and a leading name in the cataloguing of ancient and forbidden magics, I know," she interrupts, catching her brother unaware. She reaches her hoof out to shake Roaring Yawn's. "I've read all your articles in Cryptology Monthly, including your latest one. I have to say your opinion on Nevermore the Perverse and his role in the Ancient Pony War was very enlightening." For a quiet few seconds, her hoof merely hangs there, unjoined by Roaring's. Awkwardly, she puts her hoof down as Roaring Yawn walks by her to look more closely at the castle.

He fiddles with his glasses, almost nervously. "At the stroke of midnight last night," he begins, "A bright light flashed for close to a whole minute. When it faded, this… behemoth stood in place of our Princess' castle. Some of my colleagues have theorized this to be some kind of weird mirror-opposite to the Princess' castle, but to be perfectly honest, I don't think that is the case."

"Is the Princess still here?" asks Twilight Sparkle, hopeful that her mentor was safe, at least.

Shining Armor shakes his head. "We lost contact with her after the light went away. I was actually kind of hoping she maybe shot you a letter..."

At this, Twilight considers the possibility. She wishes she had brought Spike along, as he is the only one who can receive the Princess' messages. She'd left as soon as she had received her brother's message (which was sent similarly to how the Princess sends hers), so she hadn't stuck around to receive any others. She shakes her head in response.

Roaring Yawn looks up at the sun. "The Princess is not here, yet the sun has risen. I assume she's still alive at least."

"...But then why hasn't she contacted any of her subjects?" Shining Armor asks.

"Who knows?" Roaring Yawn shrugs. "If either of you trust in our Princess as much as you say, then we'll just have to wait for her to either send us word or return. Either way, in the meantime, we're stuck with this mysterious castle. I say we stop wasting time and investigate."

Even though he is a very brash kind of pony (and the worst kind of that: loud, rude, and in control), Roaring Yawn does have a good point. While everypony else stands around outside, the Princess might be lying inside this tomb of a castle, hurt or scared or...!

Shining Armor nods. He gathers his group together while Roaring Yawn takes Twilight Sparkle aside. "Look," he says, his electric green eyes meeting her dusk purples, "I don't mean to sound pushy, but this is no time for formalities. What we have here is a real anomaly. You and I and my colleagues are all here to investigate this. So no wandering off."

Her patience with his attitude at its end, Twilight Sparkle pushes him away. "I don't know who you think you are, Roaring Yawn, but you don't have the right to treat me like some foal. I do understand what's at stake here. We're about to discover something huge, so I think we should be on more professional terms with each other."

Roaring Yawn's lips purse as he looks at her through his glasses, his face haughty, his green eyes piercing. "We could," he said, his rumbling voice at a very low volume, "and for the time being, we will." He turns to his colleagues as they depart for the castle. As he leaves, his back still to Twilight, he says curtly, "But don't think for a second that you are somehow on our level. You are only here because your brother demanded you to be here. So don't get in the way."

With that, Roaring Yawn leaves Twilight standing there, alone. She shivers with fury over his thoughtless remarks. Suddenly, she feels somepony rest their hoof on her shoulder, diffusing her growing anger. She turns and is met by the friendly face of one of Roaring's colleagues.

"Oh, don't worry about him," he says. "Roaring's not the type to say anything nice about anypony. He just holds everypony to impossible standards: his. Just shrug him off."

Twilight wants very much to take this unicorn's advice to heart. She looks up at the castle again.

It stares back. She is marked as an enemy, but unlike her brother, she does not know it yet.

Within these castle walls, unseen eyes grab at the group wandering inside. Even with warm sunlight coming in through the windows, every member of the observation group can feel... something, as if this castle were really a living thing and is aware it has been invaded.

The photojournalists with them take as many pictures as they possibly can: that painting on the wall, those suits of armor that line the halls, the architecture...

The scientists had all brought their equipment, using their magic to scan the various objects around them. They scribble their findings on notepads, taking care to list every detail. Most find that they end each discovery with yet another question.

Meanwhile, Shining Armor had split his men into several groups. While he would stay and guard the observation group with a few of them, the others would search the castle for any signs of the Princesses (or anypony else who lived in the castle for that matter). He walks alongside his sister, observing her body language, taking in all the subtle flinches and near-reluctant hoofsteps.

Twilight uses her horn to scan a nearby statue. Her body tenses suddenly.

"Something wrong?" asks Shining Armor.

For a moment, it had felt as if the statue had scanned her instead of the other way around—like it could see into her soul, her memories, everything about her. She looks up at the statue, its white marble Homo sapien face, its unseeing, invasive eyes staring into her.

Twilight shakes her head.

"No," she lies, "Nothing. It's just, this place..."

"I’ve explored many a mysterious crypt," says Roaring Yawn nearby. His deep voice words his sentences quietly and carefully, like a cat gingerly approaching a waterfall. He too seems afraid of this place. "I’m familiar with the natural sense of unease that comes with investigating the burial place of ponies long dead. But this castle... there's something... different about it. There’s something about it I just can't put my hoof on..."

"You feel it too, don't you?" asks Twilight. "This place isn't just a castle." Her eyes dart about, alert for any suspicious movement, as her voice's volume drops to almost a whisper. "It's alive."

Roaring Yawn says nothing, but the look on his face agrees. Shining Armor looks about uncomfortably, his weight shifting from one side to the other while the others are bustling about in their investigation. Inwardly, he hopes to hear back from his men as soon as possible.

Twilight's ears are ringing. They are calling for her to wake up. Her senses return to her, one by one, as if they had lost her somewhere down the road and doubled back for her. Her hearing returns with the ringing in her ears, her taste returns with sourness of the mouth. Her sight and feeling are more reluctant however, but she does smell something fetid, something ancient.

What happened?

She remembers shouting voices. Large, black wings. A scream that caused the glass windows to explode. The window pieces stopped midflight.

She remembers a Homo sapien. He wears white from head to foot. Carries around a big black sword, or something similar to one—it was too elaborate in its design to tell what it was exactly. He says something to a white rabbit in dapper clothing, but it sounds as if he is saying it backwards. The white rabbit says something in return, something that makes no sense.

Last thing she remembers, she was running for the door. She had to find the passage back to the place she was before. But there was a fall. She fell somewhere, and now she's lost.

Twilight climbs up to her hooves, shaking. She feels damp on one side. Her nostrils inhale dust and mildew, perhaps generations’ worth of the stuff. She coughs. Cold as a tomb in here.

She takes another few sniffs. It is a tomb.

Knowing exactly what she might see if she does so, Twilight casts a Spell of Light upon her horn, spreading sweet visibility across the room. She is greeted by precisely what she expected, and holds her screams.

There are empty eyes set in empty skulls, empty Homo sapien skulls. They all stare at her, from above, and below, and from all sides, staring with both vacancy and hatred. There are empty, grinning mouths with missing teeth; there are limbs and torsos and feet and hands and arms and legs scattered about the floor.

There is a head, blue and rotted, resting atop an otherwise empty suit of armor. The head's mouth is a deep crimson red, along with its listless, worthless eyes. The suit of armor sits atop a mound of bodies.

There are bodies. Mounds and mounds of bodies in every corner.

Finally, Twilight's voice returns to her, only to escape again in a scream.

Bloody Tears, Part II

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Bloody Tears, Part II

Twilight's chest rises and falls peacefully enough. She is in bed now, not asleep but in bed; awake, and alert, and afraid.

Her chest shakes as she fights her emotions. This is no time for hysterics, she tells herself. No time. The lights are on, there are Royal Guards just outside your door if you need anything, and

The blue, bloated face of the decapitated head smiles its crimson grin

there is nothing to fear. You are safe, Twilight Sparkle tells herself. You're a national hero, well-known even before that as a talented magician mentored by the Princess herself. You can take care of yourself, and you know it. Roaring Yawn even

The decapitated head with the crimson grin began to float up

admitted that he was impressed with some of your work just a few hours ago. I mean, yeah, he might have just been cheering you up after your scare, but even so. And he's a leading name in cryptology and ancient magics! There is nothing there that can impede you in her development and ambition. You are merely imagining

With an awful sound, the giant suit of armor pulls out its hideous blade as the crimson grin keeps laughing and laughing

things. You need to keep cool.

Before Twilight Sparkle can do anything, the armor lunges for her, sword in its hands as that damned crimson grin keeps laughing

You need to keep cool. The lights are on. There are Guards outside her room. You are safe.

laughing and lunging and lunging and laughing

Twilight Sparkle screams in terror, again.

The guards rush into the room. "What's wrong, Twilight?!" asks one.

Twilight covers her mouth and shudders, fighting the urge to cry. Thinking up a decent excuse, Twilight says, "I-It's nothing. It was just a nightmare."

The Guards nod. One tells her, "It's gonna be like this the first few nights after something so traumatizing. You're going to have flashbacks so real, it'll be like you're time-warping, right back to that moment. In time, those memories will fade." He walks forward and pours her a drink of water from the pitcher on her nightstand. Twilight watches him intently, observing how he uses his pegasus wings as if they are hands. He holds it out to her gently. She takes it in a cloud of magenta light and drinks slowly.

"Feel better?" he asks. Twilight nods. He smiles. This guard seems very friendly and considerate. She can see in his dark eyes that he is certainly a family stallion: older than she is, eyes that hug you when he sees you. She must remind him of a daughter or sister, she thinks. She cannot see his mane, but his tail is several shades of red.

The other guard is younger-looking, with eyes and tail colored like the deep green of the ocean. The disinterested expression he wears reminds Twilight Sparkle of her fellow students in Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns; those overconfident hacks who felt they were already so good at their craft that they needed no further instruction. He sniffs nonchalantly, as if dismissive of his comrade's words of comfort, but says nothing.

The older stallion introduces himself as Tiger Cross, and they'll be right outside if she needs anything else. The two leave the room, leaving the light on as they do so. Twilight closes her eyes again, this time truly attempting to get some sleep, but instead falls right back into her memory.

Just as the crimson grin and his lunging armor made their way across the room of soulless eyes, a white figure shot from her left. It was Shining Armor, running in like a hero (or alternatively, like an idiot), to rescue his sister from this terror.

Without saying so much as a single word, Shining Armor shot a concentrated beam of unicorn magic from his horn. He specialized in protective forcefields and other defensive magics, but this was not an occasion for defense. The beam knocked the armor clear across the room.

The crimson grin stopped laughing.

The crimson grin became a sneer.

The armor got back up and lunged again, this time for the annoying white unicorn that had interrupted its earlier attack. Shining Armor shot another beam, throwing it against the wall once more. Twilight's mind retreated deeply inside her. Hiding.

Her body collapsed on the ground as the fight continued. The crimson sneer began to close in on her while her brother was distracted by the armor. She lost control of all her bodily functions. She lost control, completely. That was when

"Hey, Twily. I know you're probably asleep right now, but

her magic, her one true talent, began to burst and bubble and froth like mad

"I came just to check on you before I go. It was a pretty terrible fight, and we were both lucky to

a primal survival instinct took over, shooting a white-hot fireball at that crimson sneer

"have survived it. I want you to know I love you, very much. I never realized before just how easy it is that a life can

then there was white and a sound like thunder

"be snatched away or ruined, even the life of somepony you love. I very nearly lost you this morning. And I'm

and the crimson sneer was no more. The armor clattered harmlessly to the ground. Then from white to darkness. She felt strong forelegs wrap around her, a strong face pressed against hers. Its cheek was damp. Tears?

"I'm scared that I might lose you when all this is over."

She feels strong forelegs wrap around her, a strong face pressed against hers. Its cheek is damp. Tears?

"And I... I don't wanna lose you, Twily. That's... that's why I'm leaving."

She opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was a pair of red eyes staring back at her from against a white, mouthless face, crying bloody tears. But they were not red eyes.

She opens her eyes, and the first thing she sees is that white, mouthless face from before, but the red eyes and their bloody tears are covered by a bandage. Her mind comes back, and she realizes that those aren't red eyes.

They are bite marks.

"Leaving?" asks Twilight, now fully awake.

"Yes," replies her brother. He breaks his embrace to look at his sister. He does not look well, to say the least. His eyes are bleary and bloodshot, and his coat (that angelic, heroic white) is slick and clammy with cold sweat. Twilight is alarmed to see that he is wearing a bite mask, and that there are several guards in the room--guards holding chains that connect to a collar around her brother's neck.

"I'm leaving. The doctors that inspected me are telling me that I am..."

Twilight feels safe in her brother's embrace, but there is some very real fear that has invaded this tender scene. Something horrible is about to tear her brother from her. Something horrible is about to tear her brother apart.

"... That I'm infected."

"Infected?"

"Yes, I'm infected with something they don't have a cure for. So, uh..." His eyes dart about and his ears twitch. He sweats even more. He inhales sharply. "... So, so the doctors, uh, th-they're... they're gonna try to study what it is exactly that I have, and, and try to..." He seems to have lost focus in his thoughts and speech, as he finishes his sentence in a mumble and nears his face to Twilight's. His breath is cold and ugly, and his eyes widen like they are about to escape his head.

Suddenly, another pony puts his hoof on Shining Armor's back. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid that's enough. We need to go."

The guards lead Shining Armor away from his sister, who holds onto his hooves with her own as he is pulled away. She feels tears forming in her eyes. Her voice becomes very weak.

"Why? Where are you taking him?"

In silence, the guards escort Shining Armor out of the room and the door closes behind them, leaving the two guards from before and Twilight alone. Listening closely, Twilight hears the sounds of shackles being applied. "This is for your own good, Captain," she hears one of the soldiers say.

Twilight jumps from her bed. "Where are they taking him?" she repeats, her voice quivering.

The indifferent stallion finally speaks. "The Captain's been diagnosed with something resembling madness. We assume it was that bat-bite. The doctors are locking him up because he attacked one of us with no provocation, sending Private Baldwin to ER. It's the reason this whole room was flooded with guards just now, to both allow him a last wish and make sure he didn't try the same stuff on you." Before he goes any further, the older stallion hushes him.

He turns to Twilight. "I'm very sorry for all this, but Shatterstorm is correct. The Captain has gone mad."

Her brother, mad? That menacing look in his eyes, desperate and hungry; the bite mask he was forced to wear... He was becoming an animal?

"No!" Twilight barks as she tries to rush the guards. "No, it isn't true! Let me see him! I can help him!"

Shatterstorm spreads his pegasus wings and steps forward, causing Twilight to back down. "Let the professionals handle this!" he commands.

Twilight, ever the talented magician, uses her magic to teleport right out of the room and into the hallway beyond. She hears the two guards chasing after her as she runs to catch up with the group of guards escorting her brother. The world is stained by tears flowing from her eyes as she runs, smearing her environment into an unrecognizable blur.

She cries her brother's name as if he is being murdered in front of her. He turns his head.

He is wearing a crimson grin.

He is wearing a crimson grin, and he laughs.

Please, let this all just be a nightmare, Twilight asks to nothing in particular.

She'll wake up in her bed, in her library, the Princess' castle will still be on the mountainside, her brother will be all right, and the morning will be beautiful. She'll wake up in a start, and be shaken by the events of the dream, but she'll be all right.

...But, no. She is in a bed in a hotel in Canterlot. She is part of a research team that is currently looking over the things they've found inside the mysterious castle that has apparently traded places with Canterlot castle. Most of the citizens have been evacuated until further notice, and only the research team and the Royal Guard remain.

Through with this horrible turn of events, Twilight Sparkle gets up from her bed and goes to her door. Tiger Cross answers her. She asks him if she can be escorted to the research lab. He agrees, and he and Shatterstorm take her there.

The halls are splashed with pink puddles of early evening light. Despite the light's reassuring warmth, there is still an eerie ambience to the hotel: as if by being near the castle (whose intimidating visage is visible from every window), the hotel by extension has become dangerous.

Twilight Sparkle stops by one of the windows and peers out at the castle. The monsters that dwell inside it... She can feel it in her bones, her heart, her soul... yet her mind cannot accept this. This all seems so unreal, yet it is happening anyway. And there is no sign that it can be stopped.

Sudden movement draws her eyes from the window to the roof below. She thinks she saw something down there, but a vague white shape was all she saw. Tiger Cross gets her attention, and Shatterstorm scolds her not to wander off.

Researchers bustle about, carrying samples of their findings, running tests. On the tables rest several of the Homo sapien bones, with scientists at work on them, recording everything they find. The large suit of armor, now without that horrible head, rests in another corner with unicorn researchers "kenning" it for its residues of magic.

But on a great big table lies a big black bat, bigger even than the ponies in the room. It is largely in one piece, besides the large gash her brother gave it on the side of its head. It possesses wingspans of nearly seven feet per wing. Its eyes are tiny crimson dots set deep in its head, like hellish red lights in a yawning cave. Its fangs are long and bent sinisterly, caked with dried blood.

Twilight finds her eyes drawn to the blood on its fangs. The bloody tears she saw on Shining Armor's neck. If the bat weren't dead already, she wouldn't hesitate to incinerate it the same way she did the Crimson Grin.

From around the other end of the table comes Roaring Yawn, scanning the bat body with his horn. He sees Twilight and immediately his facial expression changes from interest to concern. He stands there, awkwardly, not knowing how to address a girl who has just learned such horrible news. Twilight breathes a sigh and walks next to Roaring, turning and looking over the dead bat. More silence passes between the two.

"...I'm sorry," Roaring Yawn says, finally.

"For what?"

"For... this. I never meant for any of this to happen. This thing came from nowhere and, your, your brother, he..."

"Don't," Twilight says, her voice stern. "Please, don't. Don't blame yourself, don't make excuses, don't even explain." More silence. She fidgets. "Shining Armor was always the kind of stallion who'd rush in and save the day. He never once thinks of any harm that might come to himself. He doesn't ever really think, he just... does." She chokes.

Roaring Yawn wonders if Twilight should even be here right now. He looks about. "...Do you want to go home? I can make arrangements if you'd prefer not to be here right now."

Twilight sniffles and dries her eyes. "No, that's OK, Roaring. I'm... I'm still curious as to where all this is going."

Roaring Yawn, hoping that his next words—which he feels he needs to say—won't make Twilight angry, adopts a nearly fatherly tone. "For your own good, Twilight, I suggest that you take a break."

Twilight looks as if she's about to become angry. Roaring Yawn puts up a hoof defensively. "I'm not treating you like a foal. You aren't getting in the way at all, and I'm sorry for everything I said earlier. It's just that, with all that's happened, I think it's important to be among friends and family right now. Your traumatizing encounter with..." He points to the suit of armor. "...With that. And..." He points to the bat. "...this. You must be a wreck."

Twilight's face softens. He waves a hoof to the room around him. "This stuff? It's not going anywhere. Canterlot has just become ground zero for something that has proven itself to be very dangerous. I'm giving you the next two weeks off. Spend time with your friends. Come back refreshed."

After a few seconds, Twilight nods. Suddenly, she hugs Roaring Yawn tightly. Slowly, he returns the hug.

He feels Twilight shudder as she holds back her tears.

Bloody tears. Bloody tears against a mouthless face of white.

Monster Dance, Part I

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Monster Dance, Part I

The sun is on its way down. This morning, long after Twilight Sparkle had left for Canterlot, Ponyville had woken up to see that the castle nestled in the mountain was different. It was a black beast, clinging to the mountain like a perverted infant suckling an unwilling mother. Ponyville's citizens began to worry and panic, as all children do when they learn their mothers have vanished.

From her flower stand, Roseluck shudders as she looks at the Castle again, a quick flick of her head as if trying to catch something that keeps jumping just out of sight. All day, it seemed to just... stare at her. She can't help but feel watched by that black Castle. She closes her eyes, and calms herself thinking of better things: her flowers, her friends...

...Suddenly, from the darkness of her eyelids' backs, something stares back at her. Is it the Castle? Can't be. It is shapeless. Formless. It has eyes, but no face. It stares, and she is unable to look away...

"Any luck, Rosie?" giggles a familiar voice.

Roseluck snaps back into the present and looks into a pair of childlike and lovable blue eyes. They bounce up and down with the pink pony they belong to. Despite only possessing one mouth, her singular smile seems to cover her whole person.

"Any luck with what, Pinkie Pie?" asks Roseluck.

"Selling your roses, silly!"

"Kinda hard to sell them when the entire town is on the verge of panic. Haven't you noticed that Canterlot looks like it just got turned into the setting of a Hammer Horror flick?"

Pinkie Pie turns her head to look at the Castle. Slowly, Pinkie Pie's smile leaves her. She looks back to Roseluck, concern cleansing her eyes of the joy they previously had. "Don't tell anypony I told you this," she says, "but Twilight Sparkle got a letter earlier today that said she had to go investigate that Castle."

"What'd she find?"

"Dunno. She hasn't returned yet. Spike says she'll probably be up there all week. Well, I better get going, the Cakes are gonna worry if I stay out too late." She turns as she bids farewell to Roseluck. Her bounce has left her completely now, and she merely walks, briskly and alert, back to Sugarcube Corner.

Roseluck looks down at her roses. Romantic red petals crowning prickly thorns. She picks one up and eats it carefully, savoring the flavor as if this is the last one she will ever taste. The Castle in the mountain continues to stare at her.

Shapeless. Formless.

A creature of chaos...

The sun is on its way down. It is taking the daylight with it.

Fluttershy looks up at the sunset from her cottage's bedroom window and strangely feels a chill at this beautiful sight. This sunset is different from the others, she feels. It's not just beautiful, it's ominous. Deep down, Fluttershy feels as if the sun is going down with no intention of returning.

Her eyes float to the castle in the mountain. It isn’t Canterlot Castle, she was told: some other Castle had appeared in its place. Looking at it turns Fluttershy's blood to ice. Her friends would always tell her that she needed to be brave, to take courage and be assertive. But the sight of that horrible Castle on the mountain causes her pegasus wings to freeze to her sides and her breathing to clench.

Fluttershy gulps and looks away. She looks up at her clock and realizes it’s time to give the animals in her care their dinner. Despite the current situation, there's no reason to keep them waiting. She fetches two bags of feed, then heads out to her backyard, where a small village of animal hutches is.

Spending time with her animals is Fluttershy's favorite pastime, but tonight, something is different. Something feels... wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

All the animals in her yard snap their heads up suddenly as she enters the yard, observing her like she’s an invader. Their faces are frozen, blank, and bizarre. The birds in the trees look down on her with evil eyes. Hungry eyes. Dogs begin to growl as she approaches. Fluttershy drops her feed bags and straightens herself up.

"What's going on here?" she asks the animals sternly. "What's gotten into all of you?"

Suddenly, she hears crowing. She looks up at the hazy purple sky and sees waves of crows flying above, crowing and cackling in the language only a crow can speak. Suddenly—so suddenly, it makes Fluttershy jump—the dogs howl. She accidentally knocks over the feed bags, and several animals that had been standing stock-still with their eerie faces dart for the bags.

Fluttershy sputters as she is knocked away by the animals. "Hey!" she cries, "That is no way to—!"

But her lecture is cut short as the dog in front of her turns around and growls sharply. She begins to back away as she notices how all the animals are ignoring the animal feed, their eyes instead trained on her. Not breaking eye contact, Fluttershy slowly brings herself to her hooves, her panic inflating by the second.

Finally, there is no longer any light in the sky. The sun has gone down, and it has taken the daylight with it.

The animals' eyes all begin to glow blood red.

With no time to lose, Fluttershy takes off from the ground, thanking Celestia she was born a pegasus. The animals, crazed and bloodthirsty, shoot for her, but she is well out of their reach. She makes for her bedroom window, which she had left open earlier, and shuts it behind her, cutting off the birds that had given chase. Looking around her house, she finds furniture that she moves in front of her windows and doors.

Fluttershy, for the first time since she was very young, hides underneath her bed, armed with a kitchen knife. Outside, she hears crowing and howling and violence. Tears stream down her face as she waits for a sun that might never rise again.

The sun is nearly down. The mountains below it open up and allow the sun to descend, as if it is being lowered to its grave. It bids one final farewell in the form of a sliver of golden light piercing a sea of red sky and purple clouds. From his hut in the graveyard, Dirt Nap gets a chill up his spine.

It is rare that he speaks, and even then, he usually converses with himself as opposed to other ponies. Everypony else finds him creepy, and by now he fully expects them to: his talent is the art of embalming, after all. He digs graves, keeps the cemetery, and so on. His appearance of hunched back, black coat, pale white pelt, a single dead eye, a face of welts and warts, and greasy black mane covered in a wide-brimmed black hat did nothing to dissuade others of his creepiness.

Dirt Nap might be an ugly pony, but he is not a dumb pony. He feels something in the air. It was there earlier, that morning, when he saw that black castle in the mountain for the first time. That feeling deep in his bones. He always trusts his bones. They tell him everything he needs to know about anything at all. It is how he knows all about every resident in town. It is how he knows that they will all be buried here one day, buried right here in his cemetery.

His whole point in life is to bury the dead and that scared other ponies. He's never looked at his cutie mark with pride as others did theirs. His cutie mark is a curse: it warns others that he would bury them one day, and that terrifies them. But if he buried everypony else, who would be left to bury him? Such a curse, to have been made lonely by his own talent.

Such a curse.

That feeling in the air disturbs Dirt Nap. It becomes more and more intense as the sun, kicking and screaming, goes down like somepony being dragged off to a hanging. He pours himself a shot of whiskey and seats himself at his table, looking out the window. Watching the sun die.

That's what's happening, Dirt Nap realizes. The sun isn't setting as it usually does. It's dying. It's going down, and does not expect to rise next morning. This is its final setting.

His eyes float about his hut. It's a threadbare place, but it is all he has. There are tools on the far wall, a workbench beneath them. His eyes hang on the well-worn machete for reasons he doesn't understand. Across from him is his bed, asimple, stiff mattress where he hopes to one day die. (Better there than in some damned hospital.) He is seated in his kitchen nook, casting his eyes out the two windows that look to the graveyard.

All the ponies buried out in his graveyard are not his, nor does he consider them his, no matter how much he wants them to be. They belong, or rather belonged, to somepony else. They were important in life, but when they are dead, their importance begins to fade until gradually, nopony remembers them at all. Where we all end up.

He looks out to his graveyard, that museum of names ponies have already forgotten. The worst part of this job is that the graveyard becomes a little bigger every year. It would seem soon he would have to make a grave for the sun, too. A tombstone for the star that faded away, and soon, nopony will remember it.

The sun is down now. The sun is dead. Dirt Nap looks down and notices his drink has not been touched. Was tonight truly a night worth becoming drunk? It might feel insulting. He looks outside...

...and sees something he sees every night when he decides to sleep. Every night for nearly his whole life, he'd have this nightmare. It was a dream that would disappear when he awoke. A dream that died upon his awakening. But now, that dream supplants reality. It was not just the sun that had died tonight: it took reality with it.

He sighs. Brings the shot glass to his mouth.

Then he stops.

Dirt Nap raises an eyebrow in surprise. Did he see what he thinks he saw? Was...?

One by one, figures in the dark slowly sit up in front of the tombstones. Sit up as if they had not been buried in a casket at all. He can see the ones closest to his hut burst forth from the ground. He can see their unrecognizable, rotting faces. He can see their glowing eyes. Above them, crows have gathered, forming a ring above Dirt Nap's graveyard. Their song seems to call the attention of the rising dead.

They respond.

The wailing of the risen corpses causes Dirt Nap to finally gasp and shout as he realizes, accepts, that this is not a dream. With a fast motion, he turns off the lights in his hut, and in mere minutes, he has pushed his bookcase in front of one of the windows, and the refrigerator over the other. He bars the door with his bed. His eyes once again fall to that well-worn machete. He grabs it and runs back to his kitchen nook. He sees the drink he had poured himself earlier.

He downs it and throws the glass into a corner, shattering it.

He throws over his kitchen table as he hears the wailing and crowing outside intensify. He hides behind it as he hears the flapping of black wings, the shuffling of rotting bones that should not be moving. He holds his screams as he hears them scratch his walls. One of the only two windows in his hut is shattered. He readies his machete and looks at his cutie mark.

His dreams were prophetic. Dirt Nap realizes this now, as the howling outside intensifies. As the corpses grow closer. They are thirsty—thirsty for revenge against the stallion who'd buried them. Who put them in that earth. They are coming for him as if he were the reason everypony had forgotten their names. Dirt Nap makes one final prayer as the howling and scratching outside turns into the battering of his walls. He looks at his cutie mark. At his curse.

What a horrible night to have a curse...

The sun is down now. Canterlot is cast in shadow, the once-proud city blackened by something other than the night sky. Blackened by something unwelcome, unwholesome, and altogether unworldly. Despite the many lights that are on in many of the buildings, Twilight looks about and comes to the conclusion that absolutely nowhere in this town is safe.

Roaring Yawn pokes her shoulder, bringing Twilight out of her thoughts. At the chariot are her guards, Tiger Cross and Shatterstorm. "Your chariot is ready," Roaring says.

More silence passes between the two. Shatterstorm exhales impatiently, wondering why these two seem to stare at each other so much, like in that stupid series of vampony books teenage fillies love to read. Tiger Cross elbows him sternly to remind him of his manners.

Between Roaring Yawn and Twilight Sparkle, a conversation is being held. It is as silent and deep as a tomb; a conversation held between gazes. She asks him what he is going to tell Cadence, Shining Armor's wife. He tells her he isn't sure, but she is already on her way from her castle. Whatever happens next will be mostly up to her. Twilight wishes him luck. He thanks her.

Twilight nods, ending their wordless dialogue. Soon, she feels, she will be home, in her bed. Spike would be there, and her friends, too. She will be all right. She will be safe.

Shatterstorm and Tiger Cross pull the chariot as Roaring Yawn says his farewells. Twilight hugs him again, thanks him, and then waves to him as she takes off into the night sky. She blinks. For a moment, there is a tall, white figure standing directly behind Roaring Yawn, but it disappears just as he turns around.

Twilight closes her eyes and exhales. Strange castles, giant bats, time stopping, headless knights, white figures that disappear like ghosts... This was all becoming too much.

And what would happen to her brother now? She had seen what was happening to him. Roaring Yawn would deal with breaking the news to Cadance, but what was she going to tell their parents? They’d been evacuated, she had been told, and are staying with friends in Manehatten. She'd have to arrange to meet with them some time during her vacation. No doubt word has already been sent to them regarding this matter.

Twilight closes her eyes and shudders. So much has happened. So much horror and tragedy, in only twenty-four hours.

There is a fetid smell in the air. Twilight opens her eyes suddenly and looks up to the moon to see it is twisted and grotesque. This night no longer belongs to Luna.

For about half the drive home, nothing happens. Twilight is afraid to ask Shatterstorm or Tiger Cross anything about this night, but she can tell they are scared, too. Fear seems to radiate off all three ponies at once.

Tiger Cross looks worriedly to his compatriot, who despite his brazenness, is obviously shaken by what is going on. Suddenly, they both feel a sharp tug on their reigns, followed by a sense of weightlessness. Tiger Cross turns his head around, and sees that the chariot containing their charge is now careening toward the ground. He gasps and swoops down after her, calling her name.

Shatterstorm stops too, but his eyes do not see Twilight's chariot as it falls. His ears do not hear her screams or Tiger Cross' shouts for his aid. Instead, he is transfixed by a flying cloaked creature: its warped, skeletal face and its giant, menacing scythe.

He breathes in sharply, his mind drawn into the sight before him. The cloaked thing stares him down and laughs.

Night has fallen. From her farmhouse, Applejack suddenly wakes up, feeling like she is being pulled out of an ice-cold pool of water. She can feel her blood running through her again. She is awake and alert, as though she'd never been asleep. She can't recall her dreams, but she remembers laughter: horrendous, gut-wrenching laughter.

Call it intuition, but she knows something's not right. She walks over to her window. Outside, the night lacks the gentle serenity Princess Luna usually gives it, instead glaring down at Ponyville with seething hatred. Applejack braces herself and opens the window, and is greeted by three unwelcome visitors.

The first is a smell so horrendous, it causes Applejack to recoil and begin breathing through her mouth. It is the smell of the dead and forgotten.

The second to greet her is a feeling of ice cold. It feels like winter has just smashed through her window and tried to choke her, yet it is summer, with not a flake of snow on the ground.

The third and final visitor is the sound. It sounds as if her orchard is alive and angry, raging against a heaven that has spurned it. The sounds are carried by the wind, amplifying and distorting it.

Applejack slams her window shut. She lights a candle and makes her way to her little sister's bedroom, to her big brother's bedroom, to her grandmother's bedroom. She wakes them all up and opens their windows to introduce them to the three unwelcome visitors.

Granny Smith shudders when she hears the living orchard, feels the ice cold, smells the rotting and forgotten. She takes all her grandchildren to the living room, where she shows them a secret passage that leads to a panic room. "It was built by my pappy," she claims. "It's a secret to everypony."

They all go inside. Applejack, however, stays behind. "Ain't you comin'?" asks Apple Bloom. Applejack shakes her head.

"Somepony’s gotta figger out what's goin' on out there. Ah cain't juss sit aroun' an' do nuthin'!"

Granny Smith looks at her granddaughter with both concern and admiration. "But we dunno whuss out there, AJ! If it were juss burglars, y'know we could take 'em, but this..."

Applejack hugs her family, one by one. "Listen. Ah know y'all 'r concerned 'bout me. But Ah gotta do this! Ah'll find out whuss goin' on out there, and Ah'll come right back. Ah swear."

Her big brother, the aptly-named Big Macintosh, looks deep into his sister's eyes. He envies her convictions. A big brother should be the protector. It should be him going out there to investigate. He thinks to offer his assistance, but Applejack shoots him a look that swats away the suggestion before it even exits his mouth. "Come back to us in one piece, y'hear?" he says as he embraces her.

Applejack nods, and kisses his cheek. With that, she leaves, into the night, and the ice cold, and the living orchard, and the rotten smells. Something else is out here with her.

It's close to midnight. Something evil’s lurking in the dark.

Monster Dance, Part II

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Monster Dance, Part II

Gravity seems to have abandoned Twilight. She was falling before, but now she is being lifted. Her sight comes back to her as she hears the chariot crashing below with a sound like a thunderclap. She looks up to see Tiger Cross, his friendly eyes that seem to hug you when he sees you. She smiles, thankful.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"Nothing's broken," she replies. "What happened back there?"

"I'm not sure. One moment, Shatterstorm and I..." Suddenly he looks around in a panic. "Shatterstorm! Shatterstorm, where are you?!"

By this time, Tiger Cross has gently set Twilight Sparkle on the moist grass below. Unlike most nights, it feels unpleasant, each blade of grass feeling like a tiny snake writhing against her hooves. She bites her lower lip and tries to keep from screaming at the sensation. Tiger Cross continues to yell his comrade's name.

"Do you think he's run off?" asks Twilight.

Almost at Twilight's words, Shatterstorm falls to the ground. His landing is clumsy and loud, totally unlike what is expected from a Royal Guard pegasus. His face is a fumbled circus act of different and conflicting thoughts running through his mind. His mouth babbles forth a cavalcade of indecipherable words. Some of it sounds like an apology.

Tiger Cross shakes him. "Shatterstorm, what's wrong?! Snap out of it!" He slaps his comrade hard across the face.

Shatterstorm begins to cry. "No, Momma," he moans in a small, childlike voice, "Not again, don't, don't do it again, Momma..."

Twilight's eyes widen as she watches. Is Shatterstorm dreaming? Hallucinating? Is he... Is Shatterstorm reliving a horrible memory?

She walks forward and places a gentle hoof on his shoulder. He continues to weep as she caresses him. "Nopony is going to hurt you, Shatterstorm," she says quietly. "You're going to be OK."

Above them, they hear a cackle that sounds more like the desperate braying of farm animals being slaughtered. Twilight looks up as does Tiger Cross. Shatterstorm whimpers and curls into a ball.

There, its back against the moonlight, is a flying, cloaked creature wearing a black hood. The cloak is tattered and the ends flail about as if they were alive. Its long, bone-white arms are greatly weighed down by the fearsome scythe it is carrying. Its cackle carries on for some time as if it does not have any lungs, just a voice. From here, neither Twilight nor Tiger Cross can make out its face. They can only see its horrible, red eyes.

Tiger Cross puts himself in front of Twilight Sparkle. "Run," he tells her. "Get to Ponyville. Give them a warning. I'm going to distract it."

She is frozen with fear as its red eyes meet hers. That cloaked creature seems oddly familiar somehow. Suddenly, she realizes that it is not a cloaked creature. It's that bully from second grade that pushed her into a puddle and laughed. It's that girl from fourth grade that pretended to be her friend so she could have Twilight do her homework for her. It's that niggling feeling in the back in her mind that she isn't worth her mentor's time. It's that awkward and uncertain time in her life when she felt she was too different from others to make any friends. It's that hair in the sink. It's that piece of toast that fell butter-side down. It's that it's that it's that.

Suddenly, she snaps out of its spell by Tiger Cross barking at her to "Move your ass!" She doesn’t need to be told twice. Before she leaves, using her telekinetic grip, she picks up Shatterstorm, who is still curled up and mumbling something incoherent, and runs off with him, hoping to drop him off at the Ponyville hospital.

Behind her, she hears Tiger Cross shout as he takes flight. Then afterwards, all she hears is the desperate braying of farm animals being slaughtered.

Twilight dislikes to admit she is no athlete. This becomes more and more apparent the harder she runs. Her breath becomes short and hoarse, her heart and lungs feel like they have switched places, her stomach lurching.

Beside her, Shatterstorm slowly comes to his senses. Not so much that he is back with Twilight now, but in that he is no longer raving delirious. He seems to be currently remembering a game of Clue, and calls Twilight Professor Plum. She rolls her eyes.

Twilight slows herself down, but never once does she assume she is safe. Nowhere is safe anymore. The bat, the armor, the crimson grin, and now that cackling cloaked thing. What was going on in Equestria? Something evil has forced its way here, Twilight realizes, and it intends to dominate. To control. It wants Equestria.

Why?

Possibly for the same reason the Changeling Queen wanted to control Equestria. It is a beautiful land. Sure it has its dark side, as does anything and anyone. But it contains so much love and innocence. So many things that can easily be tainted or destroyed. Is that their goal?

Suddenly, Twilight smells the air. Besides the rotting stench in the wind, there is something else being carried with it. The smell of smoke. Twilight sniffs again just to make sure, and her eyes widen as she realizes she is not wrong.

"I-Into the eye," mumbles Shatterstorm.

Her ears perk up. She hears cackling. It is not the desperate braying of farm animals being slaughtered. It is cackling... no, it’s crowing. She looks up to see crows flying ahead, in a giant ring, as if they are marking some kind of territory. Twilight's eyes fall forward.

Up ahead in the distance, she sees a shimmering light. As she ventures further, that shimmering light reveals itself as fire.

Ponyville is burning. Twilight's eyes widen as she picks up the pace.

"Into the eye,” mumbles Shatterstorm. “Into the eye, into the end..."

Despite everything that has happened so far, Twilight feels that this is all the beginning of something much worse.

Buildings fall down as the flames beat them to death with their melting heat, the thick black smoke dancing in the air in demonic glee. Structures snap and shatter, crumbling to the ground as Ponyville's residents, now awake and terrified, run for shelter, for protection. Among them run the dead and rotting; among them run wild and vicious animals; among them run the emotionally-snapped and insane. Screams echo through the night, screams and roars and groans and cries for help.

As she enters the town, suddenly, Twilight's stamina seems to refill. At the sight of all this destruction and mayhem, her heart swells with a fury she has never felt before.

The demonic entity the castle has brought with it has no right to do this to Equestria. It has no right to hurt ponies the way it has. It has no right to take away their Princesses and leave them helpless. It has no right to come into Equestria at all. To see so much happening before her eyes...

...This has gone on too long. It has to stop.

To her right is a horrendous corpse, and he is stumbling forth with a mouth full of fangs that Twilight doubts he had when he was alive. He corners a young filly, who is screaming for her mommy and daddy to come save her. Without a second's hesitation, the living corpse is reduced to ash by a burst of magic fire. The filly looks up into the eyes of her savior.

"...Are you an angel?" asks the filly, between sobs.

Twilight lifts her up onto her back. The filly looks curiously at Shatterstorm floating nearby in a magenta glow, currently unconscious. As Twilight shoots forth deeper into the town, she quips, "Close enough."

All around her, the building is on fire. Smoke is strangling the air, the oxygen losing its grip and dying. Lyra coughs as she crawls forth on the ground, trying to find an exit. Something falls near her. She cries for help that might not come.

Despite the intense, hellish heat all around her, Lyra begins to cry. This is not how she imagined her life would end. She would marry, grow old, and die surrounded by friends and family, and be buried next to her beloved. She would live long and happy, and write songs that lifted the spirits of the beaten and the forgotten. She sobs as she yells once again for help.

Where was her friend? Where was Bon Bon? Is she safe? Is she even alive? Lyra calls her friend’s name, calls for help.

Suddenly, a window shatters. She hears coughing. Lyra tries to look up, but the choking smoke has obscured everything above her. She sucks in air to try calling, one last time, for help, but the smoke invades her lungs and she chokes. She tries again. Chokes again.

Everything around her becomes blurry and spins. This is it, she tells herself. She is going to die. She is fading fast as the smoke squeezes her lungs with its monstrous hands. She will never find out if humans are real. She will never meet that special somepony she often daydreamed about. She will never write that one song that becomes a breakthrough and touches the heart of every stallion, mare, and foal in Equestria.

Her dreams will never come true. Lyra struggles to breathe, not ready to die, and her dreams will never come true.

Suddenly, she feels like she's being lifted. Like she's moving, and fast. The ceiling comes down behind them, hard, falling like a ton of rocks. The air outside is hardly any better than the air inside her apartment, but it is breathable, and she gasps and drinks in greedily this ugly air. She feels like she's flying.

Lyra's vision slowly comes back. She sees magenta eyes, and she smiles.

"There's no need to fear," says the magenta eyes. "Your friendly neighborhood Rainbow Dash is here!"

Monsters. Monsters everywhere.

There is no safe place to hide, Sweetie Belle thinks as she and her older sister seek shelter. The Carousel Boutique had just been raided by... something, and she didn't get a very good look at them before Rarity took her and ran. She could only remember a despicable smell, soft groans, shuffling hooves, and wild, rolling eyes that she could see even in the darkness.

Sweetie Belle has not said much since then. She can smell smoke in the air, and much of Ponyville is apparently on fire. Rarity gallops along, not saying anything, acting as if she knows what she is doing, but Sweetie Belle knows she does not. She is only doing what grownups do when something awful happens. Rarity is pretending to be brave. She is protecting her sister.

Despite all the screams and smoke around them, Sweetie Belle is oddly calm. Her mind has gone someplace else, into some other zone. Her hooves pound the ground as she follows her sister through the town, avoiding the shuffling rot that surrounds them at every turn. Her face is a complete blank. Sweetie Belle is scared out of her mind, or she would be if her mind were still with her.

As they run by a burning building, Sweetie Belle looks aside and sees herself and Rarity there, with their parents. It's a restaurant and everypony is having fun, laughing as the flames around them swallow them whole.

As they shoot down the next street, Sweetie Belle looks at Rarity and suddenly she is much younger, and racing Sweetie Belle to the end of the street. There is an overturned stroller on this street, and as she runs by, Sweetie Belle looks into the eyes of the zombie stepping over it.

They turn towards a familiar lake, Sweetie Belle sees herself and her parents there, feeding the ducks as strange, fishlike monsters jump out and begin to chase her and Rarity as they run by.

The chase continues for some time, Sweetie Belle retreating more and more. It comes to the point that Rarity's voice has become a whisper when she yells directions for Sweetie Belle to follow.

Suddenly, the two find themselves surrounded by dogs. Sweetie Belle recognizes one as the big, friendly St. Bernard that Fluttershy was taking care of. She remembers the sunny day she spent over at Fluttershy's just last week, petting this dog on his big wet nose, and being licked by his great big tongue. She remembers how much she laughed. She remembers telling the dog she loved him lots.

She looks into this St. Bernard's eyes and does not see the dog she loved lots. She sees a monster that wants to kill her. It growls as it draws closer to them, along with the other savage dogs. Their drool is thick and foamy, and their eyes are glowing red and bulging right out of their heads.

Her mind has come back to her now. She realizes what is happening now, and what is about to happen. Sweetie Belle hangs on to her sister tightly. "I love you, Rarity," she sobs. "I love you lots. OK?"

Rarity nuzzles her sister. "I love you too, Sweetie Belle. I know it might not seem like it sometimes, but I keep you in my heart wherever I am." She chokes back a sob as she realizes the two of them might not make it. She holds her sister close and sniffs her hair, remembering Sweetie Belle's scent one more time before they go.

The dogs pause as they close in, as if in respect of their victims' last words. Every convict gets one last meal before their execution, after all. Suddenly, there comes a whoop from nowhere, and an orange bolt of godlike might and indignation shoots down from above.

Applejack crushes the head of the biggest dog first, then quickly bucks the second. The third and fourth react by jumping her, fangs bared, only for Applejack to smash them with her mighty hooves. Rarity sees the fifth, sixth, and seventh dogs run for Applejack, and without thinking, uses her telekinesis to grab their hind legs and hold them.

Applejack and Rarity beat the last few dogs to death. At her sister's request for her not to look, Sweetie Belle shields her eyes from this display of violence. There is shame in the faces of these two saviors. Shame for the dogs they have to kill, shame for all the death this little filly has had to see.

Pinkie Pie's body was tingling all over. Tingling and twitching. Ever since slightly before all the chaos began, she'd been running around, gathering survivors and bringing them to the Ponyville Hospital. Even though much of Ponyville is currently burning down, this building is thankfully not one of them. She can still smell something in the air, something thick and disgusting, like that piece of cake she’d left out for too long that one time.

Behind her is a zombie. She bucks, knocking it out of the window.

She runs further down the hall, where she last heard a scream. "I'm coming," she shouted. "Keep yelling back if you're OK!" She receives a response and double-times her speed. She feels a tingle along her spine as she runs.

The windows in this hallway explode as creatures unfamiliar to Pinkie jump through them. They are bipeds, if she remembers the term correctly, and their backs are higher than their shoulders. Their faces are twisted: she cannot tell if they have muzzles, mouths, or beaks. She does realize that they have teeth and are carrying knives. They begin to jump about like fleas.

Pinkie Pie jumps on one, shooting off it and over the rest. As she does so, she strikes the chandelier, knocking it down and onto the flea-creatures below.

She lands. She looks again to the flea-creatures, now smashed by the chandelier. They are different from the walking dead outside. They were living creatures. Malicious, perhaps, but they were lives. Pinkie Pie swallows the gravity of what she has just done, and it disturbs her to know she did it mostly without thinking about it. She hears the voice scream for help again.

Putting her sudden somber thoughts aside, she speeds off to the voice as its pitch suddenly becomes panicked. "Hang on," she says, "I'm coming!"

The voice is coming from behind a door down the hall. "N-NO!" it shouts. "S-Stay away from me! I don't know what it is you want! NO!!!"

The voice is cut off by a thumping sound. Not wasting any more time, Pinkie Pie bucks down the door. Inside, she sees one pony standing over another. This one is not rotted or warped like the others. He looks at Pinkie Pie with intelligent, chocolate-brown eyes. The pony below him, a mare, has the makings of a real shiner, and is cowering, covering her face, expecting another blow.

"What's going on here?!" Pinkie Pie demands.

"It's the end of the world out there," says the stallion. "The dead are risen. The animals are crazy. There's things out there I can't even recognize!" He laughs as he places his hoof on the mare, as if claiming her as his prize. "So before I go, I'm gonna have me some fun!"

Pinkie Pie is the sort of pony whose character does not include a full understanding of sex. Her strict upbringing simply had no room for it in its cirriculum. She only thinks of sex as that sweaty, smelly thing adults do in order to have foals, and is unsure if she would ever do it herself. In this sense, she does not quite grasp what the stallion is about to do. But she does understand one thing.

What this stallion is doing is wrong.

Like a pink bullet, Pinkie Pie shoots across the room, her front hooves smashing into his face. He is knocked down, hitting the floor with a thump that causes his would-be victim to recoil. Pinkie Pie helps up the mare, who stammers out a thank-you.

From the floor, the stallion looks up at Pinkie Pie. Blood is trickling down his face as he begins to laugh. "I... Hey, I remember you," he says. "You... You're that kid that bought me dinner to cheer me up after I got fired from my job last week. P-Pinkie Pie, right?"

Pinkie Pie nods. She remembers him too, now that this intense moment has passed. Suddenly, the stallion begins to cry. "I-I'm..." The words cannot leave his mouth, but Pinkie already knows what they are.

She leaves the mare's side and hugs the stallion tenderly. "It's all right," she says in an uncharacteristic whisper. It was a scene of unquestionable forgiveness, moving and silent. The mare watching this scene will remember it until the day she dies.

"I... I can't believe I was really gonna do it..." the stallion sobs as Pinkie holds him close. "I'm so sorry, I..."

"It's OK," says Pinkie, shushing him like a mother to her child. She closes her eyes and the image of the falling chandelier descends into her mind. "We've all done things tonight we're gonna regret tomorrow."

The mare purses her lips and looks around the room. The sounds of violence outside are becoming louder.

Fluttershy peers out from underneath her bed. She had turned the lights out before, in order to trick potential intruders into thinking she wasn't home, so all is dark. She bites down on the knife handle in her mouth as she slowly crawls out from her hiding place and stretches her aching legs and wings.

Looking about and listening carefully, Fluttershy can tell the animals have left. She still hears violence outside, and she still smells rot and smoke, but both are muted. Suddenly, she has an overwhelming, horrifying thought.

Her friends are out there!

Finding a courage she thought had been beaten out of her by her recent scare, Fluttershy races to her bedroom door and shoves the dresser out of the way. She heads downstairs, and is greeted by the sight of her pet rabbit Angel, who is sitting in the middle of the living room. She gasps and holds up her knife cautiously.

But Angel, out of all her animals, is her number two. He’s her confidant and best friend. She has raised him since he was born. Fluttershy looks at her knife, then at Angel. Can she really do it? Does she want to?

Suddenly, she notices Angel is holding something. It is gold and glitters in the darkness. He looks up to see her, the mare that had raised him since his birth. His eyes are not glowing red. Instead, they swim with hot tears at the sight of her. Fluttershy says his name.

Angel bounds over to her, happy to see her, momentarily forgetting the gold, glittering thing. Fluttershy drops her knife and opens her forelegs, welcoming her Angel Bunny with a tender hug. She looks down at him and notices he is completely unharmed.

"The animals have all gone crazy," Fluttershy tells him. "How did you manage to get here in one piece?"

At this, Angel leaps over to the gold glittery thing and carries it to her. Fluttershy takes it in her hooves, noticing it is attached to a chain.

It is a large, gold cross. She can feel the weight in her hooves, and just by looking at it, Fluttershy finds it some kind of... tranquil power, almost a sacredness to it. She looks at Angel. "What is this?"

Angel, not being able to speak a pony's language, begins to pantomime himself running. Fluttershy nods, understanding. "You were being chased..."

Angel backs up against a piece of furniture. "They cornered you?"

Angel curls into a ball. "You were scared..."

Suddenly, Angel looks up, in confusion. He looks behind him and his eyes widen. "But...?"

Angel then behaves like a monster, cornering "himself", and growling. After closing in on "himself", he suddenly yelps and begins to back away. Fluttershy's eyes widen and she looks down again at the gold cross. "But they saw this, and ran away?"

Angel nods.

Fluttershy once again looks down at this sacred object, this time in reverence and wonder. This cross... the monsters are afraid of it. She does not understand why they are, but looking at this cross, she comes to the conclusion that she doesn't need to understand. The monsters are afraid of this cross. She now possesses a weapon to use against them.

She wears the cross like a necklace, and suddenly, she feels her courage bolstered. She feels safer, confident. It's like putting on an indestructible suit of armor. Fluttershy picks her knife back up as Angel hops onto her back.

Fluttershy unlocks her door, and ventures into the horrible night. She knows what she has to do, and now she knows she can do it!

Intermission: Out of Time

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Intermission: Out of Time

The time is almost an hour before Twilight comes back to Ponyville, and fifteen minutes before the fires were started. The place is Sweet Apple Acres, shortly after Applejack opened her window and was greeted by the three visitors.

Out there in the orchard, a scene began to unfold. There, a man, a Homo sapien whose name has been lost to the fickle whimsy of time, was holding out his lantern to light his path. He was in search of something, his smelly bum's clothing slapping against his filthy, aged skin. The ground beneath his worn-out boots was kicked about as he shuffled forth.

This man, somehow untouched by time and at the same time horrifyingly ancient, followed a ghostly dog. Its astral body retained the shape it had the day it died, the day this man had lost his best and only friend.

But thanks to Dracula, this man could be with his best and only friend, forever. Forever and ever. In return, he just had to do whatever Dracula or his subordinates asked. Tonight, they asked him to search for something... a rib. He was told it might have been buried someplace, so he searched. And searched. And searched.

He enjoyed searching, This Man. His friend was very good at finding, since he only ever needed to be told what to look for. But he only listened to this man. Never any of Dracula's subordinates. Never even to Dracula himself. Only to This Man, because This Man is his best and only friend.

The Ghostly Dog and This Man together trudged, their feet scritching and scratching against the dirt as they searched for the rib. Some distance behind them, a pale woman, another Homo sapien seemingly untouched by time (although young and pretty instead of old and gnarled like This Man), walked in impatient silence.

Her slim hips swayed attractively as she went along, ghostlike and quiet. Her short white hair curled about the base of her neck. She had in her hand a long, curiously crafted staff whose head was stuffed with feathers (like the plumage of her hat), and the skirt of her dark dress billowed with her movement.

The gaze of her red eyes bore a hole in the back of This Man's head. "Have you located it yet?" she asked. Her voice was deceptively sweet, colored by her slight French accent.

"Not yet," replied This Man. "But he's pretty sure it's here. I say we give him some more time."

The woman pursed her lips almost angrily. "We've been in this orchard for nearly an hour. Are you certain he can find it?"

This Man turned to greet her red eyes. She couldn't see his, for they were obscured by the shadow cast by his hat, but she could tell he was insulted by her doubt of his best and only friend. "He can find anything! Just have a little faith."

She rolled her eyes. Suddenly, the wind picked up around them. She smiled as the three were suddenly joined by a fourth.

He wore a long cloak whose ends seemed to dance about as if they were alive. Although he did not have his scythe right now, his long skinny pale arms seemed to dangle as if holding something heavy. His skeletal face was warped beyond recognition, to the point where most people would be driven mad by looking at it.

But Dracula's servants are not most people, and most people have never stared Death in the face and lived to see much else anyway.

"Good evening, Actrise," Death greeted. His voice was like a million whispers in a thousand different accents speaking over each other. Actrise had discovered one day long ago that they, these whispers, were the voices of every person he had ever killed.

Actrise courtsied. "At your service, my lord."

"How goes the search?"

The Ghostly Dog sniffed the ground, wandering around in a circle. It began to dig. This Man grinned. "I'd say he's found it already," he said triumphantly. No one could find things like his best and only friend!

Death nodded as both he and Actrise watched the Ghostly Dog dig up its prize. As it did so, Actrise leaned in closer to whisper to Death, "Did you succeed in killing the little sorceress?"

Death chuckled, a cold and cruel and quiet noise. "When we received news that she had destroyed Dullahan, I admit I feared we had met a formidable foe. But now that I've looked into her soul, I really do not think she is a threat."

Actrise pursed her lips. "I've seen that obnoxious time traveler skulking about. He seems interested in her as well. Enough that he went out of his way to trouble our Chronomage to give her escape."

Death scoffed. "That matters quite little, Actrise. The time traveler is wasting his efforts. She is young. Naive. Easily scared. It is true she has much power, but without the guidance of the goddesses of this land, she is as lost as any of its other inhabitants."

Actrise nodded nonchalantly. "For all our sakes, I hope you are correct."

Death looked at Actrise, damning her with his red, glowing eyes. "Who are you to speak to me in such a way?" he hissed.

Actrise's cold, corpselike lips curved mischievously. "One who stared at you when she was very small, and was never once afraid of you." She stared at him, as a full-grown woman now, never once afraid of him, and dared him to reprimand her again. Instead, Death had a better idea.

"If that sorceress were to make a nuisance of herself, it would take another sorceress of equal or greater ability to thwart her. Don't you agree, Actrise?"

"You flatter me, my lord. It would be my great honor." She looked at his cloak a little more closely now, and noticed something was nestled inside. A victim.

"A new addition, my lord?"

Death chuckled as he looked down to the skin he held at where his hip would have been. On it was a mighty Tiger super-imposed over a lavish red Cross. "Yes," he said chillingly, "I find it a very... handsome part of these creatures. All these ponies seem to have an emblem of some kind on their flanks. So instead of their voices, I shall merely collect these."

His sharp gaze caught Actrise's stare as his voice became stern. "I want that sorceress' mark in my hands if she interferes, and I want you to put it there. Do you understand?"

Actrise nodded as the Ghostly Dog uncovered a bleach-white object. "As you wish, my lord."

The Ghostly Dog lifted its head and howled to the moon, proclaiming its mission a success.

The time is once again now. The place is Roseluck's apartment. It is dark, and there is a sound outside like Tartarus is devouring Ponyville.

Before her, Roseluck lights a single candle. Her apartment is bare, the furniture pushed to every door, in front of every window. She even shoved a few chairs in the fireplace to block it. The sounds of violence and screams and fire and insanity is outside, battling to come inside.

In front of the candle is a plate. On it is a rose. A white rose. Roseluck always loved the taste of white roses, creamy with a tongue-lapping aftertaste. Not too show-offy with its flavoring, and not too overpowering in its texture. The perfect last meal before her end.

Roseluck is unsure if Celestia can hear her now, but she prays anyway. She asks her goddess to light the path of her spirit as it leaves her body in its journey to the World Beyond. Asks her to protect Roseluck's friends who’d managed to get away. Asks her to forgive every stupid, selfish thing silly Roseluck has done.

The furniture begins to shake as the beasts outside pound her walls. Roseluck finishes her prayer and opens her eyes, staring at the candle before her—at the solemn, single light in her apartment. Another wall-rattling pound. She begins to laugh at her own misfortune while the white rose melts in her mouth. It all seems so amusing.

Her eyes go to the letter she spent the last half-hour writing. It sits atop the table, next to her. It is four pages long, telling whoever may read it that she is grateful for the short life she was able to live, how much she loves her beautiful friends, and how she hopes they will succeed in life in ways she has not.

Of course, if the fires spread to this apartment building, nopony is going to read it anyway, but she figures it was worth the effort in either case.

As she swallows her rose, her final meal, she hears the glass from a window shatter. The sounds of the violence outside become louder as she swallows. She sighs. The white rose tasted wonderful.

Finally, furniture gets knocked over. Monsters begin to jump and crawl through her windows. She looks up to greet them and smiles. These monsters are merely doing the only thing they understand to do—to destroy—and Roseluck understands completely. She sits at her table patiently, awaiting her end, unafraid to begin her walk to the Great Beyond, to be guided by Celestia's hoof to her final resting place.

She closes her eyes, and in her heart whispers a farewell to Daisy and Lily.

She feels a rhythmic tremor in the ground, and opens her eyes in time to see what was causing it and jump as far back as she can.

The time is a few minutes after the Ghostly Dog had dug up the rib, a little under ten minutes before the fires started. The place, once again, is Sweet Apple Acres.

Dirt Nap had spent the past hour escaping the horde of zombies that attacked his house. Seeking refuge, he came here to Sweet Apple Acres. To be perfectly honest, he's always hated the Apples. Out of everypony here in Ponyville, this family seemed to hate him the most. He could see it in their eyes. He'd been the one to bury the two parents, and they looked at him as if it were his fault they'd died. He would look at their Granny Smith, and they would realize he will have to bury her too, and very soon. It scares them. They hate him for it, for his talent, for his purpose—and for what he is, he hates them right back.

But here in this orchard, he can hide. He used to climb trees in his youth, the last time he was actually happy. He would often sleep in them, his best and only friend curled up in his lap. So that was his plan: to spend the night in a tree here in this orchard where the walking dead wouldn't find him.

He came across our previous scene with This Man, the Ghostly Dog, Actrise, and Death. He watched, enchanted. He had never seen a Homo sapien before, let alone more than one at once. He jumped when the robed figure suddenly popped into existence next to the female Homo sapien. He watched the dog dig up a bone and howl. He watched This Man throw him a treat to reward him. The bone floated up and out of the ground and into the female Homo sapien's hand. Was she the Homo sapien equivalent to a unicorn?

Dirt Nap found her scary, but at the same time beautiful. Like a white rose, she was. So delicate, but she obviously had her thorns.

Suddenly, the Ghostly Dog looked up in Dirt Nap's direction and began to bark.

"What?" asked This Man. "Is there someone there?"

Dirt Nap tried to turn and run, only to be cut off by the tall, robed figure, and found it was much scarier up close. The face had been crushed by some invisible alien force, with eye sockets here and there, a mouth that just hung open (far too open) for no reason, and those two slivers there were possibly nostrils... Dirt Nap blinked once or twice.

They shared some silence, Death staring at Dirt Nap, who while surprised at being caught so easily was unafraid of him.

The time is a little bit before Roseluck starts writing her four-page long farewell to the world, an hour after the fires started. The place is the streets of Ponyville.

Pinkie Pie ran through the streets, like she has since all this started. She already managed to save quite a few of the villagers, including her friends the Cakes. She had already saved both the mare and stallion from before, and was already successful in rounding up as many survivors as she could. Against her wishes, many of them decided to stay behind to "buy her time." She hated such a way of thinking, but there was little time for argument.

Her group of rescued survivors had grown, either way. Several mares, stallions, and foals followed her now, to safety at Ponyville Hospital. "It's just up ahead, everypony!" she called behind her.

As Roseluck put her pen to the paper and began to write her farewells, something erupted behind Pinkie Pie. She stopped immediately and turned to greet the horrible noise.

There, crawling through the flames that lapped about the village, came a creature larger than the others. A pair of long and intimidating horns portruded from its brow, with tiny glowing red eyes just beneath them. Dark, dank, matted fur covered its entire frame, projecting a stench that could strip paint. It carried itself along with enormous legs that could level a house. Its nostrils flared as it caught sight of Pinkie's group, and it roared once more.

Before Pinkie could shout directions, the Behemoth began to charge.

Twilight had not yet reached Ponyville. Applejack had left her house a few minutes ago, going into her orchard. It was less than ten minutes before the fires started.

Dirt Nap and Death stared each other down. It impressed Death that Dirt Nap was merely surprised, but not scared. He couldn't taste any real fear in this one. Just... emptiness.

Cold, delicious emptiness.

Actrise could feel it too, just by looking at Dirt Nap. There was a palpable sense of loneliness in him, of despairing alienation. The other ponies merely shunned him. The more benevolent ones thought him strange, while others vandalized his property and tormented him as often as once a week. The lonely nights he'd spend drinking himself into a stupor. The day he received that mark on his flanks—when he discovered his talent—when he buried his dead pet cat: the day he buried his best and only friend.

She walked toward him, the bone still in her hand. Her red eyes met his beady browns. She was ghostly—enchanting, this white rose. He was in her grasp. She could taste him. Feel him.

"You... are unafraid of the specter of Death?" she asked.

After a few awkward seconds, Dirt Nap finally formed an answer. "I've been surrounded by Death since I was very young."

At this, Death chuckled. Cold, delicious emptiness.

"I understand your pain," Actrise told Dirt Nap. "How it has grown within you. How this world, in all its pretend-kindness, has hurt you. In a culture where friendship and harmony are cornerstones of their societal structure, no one has ever stopped to share any of it with you. They consider you beneath them, for reasons that are out of your control. Is this not true?"

"... It is true."

"You have no friends, despite your want for their love. Despite everything you have done for them—giving their loved ones proper burials, taking care of their dead, doing things for them that they have not the heart or stomach to do themselves—despite all you have done for them, they spit in your face because you are different from them. You are not one of theirs. Is this not true?"

"...It is true."

Actrise's face was inches from Dirt Nap's. He fought the urge to lean in and meet her lips with his, the same way he fought the urge to do the same thing to a choice few of the mares he'd buried. They weren't his to have, he'd remind himself constantly; and neither was this white rose before him now. Her red eyes carried more sympathy than maliciousness, her voice was soft and soothing as a loving mother's. And the more he stared, and the more he listened, the more enchanted he became with her.

"All because of the very thing that makes you special. All because of your purpose. But who gave you that purpose? Fate?"

Dirt Nap had no answer.

"Was it your goddess, the Princess Celestia? Did she decide you be stuck with a purpose no one wanted, to become someone no one wanted?"

He couldn't answer that, either.

"These people, these ponies, have abandoned you because your goddess abandoned you first. She saw fit to give you a talent that would leave you unhappy. The world has conspired against you. They have cast you aside, your society and goddess both."

She... she understood. Dirt Nap suddenly wanted to cry. Her words struck his heartstrings like deft hooves on a harp, playing the song he'd been singing his whole life.

"It is true," he said. "I... I'm lonely. This world has given me no real purpose. It has cast me aside!"

Actrise smiled like a mother whose son had succeeded at something extravagant. "There is a way to rectify this situation."

Dirt Nap knelt before her, this white rose. His eyes were wide, and were met by hers. "Tell me, what do I need to do?"

Actrise held out her hand. Her fingers were slender, bone white. They were like tiny dove wings at the end of her arms. "Join us," she cooed. "Join Dracula. Help us to gather his pieces." She held out the bone the Ghostly Dog had dug up. "Help us revive our lord.

"You can be accepted, loved by him. You are an outcast, just like the rest of us. You belong with us. We belong with you."

This Man and the Ghostly Dog watched as Actrise made her pitch. The dog looked up at its master, wondering if This Man recognized this speech as nearly verbatim the one used to convert him. It had been many, many years, so the Ghostly Dog was certain he didn't remember.

Dirt Nap slowly came to his decision.

He reached out his hoof, and took Actrise's hand. "We belong," he said.

Suddenly, there was a quiet sound from behind. The Ghostly Dog shot up and turned around. But before it could do very much, there was the color orange and a sudden blow to its head. A pair of hooves came down on its stomach, shattering the Ghostly Dog completely.

Ponyville, while Roseluck is writing her last letter.

The Behemoth thundered through the street, knocking over lampposts and other fixtures as if they were clumsily-placed toys. Pinkie Pie tried to keep her group together as the Behemoth gave chase, but it proved difficult to keep a panicking small crowd under control.

Finally, Pinkie Pie had an idea. She took aside the stallion from before, the one with intelligent chocolate eyes.

"Listen!" she said quickly. "I want you to take them to the hospital, I'm going to distract this thing!"

"But—"

"No time! Don't argue!"

And with that, Pinkie Pie dashed toward the Behemoth, whose eyes widened in surprise as this pink pony shot in front of him. The two both came to a halt, Pinkie Pie not wanting to harm it (still haunted by the fact that killing those flea-creatures was so easy for her), and the Behemoth not expecting someone to just jump in front of it.

She tried to distract it by telling him one of her favorite jokes—the one about leprechauns in the church—but the Behemoth apparently didn't get it. In fact, the joke only made it angry. As it began to chase her, Pinkie assumed it had a lot of friends who were leprechauns and was just really sensitive to the material.

"I didn't mean it!" she said. "It's just a joke, don't take it the wrong way!"

However, the distraction worked, and she began to lead the Behemoth away from the survivors. Now the only thing left to do was figure out a way to ditch the big guy. She figured the only way to keep it from harming others was to lead it out of Ponyville, so she darted for the town limits, careful to make sure she was still being chased.

Suddenly, a streak of many colors shot through the night sky and crashed into the Behemoth's head. Pinkie Pie saw it happen before she heard any sound, and when the sound came, it rocked the world around her, becoming a skull-shaking vibration afterward.

The Behemoth fell backward, a large, bloody dent on its head, its neck twisted and broken. It landed on its haunches, then fell to its side, dead. The earth shook under Pinkie's hooves as it hit the ground.

For a few seconds, Pinkie Pie was speechless... soundless... thoughtless. Time seemed to stop, the same way it does when something horrible happens. Suddenly, she felt something land next to her, a voice talking about... something, sounded like a question. It took a quick tap to her shoulder to bring Pinkie Pie back to reality.

"You OK, Pinks?" asked Rainbow Dash. Pinkie Pie looked at her, and began to cry. Her normally-poofy mane and tail flattened with a mournful sound.

"...You... You killed it."

Rainbow Dash looked at the Behemoth's body, then to Pinkie Pie. Her face was solemn. "Yes. I did. But if I didn't ,it would have trampled you."

"You didn't have to kill it, Dashie."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?!"

Pinkie Pie then did something Rainbow Dash didn't expect: she shoved Rainbow Dash, the same way a bully might shove a small foal.

"We've fought bad guys before, Dashie! We’ve had to get rough! But we never... we never killed anypony before!"

"Look, I didn't mean to just..."

Pinkie then held onto Rainbow Dash, crying into her chest. As the fires danced about them, trampling the town with their graceful steps to the melody of smoke and ash, Rainbow Dash could only hear Pinkie's sobs and feel her friend's body shake.

Suddenly, amidst all this chaos, there was a sound. Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie looked up in surprise.

The Behemoth, neck broken and head dented, had gotten back up. It howled and charged.

Sweet Apple Acres. Twilight was halfway there to Ponyville, and Applejack had discovered the intruders in her orchard. It was five minutes before the fires started.

This Man howled in panic and despair at the sight of the Ghostly Dog's demise. He looked at its killer with chilling hatred. His lantern's glow became hellish, and it sparked as his hate for this orange creature increased.

He lifted the lantern, intending on releasing his hatred in the form of hellfire, but before that could happen, the orange creature had shot up and forward—fast as a demon—and slammed the lantern into This Man. It burst, spilling its oil and hellfire all over him. He screamed as the fire gobbled up his body greedily, and as his body burned, his dying thoughts turned to his best and only friend.

Actrise looked at this scene and pursed her lips. She lifted up her staff, but as she did so, Applejack rushed her. Death let out a cackle—that sound of desperate braying of farm animals being slaughtered—as Applejack dashed right by Actrise, and into the orchard, running away as fast as her legs could carry her.

Dirt Nap looked in the direction of Applejack's escape, bewildered. He'd never seen this filly do such a thing before. Behind him, he heard Actrise let out a disgruntled shout.

"Th-The rib! That pony stole it!"

Death turned around and began to walk away. (Maybe it counted as walking; it was difficult for Dirt Nap to tell.) "Then retrieve it. It should be no problem for a sorceress of your caliber."

Such a nonchalant reaction put Actrise into a passion. "She just stole a piece of Dracula's body! Does that not require your involvement?!"

"There are other pieces," Death whispered. "I shan't be diverting so much focus on obtaining just one." With that, Death disappeared, merely blinking out of reality as though he never really existed at all.

Actrise growled in frustration. "Insipid specter! Thinks he can do whatever he wants..."

Dirt Nap had an idea. "My lady," he said, bowing before her, "I'll go retrieve the rib."

Actrise looked at her new soldier, and a sly smile spread across her lips. "Of course you will, my servant. But first, you will need to overpower the thief. She is strong and fast as a bolt of lightning. To combat her, you will need a strength she does not possess."

At that, Actrise lifted his hoof, taking it into her dove-wing hands. She drew blood from her finger, then pricked Dirt Nap's hoof with a needle. She inscribed, on his hoof, a symbol, using both his blood and her own. While she did so, she chanted words that Dirt Nap had never heard before, and the wind picked up as the dark clouds became darker and the twisted moon above twisted even more.

Suddenly, Dirt Nap felt a voice. He didn't hear it. He felt it.

Who has awakened me?

"Tell him your name," Actrise instructed.

"Dirt Nap," he said.

Dirt Nap... you require my service? What do you hope to accomplish?

He thought about it. Thought over why he had pledged himself to this white rose and her master.

"I must serve the Lord Dracula. To do this, I need power."

An insidious chuckle stroked Dirt Nap's spine. Strangely, Dirt Nap felt it comforting as opposed to alien, like a lover coming onto him.

Power you shall receive, Dirt Nap, servant of the Lord Dracula. But know this: your life is now forfeit to me. In the event of your death, your soul shall be my next meal. Do you understand?

Dirt Nap nodded. "I understand, and I accept. Grant me your power!"

Suddenly, he became enveloped in hellfire. At first, Dirt Nap was startled, and thought he was going to die the same way This Man did. But the fire did not hurt. It was like being caressed by millions of tiny, gentle hooves, stroking every part of his body tenderly. It was like being held close to his mother's warm body as she told him stories of heroes and wizards. It was like napping in a tree as a child with his pet cat curled up with him.

Dirt Nap began to laugh as he felt the gentle fire giving him an energy he'd never felt before. All the foals that had pushed him around suddenly became his prey. All the eyes that looked at him disdainfully now became afraid of him, genuinely afraid to question his place in the world. All the mocking words whispered about him behind his back became whispers of fear. Dirt Nap had finally been given something he'd wanted his whole life: power. Power to strike his own path in life, power to strike down those who tormented him, power to dominate.

Ponyville was out of time, for that was when the fires started.

The burning streets of Ponyville. Roseluck was about to eat her last meal.

Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were both attempting to escape the Behemoth as it charged and roared. It proved much more difficult than either had expected, as it seemed to be able to teleport around every corner. Nowhere was safe from the Behemoth.

Rainbow Dash then had an idea.

She was always the daredevil out of all her friends, never afraid of anything (or at least doing a great job of pretending to never be afraid), so she was always practicing her stunts. She had developed a stunt months ago in which she would fly toward a wall, then suddenly shoot upwards at a perfect ninety-degree angle, losing no speed at all. In fact, she had perfected it: she named it the "Corner Shot."

She grabbed her pink friend. "Dashie, what are you doing?!" she asked.

"Corner Shot!" Rainbow Dash said.

She aimed for the nearest building. It had zombies swarming about, crawling in through windows on the first floor. Behind them, the Behemoth picked up its speed, trampling all the zombies and other monsters in its path. It roared as its quarry attempted their escape.

Thirty feet shortened to ten, then from ten to one. In a single instant, just before Rainbow Dash would have slammed into the wall killing her and Pinkie Pie both, she shot upward into the night sky. Below them, the Behemoth attempted to stop, but was not nearly so adept at stuntwork as its enemy.

With a shuddering crash, the Behemoth had knocked down the wall, bringing the entire second and third floors down onto its back, crushing it. All the windows on the building had shattered from the impact, and the zombies had been crushed by the fallen rubble.

Rainbow Dash lowered herself and Pinkie Pie downwards to survey the damage. She looked at Pinkie Pie to see her frowning, reluctant to see such merciless agony inflicted on even an enemy. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you don't like this, Pinkie, but—"

"It's necessary," Pinkie Pie said in a deflated tone as they gently landed. "We don't like it but it's necessary. It's what my father would tell me about having to do things I don't like."

Pinkie suddenly felt a knot in her knee. That must mean...

Her ears perked up as she heard a noise from inside the building. She dashed off into the rubble, Rainbow Dash calling after her. Using her Pinkie Sense, she quickly located the source of the sound. Digging through some of the rubble, she found a familiar pony—dirty and hurt, but alive.

"Rosie!" Pinkie Pie shouted.

The time, finally, is once again now.

Twilight Sparkle had come across a group of survivors who told her they were on their way to the Hospital. They took the little filly she'd been carrying with her, along with Shatterstorm. She asked them if they'd seen Spike, only to receive news that they hadn't. They had, however, met Pinkie Pie, whom she was told was trying to distract a huge monster away from them.

Twilight had to save her friends. The villagers were mostly accounted for, thanks to her friends' efforts, but now it is time to go and save the heroes.

She gallops off to the Library, which thankfully is not in the vicinity of the burning area of town. This area is, however, overrun with zombies and wild animals. The Library itself is silent; no lights on. Either Spike is still asleep through all this, or he is playing it smart and trying not to draw any attention to his hiding place. Whatever the case is, Twilight manages to sneak by the shambling dead and teleport inside her Library.

Inside, it is dark. The sudden noise of the teleportation spell seems to wake up movement in the Library for one second. Furniture has been moved to the windows to block any entrance attempts by the zombies outside. If this were any other situation, the furniture being moved from their proper places would give Twilight a migraine.

"Spike!" Twilight calls quietly into the dark. "Spike, are you in here?! Please tell me you're OK!"

"Twilight?"

From around the corner, Spike walks out with a pot on his head and wearing a pillow around his waist. He looks up at her with his wide and childish eyes, with this look as if he didn't expect to ever see her again. He turns his head to look into the room behind him. "Guys, it's Twilight! She made it back OK!"

Twilight walks into the room Spike guides her into. Inside, Sweetie Belle is huddled close to her sister, and Applejack runs toward Twilight with a smile on her face. The air escapes Twilight's lungs as her cowgirl friend wraps her in a tight bearhug.

"Thank Celestia y'made it!" Applejack cried.

Twilight returns the hug as best she can and turns to Spike, who stands near the sisters. They are strangely quiet, especially Sweetie Belle. "What happened? What's going on?"

At this, Applejack removes from her hat a strange bone. Twilight picks the bone out of Applejack's hooves in her magenta aura, looking it over from every angle. Analyzing it. “I’ve seen a few of these before,” she says. “It’s too long to be a pony’s rib-bone, but not dense enough to be a minotaur’s, and it isn’t hollow like a griffon’s.”

Twilight frowns. “It’d belong to something else, a Homo sapien perhaps. There were plenty of these in that Castle that appeared in Canterlot...” She looks to Applejack. “Where did you get this?”

"It's like this," Applejack said. "Some creepy fellas Ah never seen before were diggin' up this bone in my orchard. Said sum'n' about, how they were tryin'na put their 'Lord Dracula' back together. So Ah jumped in an' nicked it off 'em, an' ran back to my house. Ah git my fam'ly up an' runnin' outta the house 'cuz Ah knew fer sure those goons were gunna 'ttack it. Ah was right. So I tried splittin' us up, Big Mac takes Apple Bloom an' Granny Smith t'safety, an' Ah try t'git this thing as far outta dodge as Ah could."

Twilight looks back to the bone. There is an unholy weight to it—not physical, but spiritual. Holding it makes her feel dizzy and empty inside. "This thing... gives me the creeps," she says flatly.

"I don't mean to sound rude, darling," Rarity says quietly so as to not disturb Sweetie Belle, "but it is a bone. It used to belong to someone."

"Yes... but who?"

"Ah reckon it's a piece'a their 'Lord Dracula'. If he's got anythin' t'do wi'that Castle what appeared, then he's bad news."

As they discussed, Spike hears a sound outside. Looking out a crack between the window and the dresser blocking it, he sees something that alarms him.

"Guys!" he shouts. "We gotta run!"

Twilight looks up at Spike, startled by the spooked tone of his voice. Sweetie Belle whimpers as Rarity puts her up on her back. Spike jumps atop Twilight. "What's happening, Spike?!" she asks quickly.

"No time to explain! Just teleport us outta here, NOW!!!"

There's a loud whistling sound outside as Twilight concentrated her magic on teleporting everypony outside the Library. The familiar feeling of tumbling outside and then inside reality, then a pop. They are all outside now, and the Library is burning.

Before Twilight can ask what happened, she hears a piercing laughter. It sounds mad. Insane. Above the smoke of the Library is a large, burning monstrosity with long horns and longer arms with even longer claws. Its entire body is made of fire, and its eyes are piercingly hollow. Attached to it is a pony, walking through the flames, laughing as they wrap around him. The flames don’t seem to harm him at all.

He stops some ways in front of the group and looks at them with a cruel smirk and haunting eyes.

He holds out his hoof. "Give me the rib," commands Dirt Nap.

Monster Dance, Part III

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Monster Dance, Part III

The fires eating away at the Library are ghostlike, yellows and reds and blues joining together in crackling song and destructive dance. The smoke rising from the Library joins all the smoke that has already polluted the sky. All around them, the walking dead, the wild animals, all have fallen silent and still. They look to Dirt Nap with fear and admiration as the debris from the explosion finally begin to flutter down like snowflakes.

"Give me the rib," he repeats. His voice echoes into the night, empty and angry.

Twilight looks at the bone in their possession. Applejack puts herself between her friends and this new enemy. "No way," she replies. "Who knows what'cher new friends're gonna do with it! So help us, you take one more step, Dirt Nap, an' we will END you!"

At Applejack's threats, Dirt Nap throws back his head and laughs. The wild animals and zombies join him, their unholy cackling filling the air. Sweetie Belle and Spike hold onto their sister and mother figure, eyes darting around at the sound.

The fiery monster attached to Dirt Nap lifts its arms and howls. In an instant, all the nearby houses are set aflame with the sound of a roaring lion proclaiming its victory. "Look at all this power!" Dirt Nap declares as the neighborhood erupts. "I’m like a god! You honestly think you could 'end' me? You have no chance!"

Twilight steps forward. The look on her face is a mixture of puzzlement and horror. She had seen this grave digger a few times before, always hobbling off and away from others. The looks they gave him. The disdain. She always felt he was merely misunderstood. But now...

"Why?" she asks. Dirt Nap is given pause. The fiery demon above him looks at his host, as if genuinely interested in his reply.

"Isn't that the eternal question?" Dirt Nap says, his voice suddenly solemn. "Why? Why does anything happen, really? Why am I doing all this, you ask? Well, why did ponies always treat me like a monster?"

Another house bursts into flame.

"Why did ponies mistreat me?"

A tree burns to ash in an instant.

"Why was I given..." He glanced to his cutie mark, that emblem of embalming. That warning sign of what he is. "... Why was I given this?!"

A nearby bush rockets upwards as fire destroys it. "All because I have a talent nopony else has the stomach for, I am treated differently. I am treated as less. Tell me, Celestia's prized student, why your precious friendship was never mine to have!"

Twilight swallows and looks downward. Applejack and Rarity dread having to hear Twilight say exactly what Dirt Nap wants to hear. But to everypony's surprise, Twilight says exactly what needs to be said.

"Because you were never a good pony."

Dirt Nap blinked. "What?!"

"You never stopped to say hello, you never went out of your way to help anypony. You never acted friendly towards anypony. You did your job, but you never helped yourself, and you never helped anypony else in any way." Twilight stands up straight, looking at Dirt Nap right in the eye. "That's why you don't have friends, Dirt Nap."

A pause. Then a snort. Then a laugh. Everypony looks up to see the fiery demon throwing his head back and laughing, laughing at Dirt Nap's self-inflicted misery. Dirt Nap looks up at the demon in anger. "Shut up," he demands. "Shut up and do as I say!"

Dirt Nap waves a hoof, and the ground beneath Twilight's hooves suddenly becomes unbearably hot. Before the ground beneath her erupts, Applejack jumps for her and both fall away to safety as a geyser of fire shoots into the sky with a scream.

Rarity decides to take Spike and Sweetie Belle someplace safe, and with the two on her back, she runs. Dirt Nap laughs at her as she goes. "A wise decision." He turns his attention back to Twilight, the demon of flames looming over him, locking eyes with her. "Enough of this garbage!" he barks. "Last warning. Gimme the rib or I reduce the both of you to ashes."

Twilight looks at the rib. Then to Dirt Nap. She closes her eyes.

"It's yours."

Applejack's eyes widen as she sees the rib float towards Dirt Nap's eager hooves. Before she can protest, however, and before Dirt Nap can grab the rib, it vanishes with a clap in a flash of magenta magic. Dirt Nap's eyes widen, as does his demon's.

"If you can find it," Twilight says, a catlike grin spreading over her face.

A second of stunned silence hangs in the air, then falls with a loud crash as Dirt Nap throws a wave of fire at the two mares. Twilight jumps to Applejack and teleports the both of them to a safer position. Dirt Nap lets out a throaty howl as he runs at them, anger flashing in his eyes, fire whipping and whirling around him.

"WHERE IS IT?!?!" he bellows.

He crashes face-first into a forcefield, knocking him onto his hunched back.

"I was taught by the Princess herself, Dirt Nap. And under her mentorship, she taught me a spell that can send objects into a place nopony but a choice few unicorns can find: the End Zone." Twilight developed a mischievous look on her face. "I put it where you and your cohorts can never find it!"

Dirt Nap glares at Twilight. He has promised his white rose and her master that he would retrieve this rib, no matter the cost. He has bound himself to this demon of fire, Aguni, in order to accomplish his mission. And this idiot witch has gotten in his way, making his job harder. That's all his life has been: everypony else making it harder for him!

Dirt Nap will have no more.

With a shriek, Dirt Nap shoots up and brings down all the fires of hell Aguni can produce, crashing and exploding upon the ground as Twilight and Applejack escape his wrath.

Rarity's hooves have never hit the ground with as much force as she is putting forth now, speeding along, the nightmare around them a blur of fire and death. Sweetie Belle holds onto Spike, and he feels her shivering rhythmically. He comes to the conclusion that she is sobbing, and confirms his guess by the dampness forming on his pillow-armor.

"Don't be scared, Sweetie Belle," says Spike comfortingly. "We're gonna make it."

Rarity's focus is on running as far away from Dirt Nap as possible, but she hears Spike murmuring. Suddenly, she hears her baby sister sob. No, Rarity, focus! You can wait to comfort your baby sister AFTER you've found refuge!

All around them, monsters are staggering, crawling, hopping about as if the town is theirs now. It might very well be, tonight. A disturbing, fleeting thought runs through Rarity's mind, its icy fingers teasing her soul as it passes by, gleeful at its own mischief.

They have lost Ponyville. They have lost it to these demons.

She shakes the thought from her mind, the same way one swats a noisy mosquito. She looks up and around, not exactly sure where to go next. Suddenly, her heart elates at a welcome sight.

The Ponyville General Hospital. She remembers a town hall meeting, years ago, announcing that in case of emergencies, the villagers should seek refuge at the hospital. It has a protective forcefield that prevents it from wild monster attacks—necessary when one decides to build a township near a place as dangerous as the Everfree Forest. Even now, the hospital stands completely unmolested.

Her target set, Rarity speeds off to safety, Spike still whispering words of comfort to Sweetie Belle.

The shuffling hooves of a small crowd of undead make their way by Scootaloo's hiding place. She peeks out from underneath her cardboard box, hoping they can't smell her the same way she can smell them. (Of course, she likes to think her own scent wouldn't make anypony gag.)

They pass by. For now, Scootaloo is safe.

She can't find her mother, but hopes she is all right. Tonight was an awful time to go try to call an emergency Cutie Mark Crusader meeting with her friends Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. Being caught right in the middle of a warzone was not her idea of spending the night. The only good thing so far is that the fires haven't spread to this area of town yet.

Emerging from her hiding place, Scootaloo looks about cautiously. No more monsters in sight. She'd seen ponies try to fight these things--fight and win, fight and lose--and knew for certain she'd never be a match for any of them. She blinks, and for an instant, she sees the results of a pony losing a battle against these beasts. She shudders.

Scootaloo doesn't notice she is walking a little bit backwards until she bumps into something. She yelps as she hears a squeal behind her. Out of reflex, Scootaloo turns around and expects to see a monster—some rabid animal or fish-ape creature.

But it is neither. The first thing Scootaloo sees is a golden cross being held out to her.

"G-Go away!" shouts Fluttershy, her face turned away in abject fear of the filly she'd bumped into.

"Fluttershy, it's me," Scootaloo replies. "And boy, am I glad to see you!"

Fluttershy opens an eye to make sure it's really Scootaloo. She slowly lowers her cross. Angel jumps down from Fluttershy's back and sniffs Scootaloo as they hug.

"Scootaloo, what's happened?" asks Fluttershy. "Where is everypony? Are they safe?"

Scootaloo answers to the best of her ability, but unfortunately it isn’t much. Just that the fires started a little bit after the zombies and wild animals started attacking the town. At the mention of her animals, Fluttershy's face wavers, not that Scootaloo notices.

"And I saw that creepy graveyard guy wandering around with this great, big, scary fire guy. Laughing the whole time. I think he might be behind all this or something." Scootaloo looks up to see Fluttershy looking about, sadly. "Fluttershy, what's wrong?"

"The animals... they've..." Fluttershy almost cannot bring herself to finish the sentence. All the animals she'd raised, all the animals she cared for, are running around mauling ponies. It's as if they are... possessed. She'd already exposed them to this cross she wears multiple times now, and as Angel had told her, they’re afraid of it. They run from it. From her. She feels safe, but at the same time betrayed and hurt that her animals are no longer hers.

She begins to cry. Angel sadly lifts a paw and pets Fluttershy affectionately on her foreleg. In the middle of all this madness, tears find their way to Fluttershy's eyes and leave, falling down to the ground. "They're... evil..."

Fluttershy wraps her forelegs around Scootaloo and presses her face down on Scootaloo's head. "They're evil now, and I don't know why."

Scootaloo, child that she is, doesn’t fully understand why Fluttershy has decided to break down just now. She understands how all this must make Fluttershy feel, but really, Fluttershy is the adult here. She needs to be in control.

"Get ahold of yourself, Fluttershy!" Scootaloo says, shaking some sense into her. "I know this is all horrible, but you gotta pull yourself together! I'm scared too, you know."

Fluttershy looks at Scootaloo, embarrassed. Here they are, in the middle of ground zero, and here she is losing her cool when she should be acting the part of an adult. She has to be assertive and strong. She takes a deep breath. Remember your training Fluttershy. Remember everything Iron Will has taught you. Remember everything your friends have taught you.

"All right," says Fluttershy. "I'm taking you to the hospital. Stay close."

They begin to walk these nighttime streets, wary of every sound. Scootaloo blinks again, and wishes she hadn't. She catches a glimpse of something glittering in the dark next to her, along with the heavy sound of clinking. It's the cross Fluttershy wears around her neck.

"Hey, what IS that thing anyway?" asks Scootaloo.

Fluttershy looks down to the cross. She and Angel share a smile and a wink. "It's a gift."

All is dark. Dark and distorted sound. Suddenly, Roseluck feels something. It's physical, so she's sure she isn't dead. She has not begun her journey to the Great Beyond, not yet. She feels something, physical—she feels like she is being lifted, pulled out from between something heavy and something heavier. The heavier something is being pulled away.

"Careful," she hears a voice. Scratchy. Feminine but raspy. Somepony she knows? "Keep that thing lifted."

"I know, I know," comes a second voice. Pinkie Pie. A grunt. "Why does this thing have to be so heavy?!"

"You're an earth pony, Pinkie! You're built for this kinda thing! Suck it up and quit complaining!"

Roseluck feels like she is almost free of this weight on top of her. She winces and gasps at an intense pain searing up and down her right hind leg. Her sight is coming back, slowly, in the sense that she now sees cloudy darkness and vague shapes around her.

"Hey, I think she's coming to!"

Roseluck's mind sees the shapeless, formless thing again. The Castle. That creature of chaos. Shapeless, formless. It is laughing, in her mind, it is laughing at her, at Ponyville, at the misfortune falling on all of Ponyville right this moment. It is laughing at Pinkie Pie pulling the heavy something and complaining about its weight. It is laughing at how it easily stole away the Princesses, leaving all of Equestria helpless. Tears of terror form in Roseluck's eyes as she whispers to the Castle, telling it it can go to Tartarus.

"Pfft, hey, we're only trying to save you, lady!" came the raspy, feminine voice again.

Roseluck's eyes snap back open and are met by a pair of magentas. They seem upset. She realizes she had just said that out loud. She apologizes, then coughs. She’s shocked at the sound of her voice. She sounds like a mare about to die. The heavy something is dropped behind her, and something pink bounces into view.

"Rosie, can you walk?"

"...can... barely move..."

She feels herself being lifted again. Being set on something. Roseluck closes her eyes and there's that damned Castle again, laughing. But there's something different this time. There's a purple unicorn there now. Underneath the Castle. Dominated. This purple unicorn, she has this look of abject terror on her face, and she is dominated by this creature of chaos. The purple unicorn looks familiar.

Like a strike of thunder, there is a loud noise. Roseluck can barely keep her eyes open, but she hears it. Like a roar. Something huge getting up. The magentas' raspy feminine voice muttering a curse. "What's it take to keep this guy DOWN?!"

She feels being lifted onto something—then somepony joining her—then flight. Roseluck feels like she is flying. She is flying, as the Castle watches, and laughs, and dominates the purple unicorn. The Castle dominates her as a white pony runs by, laughing like a maniac. After that, Roseluck falls once more into unconsciousness.

It almost feels as if there is no more moisture in the air. Fire whipping all around them, lashing at the forcefield with blows more befitting a giant. Dirt Nap growling like the animal he has become, demanding that Twilight bring back the rib and hoof it over.

Twilight wishes she had her brother's stamina. It’s true that she is a talented sorceress, knowledgeable of any and every kind of magic, but because she never bothered to specialize in any individual area, she has little endurance, especially in the realm of forcefield magic. The crashing waves of fire are causing her to lose her ground. Her sight is growing hazy and her mind is becoming disjointed.

"Applejack," she mutters. The hoarse sound of her voice alarms her.

"Yes, Twi?"

"When I tell you to run, I want you to run as fast as you can."

Applejack looks to her friend in horror. "You let this forcefield down an' yer cooked, sugarcube! Ah cain't juss abandon you!"

The air around them is dead and dry, the heat greedily devouring and digesting any and all moisture in the air. Twilight's voice is becoming hoarser and hoarser the more she talks. "No, listen—listen to me, AJ. You have to do this. You have to run. You have to escape. Run to the Hospital. Just do as I tell you. I'll be fine."

Applejack finds herself in a desperate bind. She does not want to leave Twilight to this monster. But she seems serious...

"Twilight, Ah—"

"Remember when we went after Nightmare Moon?" interrupts Twilight. "And I was about to fall off a cliff to what I thought would be my death? And you looked me in the eye, and told me to let go? I trusted you, and I was safe." Twilight looks Applejack right in the eyes as Aguni begins to scratch and pound on the shield like an angry tiger. "Do you trust me, Applejack?"

Applejack feels tears forming in her eyes. Her throat clenches as fire climbs all around the forcefield.

"Do you trust me?"

Applejack nods as a tear rolls down her cheek. "Yes," she mumbles. "Yes, Twi, A-Ah trust you."

Twilight smiles reassuringly. "Then please do as I ask. I'll be fine."

Applejack hugs Twilight as Dirt Nap begins to laugh at them. "You better be, sugarcube."

Twilight looks to Dirt Nap, still laughing as he burns and burns and burns. She closes her eyes and focuses. Focuses on her magic. Her horn begins to glow. As it becomes brighter, the forcefield begins to expand. The fire is pushed back, more and more. Dirt Nap is pushed away, his eyes wide in surprise. "The heck?!" he yelps.

Suddenly, Twilight throws the forcefield forward before popping it like a bubble, knocking Dirt Nap into the air and into a tree. "Now, Applejack!" she yells. "Run!!!" Twilight dashes forth, towards Dirt Nap, letting loose a warrior's scream, ready to fight and more than ready to die for her friends.

Meanwhile, Applejack bolts as commanded. She is unsure where to run, having forgotten the general direction of the Hospital. She merely dashes by the walking dead and the monsters and the rabid animals, not certain where she is or where she is headed. Everything is a blur of red and yellow and moans and scrapes and shrieks.

After a few minutes of running, Applejack finds her hoof caught by a tree root, and her face meets the ground. Her hat falls off. "Tarnation," she mumbles. As she reaches for her hat, Applejack sees something inside it that, after a surprised pause, makes her smile.

"Clever girl," she giggles, finally understanding Twilight's whole agenda, and kicking herself mentally for not figuring it out sooner. "Twilight, you wicked little imp!"

They are almost there, the Hospital is just down this streetway. If Rarity can hold on just a bit longer—

No, scratch that. A burning tree has just landed on the path. Rarity looks to her right, where the tree had fallen down, and sees monsters crawling over themselves, escaping a nearby burning building. Their eyes bulge like blisters ready to burst, their mouths hang open, crowned by purple lips; their teeth jagged as sharpened rocks at the bottom of a cliff.

The moment she looks at them, they see her and grin.

She turns and tries to run, but more creatures have blocked her path. Zombies. Ponies long dead, now with horrible sharp fangs in their mouths, teeth that are red and dripping with fresh blood. They suck in air as if desperate and suffocating, making awful gasping sounds as they stumble forth on rotted legs. Rarity smells them, a smell dank and foul, invading her nose and overloading her stomach.

There's nowhere to run. Rarity is tired from this whole adventure, no strength left in her muscles, all of it spent running and avoiding danger. Suddenly, Spike drops from her back.

"Don't worry, Rarity," he says. "I'll buy you some time. Take Sweetie Belle to the Hospital."

If this were any other situation, Rarity would have followed his orders, touched by his courage, maybe even reward him with a peck to his cheek. But these aren't Diamond Dogs. They are not Changelings. They are not anything anypony has ever faced before. They have no moral compunctions about harming children, no mind, no self-control. Spike would get torn to shreds before he had time to act.

"Spike, darling, I can't let you do that!"

Spike waved a claw. "You have to, Rarity! I'm not about to let you or Sweetie Belle get hurt!"

"I'm NOT GOING TO," Rarity shouts at a louder volume than she intends, "because I don't want to see you get hurt!" Her muscles ache, zombies have surrounded them, and a young boy she knows loves her is willing to sacrifice himself. Too much is happening at once, and her patience is beginning to strain.

Behind her, she hears Sweetie Belle begin to whimper. The monsters around them are closing in.

"Rarity," Spike says quietly. "I'm sorry, but... I need to do this. You and Sweetie Belle have to survive." He closes his eyes, as if concentrating. "I'm always just the assistant. So I assist in whatever way I can." He opens his eyes and steps forth, challenging the zombies. "And if protecting you from these things will help you, I'm gonna do it!"

He runs at the monsters, ready to fight and ready to die, Rarity protesting and calling for him to return.

Suddenly, the monster all gasp as if afraid of this little dragon. As he nears them, they turn around and run away, disappearing into the night and into the fire. A little surprised at himself, Spike stops and gawks. After a second, he puffs his chest pridefully. The victorious dragon expects to hear his lovely lady friend congratulate him on how awesome he is.

"Well done, Fluttershy!"

Spike opens his eyes when he realizes his name is not Fluttershy.

Over where Rarity stands, there are Fluttershy, Angel, and Scootaloo as well. Scootaloo hugs Sweetie Belle tightly, relieved to be near a friend, while Rarity nuzzles her savior. Around Fluttershy's neck is a golden cross. Spike's mouth slides into a disgruntled frown as he somberly walks back to the group he tried to save.

Rainbow Dash looks behind herself again, and again there is the Behemoth, loud and angry, right behind her. She is the fastest thing alive, ever, in the history of anything and everything equine, and this thing is keeping pace disturbingly well. She'd stomped it square in the head and had essentially dropped a building on it, and it could still get up and run. And it could still keep up with her.

She is carrying an unconscious Roseluck on her back, and struggling to keep her as steady as possible on their flight to the Hospital. It's always difficult to just carry somepony while flying—always tricky, especially if they are unconscious. Also on her back is Pinkie Pie, still screaming at the Behemoth as if it would leave if she were loud enough.

Out of nowhere, a flea-thing jumps into Rainbow Dash's line of sight. She hadn't been flying that close to the ground (it must have jumped from a rooftop at her or something), but the sudden appearance of the hunchbacked monstrosity was enough to send Rainbow Dash to try changing her direction. The sudden jolt causes Pinkie Pie to lose her balance and fall to the ground.

Rainbow Dash calls for her friend. Pinkie Pie picks herself up off the ground and finds herself eye-to-eye with the Behemoth. It has stopped for some reason and just stares Pinkie Pie down. She feels a hot snort of air blow through her mane.

A blue blur shoots down and tries once again to brain the Behemoth. It backs away and wobbles, but quickly regains its stance and roars. Pinkie Pie grabs onto Rainbow Dash's tail, but feels something tug at her own, pulling her—trying to yank her away from Rainbow Dash.

She looks behind herself and sees the Behemoth with her tail between its teeth. Its beady red eyes seem to bulge out of its head, angry and filled with bloodlust.

She screams in terror.

"Pinkie Pie, you're not helping!" Rainbow Dash shouts, pumping her wings for everything they’re worth.

Pinkie, somehow, calms herself down and assesses their situation. She is the rope in a game of tug-of-war, with the Behemoth and Rainbow Dash as the players. Rainbow Dash has a survivor she needs to take to the hospital, and the Behemoth is about to kill them both. She frowns as the only solution comes to her mind.

"Dashie!" she yells to her friend as the Behemoth pulls harder. "You need to get Rosie to the hospital!"

"What do you think I've been trying to do?!"

"Pinkie Promise me, Dashie!"

Rainbow Dash groans, not understanding what it is Pinkie Pie is getting at. "Yes," she says impatiently. "I Pinkie Promise I'll get Rosie to the hospital! Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my... eye." As the last word escapes her mouth, Rainbow Dash realizes what Pinkie Pie is about to do.

For the first time in a while, tears begin to streak down Pinkie's face. She gulps as she is about to let go. "Dashie, I love you! Tell all our friends I love them, too!"

Rainbow Dash gasps as she feels no more pulling at the end of her tail, and she is flung through the air, shot forth as if from a catapult. She struggles to keep Roseluck from falling off her, as they tumble through air that is choked with smoke and the cackling of crows. She sees the hospital coming up—and coming up fast—with no time or ability to aim for any open windows. Instead, Rainbow Dash curls herself into a ball around Roseluck to shield her from the incoming impact.

With an hour left until morning's sunlight, Rainbow Dash and Roseluck crash straight through a hospital window, and into a wall.

Rainbow Dash will be unconscious until a little after the sun comes up.

Teleport spamming. While taxing to the body to pull off repeatedly, it’s an infuriating and obnoxious tactic to pull on enemies.

Keeping Dirt Nap off-balance is exactly what Twilight intends as she baits him, herding him where she wants him to go. He yells and he shouts and he laughs and he burns and burns and burns, but she never gives in to his demand to bring back the rib from the "End Zone."

She laughs and taunts her quarry, almost as if she is playing a game of tag with him. She suddenly has all the energy and exuberance of a small foal, bounding and leaping and dancing above, over, and around the flames shot at her before she teleports away again. If Dirt Nap weren't so angry, he might have had a chuckle or two himself.

They are nearing the lake, exactly where Twilight will put her scheme into motion. They're almost there. Twilight is tired, dizzy, thirsty from so much magic usage and so little time to recover, but still her blood is pumping through her at a hyperactive pace. They are almost there, almost to the lake.

Her back to the lake now, Dirt Nap and Aguni in front of her. OK, Twilight! Time for the finishing act!

Dirt Nap is saying something, shouting something that Twilight does not hear, nor cares to hear. He rages as she concentrates her magic, as her horn begins to glow.

He finally stops shouting. She opens an eye to see him looking up over her. She grins as the lake rises up behind her, forming an arc. Her smile crawls all the way up her face, becoming menacing as the waves come crashing down on Dirt Nap, on Aguni, as they both shout in surprise and the sound of a fire being put out sizzles through the air.

Steam rises as the cascade falls. It hangs in the air for some time, almost like a huge fog has descended on Ponyville. Tired from all this exercise, Twilight sits down, breathing hard, but still smiling. She is about to laugh, when all of a sudden Aguni lights up again, like a match set to a torch. Her smile quickly becomes a frown of worry as Dirt Nap's wicked laughter fills her ears.

"Clever girl," Dirt Nap says menacingly as steam rolls off his body. He is every bit as tired from all this running around as Twilight is. He wants so very much to just incinerate her, turn that body he occasionally lusted for into blackened, charred remains. But she is a unicorn. She can access the End Zone. She knows where it is. She can retrieve the rib.

Threatening her with bodily harm doesn't work. He has figured this out, and should have figured it out a long time ago. She needs another incentive. Dirt Nap looks about and sees a house that hasn't caught fire yet. He looks up to Aguni and finds him also staring at the house.

I know what you must be thinking, Aguni tells him in the language only he can hear, only his bones can feel. And yes, there is someone there.

A child.

Dirt Nap smirks, looking sideways at his source of antagonism. In a flash, Aguni's arm grows several feet, reaching into the house and grabbing something inside. Twilight's eyes widen in fear as she hears screaming. Out of the house comes Aguni's hand, and in his hand is a foal, a small, purple-tinted unicorn foal crying for her mommy.

Dirt Nap's smirk becomes an all-out toothy smile, wicked and delighted at the sight of Twilight becoming more uncomfortable. Aguni holds the foal in one claw, and his other is raised and glowing white hot with all the fires of hell.

"Bring me back the rib," Dirt Nap threatens, "or I kill her!"

Pinkie Pie is running again. Not to find survivors, not to find stragglers. Not to fight monsters.

She is running from the Behemoth. It is behind her, always right behind her, its breath hot and its roar shaking Pinkie Pie's eardrums, shaking her to her core.

But she's leading him around. She left something here in Ponyville, in case of monster-chasing emergencies like this one. It was a gift to her from an invaluable friend she has not seen in some time, a gift he had told her to save for this very occasion should it occur. He said it would help.

For the next few minutes, there is chasing. A cat chasing a mouse, around that corner, around this corner, over and under fallen trees and through burning buildings. Finally, only one or two streets away from the Hospital, she comes across where she left the gift.

Pinkie Pie turns to look at the Behemoth. Her heart is racing and she feels ready to throw up. She has never run so hard before. Her breaths come out in shaky gasps as she gets nearer to where she kept the gift, stashed away between two barrels. She feels fortunate that they have not been burned away yet.

"All right, big guy," she says as she approaches the barrels. The Behemoth closes in behind her, slowly, menacingly, getting high off the feel of the chase, in some ways not wanting it to end, in other ways wanting to finally catch and kill the pink thing. It grits its teeth and smiles at Pinkie Pie, who looks at it in dread.

"All right, it's time for you go away now!" She reaches between the barrels—

—and grasps at nothing.

There is nothing between the barrels.

"No," mumbles Pinkie Pie. "No, no!" She sticks her face between these two barrels and does not see the gift her friend gave her, the gift that could protect her in case of monster-chasing emergencies like this one. "No, no, no, no, no."

She looks up at the Behemoth, her hopes dashed and gone. It takes another step. Pinkie gulps, steels herself, and stands up straight and tall as she closes her eyes. In her heart, she wishes for her friends to always be safe and happy.

Suddenly, she hears it yelp as if struck by something. Then she hears and feels the thudding on the ground from the Behemoth's hooves as it runs... away?

Pinkie opens a single eye, and sees the Behemoth had indeed fled. But more importantly, she sees Fluttershy standing in front of her, holding out her friend's gift that had chased away the Behemoth.

Fluttershy turns to Pinkie Pie. As their other friends arrive, they share a smile.

A short eternity passes Twilight by as she witnesses Aguni toying with the foal as if she were a plaything. The foal is screaming as she looks up at the fiery demon holding her. Aguni looks into her eyes and laughs long and deep as she begins to cry.

"She's getting noisy, witch," Dirt Nap growls. "And I'm running out of patience. Bring back the rib, or let this filly die. You've already figured out you can't hurt me, not even with your magic." A pause. "So, bring it BACK!"

Twilight decides it might be time to try reason. "Do you even understand what it is your new friends are trying to do?"

Dirt Nap snarls as Aguni traces a claw down the filly's spine. "Does it matter? This world has spurned me, and my new friends accept me for everything that makes me special. So of course I'm going to do anything for them, no matter what the consequences are!"

"Would they do the same for you?" asks Twilight.

"Of course they would!"

"How do you know for sure? Maybe they're just using you, just like you think everypony else does."

Dirt Nap becomes angrier at Twilight's words. He yells at her, using expletives that the foal being held hostage is going to ask her mother about later. "Just give. Me. The RIB!!!"

Twilight sighs. "All right. I'll reach back into the End Zone." Already she has formulated a plan, to throw a rock at Aguni for a distraction long enough to teleport the foal to safety. Her horn glows, but she hesitates as she feels the earth beneath her begin to tremble.

"What's wrong?" Dirt Nap asks. "Gimme the rib or she dies. How hard is it to understand?!" Suddenly, he feels the rumbling, too. They all feel the earth trembling as if something is coming this way—something huge—and the earth groans and shouts as this thing stomps it.

Then they hear it: a rippling shriek of fear. They look in the direction it comes from and see buildings being knocked down. Twilight's eyes flash to Dirt Nap. He and his pet are both distracted. She focuses her magic as quickly as she can.

The foal disappears with a pop and a flash of magenta. Aguni looks at his claws in surprise as the foal reappears next to Twilight. She grabs the filly and begins to run. Dirt Nap looks at her as does so, and lets out a yelp. He decides to run after her again—burning, burning, burning.

However, the rumbling beneath their hooves does not stop. It has become louder, faster, more frantic. Dirt Nap looks behind him and sees the Behemoth, and screams. Before he can do anything, this fast, frantic beast has Dirt Nap under its hooves—stomped—trampled—destroyed.

The Behemoth crashes through Aguni's body as if he were merely another building in its path, the hellish flames catching onto it and setting it ablaze. As it runs faster and faster, catching up to Twilight, its body burns, becoming a screaming fireball blazing a path to Tartarus.

Dirt Nap, or what is left of him, looks up to see Aguni looking down at him. He had always been concerned with who would bury him after it was his time to go. Many nights had he spent lying in his bed in his little hut, looking up at the ceiling, wondering who would bury him, worrying that nopony would bury him or care about him at all.

He looks up. As his blood soaks the cobblestone, and as his insides coat the ground, and as his eyes begin to dim, he looks up into the face of the one meant to bury him. And he laughs. Aguni laughs the loudest Dirt Nap has heard, as he comes down, down with all the fires of hell, and buries Dirt Nap in flames.

Twilight Sparkle, again, is running. Running as fast as her aching, tired legs can run. Which is unfortunately, not very fast right now. There is a Behemoth on fire right behind her, gaining on her. It does not seem to chase her so much as it is running in abject fear—fear of something scary enough to send this beast scurrying. Enough to terrify it beyond its capacity for self-preservation. It is running and on fire, and right behind Twilight.

Twilight's magic isn't entirely gone. She could teleport, but that takes focus, more focus than she can possibly afford right now. She expects the foal on her back to cry or scream, like she did while Aguni held her. But she seems to be in awe at the sight of the burning beast behind them. Scared, of course, but scared into awed silence.

Finally, Twilight collapses and slides across the ground, the foal hanging on for dear life, telling Twilight they have to get back up. Twilight's eyes fill with tears. She is going to die—it's too soon, but she is going to die.

Suddenly, everything stops. Every sound, every feeling, even every taste in her mouth is paused. She hears somepony... talking... backwards? Suddenly, she is lifted onto her feet. More talking, backwards.

"!em htiw emoC !ylkciuQ"

She opens her mouth to speak.

"?em gnikat uoy era erehW ?uoy era ohW"

Twilight winces at the bizarre sound of her voice. She was so certain she said it all plainly, but it came out sounding backwards, as if they are speaking in a different language.

She is dragged forward by somepony wearing white. A stallion with a white mane and tail. She recalls someone wearing white before, in the Castle, a figure in white that haunted her throughout Canterlot. Was he...?

Before she can ask, the white figure throws her forward and into a ditch, the foal on her back stuck to her like she is growing out of Twilight's back. Twilight looks up and realizes the foal has been "paused", too, and that a ghostly pocket watch is spinning next to her savior. It begins to glow as this white-wearing stallion jumps after Twilight. He ducks her head down in the ditch they are in.

"!nwod yatS"

The watch glows brightly, then pops like a balloon, complete with a jarring crack! Just like that, time moves forward again. The Behemoth, still on fire, thunders past them like a train on a neverending track. It runs all the way out of Ponyville and continues to burn as it runs toward the badlands. It will be hours before Aguni's unholy flame burns it to ashes, and during that time, the Behemoth will run, not caring what gets trampled underneath.

Silence of the Daylight, Part I

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Silence of the Daylight, Part I

Nopony thought it would happen again, but the sun slowly peeked up over the hills this morning, as if cautiously making absolutely sure it was safe to come out. Survivors that had spent the entire night in hiding peeked out from their hiding places and were greeted by both the sun and the wrecked village. The demons were gone, and the silence of the daylight stood still for close to an hour before any movement was made.

Many buildings were almost completely gone, nothing but ashes and debris. Where the Behemoth had rampaged, what Dirt Nap had burned. After the demonic Aguni had taken his payment from Dirt Nap, all the fires were suddenly snuffed out, like candles on a birthday cake. There were bodies in the streets, young and old alike, fresh and rotted alike. The zombies of last night fell away to the ground upon seeing the sun, almost as if their power had suddenly been cut off. The smell of smoke and rot wafted into the nostrils of those who still breathed.

The wild animals had fled along with the monsters, for reasons most could not ascertain. Many came to the conclusion that they feared the daylight, or were weakened by the sunlight somehow. The cackling of crows and howling of wild dogs, the bouncing of the flea-men and the gnashing teeth of the mer-men all migrated deep into the dark. Many felt unsure that any of this had happened at all, but the dead and the destroyed were ample proof.

The smoke above the town took its time in leaving, and the sky above was overcast with clouds. Nopony remembered scheduling clouds for Ponyville today, especially not this many. It seemed like nature had simply decided to do whatever it wanted. The rain came down gently onto Ponyville, caressing her broken and battered body in pity. It felt almost insulting. Degrading.

Presently, Twilight Sparkle looks out a hospital window at Ponyville General. The rain trickles down the windowpane, distorting the already-broken Ponyville outside. As if she were really just looking at a post-modern impressionist recreation of her home.

Behind her, the white unicorn stallion from before stands, watching her curiously. His presence feels almost unreal, as if he exists when and where he truly should not. His eyes contain a sense of great emptiness and curiosity, as if he is simultaneously both a foal and a very old stallion. Rarity has already complimented him on his fashionable white clothing: otherworldly in its design, yet at the same time similar to Canterlot wardrobe. He even wears a monocle.

In the same room are all of Twilight's closest associates: Rainbow Dash (now with bandages on her head and back from her crash), Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Fluttershy, and Applejack. Pinkie Pie has introduced this stallion to the rest of them as "Aeon", and claims he is a time traveler.

"Well, that is not precisely true," he says, drawing Twilight's attention from the window. "I live outside time and am able to observe it, or even get involved and change it around a little if I please."

"So, basically, time traveler," summarizes Rainbow Dash. Aeon merely sighs and nods, defeated by Rainbow Dash's summary.

Pinkie Pie goes on to explain that she had met Aeon one day and they traveled through time. "I rescued myself! It was totally cool!" she said. "Aeon is like my favoritest time traveler in the history of EVER!"

"He's the only time traveler y'know, sugarcube," observes Applejack.

"And he uses his watch to stop time, and he speaks all backwards and stuff and it's so funny!"

Aeon looks at his pocketwatch. "Well, it is not supposed to do that, and I have been trying to fix it for some time now..."

"!NUF hcum os si sdrawkcab gniklaT ?ti xif annaw uoy od yhW," Pinkie Pie chirps. Everypony looks at her as if she speaks in a different language, which is technically true.

"And he gave me that cool cross thingie," Pinkie continues, pointing to Fluttershy's cross necklace. "He said it would come in handy someday, and I said 'WHAAAT' and he said 'I'm a time traveler trust me' and I said 'WHAAAT' and he said 'I'm a time traveler trust me' and I said 'WHAAAT' and he said 'No, seriously, I'm a time traveler trust me' and I said, 'Okie-Dokie-Loki!' and so I hid it between two barrels for monster-chasing emergencies but I guess somepony stole it or something but I'm glad you found it Fluttershy because if you didn't you would have gotten hurt and—"

Suddenly, Pinkie Pie freezes in place, becoming like an image in a picture. They all hear the quiet sound of a clock ticking and look to Aeon, whose stopwatch is floating in midair. They all breathe a sigh of relief.

".uoy knahT," says Rarity, who then makes a face as if she had bitten down on a pickled lemon.

They enjoy their silence for a few seconds before Pinkie Pie continues as if nothing happened. Eventually, Twilight hushes Pinkie with a hoof to her mouth. She turns to Aeon. "So, I take it you're more aware of what's been going on lately, Mr. Aeon?"

Aeon nods. "Indeed."

Applejack removes the rib from underneath her hat. "Well, then, can you give us some answers 'bout this? Some creepy goons dug this up in my orchard. I wanna say Winona buried it there like she does any other bone she finds, but either way, it was in my orchard, and was there pro'lly even b'fore that castle showed up." She puts the rib on a sidetable, thankful that its twisted darkness is finally away from her person. She looks to Aeon.

"Mind tellin' us why they were lookin' fer this?"

Aeon nods. "It is a piece of Dracula. His 'goons', as you call them, are searching for these pieces, and have been for some time now."

Twilight cocks an eyebrow. "Maybe you should start from the beginning?"

"That I should, Miss Sparkle." Aeon takes a deep breath and leans against the wall nonchalantly as he begins his story. "Long ago, Dracula terrorized a different world. Every time this world became wicked enough, he would reappear to try to conquer it. But there was a family, the Belmonts, who would always stand against him and defeat him. They, along with their allies, were capable of defeating him time and time again, until..."

"Until they defeated him for good?" asks Rainbow Dash excitedly.

"Until they all decided to stop fighting and... and b-become friends?" asks Fluttershy demurely.

"Until they decided a party would be more fun?!" interjects Pinkie Pie. She is met with impatient stares, and shrugs.

"...Until finally, Dracula won."

Eyes snap to attention. Aeon continues.

"He had dealt a crushing blow to one Richter Belmont. Not in a way that killed Richter, but in a way that decimated him: Dracula had taken Richter's fiance and transformed her into a monster. Richter had no choice but to kill her."

Fluttershy covers her mouth at the idea anyone could do something so terrible. Rarity looks away sadly as Pinkie Pie's hair deflates. Rainbow Dash purses her lips, infuriated that anyone who would do that could think he'd be allowed to just walk away.

"Even as he brought the battle to Dracula, Richter could not fight the despair gnawing away at his heart. When he returned home from defeating Dracula, he found that the whole world went right back to its wicked ways. The world spurned their savior." Aeon walks over to a window and looks outside. The rain is beginning to ease up, becoming a light drizzle.

"...That's so horrible," Rarity says in quiet shock.

His eyes still gazing at the town outside, Aeon continues. "It was right around that time that Richter... changed. Something inside him snapped. Maybe it was a thankless world that did it to him. Maybe it was his fiance's death. Maybe Dracula did it to him. However it happened, Richter allowed himself to be tainted by Dracula's evil."

"But it was his job to fight Dracula!" Rainbow Dash says. "Why would he willingly...?"

Aeon turns around. His face is solemn. "Sometimes, in their despair, people do atrocious things. They turn to wickedness when they feel they no longer have a purpose. For Richter, he became obsessed with the idea of resurrecting Dracula himself to battle him, to make himself feel important again. To find his purpose again.

"But no matter what he did, the hole in Richter's heart would never heal. Even after a friend of mine had gone to stop him, and snatched him out of Dracula's grip, Richter's bloodline—and the entire Belmont family after him—remained tainted by the power of Dracula, and they finally faded away into the very obscurity and uselessness Richter had feared."

Silence. Aeon reads the faces of these ponies before him. He's read these faces before, when he had to relate this story to people from other worlds. He breathes in deep when no one interjects. "During that time, the world became more and more foul. It would not be long before Dracula came back. So, one day, a very foolish boy had an idea. He would dig up Dracula's body, cut it into pieces, and scatter them all over the dimensional rift, not caring where any of them ended up. He felt this would prevent Dracula from ever coming back."

Twilight looks down, solemnly. "But it didn't work, did it?"

"Not in the slightest. Dracula's minions took it upon themselves to travel world to world in order to find their master's pieces and put him back together again." Aeon turns away again, looking out the window. "Many worlds have been torn apart, never to heal, because of them. Now, only five pieces remain for them to find... and that rib is one of them."

All eyes descend on the evil bone on the sidetable. It seems to whisper to them, into their souls, darkly musing to itself how each of them taste. None dare question Aeon's account. Twilight turns back to Aeon.

"Can you answer something else?" she asks. "Where's Princess Celestia?"

Aeon nods, and for the first time since meeting him, a smile—small, but genuine—appears on his face. "That is the good news! She is alive, and safe. She is not, however, in this dimension."

Murmurs and demands for explanation all crash into Aeon, who backs away a little, asking these ponies to calm themselves. He then draws a scroll from his jacket and with his telekinesis gives it to Twilight Sparkle. She opens it and is greeted by Celestia's own hoofwriting. She reads it aloud:

Dearest Student and the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony:
I write to you in order to both confirm Aeon's story and to tell you that Luna and I are both alive and safe. All the subjects still in my castle at the time of its 'movement' are also in one piece. Aeon has placed a few friends of his in my castle to help protect us in case Dracula's minions should try to strike us from here.
However, if you have listened to Aeon's story, you now understand how grave our situation is. Dracula's forces will stop at nothing to retrieve his remaining pieces, and you are the only obstacles he faces. You must hurry to locate Dracula's other pieces before they can.
Do not lose yourselves to the tempting darkness of Dracula. Keep each other in your thoughts and hearts at all times. Your friendship is your strongest weapon against Dracula, and I truly believe the Elements of Harmony are more than enough to defeat him. Stand together, and do not falter in your quest.
I will keep you all in my prayers. And no matter what happens, Twilight, remember that you are not just my student, but the closest thing to a daughter I shall ever have. You are my most precious, irreplaceable treasure.
Applejack, your family and your friends will be your source of strength as it always has been. Never forget why you fight for them, and never stop loving them.
Rainbow Dash, you are not just their friend. You are their knight. Your passion fuels your fight for those who cannot defend themselves. It is important that you never lose this quality.
Fluttershy, though Dracula's forces are terrible and fierce, your courage and your love for your friends will overcome anything.
Pinkie Pie, you are a joy to others. Now more than they ever have, Equestria will need you to lift their fallen spirits. Never stop smiling.
Rarity, it is not just your generosity that makes you valuable. It is that you know exactly what it is ponies need, and you give it to them. Never forget that what your friends need now more than anything is your unconditional love for them.
You all know what it is you must do, and I wish you all luck, my little ponies. And no matter what happens, remember that I will be supporting you through it all.
I will never stop believing in you.
~Princess Celestia

Twilight sets the letter down. Halfway through, her voice begins to choke as her throat becomes thick. Tears form in her eyes as she reads about her being Celestia's treasure. She looks around to see her friends are equally teary.

Silence. Silence as the sun finally pokes through the window. Finally, Rainbow Dash nods.

"We have to do this," she says in a tone that is uncharacteristically quiet, but still powerful, still passionate. She looks up, into the eyes of each of her friends, one by one. "We have to fight. We have to win."

It's a while before everypony digests everything. Once the initial shock wears off, Aeon gives Twilight a bestiary documenting each of Dracula's minions. Eagerly, Twilight flips through it, her eyes sucking the information off every page with a ravenous appetite. "So many of these creatures seem similar in form and shape to the human legend," she comments.

Aeon nods. "Dracula's home world is populated by humans," he says. "Quite a few of his most loyal lieutenants are humans. Even my original form resembles them."

"Wait," Pinkie Pie says, putting two and two and two together. "So does that mean... you're really a human?"

Aeon gives her an amused glance. "Well, my original form is very close to human. I choose a pony form for a pony world. No need to draw too much attention to myself."

Applejack and Rainbow Dash look at each other and grin. As Applejack snorts and laughs, Rainbow Dash turns to Aeon and says, "The way you're dressed kinda defeats that purpose. We could spot you coming a mile away."

Rarity hisses at the two of them to be quiet. "Ladies, please! Going incognito among ponies is no excuse to not look his best!"

Aeon smiles and nearly laughs, himself. Pinkie Pie touches his foreleg to get his attention. "Hey, Eenie, I have a favor to ask you."

Aeon looks at his stopwatch, then closes it. "Well, I suppose I have time," he said, "What do you need?"

Pinkie Pie leads him out of the hospital room, telling the others she'd be right back. On their way down the hall, Pinkie Pie explains her idea to him at her usual exasperating pace. Aeon, patiently, waves his hoof over Pinkie's face, causing her to slow down and lower her volume. He asks her to just tell him what she wants.

"I have a friend who'd love to meet you!" Pinkie smiles.

Aeon is led into another hospital room, this one with only a single patient, a unicorn. She lies in her bed, her burns from earlier muddying her mint green coat. A bandage is above her right eye. Next to her bed is another mare, this one an earth pony with blue and pink hair and a pair of sweets for a cutie mark. Both look up when Pinkie Pie leads Aeon inside.

Pinkie Pie addresses the burned unicorn as "Lyra" and tells her she has a present. Aeon smirks at her. He doesn't exactly understand what is going on until Pinkie closes the door and asks him, this time quietly, to show Lyra his true form.

His eyes widen at her request.

"Please, Eenie? She's been through a really hard time, and I thought you might be what she needs to cheer up!"

Aeon finds it hard to refute her. He turns to the mint green unicorn and her earth pony friend, both equally confused. He nods. "I need you both to promise me that you will not tell anyone about what I am about to show you."

The earth pony, brow furrowed, nods and swears she won't. Lyra just keeps looking at Aeon the same way she did when he first stepped in: like he was a stranger from outer space. She could feel it, just by looking at him, that he wasn't really a pony—he was something both real and unreal, both old and new. She could feel it deep in her gut.

Lyra blinks, and suddenly gasps as she sees that the pony before them is now...

... a human.

A human was standing in front of her now. A human! A real, live human!

At first, Lyra believes Pinkie Pie was just pulling her leg, but then this human, this "Eenie" as Pinkie calls him, moves toward her, and his lips curve into a smile. His face is flatter than a pony's. He walks on his hind legs. His white clothes now cover his whole person, making him seem strangely angelic. Even his movements and body language seem serenely, divinely alien.

Lyra merely gazes at him, wide-eyed, and nothing is said for over a minute. Even her Earth pony friend, a longtime critic of Lyra's belief in humans, is stunned. Finally, Lyra breaks the silence as her eyes begin to water.

"You're..."

Lyra sniffs and clears her eyes.

"You're more beautiful than I thought you'd be."

At this, Aeon nearly bursts out laughing. Pinkie Pie smiles as she feels Lyra's joy growing so large and so fast, it causes her to cry. Aeon's smile is nearly ear-to-ear as he crouches down next to Lyra's bed. There's a nostalgic look in his eyes, searching for something lost and far away. "Do you know?" he said. "That is not the first time anyone has ever called me that."

Lyra looks into his eyes, and finds herself enchanted by how old they look. How wise. How learned and experienced, despite how very young his face looks. Both old and new, real and unreal. She reaches a hoof up to touch his face, and it is smooth and delicate. He removes a black glove from his hand and folds his fingers over her hoof with a surprisingly strong grip.

His hand. He holds her hoof in his real, honest-to-Celestia human hand.

He is real. He is unreal.

Lyra's smile is drenched with happy tears. Today, one of her dreams has just come true.

She turns to her friend. "Bad news, Bon Bon. This means you owe me a million bits."

Everyone present, pony and human, laughs.

The Ponyville General Hospital's magic shield is generated by its directors, the triplets three: Ear, Nose, and Throat. At least, that's what everypony calls them. Nopony really knows their names, and they are eccentric enough to want to keep it that way. All three of them are considered geniuses in the field of pony medical science and mental health, but it takes them a concentrated effort to produce a "monster-proof" forcefield that can cover the hospital's grounds.

"That isn't enough," says Twilight, pacing their office. Spike, perched on her back, admires the office's simple-yet-bizarre makeup. Some very bizarre pieces of art line the walls, and a couple of bookshelves and filing cabinets stuffed with strangely oversized papers or books. On their desk is a toy telephone. Twilight's eyes descend on it out of curiosity, but she quickly brings them back up to look at the triplets.

"We know—"

"—that it's—"

"—not enough," say the triplets.

They are all visually indistinguishable, save for the color of their manes and eyes: Ear, Nose, and Throat are red, green, and blue, respectively. Their cutie marks are all puzzle pieces, the shape of the piece differing triplet to triplet. They are strange, certainly, but Twilight knows their shield spell—while not nearly as good as her brother's—is the best defense Ponyville has against Dracula's forces.

Twilight has skimmed the bestiary Aeon gave her and has already learned that Dracula's minions become stronger, more active and confident at night. It is ten in the morning already. If his forces mobilize again tonight, there won't be enough Ponyville left to fill a teaspoon tomorrow.

"There has to be a way you three can put up a forcefield big and long-lasting enough that it can protect Ponyville for a whole night. The monsters that attacked us last night will likely come back as early as tonight."

The three triplets drop their grins at once.

"What do—"

"—you suggest—"

"—we do?"

She taps a hoof in deep thought. "Well," she begins. "I'll tell you what we can do." She turns her head to Spike. "Spike, I need you to go get me a copy of 'Enhancement of the Unicorn Magics, Vol. 2' from the Library, please."

Spike is looking up at the ceiling. Twilight raises an eyebrow and, tracing his line of sight, joins Spike in marveling at the chair and coffee table that are on the ceiling. On the table is a mug of coffee producing steam that travels downward. She wonders how they did not notice this the moment they entered the office. Spike snaps out of his trance.

"I'm sorry, I was, uh, the... coffee's defying physics. What did you want?"

Twilight shakes her head. "I need you to get me a copy of 'Enhancement of the Unicorn Magics, Vol. 2.'"

Spike looks at Twilight as if she had told him to do something ridiculous for her own amusement. She returns it with an ugly look. They've already had talks about Spike's growing rebellion, and Twilight had already made it abundantly clear that she will not tolerate Spike being insubordinate. He sniffs.

"Dirt Nap blew up the Library, remember? And even before that, you already lent the only copy of that book we had. And even then, why couldn't we just teleport to the Library instead of just having me go there?"

Twilight's eyes snap open and her face reddens in embarrassment. "Oh. R-Right." She grins, hoping that Spike didn't suspect that she was about to lecture him on obedience again.

The triplets then walk over to one of the bookshelves. Ear removes a giant book and opens it, revealing another, smaller book inside, and hoofs the smaller book to Nose. Nose opens that book, and reveals an even smaller book inside. He hoofs it to Throat, who opens it to reveal a copy of "Enhancement of the Unicorn Magics, Vol. 2."

"We borrowed—"

"—this book—"

"—a while ago," say the triplets.

Throat gives the book to the puzzled purple unicorn before him. He smiles charmingly at Twilight as her eyes slowly go from his to the book. She opens it and instead of finding a smaller book inside like she half-expects, she is pleased to see the volume has not been tampered with.

"We haven't had time to—"

"—read very much—"

"—of it, though," they say. Then in unison: "It's a shame, really."

The triplets' absurdity leaves Twilight speechless. Setting her confusion aside, she flips to the chapter she was looking for, and finds the spell she needs.

"All right," she says, "See this circle?"

The triplets look at the picture she indicates. It is an intricately-drawn circle with words from an arcane language inscribed on the rim.

"This is an Empowerment Circle. Drawing it correctly will enhance your magic spells. You can use any sort of Magic Powders for this circle, but Whisperdust and Sand of Time both work the best. Stand in the middle—" (she looks up to the triplets and eyes them fiercely) "—and don't mess up the circle when you do or you have to start over again! Stand in the middle of one of these and it should multiply your power depending on which Powder you use."

She sets the book on their desk, next to the toy telephone, the Empowerment Circle page face-up. "Study this," she instructs. "There are still some shops where you can find the Whisperdust or Sand of Time you need to make three of these, one for each of you. Heck, I'll lend you some of mine if it survived Dirt Nap's attack. Point is, you guys need to make a forcefield big enough to encompass all of Ponyville, and you need to make them last all night every time you cast it."

The triplets all nod in unison.

"Good," Twilight says as she makes her way to the door. Spike, who had fallen from her back when she instructed the triplets, grumbles as he follows her out the office. "See you guys tomorro," she calls over her shoulder. "And work on that spell!"

After she leaves, the triplets all look to each other. "Show of hooves!" Throat exclaims. "Think I got a shot with her?"

No hooves are shown. Throat groans.

"But she is—"

"—quite a cutie—"

"—isn't she?"

Outside, the rain has stopped. The sunshine comes down in shafts as the clouds reluctantly break away from each other above. The fingers of light stroke the remains of Sweet Apple Acres.

As she walks through the welcoming gate, Applejack is greeted by the damage Dirt Nap has done. Many apple trees were burned away completely. Much of the grass is now charred dirt. The cornfields had thankfully survived, but their bread and butter—the apple orchard—is decimated.

Over there, among the ashen apple trees, is Granny Smith. The look on her face and in her eyes is just as heavy and destroyed as the rest of Sweet Apple Acres. This land was her father's land. She and her children and her children's children all grew up here, worked here to make it a bigger, better place.

And all it took was one night, one disgruntled grave digger to bring it all down.

Suddenly, Applejack is torn from her thoughts by barking and mooing. She looks in the direction they came from, and smiles at the sight of her loyal pet dog, Winona, running with the cattle to greet them as if they'd been away for years.

Applejack finds her face on the receiving end of Winona's affections. "Arright, Winona, arright! Ah'm OK, you 'kin simmer down now!" she laughs. Winona yips in glee when Applejack sets her down to speak to Daisy Jo, the de facto leader of the cattle.

"Sorry Ah didn't warn y'all 'bout the fires," Applejack says, her voice now becoming more solemn.

Daisy Jo nods understandingly. "That's all right, Applejack. Winona here gave us fair 'nuff warning 'afore that creep set fire t'the barn, don'tcha know."

Applejack gives Winona a celebratory pet-down while gushing about what a good dog she is, how brave she was to lead the cattle to safety from that mean ole' grave digger. She looks back up to Daisy Jo. Then to the orchard, where Granny Smith stands, simply observing the extent of the damage.

Daisy Jo leans in and whispers into Applejack's ear. "I think yer granny could use some words of encouragement right now, eh?" Applejack glances to Daisy Jo, then nods. With a small sigh, she joins Granny Smith in the remains of the apple orchard.

For a long while, there is silence. Winona looks to Daisy Jo and lets out a small whimper.

"Y'know," Granny Smith begins, "b'lieve it 'r not, this orchard's been in worse places than right now."

Silence. Applejack nods, slowly. Granny Smith does not know how deep this all goes. About Dracula. What he is, and what he will do. She doesn't know that Dracula won't stop at just this orchard, this town. She doesn't know what horrible things are going to happen, to her immediate family, to her other relatives.

And neither does Applejack. Not really. The fact that she doesn't really know scares her.

She takes a long breath. "Ah'm... Granny Smith, Ah'm mighty glad yer tryin'na be optimistic, at least. It ain't no small thing to take, watchin' yer livelihood git burnt to the ground."

"Big Macintosh took it hardest, Ah think," Granny Smith says quietly, still remembering Big Macintosh's face as he led both her and Apple Bloom to the Hospital. As he watched the grave digger set ablaze the farm where he was born. That look of utter... vulnerability. Granny Smith has only seen Big Macintosh make that face only a hoofful of times, and it breaks her heart every time she sees it.

The old mare shifted her weight from one side to the other. "Kinda th'reason he stayed b'hind in Ponyville t'look fer survivors. T'be honest, Ah'm..."

Applejack looked to her grandmother thoughtfully, waiting for her to finish her sentence, but knowing she would not. Her eyes went back to the remains of their orchard. Granny Smith cannot find the words to describe how she feels about her family being attacked, to be wounded this way.

She can't find the words to describe this, simply because there aren't any.

There are no words to describe the destruction of something you work your whole life for. What your children and your children's children work their whole lives for. There are no words to describe the kind of person or creature who would willingly destroy that something of yours without a second thought.

There just aren't.

Applejack feels a lick at her leg and looks down to see Winona. When she realizes she has her missy's attention, Winona sits and looks up to her forlornly. Even though she is merely a dog, Winona seems to understand the gravity of this situation. Her beautiful dark brown eyes ask if they're really going to be okay.

"We'll rebuild," Granny Smith says, finally, compounding her sentence with a nod. "We'll recover."

Applejack looks to her grandmother, fighting her tears. "B-But... but it'd take years b'fore any new trees'll produce any more apples. Y'might..." Her voice drops to a whisper, dreading what she is about to say. "Y'might not live long 'nuff t'see this orchard git back up on her hooves."

Silence. Granny Smith nods again, this time slowly, her eyes going back to the damaged orchard. "Very possible," she agrees. "But... You kids were allus gunna outlive me. Ah'm fine with it. I wannit t'leave this orchard in capable hooves, and tain't no hooves more capable'n you grandkids'a mine."

Granny Smith puts one hoof on her granddaughter's shoulder and wipes away a tear she spots in Applejack's eye. A wrinkly smile envelops her face. "Promise me, AJ. We're gunna survive this. We're fam'ly. Fam'ly allus pulls through."

A smile works its way onto Applejack's lips.

"Yerright. And we will." She nuzzles her grandmother. "Ah promise."

A lonely wind brushes across Big Macintosh's mane as he searches the remains of Ponyville, calling out to see if anypony is still there. He could not find it in his heart to see the extent of the damage to his farm, to his home. Yet, here he is, looking at the rest of the damage done. He's forgotten that Sweet Apple Acres is only a small part of his home.

This town—all of it—is his home. And all of it is gone. Rubble. Ruins. Ashes. Bodies. All this takes the place of the warmth and safety Ponyville once possessed.

He stops for a moment when he hears some shuffling coming out of a building. His green eyes spot a pony exiting a fallen-in shop. This survivor is scruffy and dirty, looking scared out of his wits. Big Macintosh tries to remember this guy's name: blue coat, white-ish mane, unicorn... that safety-pin cutie mark. "Pokey Pierce?" he asks.

Pokey Pierce slows down to a stop before Big Macintosh, looking up at him. "Um, yeah," he says quietly, looking around at the damage. "That's me." He looks back to the larger stallion. "Big Macintosh, right?"

"Eeyup."

"Hey, uh, if you're here, then there's—so there's all these other ponies around town... right now, trying to look for survivors, right?" asks Pokey Pierce in a shaky voice.

"Eeyup."

"I'm OK, no injuries. So... M-Maybe, maybe, uh, w-we should go? Together. And look for other survivors?"

"Eeyup."

Pokey nods, smiling. It's a smile Big Macintosh has seen before on different ponies, but it all means the same thing. Pokey Pierce is fighting the urge to break down and cry. Applejack held the same smile when she told their parents goodbye. Seeing it makes Big Macintosh want to break down and cry a little himself.

"Okay!" Pokey says, relieved. He walks alongside the larger stallion, his body language becoming more relaxed, yelling for anypony to come out if they're still alive. Big Macintosh sees a familiar body here, another familiar body there... all ponies, killed because they were too slow to escape. He almost steps over one like he's just stepping over trash, but stops. Out of respect, Big Macintosh solemnly walks around it.

They walk by the Library, or what remains of it. Half of it is gone, reduced to ash and rubble, while the rest of it is a mess from the rain. "Twilight's not gonna be happy about that," comments Pokey.

"Nnnope."

Big Macintosh's eyes snap to attention when he sees movement inside the Library. He calls out, and a unicorn mare pops her head out from a window.

He is stunned by the pure, marble white of her coat and mane. Her face is beautiful and delicate-looking, almost queenly. Her rosy eyes lock onto him, and a relieved smile appears on her face. She runs out of the hole in the Library's side, and as she comes closer, he notices the dirt and grime on her coat, sullying its beauty. On her flanks, behind a set of saddlebags, is a fleet of red stars.

"Oh, th-thank s-s-—thank sssss—thuh-thank C-Celestia!" the mare says. Her voice is deep but timid, and her stutter seems to draw out words to be twice as long as they are supposed to be. "I was wuh-wondering when I'd fuh-f-find oth-other p-p-ponies!"

She nuzzles both Pokey and Macintosh. "You OK?" asks Pokey. Macintosh notices his timidity has dissipated, and has been replaced by something much more macho. He smirks.

"Y-Yes, I'm f-fine. J-Just s-s-s—just, s-s-suh-sssome bumps and b-bruises."

"Then come with us. We're looking for more survivors."

The mare breathes deep and blushes cutely, as if surprised Pokey would ask such a request. "Oh! Um, th-thank you f-for having me ab-aboard, Mr..."

Pokey places a hoof on her shoulder, reassuringly. "Please, ma'am, call me Pierce." He jerked his head to Macintosh. "Andthishere'sBigMacintoshhedoesn'tspeakmuch."

Big Macintosh decides to thwart Pokey's attempts at being dashing. "Ah 'kin speak just fine, POKEY."

Pokey's face falls as the mare puts a hoof to her mouth and giggles. "P-Pokey," she says. "That's a—th-that's a cute name, I l-like it!" Pokey looks to Big Macintosh triumphantly.

"What's your name, sweet pea?" asks Mac.

"Marble." She grins and laughs nervously. "I-I'm an artist f-from Fill-Fuh-Fillydelph-Fil-Filladelph-fuh-fer..." She takes a deep breath and enunciates every syllable of the word: "Fil-ly-del-phi-a." She giggles at her own inability to form a word as Pokey and Macintosh smile. "I was here t-to, to get s-suh—to get s—for fresh air, and ins-inssspiration f-for my next work."

Pokey's eyes widen as well as his smile. "An artist, huh? What do you make?"

Marble looks away shyly as Pokey asks his question. She laughs, and both stallions find it a beautiful sound, like church bells chiming from far away. "Oh, j-just, y'know, p-paintings and sc-scuh-sculptures, and other th-things." She looks around, surveying the damage. "Looks like I chose a b-buh-bad time."

The group begins to travel onward again, Pokey quietly telling Marble that she's OK so long as she's with him—er, them.

As they continue through the town, looking for survivors, Big Macintosh entertains himself by watching Pokey Pierce try to impress Marble through his macho behavior. She seems to find him as amusing as he does, and they often share aside glances to each other when Pokey fumbles his act.

The sun is approaching noon when they come across a mound of pony bodies. The stench and sight are equally horrific, empty eyes staring in no direction, mouths hanging open without the sound of breathing...

Big Macintosh hears Marble let out a gasp, and turns his head to see she has turned away and shuddered, sticking a hoof into her mouth to silence a scream. The color has gone out of Pokey's face.

He looks ahead to see a friend of his, Caramel, dragging a corpse to the pile. Big Macintosh gets his attention nearly right away, and Caramel explains what they're doing.

"Mayor's orders," he tells them. "Since this town was attacked by zombies, we need to gather all the bodies we can find and burn them to make sure they don't rise again." He looks at the pile before them depressingly as another survivor lays another body on top of the pile.

"It just... keeps getting bigger and bigger," he says with a sigh.

Silence of the Daylight, Part II

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Silence of the Daylight, Part II

Twilight walks down the hospital corridor, her pace quick and graceless. She does not recall the last time she slept. She was able to get maybe a few hours yesterday after the horrific event at the Castle, but hasn't slept a wink since then. As she wobbles and nearly hits a wall, Spike stops her.

"Twilight, don't you think you should rest?" he asks. "You've been going at this for a while."

She nods, and pats her assistant on the head. "Yeah, you're right, Spike. I should..."

But before she can finish that sentence, she hears the sounds of arguing coming from a nearby room. If she remembers correctly, that would be the room where...

She opens the door and sighs. Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm are at it again, embroiled in a fierce argument over probably nothing. Twilight regrets leaving these two to guard the rib.

"Come on, guys, stop it," she mumbles, barely able to stay awake.

Rainbow Dash looks to her friend. "Twi, why'd you have to let this guy help me?! He's a total asshat!"

"He said he wanted to help, so I asked him to help you guard the rib."

Shatterstorm sniffs. "I can guard this rib just fine without her thick-headedness getting in the way."

Rainbow Dash presses her head against Shatterstorm's, each attempting to push the other away. "Thick-headed?!" hisses Rainbow Dash. "You're the one who seems to have problems with working with mares!"

"You're the one who seems to have problems with just working at all," Shatterstorm retorts. "I may as well just guard this thing myself!"

Rainbow Dash then takes to the air, leaving Shatterstorm to nearly fall over. "Fine! Then guard it yourself! See what happens when that creepy cloak guy shows up again!" Shatterstorm's eyes widen in fear as Rainbow Dash turns to Twilight.

"What was his name again?" Rainbow Dash asks, trying to remember what Twilight showed her from Aeon's bestiary. "Death? Yeah, Death!" She turns back around and leans in menacingly close to Shatterstorm. "Let's see how you handle him when he comes-a knockin'!"

Suddenly, Rainbow Dash feels a sharp tug on her tail, pulling her down. Her patience with Rainbow's attitude at its end, Twilight slowly raises a hoof to point at her friend's face. Her eyes and voice are stern. "Rainbow Dash, this is not a game. I asked Shatterstorm to help you guard this thing because he genuinely wants to help. So you're going to work with him, and you're both going to put up with each other, for as long as it takes for us to get our bearings together."

"But he's—"

"No buts, Rainbow Dash." She looks to Shatterstorm, the look of fear in his eyes replaced by something grim. He looks much different without his helmet, with an ocean-green mane that just seems to swoop and tumble about on his head. He looks so young, probably about Twilight's age.

"And you too, Shatterstorm. I'm just asking you guys to guard this rib in case Dracula's minions try anything. That means you're going to have to work together."

Rainbow Dash flutters about the room, darting around Shatterstorm like she's about to fight. He looks at her as she does so with a deadly eye. His wings twitch rhythmically, as if giving warning signals. "I can't work with this guy, Twi! He's a total jerk! Calls me names for no reason! I'm not putting up with him!"

Shatterstorm grabs onto Rainbow Dash's tail and pulls her to the floor. They stare each other down with the ugliest expressions Twilight has ever seen either of them make. "Look you," he says in quiet, threatening tone, "I'm the one with military training. Without that little Element trinket backing you up, you're powerless. You're gonna need me, and you know it."

Rainbow sneers. "I don't need that necklace to do my job. And I don't need you either! All that military training and you can't even protect anypony! What about the Changeling attacks? Or last night? Where were you, huh?! Sucking your hoof and bawling on the floor, that's where!"

Tense silence pours into the room at Rainbow Dash's words. Shatterstorm doesn't try to argue with her. Instead, he merely walks by Rainbow Dash, by Twilight, by Spike, and out of the room, silent and angry. Twilight shoots a glare at her friend and as she follows Shatterstorm, she hisses, "Low blow, Dash."

Rainbow Dash watches her walk by Spike, who looks to Rainbow. He slowly leaves the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Rainbow Dash with the rib. She sighs and facehoofs.

"Shatterstorm, wait."

Shatterstorm does not.

"Shatterstorm, I said hold it!" Twilight jumps in front of him, locking eyes with him. He tries to walk by, but she cuts him off. "Would you just stop!"

They look into each other's eyes for a moment. Suddenly, Shatterstorm looks away, out a window, trying so hard to find something else to look at, trying not to lose his cool and smash something. Sadly, Twilight puts a hoof on his shoulder.

"Listen, I'm sorry about Rainbow Dash. I know she can be kind of bull-headed and abrasive, but..."

"It isn't her," he says, the words escaping him with a sigh. He shakes his head as his voice becomes a whisper. "It isn't her."

Some silence as a nurse and doctor briskly walk by. The hallway seems less busy than other parts of the hospital, for some reason. Twilight looks to Spike, her tired eyes asking him to go somewhere else—this is between adults. He purses his lips, nods, and makes to leave. He rounds a corner then stops, listening in on their conversation.

Twilight knows her next question will be diving into a very sensitive topic. She approaches it very cautiously, her voice at a comforting whisper. "... It's your mother, isn't it?"

Silence. Slowly, Shatterstorm nods. She knows what looking into Death's face can do to a pony. She had experienced that firsthoof. Being thrust back into every horrible or depressing memory you've ever had. Twilight still remembers his mad rambling from last night: No, Momma, please don't, don't do it again, don't do it again, Momma...

"She... she colored your whole perspective on mares, didn't she?"

It's a while before Shatterstorm responds. "Sort of," he says quietly. "Tried dating back in high school. The fillies I was with..." He sighs. "They only used me to get what they wanted. It just... Y'know, mares and I, we just don't mix. N-Not even, uh... Even after I joined the Royal Guard, I..." He sighs, bites his lower lip and continues to stare out the window. His wings twitch nervously. Finally, he turns to Twilight, vulnerability and uncertainty present in his eyes.

"Can I ask you an honest question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

He shifts slightly, his eyes darting away, then back. His voice drops to barely audible. "Am... Am I worthless?"

Twilight, horrified that Shatterstorm would ever think such a thing, hugs him tightly. "No, Shatterstorm! No, don't think that way. You aren't worthless."

"But you heard Rainbow Dash. She's right. Even with military training, I couldn't stop the Changelings. I couldn't protect you. I couldn't even help during the attacks last night. And Tiger Cross, he..." Shatterstorm grimaces. "I failed him."

Twilight's tired mind races for something to say. "We don't even know what happened to Tiger Cross. He might still be alive!"

"He was like my brother, you know? And brothers protect each other, and I just... I broke when I should have helped him."

Finally, he begins to collapse. He lowers his head in shame, his ocean-green mane hiding his eyes but not the tears rolling down his face. Twilight hears a choked sob. "Those mares... they were all right about me. I'm... I'm too powerless to make a difference..."

She holds him, her cheek pressed against the back of his head, thinking of what she could say to calm him.

Suddenly, she hears someone coming closer to them, and looks up to see Spike. His eyes go from her to Shatterstorm. Twilight shoots him a look that tells him to leave, but Spike, in his growing disobedience, ignores her wordless command. He rests a claw on Shatterstorm's back.

"Hey," he says, quietly. "Look, I know it's... it's real easy to feel like you're worthless. Other ponies might go out of their way to hurt you. Even if they don't mean it, they're gonna say and do things that are gonna hurt you, and they're going to ignore you when you have something important to say.

"But, you gotta remember, nopony's ever really worthless. Sure, we all do dumb things and we screw up, and ponies we know and love are gonna get hurt by our mistakes. But on the other hand, we'll do things that help in the long run. We go out of our way to help anypony that needs it, and make 'em happy.

"You might have failed a few times in the past, and you're gonna fail again, sure. But even if you fail ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the one success you make might be all it takes to change the world.

"I dunno what went on between you and your mom, and I don't know why mares treat you like dirt. But that's all in the past. They can't hurt you anymore." Spike slowly leans in. "You can't let them keep hurting you. What they did to you in the past should never keep you from doing the right thing, right now."

Spike clicks his tongue, surprised at his own advice. Shatterstorm looks at him, eyes wide, touched by this sagely little dragon and his words. Twilight is equally amazed at Spike's wisdom.

"You gonna be OK, man?" asks Spike, patting Shatterstorm on the back.

Shatterstorm nods, drying the tears from his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be OK."

Spike puts out a claw. "Name's Spike."

Shatterstorm puts out a hoof and shakes Spike's claw. "Shatterstorm."

Spike smiles. "You ever need a friend, Shatterstorm, you can count on me." Twilight smiles warmly at this scene, witnessing the birth of a strong friendship.

As Shatterstorm heads back to guard the rib, Twilight looks at her assistant, fighting the tears forming in her eyes. This little dragon has been serving her for years now, and has become almost like a son to her. Over those years, she herself had done a lot of thoughtless things to hurt him, and he'd done quite a few thoughtless things himself, but looking at him now...

Her assistant, her beautiful little boy, is growing up.

"That was..." she starts. "That was the most powerful thing I've ever heard you say, Spike. I'm so proud of you."

Spike smiles and gives his mother figure a thumbs-up. "Hey, those are just the conclusions I came to because I'm an assistant. Assistance, y'know? That's my job."

"You also quoted some of 'The One Success' by Winternight and 'The Past Stays in the Past' by Summerseve, I notice," Twilight says, smiling slyly.

Spike looks away sheepishly. "Well, hey, you're not the only reader in the Library."

He becomes a little more solemn as he and Twilight watch Shatterstorm disappear back into the room where the rib is. Maybe it's that she is tired, but Twilight's mind flutters back to a passage she'd read in a book regarding psychology and warfare, a quote from Nevermore the Perverse: "The surest way to defeat a pony is to rob them of their sense of worth." In this sense, Shatterstorm is a defeated pony, and was defeated long before his encounter with Death.

She bites her lower lip as she hears Shatterstorm apologize to Rainbow Dash behind the door. For now, he is defeated. In her heart, Twilight hopes that in time, he can emerge victorious.

Her yard is empty. Hutches broken out of. The bodies of smaller, weaker animals torn into. Upon investigating them, Fluttershy finds that no meat had been stripped from their bones. They'd been killed not for food but for the sake of simply killing.

It takes her an hour or two, but she buries them. She wants the tears to fall from her eyes, but for some reason, they do not. She feels as if she has become mechanical. Just using that shovel, shoving it down into the now-muddy ground, throwing the dirt aside, down, aside, down, aside...

She looks at her yard now, an hour or two later. Rows of little dirt mounds. Little graves, for little animals that couldn't defend themselves while Fluttershy, that greatest of cowards, hid in her room like a terrified foal. Hid as her little animals, many of whom she'd raised since birth, were torn apart by the evil monsters her bigger animals had turned into.

The shovel falls down at her side. She looks at the mass of gathered graves, dismayed at how much of her yard the little mounds make up. A warm wind picks up, blowing her mane and tail, her cross necklace clinking as the wind plays with it. She feels her eyes grow hot and her throat grow thick. Finally, Fluttershy falls down and weeps, and her sobs are long, and hard, and horrify Aeon as he approaches.

He stands there, on his four pony legs, listening to her cry. A long-time friend of his had once asked him why he never seemed to cry at anything. He has never truly cried, or at least he has lived for so long that he doesn't really remember crying. He's had numerous opportunities to do so, and has had many reasons. He finds it hard to form friendships, since he'll just outlive everyone anyway. He, in his observation of time, has had to see so much sorrow and suffering that it would have caused anyone else to kill himself. His attempts at brightening the future for others had often backfired and merely caused the world to become worse.

Aeon walks over to her, and slowly, he lifts a hoof. He looks around, feeling like a sentimental fool. Finally, he takes a slow, deep breath as he gently places that hoof on Fluttershy's shoulder. She jumps in sudden shock and fights a terrified squeal as she turns around, the cross necklace already in her hoof and ready to be held up.

Aeon backs off as she does this, and upon seeing him, Fluttershy stands there, awkwardly; the tears streaming down her face, her nose beginning to run. She lets go of the cross and gulps. She clears her eyes and wipes her face as she looks behind her.

Little mounds. Little graves for little animals.

"...I'm a coward."

The words quietly escape her mouth before her brain has any time to analyze them. They hang in the air before her, like a cloud of cigarette smoke, choking her. She doesn't realize how deeply she is hurt by her own words until Aeon's ancient, curious eyes look at her.

"I disagree," Aeon says quietly.

"Yes," Fluttershy says, "I am. I hid under my bed while my animals..." She cannot bring herself to finish that sentence.

"And what would you rather have done?" asks Aeon. He leans a little bit forward, scanning her. "Would you have jumped in to save the day?"

Fluttershy looks away and does not answer. Aeon lifts a hoof to her.

"If you did anything besides get away from them, they would have killed you," Aeon explains as he brings Fluttershy's face forward. "And if they did that, Angel would not have been able to give you that cross. He would have come home to find his mistress dead. And if that happened, then that cross would have remained at your house. And if that happened..."

Fluttershy's eyes widen.

"Then you would not have been able to save your friends. Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Spike, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Twilight Sparkle... They would have all died had you not hid."

Silence. Aeon lets his words sink in as he walks up next to her, and sits down facing Ponyville. From here, there is so much visible damage to the town. It isn't as active and bustling as it was the day before of course, with most ponies recovering in the Hospital or volunteering to look for survivors or burn bodies or gather supplies. So many lives decimated in what was once a very innocent land. Aeon breathes a sigh.

Fluttershy sits down next to him.

"So... what are you trying to say, Aeon?"

Aeon looks at her and smiles. "That even horrible things can have a good reason to happen, unlikely as it may seem."

They go back to looking out at Ponyville's shattered remains, for what is only a few minutes, yet feels like a few hours. Fluttershy's eyes go to Aeon, observing him as he watches. It's strange, but she can feel something inside him aching.

Aeon stretches as he stands up.

"I am going to go back to the hospital. I hear they are going to need some help in the kitchen, keeping everypony fed. Angel is waiting there for you, by the way. If you are finished here, you are more than welcome to join us."

He stands there, looking at Fluttershy with the most reassuring smile he can muster. She can tell Aeon is not the type who usually smiles: it looks too... pained. Like he's smiling just to avoid crying. She stands up.

"Sure," she says. As they leave, Fluttershy looks to him again, really looks at him, and finds there is something deeply somber and depressing about Aeon. Like a few parts of him are missing, leaving tender wounds vulnerable. Call it her 'inner nurse', but she can tell that he is desperately keeping himself together when he has no power to do so.

Instead of asking him what she really wants to ask him, Fluttershy merely tells him, "Thank you, Aeon. You're... you're a good friend to have."

At this, she hears Aeon let out a sound that begins a scoff, and ends in a chortle. "If you say so, Fluttershy. Being a good friend has never stopped this one from being a very foolish boy sometimes."

Sweetie Belle stares out the window, her eyes half-lidded, uninterested in anything as she sits in the hallway. Many of the hospital halls are littered with survivors whose homes have been destroyed. In here, there are many ponies Sweetie Belle does not recognize, all with suffering, lonely faces. There is little in the way of color or happiness here.

Next to her, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo have been trying to cheer her up. They've been trying for hours. Sweetie Belle, however, expresses little interest in their conversations, and contributes nothing to them. She merely sits and stares out the window, this third floor window, looking out onto the destroyed town.

From here, she can see the ruins of her sister's boutique. It has not been burned down like many of the other structures in town, but even so, Sweetie can tell it was thoroughly ravaged by the monsters that attacked last night. She wonders if every other town in Equestria has been struck in the same way Ponyville was. How many other little fillies like her had to run from their homes as it was overrun with creatures that they thought only existed in horror stories.

Just above the town, from here, Sweetie Belle can see that black castle that had appeared out of nowhere, seemingly dropped into Canterlot. It just sits there, looking at her, laughing at her. At Ponyville. This helpless, lost little town.

Sweetie Belle and her friends look up when they hear a sharp sob. Everypony present looks down the hall, where a mare is crying in front of a doctor as he whispers something to her that they can't hear. Behind them is a room in which a nurse solemnly draws a blanket over a small foal. Another nurse helps the doctor lead the mare away from the others as she calls for her baby to come back to her.

Suddenly, there is a feeling deep inside Sweetie Belle. Something deep and significant within her breaks with a noise only she can hear. It works its way from her heart, to her throat and eyes. Everything around her swims. Her cheeks become damp. Her nose begins to run. She sees the yellow-and-red blob in front of her turn its head and ask what's wrong.

It's loud and moaning, and throaty and hoarse; somewhere between a sob and a scream. Everypony in the hall looks to Sweetie Belle in shock. The sound of her crying is horrible, awful. Scootaloo fights the urge to cover her ears just so that she won't hear the horrible noise. Apple Bloom immediately reaches for Sweetie Belle as she falls apart, holding her close and tightly, fighting the urge to cry herself.

Rarity runs down the hall. She can't tell why or how, but when one is as close with somepony as she is with her little sister, one can tell when something is wrong. She can just feel it. Something broke. She can hear her baby sister cry, no matter where she is.

She runs by doctors and nurses. She runs by a room where Pinkie Pie entertains children with a puppet show. She runs by a room where Miss Cheerilee reads a story to her remaining students. She runs by a room where Roseluck is being hugged tenderly by Daisy and Lily. She runs by Twilight as she sleeps on a chair. Carrying a bag full of magic research equipment, Spike looks up at Rarity as she runs by. Without a word, Rarity nearly runs down Aeon, Angel, and Fluttershy, who stare at her in shock.

Rarity runs and runs and runs until finally she hears the sound of Sweetie Belle's voice. It sounds as if she is being strangled. She calls for Sweetie Belle, for her baby sister, and she rounds the corner, where she is met by a hallway full of homeless ponies.

She makes her way across the hallway. "Sweetie Belle," she says, her sister's cries becoming a moan. At the same time, a nurse also makes her way to Sweetie Belle. She places a reassuring hoof on Sweetie Belle's back as the two sisters meet.

Sweetie Belle's body becomes a wretched thing to watch, her breathing becoming haphazard, her eyes becoming wider. She hyperventilates, trying to say something, but her words come out as babbling. Scootaloo covers her mouth in horror at the sight of her friend's breakdown, while Apple Bloom somberly looks away.

Rarity hugs her sister as she begins to cry, herself. After a few minutes, Rarity breaks away from Sweetie Belle and puts her forehead against her sister's. "Sweetie Belle," she says quietly, "you're going to be OK. All right? I'm here."

Sweetie Belle says nothing, but looks into her sister's eyes; Rarity's pearl-white face marred by runny mascara. Her bottom lip quivers. "We're all gonna die, aren't we?" Sweetie Belle mumbles.

Rarity holds her tightly. "No, Sweetie Belle, we're not going to die."

Sweetie Belle buries her face into the hug. "Yes, we are. We're all gonna die." She begins to cry again, this time quietly.

"No, we're not going to die! Sweetie Belle, darling, that's nonsense!"

"It's all because of that Castle, isn't it?" Sweetie Belle chokes between sobs. Rarity looks out the window, and sees the black Castle, sees it looking at her and silently laughing. "Everypony's saying it's because of that Castle. It took Princess Celestia away, so she can't protect us, she can't save us. We're all gonna die!"

Rarity can think of nothing to say. She wants to say that there is nothing to fear, that Celestia isn't dead. But even though their Princess is not, several other ponies have already been killed by these awful creatures. She may soon need to leave on a quest with her friends, to go search for the other remaining pieces of Dracula, to put a stop to all this madness.

And who could protect Sweetie Belle then? Twilight is already working with the Hospital's directors to create a larger forcefield, which was comforting. But what can one say to a child who has suddenly become aware of her own mortality, whose childhood has come to such an abrupt and ugly end?

What else can be done but to hold her so that she does not come apart?

Twilight feels a claw poking into her side.

"Twilight?"

She snorts awake. "What?" She looks up to see the familiar eyes of her assistant. "Hey Spike," she yawns. Stretching as she gets out of her chair, Twilight looks at the bag Spike brought with him.

"I got all your stuff you asked for, except for the Whisperdust."

Twilight snorts in mild frustration. "Was it destroyed by the explosion?"

Spike shrugs. "The explosion destroyed only half the Library, and the basement where your equipment was is in one piece. There were a few other things missing, so I'm assuming somepony looted it."

All the other tools were there for Twilight to begin the other job she was about to do. "We'll worry about that later," Twilight says. "We'll need to find some Whisperdust or Sand of Time for the directors to work with, but outside that, we can finally get to work on analyzing Dracula's rib."

Spike raises an eyebrow as Twilight picks up the bag with her telekinesis and starts down the hallway. He walks alongside Twilight. "Analyze the rib? What do you mean?"

Twilight and Spike round a corner. "That rib contains some of Dracula's power. Anypony who looks at it can feel it. I have an idea to create a device that can track the other remaining pieces of Dracula, by zoning in on where Dracula's power is strongest."

"So the other pieces emit the same amount of power?" Spike clarifies.

Twilight nods, then yawns. They are almost to the room where Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash are guarding the rib, but it feels so much further away. Still so tired. So very very tired...

She feels herself being propped up. "Hey, maybe you should go get some sleep first before you start in on this project," Spike says. Twilight feels his hands pushing her upward, off of him. She coughs, embarrassed that she was about to fall over on her assistant.

"Y-Yeah, maybe I should. I can sleep in the bed that's in the rib's room."

"You're going to sleep right next to a piece of the very embodiment of otherworldly evil?" Spike asks, folding his arms.

Twilight looks around. She sighs and drops the bag onto the floor, propping it up against the wall. She lies down and rests against the bag as if it is a pillow. "Fine, I'll just sleep right here. Go get some Whisperdust from one of the shops in town. I'm sure there's still one or two left." She yawns. "And then... then give... um..."

Spike smiles as Twilight drifts off into the sleep she really needs right now. He reaches into the bag behind Twilight's head and pulls out a blanket he had packed for just this occasion, and unfolds it over her. Then, after looking around to see if anypony was watching, he leans in and kisses Twilight on the cheek.

"G'night, Mom," he whispers.

Evening strolls through Ponyville, undisturbed. Enjoying the sights. Walks by the damage, and the burning bodies, and the ashes, cool as a stray cat through an alley full of death and disease. Time is uncaring in this sensitive situation. Plumes of smoke snake into the air from all over Ponyville, signaling that piles of the dead are being burned. What bothers Big Macintosh the most is that almost none of the bodies had been identified.

He has had to burn ponies he’d recognized today. Ponies who were friends, who had family. He doesn’t know how many are left to burn, even right now, but looking at this latest pile, his heart drops further than it already has...

In this pile are foals they’d found, piled underneath their mother’s body. Evidently, the mother had attempted to protect her babies, but whatever monster had broken in decided to have its way with them nonetheless. There were also two male bodies in the room before they'd found the foals and mother; they must have tried to protect the mother and foals... and...

Marble looked away the moment she saw them, gasping and breaking into near-hysterical weeping. Pokey Pierce, his attempts at acting macho to comfort Marble temporarily suspended, looked at this scene in silent horror.

As they dragged the bodies outside where it would be safe to burn them, they came across another shocking and disturbing discovery. In the street just outside the back door of the house lied a body that was unmistakably a very large zombie corpse from last night: blood all over the unnatural fangs in its mouth, eyes wide and wild and dark like madness. Body stinking and rotting for Celestia only knows how long. Looked like it was on its way out of this end of the house when the sun came up.

Big Macintosh looked down at this zombie and immediately swallowed a scream. Pokey Pierce, his courage suddenly gone at the sight of this large stallion in fear, asked his friend why the zombie upset him. Big Macintosh, almost hyperventilating, looked back to the zombie body.

That face, although rotted, was one Big Macintosh could identify.

"My... My father," he mumbled.

Marble slowly drew a hoof over her mouth and Pokey Pierce closed his eyes as he solemnly looked away. Big Macintosh sniffed and fought his tears, his voice growing weaker. "My father... killed those foals?" He fell to his hooves and wept as the sunlight began to creep away...

Between Big Mac’s teeth now is a torch. He stands before this pile, not sure if he can do it. Unsure of whether or not it is his place to burn the bodies of foals. If his conscience can withstand the knowledge that he has had to burn the bodies of Ponyville’s next generation. If his heart is strong enough to burn the body of his father before it comes alive and kills again.

He hesitates, the torch in his mouth. Soon it will be night. If he chooses not to burn them, they might come back as monsters. They would roam the streets of Ponyville at night, killing anypony unfortunate enough to cross their paths. They would all become mindless killers, using the bodies of children as their vessels. Using the body of his father...

He knows what he has to do, but he cannot fight the tears rolling down his face. Suddenly, he feels another set of teeth joining him on the torch’s shaft. He looks down to see Marble. Then Pokey Pierce joins both of them. Together, the three sadly, reluctantly, lower the torch onto the pile.

The fire sets itself to work almost immediately, thanks to the paper and other flammable debris they had added. The empty eyes of the foals look to Big Macintosh, to Marble, to Pokey Pierce. “I’m sorry,” whispers Pokey Pierce, his voice thin and small. Marble leans on Pokey, tears in her eyes.

The big stallion takes a deep breath as he watches the fire begin to grow, swallowing all the bodies; as it claws at his father's demonic corpse. "Don't tell AJ," he says to his friends. Celestia only knew how Applejack would take the news of her beloved Pa becoming a monster.

Big Macintosh looks up as the fire goes higher. The sun is on its way down. It's time to go back to the Hospital. He cocks his head in its direction, giving a wordless order to his friends.

They leave the dead behind to burn.

Evening spills its red light all around Spike as he walks, runs, walks, runs back to the hospital. His stubby legs prevent him from moving as quickly as he’d like, not to mention the sounds of the jars of Whisperdust in his bag clinking together dangerously. He had only just found these jars in an empty shop earlier; if they break, he’d have no time to run back and find some more.

Spike looks about, and finds a nearby piece of cloth on some debris. As he picks it up, the cloth strikes him as somewhat familiar. He looks up and sees that he is in front of the Carousel Boutique, or rather what remains of it: windows smashed, walls stripped, some parts of it caved in. It would take a lot of work for it to be restored back to its former artistic, whimsical beauty.

He remembers seeing Rarity in the Hospital earlier, how she had run as fast as she could down the hallway, a look of abject terror on her face. Not bothering to stop her, he had allowed her to pass. He doesn’t remember why he didn’t try to get involved, just that he had passed the chance to. Spike sighs, wondering if that was really the right thing to do.

As he puts the cloth between the two jars of Whisperdust to separate them, Spike’s eyes fall to a smaller text written just above the “WHISPERDUST” logo: “CAUTION: Do NOT ingest. Keep out of reach of foals.”

Spike scoffs. He wonders who would be stupid enough to eat magical dirt?

All Twilight knows right now is that she is running. The halls around her are dark and twisted, with floors and walls often spinning around each other in inconceivable ways. This hall was the entrance to the Castle, that hall was the hotel she was staying at before; this hall is apart of the hospital, that hall is Ponyville on fire.

She looks behind herself and sees the Crimson Grin. It’s joined by the warped face of Death, and what she thinks might be Dirt Nap’s trampled remains. Twilight picks up the pace, running through the halls even faster than she did before.

Suddenly, she falls, as if the floor just got yanked out from underneath her. She falls, falls past windows. In this window a hospital room, in that window rainy Ponyville, in this window the Castle looms…

Before her now is that mouthless face of white, with bloody tears streaming from bloody eyes. It is as if the white expanse is not a really a face at all. Just eyes without a face. The bloody eyes look at her as she falls toward them. They blink.

Suddenly, they are green.

Twilight is back in the Hospital now. Before her are green eyes that have been looking at her for only Celestia knows how long, watching her sleep.

An awkward silence drifts between them. The mare with green eyes seems familiar to Twilight. Red hair, cream-colored coat. She looks like she had just been in an accident: a broken hind leg, bandages on her head. Twilight sits up on the floor, allowing the bag of materials behind her to slide down and the blanket covering her to drift off her back.

"...Hi?" she asks awkwardly.

The mare tries to stand back up, but struggles. Twilight helps her to her feet. "Thanks," says the mare. Her voice is quiet, almost whispery, as if she is terrified somepony might be listening in.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Roseluck," she says. "Everypony just calls me Rose, though. I run the flower stand near the Town Square." Her green eyes once again scan Twilight. "What's your name?"

"Twilight," she responds.

Rose seems to think this over a moment. "Twilight... Sparkle?" she asks. "The Twilight Sparkle? Celestia's student?"

Twilight lifts an eyebrow. "...Yes?" This mare is weirder than she thought. Rose hobbles over to a window, mumbling how everything seems to be falling into place, making sense. The more she babbles, the more Twilight wishes she were someplace else.

Rose turns and motions for Twilight to come to the window. Out of curiosity—and against her better judgment—Twilight joins Rose. The half-crazed mare points outward, toward the castle overlooking the town.

"See that castle?"

"I've been there, actually."

At this, Rose seems stunned. She looks aside, lowering her hoof. She nods, then looks back to Twilight. "That makes even more sense."

Twilight sighs impatiently. "Look... Rose, what do you want to tell me? Just say it. Don't get cryptic."

Rose shoots Twilight a dangerous look that makes her cringe. "OK, you know what? Fine, I'll just lay it all out.

"Ever since that Castle appeared and everypony panicked, I've been receiving... weird... messages, and images. I wanna say that it's the Castle talking to me, but you'd think I'm crazy." She sniffs. "Heck, you probably think I'm crazy anyway."

Twilight purses her lips and swallows.

"But, but you were there," Rose continues. "You were there, in that castle, so you know. You know it's not just a castle, it's an..." She falls silent suddenly, pensive. Her voice drops even lower. "...It's an entity."

The feeling she had of being constantly watched while inside the Castle. The feeling that invisible eyes pressed themselves against her body. That feeling of being an incredibly tiny invader inside a huge and dangerous animal...

"Yes," Twilight says, her voice just as quiet as Rose's. "I know. That Castle is alive."

Rose smiles. It's small and melancholy, but it's there, expressing Rose's relief that at least one other pony does not think she's crazy. "I dunno why it's talking to me. I'm no unicorn. Got no magical abilities or psychic sensitivity. But it tells me... that Celestia is taken. That she's been taken away from us."

Twilight looks around. Everypony else camping out in the hallway seems uninterested in their conversation, talking amongst each other or zoning out, still traumatized by all the death they'd seen. She turns back to Rose. "Yes," she says very quietly. "Celestia isn't here right now. But my friends and I are working on a way to bring her back, by thwarting that Castle and its plans."

Rose nods, seemingly in relief. "You know why you interest me, Twilight?" Rose remarks casually. "You keep showing up in those images lately. The Castle looms over you, like, like a predator." She makes a motion with her foreleg, as if her hoof is tracing the path of something. "And a white horse gallops by. It laughs like watching you suffer is the funniest thing in the world."

Silence. Long, dreadful silence. Twilight doesn't think she has reason to doubt this Rose, even though what she says makes her skin crawl. Finally, Rose speaks up again.

"You know something? I think that castle wants to destroy you. Not kill you. No, killing you would be easy. It kills all the time, so it—it got bored with killing somewhere down the line. No, it wants to destroy you, Twilight. Completely."

Twilight's mind flutters back to Aeon's account of Richter Belmont earlier that day. How Dracula tormented him, destroyed him with his own despair. How he had taken everything away from him, to the point where none of his friends could help him. The color drains from her face and her heart begins to beat faster. "Wh-Why would it want to do that?" she asks. Her voice is tiny, gripped and drowned in an almost childlike fear.

Rose does not break her eye contact. Her eyes seem as if they have aged a hundred years in the past two days, ancient and gnarled and malicious. But there is an aspect of them that Twilight finds the most terrifying: helplessness. Uncertainty. Ambiguity. The Castle has warped this mare.

Then she opens her mouth and utters five silent words that will continue to terrify Twilight long after all this is over.

"To prove that it can."

Those five words hang in the air like a noose awaiting a hanging. Suddenly, two mares chirp from nearby. Rose looks aside as Daisy and Lily call for her, tell her she should not be out of her room. They blame each other for falling asleep while keeping watch, and apologize to Twilight if Rose said anything rude.

As they help Rose back to her room, Twilight looks again out the window. Out at the Castle.

She has been marked as an enemy.

And she knows it now.

Silence of the Daylight, Part III

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Silence of the Daylight, Part III

As the sun descends, the directors three put up their forcefield, and strangely, it only covers the hospital grounds. An interview with them tomorrow will tell Twilight that they hadn't drawn the circles as large as they were supposed to, and that Nose had gone and messed his up anyway.

Foals look outside the windows, and shudder when they see dark shadows running around the streets as it gets darker and darker. Their parents draw the curtains, holding them close and telling them they are safe here.

Rainbow Dash looks out the window. The shadows skittering across the empty streets of ruined Ponyville is like watching ants crawl over a dead body: silent and unnerving. She closes the curtains, thoroughly shaken. Across from her, Shatterstorm shuffles a deck of cards for their fourteenth game of Go Graze.

"Something on your mind?" he asks.

Her eyes fall to the rib on the sidetable. So far, no monster had tried to invade the Hospital and grab it. This whole guard duty thing feels more like a waste of time to somepony as active as Rainbow Dash. It isn't much more fun than her last visit to the Hospital. At least then she had a Daring Do book instead of having to put up with this chauvinist.

"Yeah," she says finally. She thinks over her question. "I don't mean anything against you personally when I say this, but why didn't the Royal Guard or the Night Guard come help out Ponyville when it was under attack? Heck, why didn't they send us any relief effort?"

Shatterstorm, not making any attempt at eye contact, continues to shuffle the deck. "Well, the Princesses have disappeared along with their whole castle and everypony within, a monster-castle has appeared in Canterlot, everypony in Canterlot besides the military and research teams have fled, Princess Cadance has her hooves full trying to sub for her aunts and run her own empire and check on her husband the Captain who has contracted a weird disease, and there's the very big possibility that other towns were attacked on the same night."

He looks up to Rainbow Dash as she stares at him, stunned at such a blunt answer. He smirks. "To summarize, if we wore pants often enough, the monsters would have caught us while they were down."

Rainbow Dash snorts and suppresses a laugh. Shatterstorm deals her a hand. Suddenly, Rainbow Dash snaps up. "Wait," she says, "I didn't know Twilight's brother got sick! Why didn't she tell me?!"

Shatterstorm bites his lip and looks away. "Ah, well, er..."

Before Shatterstorm can think of a decent lie, Twilight Sparkle enters the room, carrying her bag of materials. Rainbow Dash wastes no time in getting confrontational. "Twilight!" she says at a louder volume than she intends, "What's this about your brother being sick?! Why didn't you tell us?"

Twilight groans as she puts the bag down. Before she answers, her eyes go wide and she gasps. Shatterstorm immediately puts his cards down and stands up. "What's wrong?"

Twilight Sparkle facehoofs. "With everything else going on, I totally forgot to keep in contact with Roaring Yawn!"

"Roaring Y—? Who's he? What's going on?!" Rainbow Dash growls.

Twilight wipes her face in exasperation. "One at a time, Rainbow Dash," she says. "Roaring Yawn is a friend of mine over in Canterlot. He's studying my brother to figure out what's wrong with him, as well as researching the bodies we found in the Castle."

As Rainbow Dash opens her mouth, Shatterstorm hushes her. "Don't you hush me!" she barks.

He ignores her anyway. "Do you want me to go get Spike?" he asks over Rainbow Dash bellyaching about everypony ignoring her.

"No, that's not necessary. He should be coming back here right about now anyway. I'll have him write the letter when he gets here."

Rainbow Dash puts herself between the two. "Look, guys! If you want me to be a part of this, how about telling me what's going on!"

Shatterstorm grunts. "Ignore what I said earlier."

"I can't! You think I'm just gonna sit here while a friend of mine's brother is in trouble?!"

Finally, Shatterstorm caves. "Okay, fine," he growls. "The Captain of the Royal Guard has been incapacitated recently via an acute physical contamination of ancient magical properties that has the unfortunate side-effect of uncontrollable violent urges and periods of prolonged lethargy."

A long pause. Rainbow Dash looks at Shatterstorm as if he has suddenly turned into a turkey. "...What?"

Shatterstorm rolls his eyes. "He's sick, okay? Shining Armor is not well. Roaring Yawn is a scientist who specializes in the study of ancient, often forbidden magics, and he is using his expertise to study what's wrong with him and work on a cure." He breathes a sigh. "We done?" he asks Rainbow Dash.

"Why didn't you tell us before, Twilight?" she asks her friend, her voice now mild.

Shatterstorm saves Twilight the trouble of answering. "Well, are any of you guys doctors?"

He feels a sharp kick to his foreleg and winces. "Wasn't talkin' to you," Rainbow Dash mutters.

Twilight rolls her eyes and begins to set up her equipment on the side table, next to the rib. "As rude as he is, Shatterstorm's correct. I didn't think it was important for you guys to know. Nopony among us knows anything about medicine, and I only have a cursory knowledge on ancient forbidden magic. It isn't as if there's anything any of us can do, and we have our hooves full here, so I just didn't say anything."

She sets a dialed machine down amongst the other equipment, her bag now empty save for some snacks Spike thought Twilight might want to nosh on while studying the rib. She helps herself to one while Rainbow Dash looks aside awkwardly.

"You could have just told us anyway," Rainbow Dash says. "I mean... we're here for you, Twi."

Maybe it's the situation. Maybe it's the lack of proper sleep or nutrition. Whatever the reason is, Twilight becomes agitated. "I've already cried my eyes out over it, Rainbow Dash, and I just... I don't want anymore." She turns her attention to her equipment and connects some of them together to form a larger machine, breathing an irritated sigh.

Silence passes as Twilight sets up the device. Rainbow Dash looks behind her to see Shatterstorm still standing there, nonchalant. "We should probably leave her alone," Rainbow Dash whispers.

"Alone with an evil rib that powerful monsters are looking for?" Shatterstorm whispers back. "Not a good idea. You can go if you wanna, but I'm staying."

A second or so passes between Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash. Twilight clicks on the device and as it hums to life, Rainbow Dash stands up straight, keeping an eye on the rib.

Spike's claw feels cramped. Twisted. Like something inside it is about to blow.

"Yeesh," he says to Twilight, "Tell this guy your shoe size, why don't you?" He puts down his pen and massages his wrist. "So many details..."

Twilight hasn't turned from her observation of the rib the entire time she dictated her letter, pressing this button or turning that knob. "They're important details, Spike! These are things Roaring Yawn should be prepared to deal with. I mean, he is currently stationed in a Canterlot hotel that's pretty much down the street from that black castle."

Fluttershy's timid voice pipes up behind her. "I-Isn't he scared?"

"I know I'd be, but..." Twilight's voice trails off as she looks behind herself to see that all her friends have gathered. "When did you guys get in?"

"About midway through the letter," Rarity says. "Rainbow Dash told us about your brother, darling. Is there anything we can do to help?"

Twilight sighs, making a mental note to strangle Rainbow Dash later. "Not really. I'm depending on a friend of mine who knows how to help him. Which is why I'm writing this letter in the first place." She looks up to her friends and is greeted by their frowns. "But, uh, thanks for asking!" she adds hastily, hoping she didn't offend anypony.

Spike rolls up the completed letter. "So, uh, this Roaring Yawn guy... you realize I still gotta know what he looks like if you want me to send this to him."

Twilight nods. "OK, well, picture this blue unicorn stallion, kinda biggish, blonde mane, glasses, green eyes..."

Spike frowns. "Details are too vague. I mean, give me a visual here."

Digging through her recreational reading (in case she ever remembered to take a break), Twilight finds the latest issue of Cryptology Monthly. She rifles through it, trying to find that article on Nevermore the Perverse. Finally, she falls on a half-page photograph of Roaring Yawn. Now that she's met the guy, she guesses that he himself probably demanded that picture to take up a quarter of the article's page space

"Here, this is what he looks like." She floats it to Spike. Out of curiosity, her friends all look over Spike's shoulder. After drinking in the photograph a second, they look back up wearing sly grins, except for Pinkie Pie who doesn't seem to know what's going on. After some silence, Twilight shrugs. "What?"

Applejack nudges Rarity in the shoulder. "Does our Twi know how to pick 'em or what?"

Rainbow Dash smiles. "I'll say! Lookit the size of this guy! And those eyes! He looks like a real beast. Hard to believe he's an egghead like Twi."

Fluttershy merely covers her mouth and giggles, blushing.

Rarity skims the article over Spike's shoulder as Twilight blushes. "It says that Roaring Yawn is only in his late twenties. And he's already an authority in a field of magic studies? So accomplished!"

Spike laughs. "When were you gonna tell us about your new boyfriend, Twilight?"

Pinkie Pie gasps. "We should throw a She's-Got-A-New-Boyfriend-We-Didn't-Know-About party for Twilight!"

Twilight shakes her head and groans in irritation, her face redder than a tomato. "I-It's not like that, guys!"

As the girls all continue to tease Twilight by fawning over Roaring Yawn, Shatterstorm rolls his eyes, releasing a small, exasperated groan. Jeez, they all talk about him like a bunch of lovestruck teenyboppers. Shatterstorm shakes his head and makes for the door. "There's too much estrogen in here. I'm gonna be right outside."

Rainbow Dash smirks. "Whatsamatter, Shatters? Afraid your balls are gonna fall off if you stay too long?"

"Hey, if it happened to you, it could happen to me," Shatterstorm says over his shoulder as he opens the door. "Can't blame a guy for being cautious."

At this, the whole room erupts in either laughter, blushes, scandalized shock, or some mixture of the three—all except for Rainbow Dash, who wears a scowl.

It's been five days since the attack on Ponyville now.

In that time, the hospital's three directors have been able to cast their shield spell to cover the entire town each night without incident. The Mayor has gathered as many volunteers as she can to gather supplies and clear debris. Good news is given to Ponyville as the postal system still runs—albeit barely, with many mailponies abandoning their posts to be with their families. The citizens of Ponyville learn that similar attacks have been made on several other towns, and worry for their relatives. Soon, after tears are shed for the lost, Ponyville begins to rebuild herself, closing open wounds and connecting broken bones.

Strangely, no outright monster attacks have occured, not even an attempt.

Applejack and her family replant lost trees while cleaning up what remains, and sleep in their barn when it is night. Rarity has sent word to her parents, and she awaits them at the Hospital, not taking any time off from caring for her sister in her darkest time. Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy help feed the children, tell them stories, keep their minds off the chaos and their spirits high. Aeon supervises the activities of these ponies, half in general curiosity and half in genuine concern for them.

And Twilight?

Twilight has been in that hospital room, with Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash, studying the rib these few days. While Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm have alternated shifts to bathe, sleep, exercise, and eat, Twilight often has to be pulled away from her research in order to take care of herself. Spike fears that she might become obsessive of this study, as she has obsessed before.

"Don't you think that you're taking this too far?" he asks her as she steps out of the bathroom.

"Spike," Twilight says, "I'm studying that rib so that I can locate the remaining pieces. This is important!"

Spike frowns. "So's going to the bathroom. This is the first time you've used it in the past two days, isn't it?"

Twilight's eyes dart away. "N-No," she lies.

"How about eating then, or bathing? You stink like the dead, and there aren't any more snacks in the bag I packed you. Haven't been since yesterday, and the food the hospital staff gave us this morning is still sitting on that counter. You haven't even touched your share of it, and it's already spoiled."

After a fierce staredown, Twilight throws her hooves in the air. "Okay, fine! I'll take a break." She opens the door to leave for the showers, and turns to Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash. "Keep an eye on that rib, OK?"

As she exits the room, Shatterstorm gets on the bed and stretches, flaps his wings, and settles down catlike over the covers. He looks to Spike. "Thanks, man. I didn't wanna say anything but... she was really starting to worry me."

Spike shrugs. "No problem, she gets like that all the time when she studies something. She'd probably starve to death if I didn't remind her to eat."

Shatterstorm laughs. "And you gotta live with her?" He shakes his head. "I feel sorry for ya, man."

Rainbow Dash looks at the two of them as they converse. It's good that Spike has found another male he can confide in, but does it have to be Shatterdork? Like why couldn't Spike get along with one of the other stallions? Like Big Macintosh, or Time Turner, or Noteworthy, or somepony like that? Somepony friendlier.

Or maybe it's Shatterstorm who needs a friend right now. He did mention something about some Tiger guy he was chummy with, but he didn't elaborate on what happened to him. She surmised he must think her slow, female brain can't handle a sensitive topic like death. He's so transparently macho when he's not around other males, trying to act tough but just coming off a bully.

Suddenly, Rainbow Dash is ripped from her thoughts when she hears a scream come from the hall outside. "Stay here," she tells Shatterstorm and Spike. "I'll go check it out." She can hear Shatterstorm start to argue as she shuts the door. Don't wanna hear it.

There are ponies gathering in the hallway, around one of the doors at the other end. One of the ponies is Aeon. They surround a pink-maned nurse as she lies on the floor, her mascara running as she breaks down. Rainbow Dash sort of recalls this nurse... What was her name again? Braveheart? Breakheart?

Whatever her name is, the nurse sobs as ponies ask her what's wrong. Aeon looks up into the room the nurse had run out of, and his eyes widen. Rainbow Dash looks into the room and sees why.

Inside the room, there is a body hanging from a noose. The sound it makes as it swings lazily from the ceiling beam reminds Rainbow Dash of gritting teeth.

"A suicide?" Twilight says as she takes another bite from an apple.

Rainbow Dash nods. It had been almost an hour after all that excitement. The body had been cut from its noose and sent off to be burned before sundown, like all the others. From what Rainbow Dash had been told by the pink-maned nurse (whose name turned out to be Redheart), the suicide nurse (named Goodhealth) had been in charge of caring for several patients were suffering from a fever contracted from sustaining monster bites.

All of the patients listed as "dead" were foals.

As Rainbow Dash finishes retelling Redheart's account to Twilight, Shatterstorm, Spike, and Aeon, she gauges their expressions. Spike, Shatterstorm, and Twilight are disturbed by this news, but Aeon, surprisingly, seems nonchalant.

"It is classic guilt," Aeon opines. "All of those foals belonged to somepony here, and Nurse Goodhealth could not handle the gravity of their deaths under her surveillance."

Rainbow Dash snorts and walks up to Aeon dangerously. "How can you be so calm, Aeon?! A buncha kids just died, and their nurse killed herself because she thought she was to blame!"

Shatterstorm gets between the two, hoping to stop a fight. "Because that's what happens in the aftermath of tragedy, Dash. Ponies get hurt. Ponies die. Ponies feel like they have nothing left."

He, for a moment, is frightened by the withering glare Rainbow Dash gives him, and hopes she didn't notice it. An awful silence passes between them, growing and seething. Finally, Rainbow Dash snorts and turns to the door.

"I can't believe you guys," she says. Her voice has an uncharacteristic flatness to it that Twilight finds jarring. Rainbow Dash opens the door and begins to shake. Her next words are choked with tears. "I hate you."

And with that, Rainbow Dash exits the room, slamming the door shut. Awkwardly, Twilight looks to her bodyguard and the time traveler. She sighs. "Look, Rainbow Dash is just... really passionate. Sensitive. I don't think she meant what she said."

Shatterstorm shakes his head and says quietly, "Don't worry about it. I'd actually have worried about her if she didn't react like that."

Aeon nods. Twilight looks to him, expecting a better response. She doesn't get one. Instead, Aeon leaves.

It's a few minutes of depressed quiet before Twilight decides to get back to work on the rib.

When Aeon finds her, Rainbow Dash is a few hallways away, staring out a window. She looks out at Ponyville, where volunteers are busy with cleanup work, stallions and mares going to and fro clearing debris, making way for building contractors to start rebuilding within the next week.

But that isn't what she's looking at. Aeon can tell.

He sits next to her, thinking over what he can say. Should he tell her a little more of the truth behind himself? Should he explain?

Rainbow Dash gets up before he can say anything and walks away, silent, enraged. Aeon follows. Eventually, Rainbow Dash stops and turns, her face flushed and fighting tears.

"Look, would you stop following me?! I-I don't have anything to say to you! You—you're horrible, just dismissing what happened, l-like it's nothing!" She feels the urge to belt Aeon in the face—in his unchanged, unreadable face—as hard as she can. Break his muzzle. Knock out a few teeth.

But she doesn't. Hitting Aeon won't bring the foals or Nurse Goodhealth back.

Aeon walks forward and with his unicorn telekinesis, brings out a handkerchief. It hovers before her, as if he expects her to take it. When she refuses to, Aeon wipes away her tears himself. It's a strange thing to feel, cloth without a hoof behind it, wiping away the tears and snot that were beginning to run down her face.

"I apologize for saying all that," he says. "I have been to many of the worlds which Dracula's forces have destroyed, and in those worlds I have also seen tragedies like this occur. In my observations of time, I have seen both these kinds of tragedies and even worse."

Looking at him now, Rainbow Dash finds a new word to describe how she feels about Aeon.

Pity.

She pities him. He has seen so much horror and bloodshed, so much pain and agony, that he has become numb to it all. It's just another day for him. He...

...he can't feel anything anymore. He has lived for so long and seen so much more bad than good, that anything resembling a soul in him is gone now. His tears have dried up. His heart has gone cold. He has become a machine that merely has a mission to follow.

"I'm sorry," Aeon says again, this time his monotone slightly shaken. "Sometimes this one simply doesn't think."

Rainbow Dash hugs him, telling him she forgives him, and to not say anything like that again. Though, she isn't angry because he cannot think.

She's angry because he cannot feel.

A few hours have passed. Closer and closer does Twilight Sparkle get to cracking the mystery of this rib like an egg, and soon she will make an omelette with the answers. Rainbow Dash came back to the room in higher spirits than when she had left, relieving everypony immensely. Shatterstorm decided to take a break and get something to eat, asking Rainbow Dash if she wanted anything while he was in the dining area.

"Aw, so you do have a heart!" she chuckled, and ordered a hay pizza, specifically alfalfa.

A while after he leaves, Rainbow Dash then looks to the odd machine Twilight uses. Inside a large dome is the rib, suspended by the arcane magic produced by the machine. The dome itself is attached to a larger machine that takes up the rest of the table. It has all these dials, knobs, and switches that Dash assumes control certain settings within the dome. On the sidetable next to Twilight is a stack of papers that she has taken notes on, with quite a few sentences struck out.

After a few minutes of watching her friend work, Rainbow Dash asks, "Hey Twi? I'm curious. What does this thing do, anyway?"

Twilight, always eager to educate, goes off in a direction Rainbow Dash finds hard to follow. Something about how the dome analyzes, artificial environments, and then Rainbow Dash is lost by all these big words and scientists Twilight names, and blah, blah, blah, science, science, science.

"Forget I asked," Rainbow Dash interrupts. "If it does the job, I don't care how it does it." She blinks. "Say, what are you trying to do with it anyway?"

But before Twilight can explain, Rainbow Dash interrupts. "IN. LAYMARE'S TERMS. PLEASE."

Twilight nods. "Basically, I'm trying to zero in on this rib's exact magical frequency. Dracula seems to emit a frequency that's so unique, I'm... not sure it really even exists." She looks to her notes, then to the device's readings, then back to the rib and fiddles with some of the dials. "The only clue I have is that the frequency is somewhere in the 'Darkness' alignment, which honestly could mean anything. I wish I had a research team or something to help me, but the Arcane-Aura-Analyzer is all I've got."

Rainbow Dash waits for Twilight to elaborate... but Twilight goes right back to analyzing the readings. "So," Rainbow Dash says, "You're basically trying to find some way to seek out the other pieces of Dracula?"

"That's the plan," she replies. "Those other four pieces could be anywhere."

Raibow Dash cocks her head. "Are they in a cave?"

"Maybe."

"Are they in a box of scraps?"

"It's possible."

"...Are they in a cave, with a box of scraps?"

Twilight groans. "Probably! I don't know! Stop pestering me and find something else to do!"

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes and walks over to Spike, who is reading a nature magazine. She sits down and leans against the bed, lazily reading over Spike's shoulder. Bored, bored, bored. Down the hall, she hears some excited talking.

She hears the door open, and she turns to see Shatterstorm back with the pizza she'd asked for, along with a few other items. Dancing about his legs as if threatening to trip him is Scootaloo, carrying a few other food boxes.

"...I mean, that's so cool!" she exclaims. "Shatterstorm, you're awesome!"

Shatterstorm sighs sheepishly as they enter the room. "Oh come on, i-it wasn't that cool."

Scootaloo stops and suddenly has this look like Shatterstorm not copping to his awesomeness is some kind of crime. "Whattaya mean, not awesome?! You got your cutie mark from speeding straight through a hurricane!" Rainbow Dash's eyes widen as Scootaloo reasserts her point: "YOU PUNCHED. A HURRICANE. AND THE HURRICANE. LOST."

His eyes dart away, as if he really wished he had just not said anything to this kid. Twilight looks to him, then to Scootaloo. "Somepony's just earned himself an admirer, I see," she chuckles. Shatterstorm grunts. Rainbow Dash looks at him in silent hatred. He's certainly earned himself an admirer...

...in her number one fan.

Changing the subject, Shatterstorm starts passing out the white styrofoam boxes. "Here's some late lunch. Dash wanted pizza, Spike wanted the soup, and I had to improvise with you, Miss Sparkle."

Twilight's face darkens. "Why didn't you ask me what I wanted?"

Spike sniffs the soup as he gives an answer. "He did. Like, four times. You were so into your study that you didn't hear him."

Twilight's face goes red. "...Oh. I'm sorry, I just..."

Shatterstorm smiles impishly as he gives her her designated lunch. "It's OK. If you don't like it, I'll just go grab something else."

Scootaloo, meanwhile, is talking to Rainbow Dash about how awesome Shatterstorm is, with Rainbow Dash munching lazily at her pizza. As much as she loves the little squirt, Scootaloo's misguided analysis of Shatterstorm gets to Rainbow Dash, hitting her ego in spots she didn't think were there. Then Scootaloo says something that causes her to explode.

"I think you two should get together! You'd be like the most awesome couple EVER!"

Scootaloo flinches as her face is splattered with chewed-up hay pizza. "WHAT?!?!" Rainbow Dash bellows. "WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WOULD EVER WANNA BE WITH THAT CREEP?!" Her anger defuses the moment she sees Scootaloo's eyes stark with terror. Without saying a word, Scootaloo flees her hero with pizza on her face and tears in her eyes.

Awkward silence. Rainbow Dash facehoofs and groans. Nopony says anything as Rainbow Dash leaves the room.

For a little filly, Scootaloo is considerably fast, and Rainbow Dash has already lost track of where she went. She stops a blue unicorn and asks him if he'd seen a little orange filly, short purple mane, just turned ten.

"Um, no," he says. His white curly mane bobs as he looks at her a little more closely, his tone becoming cautious. "She's not lost, is she?"

Rainbow Dash shakes her head. "No, she just..." She purses her lips, hating what she has to admit. "I kinda blew my stack and now she's upset and I wanna apologize."

The unicorn nods. "Oh! Well, if she's like any other kid, I'd imagine she'd go into the bathroom to cry." He blinks, then adds quietly, "Because all kids do that when they're upset right? That—that wasn't just me?"

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. "Uh... thanks for the tip."

As she tries to leave this weirdo behind, he asks, "Say, one good turn deserves another; have you seen a white mare? She's a unicorn, gorgeous, stutters a lot? Answers to the name Marble?"

Rainbow sighs inwardly, trying not to offend him, but seriously, there's a kid who needs consoling and all he can think about is...?

"Uh..."

"She's here one minute, there the next." He chuckles stupidly. "It's like there's more than one of her, and I just keep losing track!"

Rainbow fights a smirk. This guy has totally lost his Marbles. "No, I've spent so much time in one room, I haven't seen very many other ponies lately," she answers honestly.

"I bet she's with Big Macintosh," he says suddenly. "Yeah! I bet that's it." Rainbow Dash spots a look in his eye that tells her everything she needs to know about male insecurity. He turns and leaves. "If you need me, I'll be at Sweet Apple Acres!"

Rainbow Dash sighs and shakes her head, making her way to the ladies' room. It looks like it hasn't been taken care of in a while, with toilet paper strewn about and the trash cans overflowing, with a combined smell of cleaning chemicals and... something else. With everything that's going on, Rainbow Dash surmises the janitorial staff has their hooves full.

Upon entering, Rainbow Dash hears quiet sobbing from one of the stalls.

Scootaloo...

Rainbow Dash sits down next to the closed stall, listening for a moment, absorbing the gravity of what she'd done. She'd let down her biggest fan, yelled at her over nothing. Spat pizza all over her face over a silly suggestion she probably made without even thinking. It's not like she knew Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm were on shaky terms at best.

Rainbow Dash sighs. "Hey, um... I'm sorry. For blowing up like that. Sometimes, I can be a little... no, I can be really stupid. I think I'm so cool, and I act like I'm so cool, but the fact is, I can be just as stupid as anypony else and I can do really... really uncool things. So I'm sorry."

Silence. The sobbing has stopped.

"I mean, you're... you're the coolest filly I've ever met, y'know? Look, don't worry about not being good at flying. That takes time and effort, and you're young, so you've got plenty of both. I'm just saying, you know..."

Rainbow Dash breathes deep. "You... You're like a sister to me. Always looks up to me. Thinks everything I say or do is super-important. And it was totally wrong of me to just do that, throw all of that in your face. And I'm sorry."

The door opens up and Rainbow Dash finds herself in a tight hug.

"Oh, Rainbow Dash, th-that was the nicest thing you've ever said to me..."

Rainbow Dash pats her affectionately on the head. "That's OK, Fluttershy, I won't ev—!" Her voice ends in a squeak. She pushes back Fluttershy and takes in just how very not-Scootaloo-at-all Fluttershy is.

"Where's Scootaloo?!"

Fluttershy thinks this over a moment. "Um, I-I'm sorry, Rainbow Dash, but I haven't seen her lately." Her eyes dart about. "Did you really mean what you said about my being like a sister to you?"

Rainbow Dash sighs. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, I need to find Scootaloo and apologize for blowing my stack."

"Well, if she's like any other filly, she's probably gone to the bathroom to cry." Fluttershy suddenly becomes more timid. "Th-That IS what upset fillies do, right? It wasn't just me?"

All cyan pegasi present facehoof. "We are in the bathroom, Fluttershy."

"Well then, maybe she's with her mother?"

"Sunny Day? I saw her outside clearing debris. Foals aren't allowed to leave the hospital yet."

The two continue to argue long after they leave the restroom. Fluttershy suggests that she is probably with the other Cutie Mark Crusaders. Rainbow counters that she doesn't know where they are. They round a corner and head back in the direction of Twilight's room just as Fluttershy remembers that they'd be where Rarity is. They walk by some doctors and nurses as they head down the hall.

Scootaloo, however, did not go into any restroom. Instead, she found a nice, quiet corner in a hallway as far away from Rainbow Dash as she could find. She finds this corner, and away from the others, she begins to cry. The tears come out quietly, like ponies exiting a church after a funeral service. She'd never heard Rainbow Dash so upset before, not even when Scootaloo became a fan of the Mare-Do-Well.

"Scootaloo?"

Scootaloo looks behind herself. Pinkie Pie is right there, a look of sympathy on her face. The party pony gently lifts a hoof and runs it through Scootaloo's mane, a wry and tired smile on her face. The past few days of foalsitting have worn her out, and it warms Scootaloo's heart that even now that she's been given a break from that duty, Pinkie Pie still has time for foals. "What's wrong?"

Scootaloo sniffles, wiping away the tears and pizza. "I-I think I just made Rainbow Dash mad..."

Pinkie Pie swoops her into a hug. "Aw, Scoots, don't take it so hard. What did you say?"

"All I did was say that she and Shatterstorm would make a good couple, and..."

The hug tightens. "You didn't mean it. It's OK. Dashie can be a total Meanie McSnapAtcha sometimes, so I don't think she meant to get mad over that."

After a time, the hug breaks. As is her wont, Pinkie Pie hid a handkerchief nearby for Scootaloo-face-cleaning emergencies like this one, and uses it accordingly. "Dashie would probably want to apologize to you, so why don't we go see her?" she asks. Scootaloo nods, and she and Pinkie Pie head back to the room where the rib is.

As they head down to the room, they start a conversation about whatever comes to mind, eventually settling on how much Scootaloo really admires Rainbow Dash. She really doesn't see how Shatterstorm could be that bad; after all, he did fly through a hurricane. Suddenly, Pinkie Pie feels a familiar tingle going up and down her back, just like when click nehw ekil tsuj ,kcab reh nwod dna pu gniog elgnit railimaf a sleef eiP einkiP ,ylnedduS .enacirruh a hguorht ylf did eh ,lla retfa ;dab taht eb dluoc mrotsrettahS woh ees t'nseod yllear ehS .hsaD wobniaR serimda yllaer oolatoocS hcum woh no gnilttes yllautneve ,dnim ot semoc revetahw tuoba noitasrevnoc a trats yeht ,moor eht ot daeh yeht sA

As they head down to the room, they start a conversation about whatever comes to mind, eventually settling on how much Scootaloo really admires Rainbow Dash.

"Sweetie Belle?"

The look on the mother's face as she receives the news that her baby is gone. The doctor and some nurses drag her away as she loses control of herself. The nurse in the room pulls the sheet over the baby, his eyes closed, his lips beginning to blue.

"Sweetie Belle, you need to eat."

The dogs. They were there. Right in front of her, behind her, all around her. At the lead was the St. Bernard she loved lots, only it wasn't him. It was a monster. Like everything was a monster. Her sister and Apple Bloom's sister, they both protect her from the monsters, stomping them in places that break. She can hear them break. Hear their whines as the warm blood leaks out from underneath burst stomachs.

"Come on, Sweetie Belle, darling, you need to eat."

Fire eats at Ponyville like the very hungry caterpillars from her favorite book when she was younger. Caterpillars made of flames bite away at buildings, leveling them, forming cocoons in the wreckage and leaving as ashen butterflies. Her schoolhouse is devoured, then her parents' favorite restaurant. Everything becomes one giant fairground of death. Rarity is there...

Rarity is here.

There is a spoon full of... pudding?... floating in the air in front of her. Sweetie Belle's stomach reminds her that she is hungry, and she leans forward, her mouth enveloping the spoon, her tongue accepting the tasteless pudding. As she swallows, her mind forgets the pudding in her mouth, once again becoming lost in this death fair.

Rarity spoons some more pudding for her. She hates this. All of this. That such a horrid thing had to happen to a place like Ponyville. To ponies that never did anypony else any harm. To ponies like her sister.

Here she is, shoveling food into Sweetie Belle's mouth like she's an infant. Her mind has regressed, retreated, said the doctor. Her young mind has received scars, likely from all the death she has seen. Another spoonful finds its way to Sweetie Belle's mouth.

She had already sent word to their parents four days ago. They'd been vacationing in Saddle Arabia while all this happened, and while she received no reply, there was no reason for her to doubt that her mother and father would ever abandon their babies when they needed them most.

Rarity's eyes close and she breathes. Right when they needed their parents most. Hilarious thought, Rarity. They're never there when you need them. That's why you decided to move out of their house when you were sixteen. It's why you spend more time with Sweetie Belle than they do. They aren't bad ponies, and she knows they love her and Sweetie Belle, but they're not the most responsible parents one could have.

Another spoonful finds Sweetie Belle's mouth.

Apple Bloom sits next to Sweetie Belle. This hallway is again crowded, this time with ponies suffering mental scars, seeking help from the councilors and psychiatrists in this wing. Apple Bloom had already seen some of their "harder cases", like a pony who thought she was a dog. When she started barking, Sweetie Belle had another freak out.

The psychiatrist had only spoken to Sweetie Belle for a few minutes before she came to the conclusion that Sweetie was suffering from the same thing a lot of ponies suffer after witnessing something traumatizing: pose-dramatic... poster automatic dress... It's a long and difficult term for Apple Bloom, so she likes to just say that Sweetie Belle has become "spooked."

Not knowing what else they could do to help their friend, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom had gone off to fetch some food. Apple Bloom had bought some puddings from the stuttering white mare working the counter while Scootaloo struck up conversation with that pegasus guy with an ocean-green mane they'd seen with Twilight Sparkle sometimes, asking him how he got such a cool cutie mark. After he'd given an impressive story on how he'd earned it, Scootaloo immediately fangirled over him, and offered to help him take the food he'd ordered to Rainbow Dash and Twilight.

Apple Bloom, still at a loss for how to help her friend, looks to Rarity's face as Rarity thinks about their parents. There is such pain on her face, a look that children often think is aimed at them if they do something that upsets an adult. "S'not Sweetie Belle's fault," she says finally.

"What do you mean?" asks Rarity.

"That she's like this. She... She doesn't mean it, Rarity. She juss... ain't herself."

Apple Bloom looks to Sweetie Belle's face and sees what she's been seeing there for a while now. Sweetie Belle is lost. She'll be back later, she usually is; and even then, the psychiatrist said it would take a little while for her to come back fully when she isn't in "this state." But for now, Sweetie Belle is in "this state", where she's lost in a labrynthine fairground made up of dogs and monsters and fire and dead foals her age.

"I'm not mad at her," Rarity says. "I'm just... angry, a little at myself, a little at our parents, but mostly at the monsters responsible for all this." She heaves a sigh. Another spoonful finds its way to silent, lost Sweetie Belle.

"That's why you and yer friends're gonna go an give 'em what-fer, aint'cha?"

"We plan to, but Twilight has to work a little first before we do that." Another spoonful and the pudding is finally empty. Rarity sighs. She looks from her sister to Apple Bloom. "How's your farm, by the way? Is Applejack well?"

As Apple Bloom goes at length at the repair work being done at the farm, Sweetie Belle's mind once again goes over recent events, like they're an ugly movie her parents would never allow her to watch. Fire. Monsters. Death. She wants to escape. To get back to reality, where her sister is, where her life is.

So she takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes. Breathes again, more slowly this time. She opens her eyes and is back in reality where her sister is.

Only it isn't her sister.

It's a monster.

Sweetie Belle's scream is loud enough to cause most of the other ponies in the hall to jump right out of their skins. Rarity drops the pudding cup and reaches forward to hold her sister.

The monster in front of Sweetie Belle reaches out its long black claws, its doglike face twisted in glee at the sight of its prey. Sweetie Belle jumps from her seat, running by the spiders spitting blood at her from the walls. The floors protest every step she takes with a howling scream that causes her ears to ring. The hospital has become a nightmare to her.

Rarity calls after her sister, running after her, past the other ponies, demanding her sister to stop. Apple Bloom follows her, confused and terrified at what is going on. Her own pudding cup sits on the floor where she'd left it, untouched.

She hears a roar behind her. It doesn't come from her feet, from the floor. She looks behind herself and sees the monster from before chasing her, howling at her, howling her name. Sweetie Belle runs and runs and runs, runs as fast as her little legs can carry her.

There are trees in this hallway. Trees with the faces of old and dead ponies, and they look at her and begin to chant blasphemously to her. The trees know Celestia is weak and cannot help her. The trees know every awful thing she's ever done or thought of. They know every time she has said in her heart that she hates her family and wishes she were somepony else.

As she runs by the trees, the monster behind her brushes by them easily.

She's closing in on Sweetie Belle now, brushing past doctors and nurses and other patients who have no idea what the heck is going on. Rarity calls her sister again, to stop this at once, she only wants to know what's wrong. Apple Bloom does her damnedest to keep up, but finally trips and falls.

Rarity is just behind her sister now.

The monster is right behind her now!

Rarity reaches out a hoof and grabs her.

The monster reaches out a claw and grabs her!

Just as she turns Sweetie Belle around, Rarity feels a flash of little hoof against her face. "No!" Sweetie Belle screams. "No, stay away from me!! STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!"

Just as the monster closes its claws around Sweetie Belle, and she hits it, telling it to leave her alone, she feels it, a sudden cold. It envelops her, steals the air from her lungs as her vision goes white.

Cold.

Whiter.

Colder.

Sweetie Belle's words become incomprehensible jumbles of words that Rarity can't understand. Thick, hot drool begins to leak from her mouth, beginning to froth. Her eyes roll upward, backward, into her head.

In her panic, Rarity screams. Screams for somepony, anypony, to help her baby sister.

Her baby sister is dying.

Demon Seed, Part I

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Demon Seed, Part I

It's been less than an hour, but what does it matter? Time has become worthless to Rarity. Much like any material possessions, time becomes utterly meaningless once your world comes to an end.

The doctor and nurse analyze her, treat her, do everything they can for her. She's poisoned, Rarity was told. Sweetie Belle. Poisoned. Likely from the puddings. The hospital staff have already started an investigation on this, she was informed, and they have closed the cafeteria until further notice.

But what kind of poison could do something this terrifying? Rarity sits on a chair, watching the doctor and nurse. They hover about Sweetie Belle, at work administering treatment. For some reason, to Rarity, they look like a pair of bees pollinating the same flower.

Poison.

She fed her poison.

She fed her baby sister poison, and she didn't even know.

Rarity swallows. But the doctor can help. It's his job. He knows his job well. She can trust him. She just

(this is)

needs to have

(I'm sorry, I)

a little faith. Sweetie Belle will survive. She'll live. This will all be behind them one day, and

(my fault)

they'll—they'll just look back on it and even though they'd still be sort of scared by it, they'll laugh, but Sweetie Belle, she'll be all right she'll be okay it's nothing to worry about Rarity will find a way she always did always would always does would never leave Sweetie Belle out to die never never never

"Miss Rarity?"

She snaps back to reality. The doctor and nurse are looking at her with tired, terrified faces. Her heart slams against her chest. Has the worst passed? Has the worst yet to happen?

"Yes?"

The doctor fidgeted. "The poison in your sister's systems is acting very quickly. I've never seen any poison like it in the ten years I've worked as a doctor." He looked away, then back again. "Miss Rarity, your sister... We've, uh, we've managed to stabilize her, for now... but... the poison will in all likelihood act against the medicine we've administered."

Suddenly, Rarity is overcome with anger. "Well then, remove the poison, you tactless dolt!" It takes her a second to realize that she's only an inch away from the doctor's face. He breathes in deeply, then continues.

"What I mean is, unless we have an antidote, the poison can't be removed. It's acted too quickly, and there is evidence it was created using arcane ingredients, not just physical ones, thereby making it extremely potent. It's destroying your sister, and unless an antidote can be made, and quickly, she won't make it."

"Then make an antidote!"

The doctor backs away from Rarity. He was afraid of this. Rarity is well-known for her forced hysterics, but now that there is real terror—no mismatching colors, no hair-out-of-place, but the real deal, real terror—the hysterics are equally real. He isn't sure which is more terrifying, Sweetie Belle being poisoned, or her sister's breakdown because of it. He dreads what he must say next.

"Miss Rarity, it takes years of research to create an antidote for a poison with unfamiliar properties. The way our mail system is slowing down, it might take weeks to even get a group of professionals gathered to do anything. Your sister... has maybe a few days, even with our medicine."

Tense silence. Even though her coat is pearl-white, the doctor can tell the color has left her face. He can hear something inside her wilt... wither... die. Her eyes age a hundred years. After a second or so, Rarity slowly walks over to Sweetie Belle, who lies in the bed, machines hooked into her like a mad scientist's experiment.

The doctor hates this. Always has. The bad news. Too many ponies die in a hospital. The one place where ponies go for treatments, to get well, and yet too many ponies die here. Such sickening irony. And all these foals dying lately, or disappearing...

He and the nurse decide to walk out, leaving the two sisters alone. It's almost a minute of quiet before Rarity even does anything. Her hoof comes up and she begins to stroke her baby sister's mane, slowly. She looks into her sister's closed eyes.

"Sweetie Belle... I don't know if you're able to hear me, but... but I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'm so... all those times, I..."

The thoughts meant to form words instead form gibberish. Nothing she says or does means anything anymore.

Nothing.

No words. Rarity falls down, her forelegs wrapping around her sister's tiny body—the very body that just a week or so ago was happily dancing and singing and so very, very alive and full of affection for those around her. The tears begin, and do not end until Rarity falls unconscious, her sister held tightly to her chest.

Screams erupt all across the hospital, one right after the other like an alarm system going off. Mothers and fathers and older siblings panic as young foals begin frothing at the mouths, screaming at things that aren't there, clawing at their loved ones as if they are wild animals, running from them as if possessed.

Doctors and nurses rush to see what's wrong. The affected foals are taken to emergency analysis rooms. In the time span of around thirty minutes, the doctors all understand that the foals are suffering from severe hallucinations. Hallucinations that end when their body's systems all arrest at once.

Medicine is administered, but the poison that is responsible for all this is fast-acting and terrifyingly powerful. Any medicine the hospital can administer at this point seems only mildly effective, and can only give the foals peace before the inevitable. After the screams of terror comes a fog of despair, parents and siblings and guardians becoming greyer. The hope that was slowly coming back to Ponyville has been ripped back out again.

Marble walks along the hallways, cool as autumn wind, as the downtrodden hold each other for any comfort there may be left. Near the stage of panic, ponies don't notice the infant at her side, whose face is beginning to go blue, whose mouth is already covered in foam. She looks haughtily down at those who do, and they instantly feel

and back away.

She already has a vague implication of where her target is, and she can feel its presence grow stronger as she closes in on it.

Almost as soon as she comes into the hospital to check on Apple Bloom, the place explodes around Applejack. The moment she sees a foal screaming his head off at things that aren't there, her stomach sinks. Then another foal, then another. The place chokes in the grip of panic as parents and doctors alike try to get the foals under control.

Then their mouths begin to froth.

Then their eyes begin to roll back in their heads.

Applejack along with her brother Big Macintosh run down the hallways of the mental ward, where a nurse told her she last saw Apple Bloom. She calls for her sister, hoping against hope that she hadn't fallen victim to whatever was breaking out.

Apple Bloom is not in the mental ward. It takes some investigation, but she's told that their little sister went to the west wing. They head there, swimming through crowds of dimming panic.

At last, they see her, amidst a crowded hall, calling for her siblings. She fills them in, what she was told, what she saw. She points to the door next to her, saying that this is where they took Sweetie Belle. Listening inside, Applejack can hear Rarity shouting hysterically.

Applejack holds onto her little sister in horror as Big Macintosh looks away, tries to calm himself. He sees a ghost white figure prance by, almost cheerily amongst all this panic.

He looks up in time to see her round the corner, out of his sight. "...Marble?"

"What?" asks Applejack. Big Macintosh, unable to fight his curiosity now, follows her through the hallway just in time to see her round another corner. Applejack calls after him, telling him impatiently to come back.

When he does not, Applejack grumbles. She turns to Apple Bloom. "Listen, Ah want'chu to stay here in case Rarity comes outta there. Ah'll be rightt back; shouldn't take more'na minnit." With that, Applejack storms off to grab her idiot, insensitive brother, leaving Apple Bloom alone to her thoughts for a few minutes more.

Applejack calls for Big Macintosh, but it's like he doesn't hear her. What is he thinking, leaving his sisters alone like this? She chases after him, running past doctors and nurses and other ponies, keeping her eyes on the big red stallion as he rounds this corner, that corner.

More than just the promised few minutes pass as the chase continues, and when she catches him, Applejack swears she will kill Big Mac's stupid ass for wandering off like a curious three-year-old. The hallways become more familiar to her.

Isn't this the hall where Twilight Sparkle is?

It's been almost two hours since he'd checked on Twilight, but Aeon feels that his surveillance is necessary. And after several days of routinely helping prepare meals for the sick, only taking the occasional break to talk to Miss Heartstrings or Twilight, he was ready to do something else anyway.

On his way there, he walks by a doctor whose name he remembers as "Stable." He nods to him as he passes, and Stable returns the gesture. The nurse Stable is talking to also nods in Aeon's direction, just to be friendly.

Aeon perks his ears as he hears the familiar, frantic pace of Pinkie Pie talking. He looks aside to see both her and a foal (Scootaloo, if he remembers correctly) walk by. Pinkie Pie waves to him and adds a "HIYA EENIE!" to whatever else she was talking about. Scootaloo looks at him like he's the strange creature he is, and just to be friendly, Aeon greets her with a warm smile. He agrees to follow them to Twilight's room, and on the way there, Pinkie explains (At breakneck pace, as always) that Scootaloo is going to ask Rainbow Dash for an apology.

Rounding the corner behind these two, he sees a white unicorn mare at Twilight's door.

Aeon blinks. What just happened? Hadn't he already done this before?

He perks his ears (again) as he hears the familiar, frantic pace of Pinkie Pie talking (again). He looks aside (again) to see both her and a foal, Scootaloo, walk by (again). "Pinkie!" he calls.

"HIYA EENIE!" she chirps (again). "I was taking Scootaloo to—"

"Rainbow Dash, for an apology?" he asks.

Pinkie Pie gasps. "Whoa! You're a mind-reader, too?"

"No," he says, "It is that you have told me this before."

Scootaloo raises an eyebrow. "Huh? When did we do that?"

Before Aeon can give an answer, he hears somepony shout from further down the hall. "We need medical attention over here!" Aeon raises up his head and

At last, Marble comes to the door. The infant still at her one side, the saddle bag at the other, she calmly knocks. Once, twice, thrice. She feels perky today, so she adds a "shave and a haircut" to the previous three knocks.

She can feel it behind this door. Dracula's rib is behind here, waiting, calling out to her: it's been lonely in here without its trusted minions. She takes a deep breath as she waits, a pleasant smile on her face as if she's visiting an old friend. When the door opens, she's met by a handsome young pegasus wearing Royal Guard armor, despite no helmet.

The moment he sees the foal, he scowls. "What are you doing with that kid?!" he says, his stance becoming more threatening. His wings flutter as he snorts. "He should be in the infirmary!"

"Shatterstorm, what's going on?" asks a voice from inside. Marble grins wider. The little sorceress. Just who she wanted to see, and expected to be here.

"May I speak to Twilight Sparkle?" she asks, her voice clean and cold. "As you can see, this is an urgent matter that I think only she can solve."

"Lady, if you don't get a doctor for that kid, I will put you under arrest for deliberate foal endangerment!" He looks around the hallway. "We need medical attention over here!" he shouts.

There is somepony there, a few someponies in fact, but before Shatterstorm can recognize who they are, they disappear. No puff of smoke, no burst of unicorn magic. They just blink out of existence, as if the hallway itself closed its eyes on them. He holds a gasp, unsure of what he really saw.

Suddenly, Shatterstorm feels himself being picked up by something invisible. Before he has the chance to say or do anything, he's thrown down the hallway, slamming into what feels like another pony. Not waiting to see what he had been thrown at, Shatterstorm gets back up and prepares to ram Marble. He'd torn a hurricane to bits, so there's no way some unicorn magic is going to stop him!

Marble smirks as he speeds toward her, and holds up the foal in front of her to remind him of her hostage. Shatterstorm gasps and tries his hardest to stop before he accidentally crashes into the sick foal, but his momentum is too great for a clean stop. In a last attempt to avoid harming the foal, he tries to swerve, only succeeding in smashing into a nearby wall.

The impact from Shatterstorm's crash knocks paintings off the hospital room's walls. Before Twilight or Spike can figure out what's going on, Marble walks into the room. Twilight sees the foal with the foaming mouth and grits her teeth.

Marble locks eyes with the little sorceress and greets her with a pleasant smile. Twilight feels

and growls. Marble closes the door behind her as Twilight hears somepony call her name. "Now then," says Marble pleasantly, "let us get right to the point."

"Applejack?" asks Rainbow Dash. "Applejack, what're you doing here?"

The farm girl slows to a stop. "Have any y'all seen Big Macintosh? He wandered past here, didn't he?"

Fluttershy cocks her head. "First Scootaloo, now Big Macintosh? What's going on?"

Rainbow Dash looks ahead. Down this hallway is the room with the rib. Also down this hallway is Big Macintosh. Her eyes widen as she sees Shatterstorm crash into him, causing the big red stallion to flinch. Shatterstorm gets back up and soars across the hallway, suddenly swerving and crashing into the far-away wall.

At the sound of Shatterstorm's crash, the other two mares look up. Their eyes widen and all three shoot down the hall. Rainbow Dash calls Twilight Sparkle's name click eman s'elkrapS thgiliwT sllac hsaD wobniaR .llah eht nwod toohs eerht lla dna nediw seye riehT .pu kool seram owt retho eht ,hsarc s'mrotsrettahS fo dnuos eht tA

At the sound of Shatterstorm's crash, the other two mares look up. Their eyes widen, and all three shoot down the hall. Rainbow Dash, however, gets a strange sense of deja vu. Didn't she just see Shatterstorm crash into the wall?

She stops as the other two continue down the hall. Then, she hears a click. Suddenly, there Shatterstorm is again, smashing into the wall. She can't see past Big Macintosh, but she thinks somepony might be at Twilight's door. Something is wrong, but it doesn't seem like Applejack or Fluttershy know.

Suddenly, Rainbow Dash hears a voice as Applejack and Fluttershy once again repeat this performance. The voice is thin and whispery, sing-songy yet still raspy, and sounds like it is coming from everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

Tick... tock... tick... tock... tick tock goes my pony clock...

Click.

This time, Aeon forsakes any manners he has. He dashes by the doctor and nurse without acknowledging them. He bowls right by Pinkie Pie and Scootaloo. He knows exactly what is happening, and he only has a short time to act. He curses himself for not considering the idea that his old enemy would concoct a new way to extend his mild dominance over the flow of time.

He's in the hallway again, only this time there is no white unicorn mare. Instead, Aeon flinches a little as he sees—and actually feels—Shatterstorm crash into the wall. He hears somepony (Applejack?) call for a "Big Macintosh." Acting quickly, he reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out the Stopwatch.

A click, and time has stopped instead of reversed. And there, next to Shatterstorm's battered body, stands precisely whom Aeon expected.

He is a white rabbit, wearing man's clothing. A neat little blue jacket fits him snugly while a black top hat rests on his head. Despite his rabbitlike upper-section, everything waist-down is goatlike: long and skinny legs with cloven feet. His monocle cannot hide the red eyes that bulge from his head like a pair of hateful, oversized pimples ready to burst.

He looks to Aeon and snickers.

"Ah, Aeon," says the Chronomage as he looks at his own pocketwatch, "Always so timpunctuous! Right. On. Time." The pocketwatch gets put away. "Something I've always loved about our excigerous battles: I can always count on them happening precisely when they don't mean to."

He draws out his Vorpal Blade, a shimmering sword made of words and nonsense. Their eyes lock. "Now then. Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?"

"Do you know what this is?" Marble asks, lifting the foal. "The foaming mouth? The discoloring of his flesh?"

Twilight Sparkle becomes impatient, and her horn glows threateningly. "What are you getting at?!"

"I wouldn't cast anything on me if I were you," Marble says. Her voice is a deep and regal alto that commands respect. Her tone adds to the queenly voice: she speaks as though she is merely making casual orders.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I cast an Alarmfire spell on myself. I'm sure you at least know what that is?"

Of course. Alarmfire. A spell that sets a magic-caster on fire if they attempt to cast a spell on the affected object. Twilight's horn ceases to glow. "That's a good girl," Marble says condescendingly.

She smiles pleasantly as she lifts a book out of her saddlebag. Its title is Some Devils Have Only One Horn: A History of Unicorn Crime. She throws it to Twilight. "Now, then. Nevermore the Perverse," she says. "What do you know about him?"

With a growing sense of dread, Twilight recalls what she knows. "He's one of the most evil unicorns to have ever lived. Dabbled in numerous forms of black magic and chemistry that have since been forbidden." Her eyes widen in horror as she slowly realizes what is going on. "He... became infamous for his role in the Ancient Pony Wars. The Demon Seed. Using an exact combination of Whisperdust and various common vitamins and minerals, he poisoned the food Earth ponies used to feed their young..."

Another book is removed from Marble's saddlebag and dropped to the floor. Twilight recognizes it as a chemistry book that's in the restricted area of the Canterlot Royal Library. But since Canterlot has been evacuated...

"And what were the symptoms?" asks Marble, her pseudo-pleasant smile never leaving her face.

Twilight begins to pale as she recounts. "It only affects young foals, and begins with intense hallucinations. Eventually, it begins to damage the brain, shutting down system after system." Her eyes begin to water with tears of fear. "It kills within hours," she finishes weakly. Spike covers his mouth in terror.

Marble nods. "Of course, there is a cure. Nevermore had a few foals of his own from what I've read, so he fashioned a cure to make sure his poison couldn't be used against his family." Out of her saddlebag comes a sizable bottle of purple liquid.

Twilight grits her teeth again as Marble looks from the bottle, to the foal. She tips it into the foal's mouth and forces him to swallow a few drops. He lets out a sudden, raspy gasp: the foaming ceases and the color begins to come back to his face. Marble smiles as her eyes go right back to Twilight as she finishes her demonstration. "You know what it is I want, little sorceress."

Spike begins to hyperventilate as Twilight scowls at her. "The rib," she says. "You want the rib."

The cure goes back into the saddlebag. "Precisely. The rib for the cure. You can lose the rib to your enemy, or you can leave every poisoned foal in this hospital to die." Marble chuckles a little as she drops the unconscious foal on the nearby bed as if she were merely setting down a bag of groceries.

Intense silence for a few seconds. Time is short. If it's true that this is what's going on, so many foals are already poisoned, with many of them likely on their way out. If she tries to outright attack Marble (as opposed to casting a spell upon her directly), there might be unforseen consequences; and if her nemesis turns out to be stronger than Twilight expects, they'd be in for a heck of a battle that this situation has absolutely no time for.

With no other option available, Twilight breaks open the dome. Marble's nostrils gets a whiff of the familiar scent of Dracula's power. It begs to be taken away from this oppressive atmosphere. It wants to go home. Marble coos as it floats over to her, as if she is calming an upset child. She puts the rib into one of her saddlebags.

"Now then," Twilight says, "the cure." Almost as soon as the words leave her mouth, Twilight realizes what a huge mistake she's made. Now that Marble has the rib, she has no reason to give them the cure. She noticed before this weird aura Marble produces, this

it.

It feels similar to the one emitted by the rib, but there's something else besides the underlying malice that causes every alarm in Twilight's mind to go off. She steels herself, expecting betrayal. Smashing the bottle. Throwing it out the window. Drinking the cure herself.

Instead, none of those things happen as Marble merely grins and pulls out the cure again. Suddenly, the jar glows white as Marble casts a spell on it. "What do you think you're doing?!" Twilight demands.

"I cast a spell on this cure's bottle," says Marble. She raises a dainty hoof to her mouth, and to Twilight's alarm, bites it until it begins to bleed.

Chink.

"The Painshare spell," says Marble. A crack has formed on the bottle's glass, small but very visible. "I'm sure you already know what it is?"

The Painshare spell is exactly what it says: a spell that causes an object or fellow pony to feel the pain its caster experiences. Twilight purses her lips and glares down Marble. "Of course you do," says Marble condescendingly. "Just outside are all your little friends. I walk out there and they would not hesitate to tear me to ribbons."

Marble closes the distance between herself and her quarry. "So you're going to escort me, safe and sound, out of this hospital. Or you don't get the cure." Her pleasant smile becomes even longer. "And don't even think of trying to undo my Painshare spell behind my back, either. I layered it with an Alarmfire spell." The smile becomes even longer.

Twilight glares down Marble. This enemy is a schemer. Not a brute, like Dirt Nap; Dirt Nap was powerful but easily manipulated. This one planned this whole operation. This kind of thing takes a long time to do, lots of planning, and lots of studying. She knew everything she needed to know, somehow, and pulled off everything perfectly in five days. All right under Twilight's nose.

Stupid. Twilight feels like smacking herself. Stupid! Just giving her the rib? Of course! Genius! She should feel lucky Marble didn't just decide to teleport out of...

...Wait, why hasn't she teleported out the hospital? She knows all these other spells, but doesn't know teleportation?

Then Twilight considers other factors. Then she realizes what it is Marble really wants, probably even moreso than Dracula's rib.

She wants to humiliate Twilight. To rub this little victory in her face. Sneaking in, taking the prize, then having her enemies escort her out, laughing all the way back to base. And there is nothing Twilight can do but play along, already having fallen into Marble's carefully-laid-out trap.

Reluctantly, Twilight raises out a hoof and grits her teeth.

"...Deal."

Demon Seed, Part II

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Demon Seed, Part II

They'd been told not to harm her. They'd been told what she did, and what is at stake, and why they cannot harm her. As Twilight fills in her friends as to the situation, Marble smiles, once again putting on display that bogus pleasantry. There's an air of smugness about her. A sense of twisted accomplishment.

As Twilight finishes explaining, Pinkie Pie arrives with Scootaloo in tow. Marble glances to Scootaloo, her rosy eyes widening at the sight of a child she had apparently missed. Scootaloo immediately recognizes her from the hospital cafeteria. At the same time, she feels

perhaps even more strongly than any of the adults. Something deep down inside Scootaloo screams at her to get away from this mare, get as far away as quickly as possible. This is no Headless Horse or Olden Pony. No made-up fictional beast meant to scare children while they sit around a campfire. This is the real deal, just like the monsters from the attack six days ago. She hasn't the foggiest how she didn't feel this aura before.

Rainbow Dash speaks up, her voice flat and quiet and commanding. "Pinkie," she says, "take Scootaloo someplace safe." The color drains from her face, her brow speckled with sweat as if she'd just flown a marathon. Pinkie has never seen Rainbow Dash look so terrified before.

Scootaloo looks up to Pinkie Pie as the party pony looks from Rainbow Dash to Marble. For a split second, Scootaloo sees Pinkie's hind legs flinch, then an ear twitch, ending with a shiver along her spine. Pinkie Sense? Whatever that was, Pinkie looks to Scootaloo with the most terrified look in her eyes, a look Scootaloo has never seen before.

Slowly, the pink party pony nods, and in an uncharacteristically quiet, calculated voice, asks Scootaloo to follow her. As Scootaloo obeys, Marble's grin doubles. The white unicorn waves her goodbye, and blows her a kiss.

Scootaloo keeps very close to Pinkie Pie for the duration of their trip.

As they begin their trek out of the hospital, Marble suddenly decides that she wants not only to be escorted out, but to be paraded out as well. Males out first. Her grin becomes malicious as she makes this demand in particular, "Males out first."

At first, none of the mares present really know why. But Shatterstorm knows. He shudders as he feels her eyes on his flanks. Eyeing him the way a lion eyes a meal. He'd felt it before, and hated it then. She's a predator, just like all the high-school fillies who merely wanted to use him for their own childish goals, at the cost of whatever dignity he had left at the time.

But there is something else along with that stare. Something that is far worse than teenagers seeking some way of losing their virginity. There is an ageless mind behind that stare, an ageless mind with an equally ageless hunger. It yearns for more than just the satisfaction of the flesh. The intent behind that stare makes Shatterstorm's stomach chill.

He keeps his eyes forward. Royal Guards do not show emotion. They are machines, trained to fight and to protect. He'd already broken that image during his breakdown after his encounter with Death, and that cost him his best friend. He had broken that image again when he lost his temper with Rainbow Dash, and that made him look like an idiot. But not this time. No. He cannot let this beast intimidate him. Too many innocent lives are at stake.

As they came to the next hallway, Marble's attention is drawn to the golden cross around Fluttershy's neck. She raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "Beautiful necklace," she says. Fluttershy's eyes dart away and she begins to sweat. Just like everypony else, Fluttershy feels

it.

Fluttershy holds onto that cross, the very cross that protected her during the attack on Ponyville. For whatever reason, its strength gave her the courage to save her friends. But right now, all of a sudden, the moment Marble's eyes descend upon her, Fluttershy freezes. She holds the cross tightly, but it cannot rescue her from

it.

Marble lazily canters on. A few seconds pass. Her eyes return to Fluttershy. "Have you ever looked into the eyes of another living thing as it dies?" she asks coolly. Fluttershy feels her blood turn to ice. Marble draws nearer to her as she continues, stating in matter-of-fact delivery the process of death:

"First, there is confusion. No one ever understands why this is happening to them. They only understand that it is happening, and from that split second of confusion, fear is born. The air escapes their lungs. Perhaps their blood is leaving them. Maybe their guts or other body parts are on the ground in front of them. Whatever the case, they understand that they are soon to die, and as a result they are afraid.

"Lips go blue. Voice becomes a choke. The eyes widen." Marble looks ahead, as if recalling a charming birthday party. "It's always the eyes I remember most. You get a better view of what kind of animal they really are when you look them in the eyes as they die. Everything they have ever been comes together in one final, shrieking climax that concludes with silence.

"Forever."

Marble smiles as if she had just told a particularly humorous story. Fluttershy only notices just now that she can hear her own heartbeat, feel her own insides as they crawl around, attempting to claw their way out of her. Fluttershy's friends all look at this scene, horrified of what they'd just heard.

"Scared?" Marble chuckles as she turns to walk away. "You raise animals, don't you, little beast-killer? I'm sure you must have seen at least some of them die."

This is indeed true. Even before the attack on Ponyville, Fluttershy had witnessed many of the animals she'd cared for die. The first time had been the worst; Fluttershy had lost her appetite for days. As the years went by after that, and as more and more of her animals would die, Fluttershy had developed a thicker skin and, while saddened by their deaths, understood that it was merely their time to go.

But everything she said has given Fluttershy the implication that Marble is the type to torment innocent children for the same reason she'd torment or kill small animals: to feel power over another living thing. Fluttershy has had the terrible misfortune of knowing some ponies with that kind of attitude. But Marble... this part of her is a smaller piece of a much larger, entangled, terrifying mess. Whatever she is, Fluttershy does not believe Marble has any right to call herself a pony.

Fluttershy grips her cross again. "Y-You're disgusting..." she says, quietly. Her insult has little power behind it.

Marble suddenly has a smile that causes every primal fear Fluttershy possesses to surface. She leans in so close to Fluttershy's face, the timid pegasus can feel her cold, rancid breath. "What would I see in your eyes?" she whispers. A hoof claws up and strokes Fluttershy's face.

Up goes the golden cross. Rainbow Dash and Twilight let out a combined shout as they hear a sudden sizzling, smell the scent of burning flesh. Marble shrieks, then breaks into a laugh as she falls down, a burn mark in the shape of the cross on her cheek. Rainbow Dash immediately pulls Marble away from Fluttershy. Just as she does so, a white aura picks her up and casts her aside with a shocking amount of strength.

"Don't you dare touch me!" Marble roars.

The chaos ends after a single second. The hallway becomes dead silent, save for the sound of Fluttershy running away, sobbing in fear. Marble, her face still marred by her new scar, lifts the vial of the antidote out of her saddlebag. There are several more cracks in it. Her eyes go from the vial to Twilight.

"I could break this right now," she says. "I could destroy it. After all, you didn't protect me from your little friend."

"Because you intimidated her first!" Rainbow Dash says angrily, getting back up.

Twilight reaches for something to say before the situation could get any worse. Finally, she says, "Break that jar. The moment it goes, there will be nothing to protect you from us." She compounds her threat with a glare. It's joined by the glare of her remaining friends.

At this, Marble laughs. "Such cheek!" she says. At this, everypony is lifted into the air by a white aura, then slammed down on the ground. Not letting them drop: they are thrown to the ground and are compressed there, as if there is a giant hoof on their backs.

"I am more powerful than anything you've encountered thus far, little sorceress," Marble hisses as she puts away the antidote. She licks her hoof and runs it down the length of the cross-shaped scar on her face and smiles as she feels the familiar, comforting pain of sensitive, burnt skin. "I could have killed all of you had I wanted."

Suddenly, the invisible giant hooves vanished, and they were all able to breathe again. Marble looks at them with a smirk. Slowly, they all get back up. Twilight groans. "You could have, but that isn't enough for you, is it?"

The smirk doubles. Marble walks by them, an air of unholy invincibility around her. The feeling that caused Fluttershy to attack Marble in a panic wafts through each of the ponies as she crosses by them. She is a terrifying force, perhaps merely driven by her own boredom to toy with them the way she has.

"Come along now, we still have a ways to go. Unless you truly wish to let the children die?"

Angrily, all present stand up. Once again, males out front. They march.

Any sound made by the clashing of weapons and thumps of kicks is distorted. Aeon, now in his true form and wielding his clock-hand sword, backs off from his foe as he brings down his Vorpal Blade. The Chronomage brings it back up intending to get a cut of Aeon's face, but finds it parried. A shove, a kick, and the Chronomage staggers backward. The two circle each other, looking for openings.

"My, what raw janx you have!" the Chronomage chuckles. "Such braviosity!"

Aeon's grip on the clock-hand's handle tightens. The Chronomage is a dangerous enemy, every bit as unpredictable as the children's fairy-tale characters he viciously parodies. Any opening could be enough opportunity for the Chronomage to end him. Now is no time to give into his emotions. He always felt he was very good at keeping his emotions in check, but there was always something about the Chronomage that sets him off.

Perhaps it is that, like Aeon, the Chronomage is a creature born to manipulate time. Perhaps it is that, like Chronomage, none of the other time-masters he knows have any shred of empathy for others. Perhaps it is that Aeon, because of his empathy for others, caused all this to happen. Or perhaps...

The Chronomage grins, his thin rabbitlike lips curling at the corners. A low giggle crawls out of his throat. "Oh, I know that look!" he says. "That war in your heart is still grangling? The knowledge that everything that has transpired thus far is all your doing?" The giggle becomes a shrill laugh. "I thanked you long ago for your help in my Master's conquest of other worlds, and ignardlouslessly, I still stand by that trungrunce!"

Before Aeon's brain can register a thought, his hands swing the clock-hand at the Chronomage. He deftly maneuvers out of the way and lunges, his Vorpal Blade "swimmering" through the air. Aeon jumps back, but not before the blade cuts across his chest. He takes a step back. Instead of a mere line across his flesh, the Vorpal Blade had carved a word: "floozle".

The Chronomage chuckles. "Quite a fun portmanteau, 'floozle.' It's a combination of the words 'flail' and 'lose.' Such a strapt description! You flail about ineffectivously like a child who just had all his toys taken away." Lifting his blade in one hand, the Chronomage makes a motion with the other. A nearby chair shoots across the hallway and, had Aeon not ducked in time, would have smashed his face.

Aeon raises an eyebrow. "How...?" It is then that he realizes his voice does not come out backwards. He only realizes, just now, that there is no one else present in this hallway. His heart sinks.

The Chronomage cackles louder. "Figured it only now, haven't you? We aren't in a timelock. All I did was set up a timeloop here in this hallway. Then I waited for you to show up, as you always do. And wouldn't you know it, you dunch up a timelock the moment I make a second timeloop!" His bulging red eyes shrink into his head, making him appear demonically pensive. "Do you know what happens when too many manipulations of time stockify the same space?"

Aeon clenches his teeth. How could he have been so foolhardy? He had gone and created a time pocket—one step down from a time rift. Unlike time rifts, there is no way to keep a time pocket stable. It will shrink and shrink, and destroy everything inside it, literally a fleeting moment.

Another chair flies across the hallway, and this time, it gets Aeon in the side. He is knocked into the wall with a teeth-shaking thump, and lands on the ground, winded. As he struggles to get up, Aeon feels long, spidery fingers clench his bangs and pull him up. The Chronomage grins as he forsakes the Vorpal Blade and settles for punching Aeon in the face and stomach. His blows are surprisingly strong, coming in at fierce velocity and unrelenting number. Once he becomes bored with this "softening", the Chronomage tosses Aeon aside like a toy he is no longer interested in.

Aeon flumps to the floor. He hears the Chronomage lift his Vorpal Blade behind him. Up goes the clock-hand, and a ringing clang fills his ears as he parries the blow. His foot flies out and gets the Chronomage in the shin, dropping him to one knee. With his free hand, Aeon grabs the Chronomage's sleeve and pulls him forward for a headbutt, sending the repulsive rabbit careening backward.

He hears something behind him as he stands back up. He looks, and sees that a corner of the ceiling has begun to warp. The time pocket is collapsing faster than he expected. He feels the Chronomage's fingertips on his foot and immediately stomps on them. "You fool!" he hisses. "You're going to be killed as well!"

At this, the Chronomage laughs. His hand still under Aeon's foot, he lifts his Vorpal Blade. Aeon cuts him off by raising his clock-hand and plunging it into his rabbitlike head. A second passes. Another sound of the time pocket collapsing. The Chronomage sniggers.

"You must think me a real jobbler if you honestly believe I'd just let myself die," he says between gasps for air. "I'm just the enigmunction, but even so, I at least thought several slurps ahead." And with that, he begins to fade out of existence.

Aeon's eyes widened. Of course! The Chronomage must have set up a continuation point someplace else. Else, he'd have stayed here in this unstable time pocket. The Chronomage's body continues to vanish until only his large grin remains, and even that starts fading away as well, all while reciting a nonsense poem.

Aeon has not made a continuation point in a while. His last one must have worn away by now, else he'd have warped right to it the moment he was in mortal danger, which would have been when the Chronomage was pounding him to mush. The only way out of here now would be...

Just as the Chronomage's mouth closes upon a word, Aeon dares to shove his hand inside it. The Chronomage lets out a gasp, and Aeon squeezes his hand over the Chronomage's tongue, refusing to let go even as he feels the Chronomage's sharp teeth close on his flesh. Aeon grabs the mouth and forces it to stay open, trying to keep it from biting his whole hand off. He gasps and holds a shout in his throat as he sees his white sleeve begin to grow red.

Aeon begins to fade away along with the Chronomage...

It's a while before anything else is said. Mostly, ugly looks are flashed Marble's way, but she disregards it the way a child disregards rules he doesn't like. She slows down to the point of causing irritation to the rest of the group. Finally, Applejack growls at her. "Pick up yer hooves!"

Marble sniffs nonchalantly, as if Applejack had not said anything. She looks to the farm girl and sneers. "So," she begins, "did your brother tell you?"

Applejack blinks. She looks to Big Macintosh, then back to Marble. "T-Tell me what?"

Shatterstorm looks aside at who he guesses must be Big Macintosh. The color begins to fade from his face. His strong features grimace.

Marbles continues. "About your father, little thief. Haven't you heard yet?"

Big Macintosh snorts. He turns and glares down at her. She stops and smirks. Before any tempers are lost, Twilight jumps between them. "Look," she says, "we need to just get her out of here. If she says anything else, anything at all, just ignore her." Twilight's eyes scan everypony else present. She nods, and they continue.

All throughout this, Twilight's mind is racing. She can't just let Marble get away with what she has done. They can't lose this badly to such a terrible enemy. There has to be something Marble hasn't considered in her meticulous planning, something that Twilight can use to her advantage, but what?

Can't use any magic on Marble. Twilight would be set on fire.

Can't use magic on the bottle that holds the cure. Same reason.

Can't just push her out of the hospital. Her extensive knowledge of unicorn magic and her earlier demonstration of psychic strength means she probably has some nasty spells in mind for anypony she feels is a threat.

Can't harm her physically. That would destroy the bottle that holds the cure.

The bottle. Twilight lifts an eyebrow. The bottle. If Marble's demonstration is accurate, then that Painshare spell was cast on the bottle, not the cure itself. If she could cast a teleportation spell on the cure itself...

But the cure is a liquid. Although teleportation objects other than oneself can be taxing, teleporting solid objects is easy enough, whether it's books or toys or even living things. But teleporting a liquid is hard. Like, Super Mare Sisters, World 8 hard. Solid objects are a tangible, constant shape. They go into the spell whole and come out whole. Liquid, as a physical substance whose shape is easily transformable, can't do that. Twilight remembers the weeks she spent trying her very hardest to teleport liquid from one glass to another, but for some reason, sometimes the liquid became soured, or there was only a little bit of it left.

Even if she could teleport the cure itself away, where to? Even if she could teleport the cure itself away, would it be safe? If she tried casting a teleportation spell anyway, she'd have to concentrate pretty hard. Marble would see it, and react. Maybe cast some dangerous fire spell or something.

Twilight snorts in frustration. Just as she does so, Marble speaks up again. "We found your daddy."

Applejack snaps up and freezes. "He was with the zombies," Marble says.

Big Macintosh looks behind himself, his eyes wide with fear. "Marble," he says quietly, "Marble, please don't—"

"We found him outside a house. Blood all over his mouth." Marble smiles sweetly as she stops. She leans into Applejack's face menacingly close, so close Applejack can smell

rolling out of her mouth as she speaks. It smells rank and foul and dead and cold and burning hot and fierce and angry, all at once. Applejack shrinks away as Marble continues. "We found him outside a house. Wanna know who he killed? I recognized them. I want to say Big Macintosh did too."

"Marble, that's enough!" Rainbow Dash grabs onto Marble's tail and pulls her away from a stunned and pale Applejack. She glares nose-to-nose with Marble. "We're gonna comply with your demands. But only for a little while. You hear me? You do anything like that again, and I'll..."

"You'll what?" Marble smiles. "You'll hurt me? Go right ahead." She sticks out her chin, as if to give Rainbow Dash a free shot.

A second or so passes. Electric emotions in the air are walking on the edge, putting everypony into a tension. Shatterstorm speaks up, breaking it. "We're wasting time. Just ignore her."

They continue on, Rainbow Dash glaring daggers at Marble. Marble looks back at Applejack, who had remained where she stood.

"They were foals, you know," she says, loud enough for Applejack to hear. Big Macintosh shivers as the memory comes back. The empty, glazed eyes of the dead foals. The blood around his father's mouth. How his father smelled. The fangs in his mouth that were never there when he was alive. Everything crashes back into his mind, and as it does, Big Macintosh clenches his teeth and fights his tears.

But it's a fight the big stallion cannot win. He slows down, casting his eyes to the floor. He looks behind him to his sister, almost reluctantly, and what he sees in her face and eyes breaks him.

The group continues on, but Applejack stays behind, her eyes wide in disbelieving shock. She sits down, slowly, onto the hospital floor. The look of shock on her face remains. She wants to believe it is not true. That her father would hurt anypony, much less kill foals is ludicrous!

Big Macintosh comes near her. Her green eyes scan his face, silently begging him to tell her it isn't true. That can't be true! Their father is no killer! He held them the day they were born! He taught them the farm life! He sacrificed so much for them, and...

...and...

...and the look on Big Macintosh's face says everything. "Eeyup," he chokes, his eyes brimming with tears. He can't bear to look at her. The shame is too heavy. Something inside his sister, something fundamental to her very self, has been robbed from her.

One onlooker will later tell anypony who asks that, at this precise moment, Applejack looks like a forgotten doll left on somepony's doorstep.

Twilight's mind has already weighed a multitude of possible strategies. She only has enough time before Marble leaves to do something. Every strategy she has concocted would hypothetically come to null. Marble has nearly everything stacked in her favor. There doesn't seem to be much that Twilight can do. Frustrated, Twilight "retreats."

Her mind has always been something of a neverending library. Every memory filed away in its proper place. Every scrap of knowledge, no matter how trivial, lines her mental shelves. She retreats into her mind for now, and sets to work looking for something she can use.

She comes across a memory titled, "Before Marble Came In." She pulls it off the shelf and opens it up, flipping to the appropriate page...

Twilight Sparkle sighed a bit and relaxed, backing away from the Arcane Aura Analyzer. She had finally found the exact frequency of Dracula's aura ("5.501 Darkness/Ignus", for those curious). The Arcane Aura Analyzer gave extreme positive reactions when she tuned the rib into that frequency. If it was not the EXACT frequency, then it was extremely close.
Twilight explained all this to Shatterstorm and Spike, her present audience. After sharing interested glances with Shatterstorm, Spike asked what she could do with this knowledge. "I'm going to make trackers," she had said.

Twilight closes this memory. It's good knowledge. "5.501 Darkness/Ignis alignment." The exact magical frequency (or close enough) of the treasure Marble schemed to plunder. She wanders about her mental library, suddenly feeling lost. She stops a librarian, who in her mind, looks like her old doll, Smarty Pants.

"I have this problem," she begins. "My friends and I are being casually tormented by this one pony, Marble. She came for Dracula's rib, and I only have enough time to try stealing it back. I remember the frequency for the rib," she asks Smarty Pants, "But I'm not sure what I can do with it..."

Smarty Pants nods reassuringly and pats Twilight on the head. "Don't worry," she says, "we have a memory that perhaps you could find useful."

Up from the floor comes a ladder, shooting straight up as if it were a plant growing at a thousand times its usual speed. Smarty Pants climbs it to the very top shelf, grabs another memory, and brings it back down to her client. Twilight takes the memory. This one is entitled, "What Celestia Taught Me, Year Five/Day Two Hundred and Twelve." She opens it...

Twilight had been searching all day.
Her favorite book had gone missing that morning. She didn't know exactly how it could have gone missing; she had enchanted it with a divining spell that could always allow her to find it, no matter where it was. It was a tough spell to use: first, she had to know the book's exact magical frequency. Then she had to "tune" her own magic to it to create a link.
She could only "tune in" to one object at a time, and she could have chosen any of her possessions. Smarty Pants' little accessories (her book and inkpot) would go missing very easily, so it would be helpful to "tune in" to those. But she chose the book. Out of all the books she owned, this one was the most special.
It was hours and hours of searching, searching every place she had been in the past week. Finally, as the sun began to set, a teenage Twilight sat down on a parkbench in a Canterlot Park. Frustrated by her failure to find her very special book, she let out a groan and buried her face in her scrawny hooves.
A familiar presence came down and touched the grass. Twilight looked up to see her mentor, Princess Celestia, looking down at her with maternal patience. "What seems to be the trouble, Twilight?"
Twilight fought the urge to break down in embarrassment, but told her teacher what had happened. As she reached the end of her explanation, Celestia began to laugh. Twilight raised an eyebrow as Celestia guffawed long and hard, wiping away a tear.
"What's so funny?" asked Twilight.
Celestia calmed down and produced, from seemingly nowhere, the book Twilight had been searching for all day. Her student squeaked with excitement as she took the book back. Inside this book were photographs of her and her family and teacher, all managed with dedication. Every picture was still perfect, and in its proper place. She looked back up to Celestia, suddenly scowling.
"You tricked me," Twilight concluded.
Celestia shrugged. "Oh come now, Twilight, I was only playing a joke. There's no need to be upset." She became a little more serious. "Besides, I bet you're more interested to know how I hid it."
Twilight sat up straight on her park bench, her posture and facial expression proposing her interest. She was about to learn something!

Twilight read through the rest of this memory, and smiled. Finally, as she closed the memory, she had a plan.

Demon Seed, Part III

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Demon Seed, Part III

The graveyard hadn’t seen very much activity since its caretaker died. Every grave had been expunged the night of the attack, every row of graves decorated with broken coffins and messy holes left behind by the angry dead. There’s stillness in the air (some may call it “staleness” and wouldn’t be lying) and it clings to this graveyard, giving it an eerie and oppressive atmosphere. Along the sides of the cemetery's main path are candles set in lamps. For some curious reason, these candles remain lit, despite nopony entering or leaving the cemetery since the attack.

In a pop, the Chronomage and Aeon appear. The moment he feels himself become tangible again, Aeon slugs his enemy and forces his mouth open, wrenching his right hand free. The sight of it robs him of his breath: the sleeve has gone from white to red, the skin is becoming purple, and the bite has sheared his forearm. Every twitch of his fingers shoots bolts of pain throughout his entire arm. Aeon cradles it as he backs away from his foe.

The Chronomage laughs. The regeneration has left him in better health than even he expected. His Vorpal Blade has returned to being a mere umbrella, amply adding to his already-absurd appearance. He stands up, putting his dapper top hat back on his head while leaning forward on his umbrella. His posture is definitely smug, almost romantically aristocratic. “Oh, such a magnanivous deed! Such raw, destrimate courage!” His red eyes widen as his smile does likewise. “If only you posissted such spline before!” He sneers. "Janine could have certainly used it, don't you think?"

Aeon runs his left hand over his wound, attempting to focus, ignoring the anger bursting forth from deep inside him at the mention of Janine. Healing an open wound is a common act of magic in this land, but for time travelers, it’s a bit different. It’s more along the lines of “rewinding” the time of a wound back to the point before it happens: before the Chronomage bit his arm.

Of course, if he hadn’t been an idiot and just remembered to cast a regeneration point more often instead of recklessly playing with his life, he wouldn’t even be in this situation. You’ve been fighting this battle for close to fifty years now, thinks Aeon. And yet you have learned absolutely nothing.

The Chronomage walks around his quarry, slowly, calculatingly. “Anyway, you and I both know I’m just the distrivaction for something much gimbler than either of us, Aeon. There’s no way for you to brimp us now.”

His walk becomes more of a prance as he nears Aeon. The prance evolves into a jig as he squeals, his rabbit face contorting into a terrifying smile, a wheezing laugh blowing from between his long and jagged teeth.

Aeon, spent from trying to mend his wound, doubles over, breathing hard. With the last of his energy and concentration, Aeon sets his regeneration point, hoping the Chronomage doesn’t notice. With a gasp, he struggles just to stay awake. Just do it, Aeon thinks. I know you're going to, you miserable abomination! So DO IT!

And so, the Chronomage begins to sing:

It’s a jilly of a day
When demons come out to play
And when a white knight tromps along,
The demon sings his ducky song!

Up comes the umbrella, into Aeon’s stomach.

It’s a song of much harrumphing!
Of curly shoes and wuffle- grumphing!

Down comes the umbrella, onto Aeon’s back.

For when I sing another stanza,
It’s after a murd’rous bonanza

He swings the umbrella like a golf club, getting Aeon in the head with a thick sound. His monocle flies as he twirls over onto his back. The Chronomage takes this opportunity to begin stomping Aeon’s stomach in rhythm to his song.

For you see, you little gunch
I’ll eat all your friends for lunch
Starting with the pink paroo
Then the rest of her merry crew!
After the boss has had her way
And brought them all to their dismay
Their souls will be all shlack and shull
Dampened and dwippered and yupped and dull
The bestest taste for a soul to be
All to be gobbled up by little—old—ME!!!

In a sudden burst of anger, Aeon rolls out of the way before the Chronomage delivers the last kick, his clock-hand sword drawn. He swings it in an arc, cutting the very time around him, whisking away the ends of the Chronomage’s whiskers.

The Chronomage takes a leap or so back. It’s there for only a second—fear. His regeneration point has already been used up. He’d have to set a new one, and quick! Before…

…Before what, exactly? Aeon wobbles, his stance clumsy, his swings even less focused than before. A kick to the stomach, and Aeon falls. The Chronomage laughs. “What? Did you really think I’d kill you, Aeon? Even if you set another regeneration point, I wouldn’t kill you.”

Aeon struggles upward on his sword, trying to use it for a crutch. The Chronomage’s long, cold fingers draw his face upward. His chin is cupped in his enemy’s hand, dominated and humiliated. He is forced to look into the Chronomage’s round, red eyes as he laughs in his face.

“You’re too much fun!” he cackles. “Without you, there is no one to give aid to our enemies! No one to tell them who they’re up against!” A hard slap sends Aeon downward again. “No one to get their hopes up before they die!!!”

Suddenly, the Chronomage’s menacing behavior mellows as he straightens himself up and readjusts his tie. “Oh, and I already know where you set your regeneration point. Come on, Aeon, I’m not that shlubber.”

It makes sense. As much punishment as he’s dished out, the Chronomage seems careful to avoid hitting any vital areas, settling for bruising body blows instead.

The Chronomage checks his pocketwatch. He cocks his head, hums, and puts it away. “As always, Aeon, you’ve entermused me. But I’m afraid our playtime is over.” The Chronomage looks to Aeon as he tries his best to stand back up. He raises an eyebrow.

“Good grief! Still going?” he asks incredulously. He grunts, annoyed, and snaps his fingers.

A contingency plan, no doubt. Two mudmen form on either side of Aeon, with a few more behind him. He grimaces from their sudden stench, their bizarre shapes only vaguely resembling human beings. Empty sockets where eyes should be look to Aeon, jagged mouths attempting smiles but becoming snarls instead.

“Keep this one in place for a while, won’t you?” the Chronomage instructs. “At least until you get bored. And take care not to smothercate him, he warps.”

As the mudmen descend on Aeon, encasing him in their horrible bodies, the conniving carrot-cruncher cavorts to no-doubt cause more chaos. He skips across the graveyard to its entrance, humming his song, and once there, speeds away while making eerily-accurate car sound-effects with his mouth.

Those still awaiting further news on their children’s status haunt the hospital’s halls. They part as Marble is paraded by. Whispers fill the air, whispers of rumors and angry remarks.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

“What are they doing with her?”

“What’s going on here?”

Twilight, although her plan is formulated, awaits her opportunity. Rainbow Dash looks nervously to the crowds, taking in their livid and terrified reactions. “This isn’t what it looks like!” she says to the crowd. “We’ll explain later.”

Shatterstorm’s mind, however, is elsewhere, on edge and on-guard. He can still feel Marble’s ancient, wicked eyes, her hunger and her lust. It burns within her, hot enough that he feels scalded by it. That predatory side of her—a side Shatterstorm assumes all mares have—looking for a way to seduce, to possess, to control.

But he keeps his cool. His military training has helped him so far. Rigid stance, avoiding eye contact, staying in control, displaying authority (“You ARE the statue!” he remembers his drill sergeant yelling). Shatterstorm keeps himself in check. He can lose his temper after all this is over. He can smash whatever he wants later. Right now, his task is to get this bitch to the exit.

No. His task is to make sure this bitch doesn’t try anything funny on her way out. His job is to protect. Great job so far, he berates himself. Keep up the good work, Shatterstorm.

Shatterstorm nearly jumps out of his skin the moment he realizes Marble has sidled up next to him. Her red eyes dance merrily the moment she sees his split-second of panic. She smiles, once again with disarming pleasantry. “You know, Death has told me plenty about you.”

Shatterstorm swallows. He looks ahead, attempting to follow his own earlier advice to the others and merely ignore her. It’s… rather hard, he finds. As wicked as he knows she is, Shatterstorm finds himself oddly attracted to Marble. Her deep queenly voice almost lulls him into obedience.

“You see,” she continues, “whenever you look into the eyes of Death, not only are you made to see yourself for the weak, worthless fool you are, he peers also into you. He is actually witnessing every element of your past and person.”

She leans in closer. “So I know all about you, Shatterstorm.”

Shatterstorm shivers at this revelation. He feels sweat beginning to roll down his head. The hall they are entering now has no ponies in it, strangely. No nearby ponies to jump her should she try anything. Even with Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash nearby, he feels alarmingly helpless. In a desperate bid to remain in control, he grits his teeth, attempting to stifle his growing cowardice.

Marble’s ice cold, rank breath falls across his face. He looks aside to see her leaning dangerously close to his ear. “You were always good to Momma,” she coos. She brushes her side against his.

Shatterstorm, unable to contain his panic any longer, jumps. He thinks he says something, but it comes out as angered gibberish. Whatever it is, it makes Marble laugh, as if this was all just a hilarious joke. Rainbow Dash grits her teeth. “You leave him alone!” she bellows.

Marble looks to her with a cocked grin. “Didn’t you ever wonder, little hero? Were you never once curious about his issue with mares?” Her horn begins to glow a burning red. Almost as soon as it does, Shatterstorm gasps, then sits down, curling in his hind legs.

Twilight raises an eyebrow at Shatterstorm’s bizarre reaction. Marble continues, her horn still aglow. “Why he always seems to berate you? To butt heads with you?” Her smile grows as she looks aside to Shatterstorm. His sea foam white face begins to turn red as he crushes his eyes shut.

“What are you doing to him?!” asks Twilight, alarmed.

Marble laughs. “Mares make him feel worthless. Mares get what they want from him—and they only succeed because he allows them to.” She says, calmly, “Deep down, he knows he is helpless. Useless. Worthless. Weak. Like all males of every race, he merely tries to hide his inadequacy and expendability through a facade of power. An invented dominance, crafted specifically to elevate his fragile masculinity.”

She chuckles as she looks aside. The glowing on her horn intensifies and Shatterstorm fights a shriek building up in his gut. He could feel it. That familiar feeling of his body betraying him, giving in to the abuse. His breathing hastens. An ear twitches. A darker part of him he thought he’d succeeded in burying has missed this. It’s sick, it’s wrong, but part of him craves this. Hot tears well up in his eyes. No, he thinks, please, no. Not here! Not in front of everypony…

As Twilight is about to interrupt, Shatterstorm’s wings flare out, standing tall and long. All at once, Rainbow Dash realizes what’s going on. She glares at Marble, her disgust for this wicked child at its boiling point. “Let. Him. Go,” she growls.

Another sharp glow from Marble’s horn. Another strained gasp from Shatterstorm. Rainbow Dash feels a sudden surge of

run down her spine. Marble looks down at Shatterstorm, meeting his eyes. She leans down and runs a hoof through his mane, pressing her muzzle against his forehead, inhaling deeply his scent, kissing him, nuzzling him. She looks up to an angry Rainbow Dash with her horrid red eyes. “Make me,” she dares, hissing into Shatterstorm's mane.

A few seconds pass. The only sound in the hall, besides the beating of hearts, was Shatterstorm’s quiet whimpering. Finally, Rainbow Dash, with a look of reluctant defeat, gets down on her knees. She bows her head. “Please,” she begs quietly. “Please, Marble… just let him go.”

A few more seconds tick by. Marble looks to Twilight Sparkle, triumphant. She has defeated, disgraced, and terrified all of the little sorceress’ friends. Outsmarted both her and the time traveler. Terrified the little beast-mistress. Broke the heart of the big stallion. Shattered the little thief and that painted whore. Humiliated the little hero and her soldier boy, both.

Marble’s grin becomes too wide for her face. Her horn stops glowing as she backs away from her victim. She chuckles as Shatterstorm curls into a defensive ball, his wings slowly softening and lowering. Rainbow Dash, at a confused loss to do much else, looks to Shatterstorm with disheartened, sympathetic eyes.

Marble motions to Twilight. “Well, the daylight is waning,” she says. “Are you coming with, little sorceress?”

Burning with a tranquil anger, Twilight Sparkle walks by her remaining friends with a look of understanding. As Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm fall out of her sight, she glances to her side. Marble. Once again grinning.

The grin is no longer pleasant, not even deceptively so.

The cleanup work, Bon Bon finds, is being handled exceedingly well. For a while during the attack, she was afraid Ponyville and its citizens might never become whole again. Everypony snapping or panicking, monsters running amok, destruction everywhere. Today, it all feels like some bad dream, a nightmare she'd had when she was a foal. Everything is coming back together. Ponyville’s ruined patchwork is being mended with needles of teamwork and thread of hard labor.

But at the same time, Bon Bon can’t help but peek over her shoulder every now and again. Clear some debris, glance over the shoulder. Burn zombie corpses, glance over the shoulder. Take a break, glance over the shoulder. She’s constantly alert, and many of the ponies she is working with are the same way. Constantly watching, ready to flee the moment anything out of the ordinary happens.

At least she is no longer working near the Everfree Forest limits. She shudders as she recalls the strange noises coming from the already-dark-and-spooky woods. The monsters and rabid animals had fled there after the attack, like they were called there. Like rats scurrying from a light that suddenly turned on.

Bon Bon takes a deep breath. Pushing the memory out of her mind. It pushes back, reminding her of the danger she is in, the danger everypony is in. The growls and howls and glowing red eyes from deep within the forest. She would always head back to the Hospital an hour early before the usual curfew, just to be safe.

Safe. What a ridiculous word that is, now. As she pulls the building supplies down the road, Bon Bon shakes her head. Nowhere is safe anymore. Not safe in your own house. Not safe in your own bed. Not safe anywhere. She supposes the only reason it feels safer near the Hospital is that there are more ponies there. Safety in numbers, right?

And what of Lyra? Her best friend had been through Tartarus. Nearly burned alive while…

Bon Bon rubs her temples as she sits down for a second. Was… Was she a bad friend? She hated to think so, but there probably aren’t too many ponies out there who would jump out of a window to save themselves while their roomies cried for help. She should have stayed. Looked for Lyra. Lyra could have…

Bon Bon finds her hooves in front of her face now, her eyes and nostrils moist and hot. She sniffs back her tears. Lyra could have died. If it hadn’t been for Rainbow Dash, her best friend would have burned alive. Her best friend would have died while she ran away, leaving her to her fate instead of coming back for her.

I’m a bad friend. The realization strikes her heart like a battering ram.

She remembers how Lyra welcomed her into her hospital room just a little before Pinkie Pie and that Aeon character showed up. Some spots on her mint-green pelt had lost color thanks to the burns covering her body. Bandages covered her like they were the only things holding her together. The moment she saw Bon Bon, she lit up. She greeted her. Welcomed her in. Acted like… like nothing had happened. That Lyra would still think of a spineless coward like her as a friend breaks Bon Bon’s heart.

There are a lot of things Bon Bon realizes she has come to accept thanks to this attack. The world around her is no longer safe. She isn’t the tough girl she always thought she was. She is the first to abandon the friends she claims to care about. The monsters who attacked Ponyville are waiting just outside the gate, waiting for their chance to strike again the moment the Doctors Three forget to put up their forcefield. Humans actually exist. Most of all, Bon Bon accepts that Lyra is a saint—a lamb-hearted, gentle little saint, and that she has done nothing to deserve a friend like her.

The tears come out, crawling down Bon Bon’s face, becoming long fingers of liquid. She wipes them away, sniffling, forcing her emotions back into the closet of her mind. Now is no time for breakdowns or sniffles or any of that garbage. Bon Bon’s the tough girl. Bon Bon’s the dependable one. Bon Bon…

…is a coward. A filthy, false friend.

She wipes away her tears as she gets back up on all fours to pull her wagon of supplies. She takes a deep breath and once again pushes away her growing fear and anguish. Just as she looks forward, Bon Bon takes a sharp breath.

Walking down the road before it blinks out of existence is a white rabbit with a tailcoat and top hat. Its eyes glow red (Just like the monsters in Everfree), with a toothy sneer that makes Bon Bon shiver. It’s there and gone without a sound, ghosting away as if it never existed.

The Chronomage chuckles as he canters by the silly mare. His Stopwatch spins lazily next to him, its ominous ticks droning, marking each passing second. He stops to look over the building supplies. Hammers, nails, wood, stones, some cement. He can think of much funner ways to apply these items than building something, certainly, although now is hardly the time for any of that.

But he gets a fun idea either way. Humming another jaunty tune, he undoes the screws holding the wheels in place. He giggles to himself as he finishes, stands back up, fixes his hat and coat, and continues on his merry way.

Bon Bon purses her lips, certain that there was something there only a moment ago. Once again, she finds herself glancing around, making absolutely sure nothing was trying to quietly stalk her.

What’s the matter, Bon Bon? Scared?

She shakes her head, pushing her cowardice aside. Be the tough girl, she reminds herself. Be the tough girl. No more of that cut-and-run business.

The moment she takes a step, she feels her wagon sink with a sudden crash, its contents falling out of the back. She turns to look at the damage, unfastening the yoke she’s using. Walking around the pile of fallen supplies reveals that the wheels had been tampered with. She curses and runs a hoof through her mane.

She looks up at the sun and does a quick assessment of the current time. Bon Bon realizes she might not have enough daylight left to work with if she has to repair the wheels. She knows she’ll be hearing it later: “Why didn’t you deliver those materials like I asked?” How is she going to explain this?

She begins to put the wheels back on when she smells something rank. She once had the misfortune of coming across the corpse of one of the Apples’ cows after it had been lying in a field all day. This smelled worse than that. Bon Bon wrinkles her nose and gags. Looking in the direction the smell is coming from, she finds that she is near the graveyard.

Didn’t the zombies that attacked Ponyville smell bad? Were there stragglers?

Bon Bon rummages around the supplies on her now-broken cart, finding a lighter and some flammable material. Her equipment now in her saddlebags, she makes for the graveyard, intent on setting aflame whatever was there before night would fall and it would undoubtedly walk the earth.

Passing by the cemetery gates is more panic-inducing than Bon Bon expects. Before all this happened, Bon Bon would only arrive here to pay respect to the dearly departed like anypony else. (The fact that the resident gravekeeper was fun to pester helped matters.) But now, after everything else that’s happened, she feels like she’s walking through the waiting maw of a giant animal. The pungent odor is even stronger now than it was before. Rows of burst graves, broken tombstones, creepy lanterns…

Wait. Lanterns? Bon Bon raises an eyebrow as this detail strikes her. Who would have time to light these lanterns, especially since it isn’t even all that dark yet? Their fire casts an eerie glow all about the cemetery, coloring the tombstones an uninviting shade of sickly bright green.

Bon Bon hears sounds nearby. She lets out a short squeak as she turns around, ready to run if her fears turn out to be true. Strangely, she’s only half-right.

There, under a mound of writhing mud, is Aeon. His wide, terrified eyes pierce Bon Bon’s soul, leaving her petrified and scrambling for air.

He sits there, shivering, curled into a protective ball for what feels like half an hour. It’s likely less, but time just seems to drag on when something awful has happened and one is at a loss for actions to take. Rainbow Dash’s frown broadens as she slowly places a hoof on Shatterstorm. The moment contact is made, he pushes her away and stands up, growling as he does so.

Before she asks anything, Shatterstorm swats at his body as if brushing off spiders. He inhales sharply, then sits again and wraps his forelegs around himself. His head lowers. Rainbow Dash hears him gulp. Nothing is said for a few moments more.

“What happened here?” asks a soft voice.

Rainbow Dash looks aside to see Pinkie Pie, who looks as if she’d just run a mile and a half. She breathes heavily as her blue eyes go from Shatterstorm to Rainbow Dash, then back to Shatterstorm. Rainbow Dash clears her throat.

“Where’s Scootaloo?” asks Rainbow Dash.

“I left her with the Cakes for a bit,” says Pinkie Pie. “What happened?”

“Well, uh…” She looks to Shatterstorm, who seems off in his own world for now. It would hurt him terribly if anypony else were to know what happened. He was already humiliated in front of two other ponies. There’s no need to add to it. She shakes her head.

“Miss Sparkle,” murmurs Shatterstorm as he stands back up. His wings twitch and flutter. Rainbow Dash understands that bit of his body language now. Anger. “We need to protect her,” he says.

“I’ll go find her,” says Rainbow Dash. “I think you might need to see a doct—”

He shoots her a menacing, cold glare that shuts her mouth like a punch to the face. “I don’t need your sympathy,” he says coolly. “I don’t need your pity. I don’t need your advice. I’m thankful you put aside your pride to help me, but—but I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

Rainbow Dash grunts. “I’m not…”

He glares. “Don’t lie. It’s written all over your face.” He imitates Rainbow Dash’s voice—to her great shock, pitch-perfectly. “‘Oh, the poor soldier boy, he’s had a rough life, how dare that awful mare hurt him like that.’ I’m not having any of that bullshit, especially—not—from—you!” He compounds his point by poking Rainbow Dash’s chest at the last four words.

At the drop of the curse word, Pinkie Pie’s eyes widen. She clicks her tongue as silence descends. Shatterstorm turns and starts down the hallway, following the direction Twilight and Marble took. “What matters right now is that we do the right thing,” he says over his shoulder. “And the right thing, right now, is to do the job I was tasked to do and protect Miss Sparkle.”

He leaves the hallway. Pinkie’s eyes look to Rainbow Dash, then to the door Shatterstorm stomped through. “Did I… catch you two at a bad time?” she asks.

Rainbow Dash looks to her friend. Poor thing; she barely understands what’s going on. It’s good that she got Scootaloo to safety, but…

“No,” she sighs at last. “Come on, we ought to at least follow him.” As they begin to do just that, Rainbow Dash mutters something under her breath. The only words Pinkie Pie is able to catch are “stupid”, “thinks”, “macho”, “tough”, and a choked “why does he.”

“Do not scream.”

It takes a second for Bon Bon’s heart to start beating again, and another for her to realize Aeon is speaking to her. “Do not scream,” he repeats, his voice a smothered whisper. “Do not scream.”

She gulps, shivering. The mound of mud on top of Aeon writhes again. Wriggling as if it’s alive. A slow, high-pitched whine finds its way out of her mouth before Aeon shushes her again. She can see faces in the mud. They aren’t pony faces, and in fact more resemble Aeon’s facial construction—except that Aeon actually had eyes.

The black holes where the eyes should be scan Bon Bon. There are no eyes, nothing for Bon Bon’s gaze to meet, but they scan her nonetheless. Size her up. She hears them gurgle. She gulps.

“These creatures are mud men,” says Aeon quietly. “Their awareness stops at sound. They can hear you. So do not scream. Loud noises make them angry.”

Bon Bon nods, still fighting her inner coward, that overpowering instinct for self-preservation. “Are… are you trapped?” she asks as quietly as she can.

She is surprised Aeon can hear her at this distance. “To make a long story short, yes. I need your help, Bon Bon.”

The mud wriggles again. Bon Bon winces.

“Surely, you have noticed the lanterns?” Aeon asks.

Bon Bon nods.

“Those are ghost lanterns. They should not even be here. They are lit by wicked creatures in the service of Dr…” His eyes dart. Bon Bon cocks her head at Aeon’s odd pause. “...In the service of a dark power. I need you to destroy them.”

Her already-cocked head is cocked further. She’s afraid her head may twist off. Aeon breathes a sigh at Bon Bon’s confusion and elaborates further. “The innocent souls burning in the ghost lanterns provide magical support for beings of their construction. By destroying them, the innocent souls are freed, and you cut the animated beasts’ power.”

Bon Bon swallows Aeon’s instructions with a nod of her head. She nearly jumps as the mud mound wriggles again. She can make out arms and… hands. They aren’t as beautiful as Aeon’s are—more like long, gnarled claws than anything else. She can’t seem to count how many are on top of Aeon.

She breathes deep. He needs my help, she thinks. For the first time since all this nonsense started, I’m going to do what’s right. She looks to one of the suspicious lanterns from before, then walks over to it. She angles herself to it. Rears up.

Before she can deliver a kick, Aeon almost cries out for her to stop. She looks to him as the mound wriggles and shrieks. “Not-Not-Not that one, that one’s too close, it’ll make too much noise,” he says in a rushed tone she’s never heard from him before. “They will attack you. Start with the ones nearest to the graveyard’s entrance, then work your way over.”

Following Aeon’s advice, Bon Bon retraces her steps back to the entrance. There, almost right next to the gates, is a lantern. Deep breath. Angle correctly. Rear up. And… kick. With a sudden crash, the lantern is down. Once again, Bon Bon finds herself looking over her shoulder in panic.

When nothing comes, she gathers her courage and repeats on the next lantern. Then another. And another. Just as she becomes more confident, Bon Bon looks out a corner of her eye and spots movement among the tombstones.

The mud has begun to rise. They form shapes that remind Bon Bon of Aeon, only warped shadows of his general figure. The same empty holes in their heads, the screwed-up mouths, the clawed hands. Mud men are rising.

Bon Bon breathes in sharply. Don’t scream. Don’t. Scream. That sets them off. She tries to calm herself down as the mud men near her. Their movements are clumsy and graceless, almost tripping over themselves. They’re klutzier than that cross-eyed mailmare.

As the mud men slowly near her, Bon Bon looks to the next lantern. If what Aeon said is true, then their power is already weakening. Their maladroit movement implies that their grip on themselves is failing. Only one thing to do!

Down goes another lantern. The mud men look up at the noise, causing Bon Bon to hold her breath again. She’ll never get used to their uncanny terror, those blank-yet-thoughtful stares. Their movements have become even clunkier, with one simply falling over and another walking right into a tombstone and tumbling over it.

A smile spreads across Bon Bon’s face as she runs to the next lantern and destroys it. And the next one, and the next one, and the next one. The last one—which she tried to destroy first—goes down just as easily as the rest. The mud men are too uncoordinated to be much of a threat anymore. Many of them have simply taken to falling apart.

The mud men covering Aeon have melted into a single struggling pile of mud. With a punch, Aeon breaks free. Bon Bon raises an eyebrow as she notices that his suit is still pure, pearly white, mud and filth be damned.

He runs on his two legs, becoming a pony in the blink of an eye and running on four. He says something to Bon Bon that she can’t quite make out, but it sounds like an apology. Confused, she races after him as he runs further into the graveyard.

His watch becomes a giant clock hand. Bon Bon’s eyes widen as he tells her not to follow him. “Go to Miss Heartstrings,” he instructs. She pauses. His voice suddenly awash with frustration, he repeats his command in a bark. Bon Bon leaves without any argument.

Aeon pulls out of his coat pocket a small red jewel, looking it over as if to make sure it is still with him. He puts it back. Once more, he looks about to make sure nopony is watching. Remembering his regeneration point, and keeping it in his heart and mind, Aeon’s unicorn horn glows as he raises his clock hand sword and decapitates himself with it. His mortally-wounded body dissipates…

Demon Seed, Part IV

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Demon Seed, Part IV

She hoped she’d buried it. Buried her pain. Buried her loss. She thought she’d buried it deep, simply leaving that cemetery where her parents were laid to rest, head held high, proud to be an Apple. Proud of her heritage, proud of her farm, proud of her remaining family—just like Ma and Pa had told her to. She should feel proud that she is a part of their family.

But there’s no pride when your livelihood is nearly destroyed. No pride when your family is left without a home to retire to after a hard day’s work. No pride when you learn your father’s body had been used as a plaything. No pride when the children of your hometown are dying.

When Applejack was told her father was a killer, or his body at least used as a killing machine, she felt no pride. There was shock. Sadness. But all that has now melted away. Her cheerless shell has disintegrated, leaving behind a furious core. Her hooves almost stomp the linoleum floor as she makes her way to the hospital’s western entrance. It doesn’t take her any fancy mathematics to figure out they’d be headed for the closest exit.

Big Macintosh walks diffidently beside his sister, unsure of what will happen next. If Applejack sees Marble again, he gets the feeling she won’t stop at just staring her down.

But what to say? When Applejack gets into a passion—when she gets caught up in all her anger—she becomes a terrifying force. Much like their grandmother, actually. It’s the reason he became more and more silent as he grew older: fewer words meant fewer arguments meant fewer headaches.

Through another door. Past more ponies. Many simply get out of the way as Applejack draws near, as if they can feel the seething rage that rolls off her like steam off hot metal. After they enter an empty hallway, Big Macintosh decides to speak. “Hope ya don’t, uh… plan on doin’ nothin’ dang’rous.”

“Ah hope she don’t plan on leavin’ alive,” Applejack growls. Her words are quiet but focused, like a wolf out on the prowl.

Big Macintosh clicks his tongue, gathering his frantic thoughts back into coherence. “AJ, Ah know you loved Pa. Ah loved him too.”

“Stop talkin’.”

“No. Y’need to listen’a me.”

“Ah’ve heard enough.”

Applejack finds her path blocked by Big Macintosh, his green eyes descending angrily to her. “Applejack, you shut up an’ listen’a me fer once in yer life,” he says in tranquil anger. Suddenly, the lupine fury backing Applejack dissipates, the siblings’ current roles of hunter and conscience made more explicit.

“Ah unnerstan’ yer angry,” he says, again in subdued power. “Ah unnerstan’ how much you wanna hurt Marble fer what she’n hers have done to us’n ours. She hurt me too. You only met her recently, but up until close to an hour or so ago, she was nothin’ but a friend to me.”

“…So what’re you sayin’? Not to kill her?”

“Listen to yerself! ‘Kill’? We talkin’ about killin’ another pony?!”

“Killin’ another pony who poisoned a buncha kids!” Without thinking about it, Applejack punches Big Macintosh’s foreleg, not breaking eye contact. “Buck yes, Ah’m talkin’ bout killin’ another pony!”

The moment “pony” comes out of Applejack’s mouth, Big Macintosh lifts her up with his mighty forelegs. She gasps as he lifts her effortlessly into the air while his face more strongly displays his previously subtle anger. Her insides shake as he puts her up against a wall. “Didja ferget th’ part where we cain’t do that?! Or are you juss so incensed because Marble hurt us that you cain’t think straight?! LISSEN TO YERSELF!”

The hallway rings with his last exclamation. Applejack has never heard this much volume out of her older brother before, never heard him this angry. Their green eyes meet, hers in terror, his in growing worry. “Our father. Is not. A killer,” he rumbles.

A pause. Applejack is then drawn into a tight hug. “And… an’ neither are you,” he whispers. Hot tears roll down her face as she returns her brother’s hug.

Applejack’s mind, the anger that clouded it finally waved away, conducts a self-analysis. What was she really about to do? What would that accomplish?

Worse yet, what would killing another pony make her?

A split-second image crosses her mind. That Man. That Man she found in her orchard. She smashed his dog, pounded it underhoof into mush, then set him on fire. It happened so fast… She didn’t stick around long enough afterward to see if he’d survived, but there was slim chance he did. He was sentient, like her, not like the mindless animals that attacked Ponyville.

And she killed him. She hadn’t given it too much thought before. She’d pushed it out of her mind when it dared to surface. But now, in this quiet moment of introspection…

…she realizes, to her horror, that her brother might be wrong.

Should she apologize? Should she explain? Before Applejack can do anything of the sort, a loud “pop” is heard, causing the two siblings to jump. Looking aside, they see Aeon, rubbing his neck with a hoof. “I dislike decapitations,” he mumbles. “Always a pain in the neck, if you may pardon the pun.”

Applejack raises an eyebrow. Aeon looks to the two siblings, still drawn tightly together. “…Where is Twilight?”

“Ah imagine she’s gittin’ closer to the exit, at least,” says Applejack as she pulls away from her brother.

Aeon pulls out the red jewel from his coat and looks it over with an unsatisfied scowl. He groans and puts it away, mumbling about how his devices don’t seem to work correctly anymore. He looks back up to the two siblings and is greeted with their perplexed faces.

“Never mind,” Aeon sighs quietly. “I’ll explain that later. Fill me in on the situation, please.”

As Applejack does so, they all move as a group, quickly making their way to the nearest exit.

Twilight Sparkle’s plan is about to see its fruit bear. Coming up is a door. Perhaps as a way to feign annoyance, she could use her telekinesis to open it. That might give her enough time…

But before she can figure out anything more, Marble starts talking again. Her words disgust Twilight, her sentences all cruelly mocking Twilight’s friends. In her blood she feels bubbles burst, sparks flying in her mind. She clenches her teeth as Marble makes inappropriate statements regarding Shatterstorm.

“Why, the poor dear!” she giggles. “The way he struggled was adorable, but in the end, his mother truly taught him well.” Perhaps it’s the delivery Twilight hates so much. Instead of saying anything menacingly or sinisterly, Marble’s words come out casually—like she’s just inviting everypony to a picnic.

Marble giggles. “He understands the concept of dominance, didn’t you know? He knows where his place is, and he hates it.”

“His place is above you with his hoof on your head,” Twilight snarks.

Marble ignores her disinclined companion’s criticism. “Motherhood places dominance right there in your hooves. You’ll understand once you become a mother yourself, little sorceress.” Her eyes become wistful. “The feeling of control you get over the life of someone else… Every decision you make affecting the life of someone so much smaller and weaker than you are…” An eerie smile dances across her lips.

Twilight raises an eyebrow. She might question what kind of stallion would ever want to father the foals of such a twisted mare… but if Marble's recent activity is anything to go by, she might not have had the poor soul’s permission. She bites her lower lip as they near the next door.

“You know, even now I sometimes genuinely miss my little girl,” Marble chirps. There’s a sense of lost nostalgia to her voice. “But then I look into the mirror each morning… and I realize my youth was worth trading her for.”

The last statement draws a menacing scowl out of Twilight. She could feel the final strings of her patience begin to snap. Just as she’s about to waylay into this contemptible monster, Twilight hears Shatterstorm pipe up.

“I’m sure your little girl appreciates how highly you think of her.”

His voice is sharp and cold, each word coming out more like a bite. Looking back, Twilight can see the hostility growing in his eyes. Behind him come Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie, not appearing any friendlier than he does. There is little to restrain them should tempers fly or patience snap. Marble sneers at them, daring them to attack.

Once again with the teasing. Twilight opens her mouth to say someth

suddenly Pinkie Pie dashes past Shatterstorm, nearly knocking him over, and lunges at Marble. Twilight realizes only now that out of all her friends, Pinkie is the only one still unaware of the Painshare spell cast on the cure. Her eyes widen as this pink blur tackles Marble, pinning her to the floor.

A pink hoof is raised. “Not funny,” growls Pinkie as her mane deflates and tears streak down her face. Just as the hoof is about to smash into Marble’s already-scarred face, a magenta glow surrounds Pinkie, lifting her into the air.

“Pin—Pinkie Pie, STOP!” cries Twilight. She holds her friend in the air, silence descending like a curtain after a particularly shocking end to a play’s second act. It’s a few seconds before Twilight realizes she isn’t breathing, and inhales deeply, releasing a worried sigh.

Marble gets back up and dusts herself off. She looks to Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm, then to Pinkie Pie, still suspended in midair. She giggles confidently as she walks down the hallway unperturbed, as if nothing had happened at all. After a few tense moments, Twilight clenches her teeth, screws her eyes shut, and sets Pinkie Pie back down gently. The moment the magenta glow fades, Pinkie looks to Twilight, betrayed.

“What are you doing?!” Pinkie Pie hisses. Her voice sounds flat, her tone a coiled viper poised and ready to strike.

“Preventing you from making a huge mistake,” Twilight whispers.

“She poisoned those kids,” Pinkie replied, closing in dangerously on her friend. “She—poisoned—them. When I dropped off Scootaloo with the Cakes, you know where they were? They were outside an emergency room.” She stops in front of Twilight, the tears of rage from before continuing to run down her face.

“The twins. She poisoned the twins. She poisoned the most innocent ponies I’ve ever known.” Her lips curve into a grimacing scowl, her next words coming out at a menacingly slow pace and chilling volume. “And you are protecting her. I want. To know. Why.”

Twilight purses her lips as she feels her stomach drop. “Pinkie… she holds the cure,” she explains. “She cast a Painshare spell on it. Anything done to her will destroy the cure. If you want to protect the twins, and all the other foals she’s poisoned, we need to not harm Marble, as much as all of us want to.”

Pinkie looks past Twilight, at the white mare now at the end of this hall. Marble looks back with a charming smile that Pinkie can imagine seeing on a billboard advertising toothpaste. She catches a glimpse of what she despises so much about this mare: nopony that evil deserves to look so happy.

Twilight walks away as her horn stops glowing. “Come on,” she sighs, deflated.

The Chronomage comes to the decision that the world is so much more beautiful when it’s stopped. Or rather, when it’s on fire. Or rather rather, when the stopped world is set on fire. Or rather rather rather, when the world is set on fire, and then stopped. He likes his preferences with as many rathers as possible.

As he prances through Ponyville, he wishes he had more time to just explore the place. Maybe that's the one thing he dislikes most about this campaign of conquest he and his fellows were on: that they never stay long enough to bask in the glow of the damage they’d done. It's like the artists are giving away their masterpieces without really drinking in the beauty of their own work.

Perhaps he needs a tour guide. In his own imagination, she’d look to be in her twenties, with a ridiculous overbite, and wearing a giant teacup on her head. Ooh, and frizzy hair—like the Pink Paroo. Can’t forget that. And she speaks in a whiny lisp, often beginning her sentences like a train straining to come to life.

An—An—And over there, to your right, is a house that was once filled by a family of four. The father was a splendiferous businessman (pony?) who often cheated on the missus with his secretary. Th-The-Then their house was torn apart by the fleamen, who gleefully chobbled their babies. Ov—Over there, to your left, is a carriage, overturned, and smootered in blood. Whoever was riding in it evidently did not get the chance to escape.

And here, on the street just underneath him, the Chronomage notices a long black streak. It feels oily under his cloven feet, sticking to them as he lifts a leg. It’s almost like tar on charred earth. Odoramous! Grotusquerating! Blech!

He raises an eyebrow. The way the streak is shaped seems vaguely equine—well, an equine body stretched and crushed, but an equine body nonetheless. The Chronomage cleans his monocle and observes a little more closely. Isn’t this the spot where…?

He smiles as it dawns on him. Ah, yes, this is where that new recruit met his untimely end. Granted, Actrise had even told him that this fellow (Dirt Nap, was it?) wasn’t all that bright, and she didn’t keep her hopes up in terms of his chances of success. He did however cause enough chaos for Dracula’s minions to take advantage of, inviting them further into this positively perky pony principality.

The Chronomage takes off his top hat and bows low towards the streak, while singing a merry song.

Brother Dirt Nap, Brother Dirt Nap
Brother Dirt Nap, goodnight!
You were a real gritch, who once loved a witch,
And look at you now! Ain’t YOU a sight?

He stands back and places his top hat back on his head, then assumes “The Position.” A golden arch descends upon Dirt Nap’s remains. “Goodbye, Brother Dirt Nap, Goodbye!” he cackles.

Just as he finishes, the Chronomage feels something—something so strong, it almost makes him yelp. In all his wordplay and portmanteaus, he is unable to think of a way to describe it. It feels like he was yanked out from his mother’s womb prematurely. It feels like he was cut away from someplace warm and left in the cold.

He falls to his knees, suppressing a scream. Before now, the Chronomage never knew he could feel something so awful. At this moment, he understands exactly how it feels to be lonely. He feels stranded. Forlorn. Cold. With his red eyes bulging from their sockets, the Chronomage looks toward his lord’s castle…

…and feels… nothing.

He begins to breathe hard, a cold sweat soaking his fur. Struggling to his feet, the Chronomage forsakes his previous plot to attack Aeon’s new friends and darts off to where Actrise said to meet him. He’d be prematuearly, of course, but this is an urgent and distressing matter.

There they wait, by the door, for the others. Even Fluttershy has found her way here before Marble and her reluctant entourage. The lobby here has been deserted, Aeon ushering out anypony remaining, giving them a short (and false) explanation as to why.

Applejack shifts her weight from one side to the other. Blinks. Sniffs. Takes a deep breath to keep a calm mind.

It’s strange that they would be taking this long. Applejack theorizes that Marble, schemer she is, has simply opted for the scenic route. Take her time in tormenting her friends. The thought makes Applejack frown. Her teeth clench. Again, she feels that righteous indignation, that fury from before, snaking across her back, coiling around every muscle and sinking its fangs into every artery.

A gentle touch from her brother sends all of it out, almost at once. Another deep breath. Keep a calm mind, Applejack thinks to herself. She leans against her brother and shudders. He leans his face in and gives her a supportive nuzzle. For all his taciturnity, Big Macintosh always knows the right thing to say—his comforting sentences written by his gentle actions.

She glances aside. Fluttershy holds her crucifix close with one hoof, the other three shivering as if submerged in ice water. Aeon cleans his monocle, evidently just as anxious as the rest of the group. “Do we have a plan?” he asks.

“We wait,” Applejack replies, her eyes turning back to the lobby in front of them.

“So… w-we’re just… going to do nothing?” asks Fluttershy.

“Well, what can we do?” Applejack asks in a more clipped tone than she intends. She calms herself again, bringing her voice down to a more-controlled level. “Sugarcube, she’s got us up ag’inst a wall. We cain’t do nothin’ but wait.”

She blinks, her attention suddenly given to Aeon. She realizes something she hadn't before—something she should have realized all along in this bizarre and terrifying situation. “Aeon,” she says, “wait, Aeon, you're a time traveler, right? Why not juss go back in time an’ try ta rearrange all this? Make sure it don’t happen?”

Aeon looks at her for with that kind of face a parent makes when they must explain the concept of death to their children. “I’m afraid there’s… only so much I can do,” he says before his eyes dart away, defeated.

“You're a time traveler!” Applejack says, adding a stomp. “You. Travel. Through. Time. So go back in time an’ stop this Marble bitch from—”

“It's not that simple!” Aeon yells over Applejack. His sudden force of emotion blows back his three friends. He groans, pulling out his stopwatch. “Do you see this?”

“…Yeah?”

He pulls out the red crystal. “And this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is all I have.” He puts the objects away. “As I recall, you were the ones who gave me the title of ‘time traveler.’ I am afraid that, despite the flattering moniker you have admonished me with, such a title is a misnomer.”

“A misn…?” Applejack scrutinizes Aeon. “Whaddaya mean? You cain’t juss travel through time?”

Aeon sighs through his nose. “…No. No, I cannot.” A frustrated frown stretches his face as he crushes his eyes shut. He shakes his head. “Not anymore. I can teleport, I can freeze time. With some effort I can even undo wounds. But that is the extent of my current abil—”

Suddenly, Aeon feels a hard hoof across his face. It’s there for only half a second, sending his monocle to the ground, where it lands with a crack. He loses feeling in his legs and falls aside, landing on Fluttershy. She squeaks as she holds him back up.

“You liar!” Applejack roars as Big Macintosh holds her at bay. “You—You li’l snake! Ah thought you could help us but here you are, tellin' us you cain't?!” Aeon looks up at her in shock, his vision swimming from Applejack’s punch. He hears her spit, and feels something thick and wet strike his forehead.

“Applejack, what do you think you’re doing?!” Fluttershy yells as she wipes Aeon’s face. “Please don’t be mad," she quickly whispers to him, "she didn’t mean it." She turns her attention back to Applejack. “Why did you do that? What is wrong with you?!”

“Whuss wrong with ME?!” Applejack snarls. “How ’bout all this time, he’s been totally useless! Havin’ Twilight do the work he oughta be doin’ or at least helpin’ out with! Not bein’ on guard ag’inst enemies he knows are dang’rous! Instead he’s juss draggin’ his hooves—lollygaggin’ while wedo all the work against an enemy we barely know anything about!”

The lobby falls dead silent. All ponies present stare at one another for a few tense seconds. Applejack pulls herself out of her brother’s grip, Big Macintosh letting go without argument. Fluttershy looks down at a dispirited Aeon, who uses his telekinesis to retrieve his cracked monocle. After it is put in its rightful place, he drags himself back up to his feet.

That Look is back in him, Fluttershy notices. That Look in which pieces of him are missing, where tender wounds are left open to the harsh elements. That he hadn’t even bothered to argue with Applejack’s assessment of his lackluster involvement clinched it. She can’t believe she hadn’t figured it out before, when she observed him while he stared out at the shattered remains of Ponyville.

He blames himself for all this. Any good he ever tried to do, was done for nothing. Even trying to stay out of these unfolding events seemed to make things go wrong for everypony involved. Fluttershy reaches for something to say, to ease their situation. But just as she opens her mouth, somepony from down the corridor calls out to them.

“Ah! The little thief! The beastmistress! So good to see you!” says a familiar, patronizing queenly voice.

All heads snap to attention. Marble trots casually into the lobby, flanked by their friends. The way this group moves reminds Applejack of how the villain in a gangster movie would enter a scene—his goons surrounding him, backing him up as he makes an offer the protagonists can’t refuse.

The looks on the faces of Marble’s escorts speak volumes for what she has put them through. Applejack takes note of the awkward glances Rainbow Dash gives Shatterstorm—and particularly of the uncharacteristically grim scowl, flat mane, and washed-out coloring that makes Pinkie Pie look like a serial killer.

Marble’s magenta eyes go from Applejack, to Big Macintosh, to Fluttershy (who cowers, clutching her crucifix), and finally to Aeon. “I see the Chronomage was unable to keep you busy for long, time traveler. I do hope the two of you played nice.”

Aeon clicks his tongue and nods in her direction. “Actrise,” he greets maliciously.

Actrise returns his nod. “If you’re expecting me to call you by name, I’m afraid you have done naught to earn such privilege,” she says evenly. “Just as you’ve done naught to stop my Lord’s designs.” Her eyes brighten. “Oh! That reminds me, how is Janine? I don’t suppose you reached her in time?” As Aeon clenches his teeth, Actrise gasps and puts a hoof over her mouth as she giggles girlishly at her pun. “See what I did there?”

Aeon groans. “Yes, I see what you did there,” he growls through clenched teeth.

Shatterstorm snorts. “Hey, we’re here, lady,” he says, attempting to keep the situation from veering off-course. “We kept up our end of the bargain.” He looks to her cross-shaped burn. “Mostly,” he adds with a contented smirk. It disappears the moment her horn begins to glow. Actrise chuckles, satisfied with how cowed Shatterstorm is.

The doors open, spilling the entrance with the burning orange of the setting sun. “Well,” says Actrise as she walks toward the entrance. “As much fun as I’ve had with the lot of you, the little soldier is right. It is time I pay my end of the bargain.”

She turns and lifts out of her saddlebag, the cure. Its bottle still possesses the same intimidating crack, but it is otherwise unchanged. “The cure is yours,” Actrise says.

It floats over, slowly, to the group. Just as Twilight makes a grab for it, it vanishes with a jarring crack. All present hold a collective gasp of shock and look to Actrise as she herself vanishes. “If you can find it!” she cackles, disappearing into nothing.

The group panics: directions shouted to each other, blame being thrown about, hooves being pointed, screams of frustration.

All but Twilight.

Instead, a subtly vexed frown forms on her lips. The exact same tactic Twilight performed on Dirt Nap, thrown right back at her. This one—Marble, or Actrise, or whatever her name is right now—this one is good. Real good.

But not good enough.

Twilight speaks. “Applejack, check under your hat.”

Everypony quiets. Applejack does as Twilight commands, her Stetson pulled from her blonde head. Like a pile of gold in a dark cave, the cure twinkles back at any who look inside. A clenched scowl and bulging eyes are carved into Applejack’s face with the kind of precision only pure anger has the artistic talent for.

The “burning” orange fades into a “burnt” purple as the evening is scorched into night. On a hilltop, the Chronomage walks around a tree in circles. (The same way a madman paces his cell, he supposes, but then again, aren’t we all madmen?) The ground around the tree has been reduced to dirt by the time she finally appears.

“Actrise!” he calls. As per her orders, he reaches into the hole in the tree trunk and retrieves her personal effects. The staff, the dress, the… other things the Chronomage would rather not touch. After all, a woman’s things are meant to be handled with utmost care—especially Actrise’s, unless you wish to meet a creatively unpleasant death.

The pure white mare approaches the Chronomage with a bizarre, almost painful gait. She spasms a bit before falling to all four knees. A raspy cough escapes her lips, along with a shower of spittle. The Chronomage, carrying Actrise’s possessions, walks toward her. “Actrise, there’s a bit of a problemma I think we need to discuss.”

“We don’t have much time before they put their forcefield back up,” she interrupts, the queenly voice coming out as a croak. “We’ll need to do this quickly. Whatever you have to say can wait.”

The Chronomage shrugs. She’s right, but she’ll regret it in a moment.

The white mare opens her mouth, slowly at first. Small, bonewhite fingers stretch out of her mouth as she convulses, her magenta eyes beginning to produce tears. A slow, agonized gluck… gluck… gluck escapes the mare as the bonewhite fingers force her mouth open wider and the fingers become hands… then arms… then finally, Actrise.

The witch crawls out of her host like a snake shedding old skin. Despite not initially attempting to draw out her host’s unpleasant fate, she finds Marble’s discomfort appealing. Actrise has had this exact hosting ritual performed upon her as well, long ago when she first became a witch. She remembers that feeling of bugs crawling in your stomach, elephants stomping on your spine, lions roaring in your ears. How badly she burned and how cold she felt. As she exits her host, Actrise decides to go a little more slowly, draw out Marble’s pain. Despite being short on time, she decides that there’s always enough for casual torment.

Finally, she’s out. Marble falls on her side, doing her best to contain her sobs, feeling cold and violated. Actrise takes her clothing from the Chronomage and begins to dress. She clothes herself surprisingly fast (the Chronomage suspects she even uses her black magic for more mundane uses like getting dressed), all the while watching the little whore shiver. Finally, Marble vomits with an awful noise, and begins to cry.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Actrise whispers as she crowns herself with her wide-brimmed hat. “You were the one who decided to try backing out.” Marble looks up to Actrise, her magenta eyes wide with horror and shame. The tears continue to trickle down her face.

Actrise leans in close to Marble, so close she can smell the vomit on the stupid mare’s mouth. “You. Do not. Tell. Me. No.” A few seconds of hanging there, and Actrise stands back up again. She digs around in one of her coat’s pockets. “You could have avoided all that unpleasantness by simply following orders instead of forcing my hand.”

Actrise pulls a small red seed from her pocket. She looks to Marble with a subtly menacing smile. Marble begins breathing harder. Her regal voice has been reduced to a childish whimper. “B-Buh-But you, y-you as-as-s-wuh-wanted me t-to…”

“And you did not comply then. So I made you do it. Or rather, I used you to do it.” Actrise fiddles with the seed, flipping it between her fingers absent-mindedly. The Chronomage merely leans against the tree now, letting his boss lay the groundworks for her next plan. His jittery movements betray his worry—not that Actrise notices.

Marble looks away and begins to cry again. Actrise stops fiddling with the seed, using her free hand to slap the crying mare, hard, on her recent burn-scar. She emits a cry that’s between a yelp and a sob.“Don’t even start that with me!” Actrise growls, “You asked us to protect him, and we will.” She traces a finger down Marble’ face, stopping at her trembling lips. “But if your disobedience persists, I will personally seek that little cripple and I will finish what fate began.”

Leaning in close again, Actrise runs her free hand on Marble’s face. Her slim, cold fingers feel soothing against the sting of her cross-shaped scar. Marble gulps, holding her tears at bay. “Will you refuse me again?” Actrise asks, quietly.

“N-No.”

“Then take this seed. Take it, and swallow.”

She presses the red seed against Marble’s trembling lips. The helpless mare, too terrified to disobey, parts her lips and allows Actrise to push the seed into her mouth. Without chewing, Marble swallows. She feels the seed enter her stomach—it’s a feeling like being invaded. No different from how Actrise “possessed” her before.

Actrise strokes Marble behind the ear condescendingly. “Good girl.” Finally, Actrise stands back up, putting her hand out to the cane she left leaning against a nearby stone. It obeys her wordless command, floating across the ground and into her open hand. As Actrise picks up the saddlebag containing Dracula’s rib, the Chronomage stops leaning on the tree and comes forth. Before the two leave, Actrise turns to Marble.

“And remember. If you tell anyone—the little sorceress, the time traveler, the large stallion, your pretty little boyfriend…” She smiles. “He dies. I’ll see to it that his fate is as slow and painful as possible.”

A pause. Marble looks away. When she looks back, the two have gone. Disappeared, like always. She sighs, feeling the seed in her gut continue to invade her. Devour her. At a loss for anything else to do, Marble curls into a ball on the ground and begins to sob.

Night peeks through the window, the waxing moonlight catching a glimpse of the Arcane Aura Analyzer and its broken dome. The foal Actrise brought in before now sleeps peacefully in another room, Spike the only current occupant. He hears the quiet sound of the door opening and closing behind him. Spike turns around and is greeted by Twilight Sparkle, who quickly closes the distance between them.

Without so much as a word, Twilight wraps her tired forelegs around Spike. His little claws pat her back understandingly, hesitating when he hears her sniff and feels her shudder.

It’s all behind them now. At least, this wretched little venture. Aeon had called her “Actrise” while Big Macintosh had called her “Marble”, but at Aeon’s insistence, it seems Actrise is her real name. He’d told her that Actrise is a former theatre actress who had sold her daughter’s soul to Dracula in order to become an immortal witch. Now that she has a better idea of who she’s up against, Twilight does not feel relieved—merely unnerved.

Dracula has gathered many of the most evil and cruel creatures to his cause. To think he has others like her—willing to trade their own children for such selfish goals. How could anyone do such a thing? Twilight feels the weight and warmth of Spike pressed against her, and her hug tightens.

A tear rolls down Twilight’s face as she recalls Actrise’s exact words regarding her daughter. She sniffs it away as she hears a knock at the door.

“Come in,” says Twilight as she pulls away from Spike, steeling herself. The door opens, and in walks Applejack. She closes the door behind her, and meets Twilight’s eyes.

Silence.

“…Hey,” says Applejack finally, her tone sullen.

Twilight nods back weakly, not offering a verbal response. After a pause, Twilight is swept into a hug. “’Sarright, sugarcube,” whispers Applejack. “We all took a walk through Tartarus today. We were all hurt by this.”

“Did the cure work? Are the kids OK?”

Applejack pulls away from her friend. “They’re gonna be arright. I talked to the directors, they said the cure’s positive. The foals are all still unconscious, but they’re in the clear.” She smiles reassuringly. "Mission accomplished."

Twilight purses her lips in thought. Strangely, that it had been teleported hadn’t ruined the cure in the slightest. The fact Actrise was able to perform such an act of magic so perfectly on something so delicate and unstable spoke loudly of the extent of her magical skill. As if Twilight didn’t have enough reason to consider Actrise a terrifying foe…

Applejack looks into Twilight’s eyes. Then her own dart about before coming back to her. “Twi, Ah think we need to talk about Aeon. Ah don’t trust ‘im. He’s been keepin’ secrets.”

Her words catch Twilight off-guard. “Secrets?” she says, an eyebrow raised.

“He ain’t a time traveler, fer starters.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sugarcube,” Applejack says, putting a foreleg around Twilight. “Ah unnerstan’ Aeon’s the only one out of all of us who has a grasp on what’s really goin’ on. But Ah don’t think he’s been all that straight with us.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “What else does he know that he ain’t tellin’ us?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Twilight says. “We’re almost complete strangers to him; it’s going to be difficult for him to open up to us. I know how that is.”

Applejack facehoofs. “This is differ’nt from when we met you! We’re his allies and this is a war we’re fightin’, Twi! He’s got no reason t’keep secrets! The things we don't know could get us all killed!”

A pause. “I can’t argue with you there,” says Twilight. “But Pinkie Pie trusts him. He knew the zombie attack would happen, so he gave her the Magic Cross that saved Fluttershy, and by that extent, the rest of us.” She puts a reassuring hoof on Applejack’s withers. “So we’ll have to trust him, at least for now. We have to believe that he’s on our side. I’ll talk to him regarding what exactly he’s capable of, but that’s all I can promise.”

Applejack looks away and scoffs in disbelief. Twilight almost never brushes off her advice so readily. She takes the word of an “almost complete stranger” over hers? What gives?

Suddenly, the door slams open. All eyes flock to the door and are met by a livid Rarity. Teeth clenched and nostrils flared, she wastes no time in stomping into the room. “WHERE IS SHE?!” she roars. “I’LL DESTROY HER!”

“Where’s who?” asks Spike.

Rarity snorts. “This Marble character! Or Actrise, or whatever her name is! The creature responsible for poisoning Sweetie Belle! When I find her, there won’t be enough of her left to FILL A THIMBLE!” She compounds her threat with the shake of a hoof.

Silence. Then, finally, Twilight smiles. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I already have her right where I want her.”

All friends present raise their eyebrows. “What?” asks Spike.

Twilight almost laughs. “OK, first, let me apologize for not telling anypony. If any of you knew about my plan at the time it happened, I don’t know if you could have behaved in a way that would be believable.” Her smile broadens. “Would you kindly gather everypony? I think all of you deserve an explanation.”

Night falls by the time Actrise and the Chronomage exit Ponyville. The forcefield comes up almost on cue, cascading across Ponyville like a white sentinel wave, coming to a definite domelike shape all around the town’s limits. Actrise marvels at its beauty—it’s like looking at a giant snowglobe.

“Now then,” Actrise says to the Chronomage. “Tell me, what was this important thing you needed to discuss?”

“I take it you now prossess Dracula’s rib?” asks the Chronomage.

From the saddlebag she had taken off Marble, Actrise produces the very body part he asks. “You and your odd language,” she chides. “Of course I have it—that was my whole plan.”

“May I see it over a moment?”

Actrise raises an eyebrow. “What are you playing at, rabbit?”

“You mean you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what?”

Suddenly, the rib pops out of existence, right out of Actrise’s hand. She gasps, then glowers at the Chronomage. He holds up his gnarled hands defensively. “Don’t worry, I just transfooted it to one of my many time-fittered pocket dimensions,” he says. “But now I must ask you, what do you feel?”

“I don’t feel…” Then it hits her. It’s like a wave of ice cold water splashing at her back. An intense loneliness opens up inside her, leaving a gaping emptiness. She gasps and covers her mouth in shock. “I don’t feel anything!”

Actrise looks in the direction of her master’s castle, sitting upon the mountain. Still, she feels cold. She feels…

…cut off.

She feels cut off from her master’s influence. They always possessed a bond with Dracula and his black magic, to the point in which collecting their master’s pieces was a simple enough challenge. His loyal minions all have vague psychic implications of where he is—where his influence is strongest. While they can’t pinpoint the pieces’ locations exactly, they always have a general indication of where to find them.

Now, there was zero influence in every direction. Actrise feels adrift at a vast ocean of void.

But if she can’t feel his influence, and neither can the Chronomage…

Suddenly, she lifts the Chronomage up by his shirt collar. “Tell me! Does Death know about this?” Her voice is rife with more panic than she intends.

The white rabbit’s red eyes flick behind her. “He... doesn’t look like he does.”

Actrise’s eyes widen and her jaw goes slack. Slowly, she releases her grip on the Chronomage, gently setting him back down on the ground. She takes a deep breath, steels herself, and turns around.

Sure enough, behind her is Death, his dark cloak trailing behind him, his long and skinny arms dangling at his sides as if broken. She sees his red eyes glow like hot coals in dark caves. His warped skeleton face begins to suddenly distort and squirm, changing its geography and construction in spasms. He only ever did that when he was truly, honestly angry.

“Give me the rib,” Actrise whispers to the Chronomage as she continues to meet Death’s gaze. He nods and does as commanded, the rib popping back into her hand. Death draws near, his eldritch form silently gliding across the ground. A bed of white roses wither and die as he drifts by them.

Finally, he comes to a stop in front of Actrise and her cohort, his red eyes boring angrily into hers. Actrise had never felt scared of Death, not even the first time they’d met when she was just a little child. She always figured herself a courageous woman because of this accomplishment.

But right at this moment, she begins to understand what it means to be on the business end of Death’s ire. Many a man, woman, child, and beast had seen this side of Death’s personality—usually but for a second, and then nothing else afterward. Actrise is not ready to become one of Death’s many voices.

In a bid to quell Death’s anger, Actrise holds out the rib to him, hoping she doesn’t look nearly as terrified as she feels. “Our mission turned out to be a success,” she says cheerfully. “The little sorceress and her entourage were no match for my skillful planning.”

A few rather awkward seconds pass. Actrise holds her confident smirk, attempting to play dumb. She feels her master’s power within the rib, throbbing and powerful. She holds onto the hope that Death would buy the idea that because she’s so close to the rib, she doesn’t have a clue that their master’s influence was suddenly muted. Death’s eyes go from hers to the Chronomage’s.

The Chronomage checks his pocketwatch. “Dear me! Is that the time?” He claps it shut and turns around to leave. “Well, if that’s everything you need, Actrise, I’ll be—” He is cut off by Actrise suddenly grabbing his shirt collar, keeping him in place.

Death’s eyes again meet Actrise’s. Still nothing is said. Finally, Actrise feigns more ignorance. “Is… something wrong, my lord?”

“You know,” he says, the words slithering out of his mouth in a cold fog. With only two words, Death strikes an insurmountable, palpable fear through Actrise’s spine. She begins to shiver.

“I-I’m not sure I know what you mean, my lo—urk!”

All the feeling leaves her body as a hand, cold and dead, wraps around her throat and lifts her off her feet. Those red-hot eyes intensify as Death’s face begins to distort again. “Do you perceive me a fool, Actrise?” his many voices simultaneously ask calmly. “All of Dracula’s minions are suddenly disconnected from his influence at exactly the same time. Imagine our collected shock when we learned that this disconnect occurred almost precisely when you carried out your little scheme.”

Actrise’s hands scramble about, trying to loosen Death’s titan grip. She feels it slacken, likely intentionally giving her time to respond. “Th-This isn’t my fault!” she gasps quickly.

“Then whose is it?” Death asks, giving Actrise a quick shake, her body spasming about like a ragdoll. “How did this happen?”

It’s a good question. How on earth could this have happened? Is it even related to her scheme?

An image pops into Actrise’s head, suddenly. A lavender unicorn horn that glowed as it held an angered pink pony in place.

The horn only glows when its unicorn uses magic.

“The… the little sorceress,” she gasps as she fights for air. Meanwhile, the Chronomage picks at a nearby rock, hoping that all this will be over very soon.

Death shakes her again. “You mean the little sorceress you assured me would not be an issue for you?”

“You’re the one… that told me she was nothing… to worry about,” pleads Actrise. “If… If anyone was assured she wasn’t a problem, it was me.”

Death thinks this over, remembering their conversation in the little thief’s orchard. His red eyes dart about in thought. They meet Actrise again. They look straight into her eyes, and see the craven animal she is. “Are you blaming me?” he says slowly, his sentence coming out as a threat.

“N-Not at all,” Actrise lies. “It was lack of preparation and an underestimation of our enemies.” She feels his grip slacken a little more. She gulps in air greedily. “We couldn’t have known she’d be able to cast such a spell.”

Silence. “Either way, you successfully acquired for us our Master's rib,” Death says, his rank, cold breath washing over Actrise’s face, filling her nostrils. He holds it up and looks it over. “So you avoid my judgment… for now.”

At last, Death releases his grip on Actrise, who lands on the ground with an uncharacteristic yelp. The rib is put into the blackness of his robe. Actrise takes in deep breaths. Sweet, sweet air filling her lungs. The world around them coming back into focus. She looks around her, finds her hat. Takes it and puts it back on her head. She looks back up to see Death’s angry red gaze. A long, white finger is pointed at her.

“If you recall our conversation in that orchard, I believe I told you that if our little sorceress became more than a nuisance to us, that I wanted you to eviscerate her.” Actrise holds her breath, for the first time in her life afraid of Death. He leans down closer to her. Actrise is afraid, finally afraid of him after all these years. Finally reminded of her place beneath him. “This will be your new mission,” he says slowly. “Find the little sorceress. And kill her. Bring her mark to me.”

They hold each others’ gaze for what feels like years. Finally, Death turns and walks away. “We are not to meet again until you have succeeded…” He stops and turns his hooded head, giving Actrise one last ice-cold glare. “…or failed.”

With that, Death disappears into the night, as if he never existed at all.

It’s a few seconds before either Actrise or the Chronomage recompose themselves. With a click of his tongue, the Chronomage releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and walks over to Actrise. Against his better judgment, he holds out a hand and helps her to her feet. He stands by her side, wondering if he should say anything regarding Death’s ultimatum.

“Well, ah… ” He swallows. “I suppose then, erm, you will no-doubt be adoubering the little sorceress and her frie—”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

“…Come again?”

He feels the punch before he sees it. It surprises him enough to knock him down on his back. “Twilight Sparkle!” Actrise barks. She raises her staff, a look of wild rage in her eyes. Before the Chronomage is able to defend himself, she brings the staff down. Again and again, Actrise pounds him as she repeatedly shouts her enemy’s name.

After a short while, Chronomage notices the sudden lack of painful thuds against his body. He uncovers his demonic eyes and looks up to Actrise, who gazes in the direction of the Ponyville hospital. Her chest rises and falls slowly, a small line of lunatic drool crawling down the side of her mouth. It is only now the Chronomage realizes the staff has blood all over its head. He draws a hand across his face, and pulls it away. It's covered in his blood.

“…We must recuperate first,” Actrise says at last, wiping her mouth. Her demeanor once again becomes somewhat affable—even helping the Chronomage back up to his cloven feet—as if she didn’t just throw a tantrum. She begins to walk away. She stops, looks behind her back at the Chronomage.

“Come,” she commanded. “There is still much work to be done.”

Reluctantly, the Chronomage follows. One does not argue with Actrise when her mind is made up.

Rainbow Dash holds a smirk. “You clever little snot,” she says playfully. “Twi, has anypony ever told you how awesome you are?”

Twilight laughs and turns away, blushing. “Oh, stop it. It’s Pinkie you should be thanking.” She puts a hoof on Pinkie’s shoulder. “If it weren’t for you, Pinkie, I wouldn’t have ever gotten the chance to cast the spell.”

Spike raises an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. What did the spell do?”

Twilight turns to her assistant, wondering how she can explain the spell's effects. After some thinking, she returns him with an answer. She points to Rarity. “You know how Rarity instinctively knows where to find jewels?”

Spike nods.

“It’s the same thing with Dracula’s minions. They can feel their master’s influence no matter where he is, or even where his parts are. So all I had to do was use the rib as a jumping point and mute the influence of Dracula.”

Pinkie cocks her head. “So you basically… shut it off?”

Twilight shrugs. “Not exactly. If I had shut if off completely, it would have tipped off Actrise right away. By muting it, however, it reduced Dracula’s influence to the point where his minions would have to be within six feet of Dracula or his body parts in order to feel his influence.”

Aeon raises an eyebrow, a hoof scratching his chin. “… That's brilliant,” he marvels.

Twilight blushes again. “Guys, come on, I was just…”

She feels a hoof on her back and looks aside to find Rarity giving her a warm smile. “Don’t be bashful, darling. You pulled one over on the beast responsible for all this. The foals are alright, and that is thanks to all of you.” She waves a hoof to their other gathered friends. It’s only now that Rarity notices Shatterstorm is not present.

“Where’s that guardspony?” she asks.

“Shatterstorm? He went out to patrol Ponyville,” Rainbow Dash says. “He took Big Mac with him for ground support. Make sure this Actrise wad isn’t still around Ponyville.”

The moment Rainbow Dash says “Ponyville”, the door opens. In walk the directors three—Ear, Nose, and Throat. Their faces are grim and pale.

“There’s been—”

“—a terrible—”

“—accident,” they say.

Rarity’s eyes widen in fear. “Why? What’s wrong?”

The triplets look at each other. Solemnly, Nose and Throat back away, allowing the eldest (by five minutes), Ear, to explain. His face is long, and his voice is quiet. His friendly red eyes betray an intense emptiness within him, along with his brothers. He sighs before he begins.

“There was plenty of the cure left over for us to study, in case we may need it again. When we emptied its container, we found a message written at the bottom.” He floats the container over to Twilight, who peers inside. A small, laminated piece of paper rests glued to the bottom, its proclamation written in a feminine script.

Little Sorceress~
Left a gift for you in the boiler room.
XOXO, Marble

“So we had some of our security staff investigate the boiler room,” Ear continued. “You know, couldn’t be TOO careful. Well, uh…” He trails off, his face blanching. Nose pipes up.

“Throughout the past week, several sick foals were found missing from their beds. Their nurse, Miss Goodhealth, hanged herself earlier today because of it.”

Throat takes a deep breath, nervously running a hoof through his blue mane. “It turns out she fudged their paperwork. She lied about their status, and took the foals… to the boiler room…”

Twilight can hear the hearts of everypony present slam against their chests as their eyes all widen in horror. Suddenly, she runs. She darts past the directors. She runs down the hall, past ponies and fixtures

(“You know something? I think that castle wants to destroy you.”)

running and running until everything becomes a long smear of blurred colors

(“Not kill you. No, killing you would be easy.”)

she keeps running, she hears somepony might be Spike cry out for her to stop but she does not she just keeps running

(“It kills all the time so it—it got bored with killing somewhere down the line.”)

down the stairs down the stairs past more ponies how could she be so stupid of course it made sense that to have a working cure to something so deadly

(“No, it wants to destroy you, Twilight. Completely.”)

she’d have to have experimented another flight of stairs and Twilight’s in the basement level where there are ponies telling her to stop

(“…Wh-Why would it want to do that?”)

And it stops her cold. Small corpses being carried out, their bulging eyes gripped with a terror only they could see. Their tiny mouths are half-open, frothing vomit running down their cold bodies. All of them children. All of their eyes looking at her, as if begging her to wake them from a nightmare they can’t escape. Were the last sounds to escape them cries for their mothers?

Twilight’s heart is caught in her chest so suddenly, it chokes her. She clenches her eyes shut and is led away from this scene in tears and broken sobs.

(“…To prove that it can.”)

Intermission ~ A Requiem

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The night stumbles along slowly, like a machine’s inner workings struggling to operate. Twilight can feel the horrible emptiness of this night all around her. Swallowing her. She is its meal for the night. Its appetizer. She looks out her window to the moon above, the same ugly and hideous and twisted moon that is no longer Luna’s, lording over the night below—the night that is no longer Luna’s.

The more she thinks about it, the more revolting it feels. Their goddesses are not here, yet the sun and moon rise and sink in the sky without their mothers. How could this be? Twilight theorizes that the Princesses’ abilities were estimated incorrectly. Perhaps they didn’t raise those heavenly bodies from their rest each morn and dusk—perhaps all they did was bless the day and night. Without their blessings, each day feels more uneasy and every night becomes something to fear.

Twilight rests her head on her desk, craving sleep. Groping for it the same way a pony in a desert gropes for water: she thirsts for slumber. Longs for it. But like all the starving and damned, what they want is something they’ll never receive.

Slowly, she sits back up. Looks aside. The eerie moon above casts its evil eye upon Spike, now asleep in a basket the nurses dropped by. Her eyes flick to the moon. She mouths a curse at it. With a thought, Twilight pulls the curtain shut, blocking the moon’s invasive view of the room.

Twilight Sparkle looks down at her assistant as he sleeps. He turns after a few seconds. Smacks his lips. Mumbles something. It isn’t long until he begins to snore softly. For the first time tonight, Twilight finds it within herself to smile again. She draws her face close to Spike’s and plants a goodnight kiss on his forehead—one he would have been embarrassed by had he been awake.

She looks to her desk again. On it are a lit lantern, the remains of the Arcanum Aura Analyzer, its needles and knobs displaying a flat zero. Next to them are her research notes. Atop those sits a checklist.

A heavy sigh escapes Twilight as she returns to her desk. What worries her, besides the obvious? Uncertainty. That must be it. She's become uncertain of a lot of things.

Uncertain of her brother. His safety. And what of his wife? What would Cadence think when she sees what's become of her husband? And what of Roaring Yawn? It's been nearly two days since she last wrote him, and still no reply. The silent mystery of their fate weighs heavily in Twilight's mind.

Trying to distract herself, Twilight looks over her checklist one more time. The checklist itself has unmarked boxes next to various ingredients for the devices she plans to make sometime tomorrow—three compasses, a jar of Darkness-aligned magical ink, Ignis dust, and three Pan’s Needles.

Trackers for the pieces of Dracula. Three trackers for three members of their group. No more, no fewer. While they run the risk of losing their way should one break, it’s better than accidentally allowing one into the claws of whatever monstrous servant of Dracula should come across it.

From the three trackers should be formed three groups. Twilight is still half-asleep when it comes to deciding who goes where in this case—and with the added aid of Shatterstorm and Aeon, it’d at least help the group with numbers. Big Macintosh might be able to help, too, but it’d be rather unsafe to take all the most eligible Ponyvillians and leave the town unguarded in case anything happened…

But that’s getting too far ahead of herself. This is all something that needs to wait until tomorrow. Right now, she needs her sleep—a sleep that she cannot reach. She climbs into bed anyway, nestles herself beneath her covers and closes her eyes.

The moment they are closed, the dead foals scream silently as their blank eyes see nightmares only they can see. Twilight opens her eyes again and is greeted by the ceiling above. After a few seconds, she closes them again.

Ponyville is on fire. She can smell the smoke. She can taste the ashes. She can hear the cackle of a mad grave digger as he burns and burns and burns. Again her eyes snap open, this time accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. She presses a hoof against her lips and gulps, trying to bring herself back together. Once more, she closes her eyes.

Bloody tears. Bloody tears on a mouthless face of white.

When she opens her eyes this time, she opens them with a shriek.

Shatterstorm wants one thing tonight. To be clean. To be cleansed.

Underneath the warm torrent of the shower, an adult Shatterstorm brushes at himself furiously. Soap attacks every trace of Actrise’s touch. He breathes deep before lifting his face to the shower water, splashing his entire head, his mop of ocean-green mane becoming damp and heavy.

Not clean enough.

Underneath the warm torrent of the shower, a fourteen-year-old Shatterstorm brushes at himself furiously. Soap attacks every trace of Minty Fresh’s touch. He breathes deep before lifting his face to the shower water, splashing his entire head, his long ocean-green mane becoming damp and heavy.

Unclean.

Underneath the warm torrent of the shower, a twelve-year-old Shatterstorm brushes at himself furiously. Soap attacks every trace of Olive Branch’s touch. He breathes deep before lifting his face to the shower water, splashing his entire head, his shaggy ocean-green mane becoming damp and heavy.

Still unclean.

Underneath the warm torrent of the shower, a ten-year-old Shatterstorm brushes at himself furiously. Soap attacks every trace of his mother’s touch. He breathes deep before lifting his face to the shower water, splashing his entire head, his shaggy ocean-green mane becoming damp and heavy.

Never clean.

Underneath the warm torrent of the shower, an eight-year-old Shatterstorm brushes at himself furiously. His mother’s touch is all over him, crawling all over him like hideous spiders or fleas, digging their ugly heads into his skin and drawing out his blood. The skittering, feeding, crawling itch of it all makes him feel invaded. Filthy. Ugly.

An eight-year-old Shatterstorm loves his mother.

An eight-year-old Shatterstorm hates his mother.

An eight-year-old Shatterstorm is unclean.

An adult Shatterstorm will never be clean.

Shatterstorm has always preferred showers to baths, ever since he was a little colt. He even loves the rain. As he rinses off the soap from before and begins the sixth soap-down that night, Shatterstorm remembers why he likes showers. Why he likes rain. Why he likes it when water descends upon him from above.

At least when the water is already coming down, Shatterstorm can’t tell the difference between the raindrops and his own tears.

Marble paces the length of her cell. Her steps are slow. Sorrowful. She turns around upon reaching the wall, and paces to the other side. Walking again past the cold toilet. Walking again past the stiff cot. Walking again by the iron bars and the barred window. Outside the cold, dry cell, Marble hears a door open and somepony descends the short, three-step staircase.

She puts her front hooves on the bars as the jailer comes in. He’s a burly pony, though not quite as large as Big Macintosh. An icy, unfriendly color scheme emphasizes his role of a resolute sentinel. His unicorn horn glows with an equally-cold color, levitating in front of him a plate of steamed vegetables. He stops in front of her cell.

One sniff of the vegetables leaves Marble’s stomach growling. For a few seconds, the jailer just stands there in front of her cell, unmoving, like a statue. The plate of vegetables hovers just out of Marble’s reach. If she could, she’d levitate the food into her cell herself—but the clamp around her horn stunts her magic, preventing her from utilizing any telekinesis.

She takes another whiff of the delicious food. Carrots. Potatoes. Peas. While the vegetables were likely low-quality, right now they were a breakfast fit for a god. Marble licks her lips and looks hesitantly up to meet the jailer’s steely gaze.

His lantern-square jaw twitches. “I heard what you did to those kids,” he says quietly, his voice almost like a pair of large rocks sliding against one another.

He is met with silence—the same silence Marble has so far greeted everypony with since the ocean-colored pegasus guardspony brought her in.

Slowly, the jailer takes Marble’s prison food over to the far side of the jailhouse’s block, out of her sight. Her stomach growls as she hears his hoofsteps fade away gradually, then suddenly stop. She hears a lid open up. Then a muted sound of something falling into a bag. The jailer comes back, the breakfast plate empty. Marble eyes the empty plate helplessly.

The jailer sneers. “I hope you get what you deserve,” he growls as he walks back up the stairs.

The heavy hoofsteps travel, fading away again, until Marble hears the door open. “Prisoner was pretty hungry this morning,” he calls to who must be the cook. “Cleaned the whole plate!” Just as the door shuts behind him, she hears the cook say something—sounds like, “I hope she choked.”

Marble holds herself against the bars of her cell, leaning her wary face against them. She sniffles as she slides down, settling onto the cold, stony floor. She sobs.

“Psst!”

Marble looks up. She hears the small sound again, this time accompanied by her assumed name. She gets up on her cot, then up on her hind legs as she looks out the barred window. Looking through the bars, she finds Pokey Pierce, still sporting the black eye he’d received earlier. He's down on his stomach, on the grass as he looks through the bars and meets Marble's gaze with his own.

When he sees he has her attention, he smiles. Marble has always found his smile pretty, but at the same time dumb—like a little child who’s too innocent to understand how cruel the world can be. He has no idea.

With him is a small box and a bottle of milk. “Brought’cha something,” he says quietly. He levitates it through the bars, his warm blue aura leaving it on her side of the barred window. Before the aura dissipates, it strokes her face tenderly, earning a gasp of surprise from Marble. She blushes. Pokey Pierce smiles, his tail wagging like a dog’s.

Again with that pretty, dumb smile of his. Marble returns it with one of her own. She looks to the box. It’s a local brand of cereal, with marshmallows in the shape of pirate-themed objects. Like something a kid might beg his mother to buy for breakfast. Her smile becomes a friendly smirk. She looks to Pokey again—his humor present in his good eye. She hears him chuckle, as if his choice in her meal was meant as a joke.

Which it likely was. Either way, it got a smile out of her—and a smile is all Pokey Pierce wants. (For now.)

Marble takes the food and sits on her cot. She opens the box, digging into the contents eagerly. Bland vanilla and crunchy sugar never tasted this good before—she chews the cereal quickly, taking a deep drink of the milk periodically. Much to her surprise she finishes everything in under a few minutes. She looks into the box in surprise. Then back to Pokey Pierce, who had watched her wolf it all down with a look of amusement.

“What?” Marble whispers jokingly. “N-No puh-prize in the b-box?”

Pokey Pierce chortles and turns away sheepishly. The baby blue glow surrounds the empty objects and takes them away. “I’ll take care of that so you don’t get caught,” he says.

Silence.

“Y-You didn’t… have to duh-do that f-f-fuh-for me,” Marble stutters as she stands back up on her cot.

Pokey Pierce rubs his black eye. “Aw, that’s OK,” he says nonchalantly. “I know you’re innocent. I don’t believe a word of what they said.”

“N-No, I meant… your eye.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be able to see out of this eye again by tomorrow.” Pokey laughs quietly at his own stupid joke.

“That g-guh-gr-gur… R-Royal Guard threatened to arrest you,” she says. “He was within his rights to, b-but he d-d-didn’t.”

“Yeah, instead he settled for knocking me out,” Pokey says bitterly. “I’ll be complaining to his superiors. Totally not a cool way for a Royal Guard to act.”

Marble rests her face on a hoof. “You thuh-threated to knock his b-buh-bl-b-bl… clean his clock if he took another s-st-stuh-st—if he got too close to me. Whuh-what were you expecting him to d-do?”

Pokey seems to think this over a moment. She's close enough to his face to watch his head's inner clockwork grind and rattle. “You know, I’m… not really… sure,” he says, finally. “I guess I didn’t really think that through.”

Silence. Marble sighs and closes her eyes shut. “P-Pokey.”

“Yes?”

“You’re v-very sw-sw-swuh-s-s… kind… b-but…” She opens her eyes again, looking directly into Pokey’s. “But you need to f-fer-forget ab-about me.”

Pokey wears a frown—the same kind one finds on the face of a foal when they’re told “no.” He shakes his head. “No can do,” he says. “Marble, I—”

“White D-Dwarf.”

“…What?”

“White Dwarf,” she says more clearly. “That’s my real n-name. F-Fuh-Fren-Friends call me D-Dee f-for short.”

Pokey Pierce looks at her, confused. Dee tries her hardest not to look into his eyes—or at that puppylike face of his. What comes next is going to hurt him, but she concludes that she needs to do it. This has to happen.

“I lied to you, P-Pokey. Ab-About everything.”

Don’t look at him, she reminds herself. She can hear him breathe a little more heavily, as if he cannot process that a mare as beautiful as her could lie.

“I lied to B-Big Macintosh, too. I’m not an artist—I c-can’t even dr-draw st-st-stick figures. And I’m n-not f-fer-from F-Fillyd-delph-f-fuh-f-phia.”

A long and uncomfortable pause. Against her better judgment, Dee looks down and is greeted by the look she was afraid she’d see. She remembers, as a foal, a time in which she witnessed the shy kid in her class get beat up by other kids who acted like they were his friends. Pokey has exactly the same hurt expression that kid did.

“…Why?” he asks, his voice choking. “Why’d you lie, Dee?”

Good grief, that’s the kind of tone one could hear coming from a child who’s watching his pet being put to sleep! Dee takes a deep breath and turns away from the window. “I c-can’t tell you. You wouldn’t und-understand.”

“Tell me," Pokey says sternly. "You can tell me, Dee. You can trust me.”

“No, I c-can’t. I can’t tell you.”

“But I want to understand you, Dee.”

“No, you n-need to go away. You need to suh-st-stay away from me. Please d-don’t make this hard for b-both of us.”

Pokey leans forward as he folds his forelegs defiantly. “Dee, I won’t do that,” he says. “I dunno what bad decisions you’ve made in your life that led you to this. But I won’t abandon you.”

Dee's lips stretch into a frown as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. Pokey can hear the cracks in her regal, queenly voice. “N-No,” she chokes, “No, Pokey, you’re very sweet and I like you. I like you a lot. That’s why, f-f-for your own s-suh-say-safe-f-f—protection, you need to s-s-stay away from me.”

Pokey places a hoof on the bars. His tone and body language change entirely, no longer a little colt but a fierce warrior. “Never. I’ll never abandon you.” Silence. “I know I’m dumb. I’ve never been accused of being all that bright. I’m not exactly rocket scientist material. But I like to think what I lack in brains I more than make up for in heart.”

His hoof still on the bars, he bows his head low—like a knight swearing an oath to a princess locked away in a tower, promising he’ll rescue her and bring her home. “And my heart… belongs to you.”

Dee facehoofs. “You d-don’t und-understand,” she says lividly.

“Then make me understand. I want to understand.”

Dee looks out the window again. The sun is slowly beginning to rise, bathing the world around them in a dull orange. The light bathes Pokey Pierce in gold, making him seem radiant.

Beautiful.

He’s beautiful in his own dumb way. Perhaps it’s not his ignorance of the dangers of the world, but the way he seems to take those dangers head on, damning the consequences. He had no idea if he’d win a fight against a trained guardspony like Shatterstorm, but he did so anyway. He probably understands the gravity of assisting a criminal, but he did so anyway.

Pokey Pierce has proven he's more than willing to do terrible things and break any law for her. That a stallion would go out of his way for her like this is…

…is ludicrous. He’s going to get hurt. In some sick way, it feels as if he wants to be hurt.

Dee falls onto her cot, and sobs. She hears Pokey call her name a few times before he stops. She curls up again, and cries herself to sleep as whatever nutrients she gained from the cereal are devoured by the red seed nestled inside her.

“Well,” Rarity says as she claps shut the book she was reading. “You certainly took your sweet time in coming home.” She gets out of her chair and, somewhat haughtily, walks forward.

“I’ll have you know that while you were away, your youngest daughter was terrorized and brutalized with you nowhere to comfort her. Your youngest daughter nearly died yesterday.” She pauses. Hesitates. When no argument is made, Rarity continues her rant.

“You weren’t there for her. Don’t even argue. You weren’t there—you’re never there. You spoil her the same way you spoiled me: by giving us things we might want, but never giving us what we need. She needed you here. I needed you here.” Irritated, Rarity waves a hoof to articulate her next point. “I know you love us, I never doubted that, but you’re just…”

Say it. Just say it and be done with it, Rarity.

She stomps the ground. “You’re so irresponsible! Sweetie Belle might never be whole again, you know! Not after everything she’s been put through! Being attacked by monsters! Getting poisoned! Seeing terrifying images! She might recover from those wounds, but she’ll never be the same again! And it all happened because you weren’t here to help! You weren’t here to protect her!”

Silence descends like a curtain. Rarity takes a deep breath as she looks more closely at her reflection in the window. She frowns. “Like parents, like daughter, I suppose,” she says coldly, her rehearsal now complete. She sighs. “What could you have done if you were here? I’m the one who’d fed her the poison in the first place.”

Rarity sits down, still looking at her reflection. “What am I going to do?” she asks herself quietly.

“Miss Rarity? Your sister is awake now,” says a nurse from behind, drawing Rarity out of her thoughts. The nurse leads her into Sweetie Belle’s room.

Sweetie Belle lies in her bed, looking to the ceiling above her in complete disinterest. She turns her head to look at Rarity—and although Rarity greets her with a warm smile, it soon fades when she finds it unreturned. Sweetie Belle merely observes Rarity the same way a bored child might observe a fish tank, a broken husk of who she once was. Her solemn eyes beckon Rarity to come closer.

“I’ll leave you two alone now,” the nurse says. With a nod, she leaves the room.

It’s a few seconds before anything is said. “So,” Rarity begins, “how are we doing today, Sweetie Belle?”

Silence. “…Hungry.”

“You want me to go get you something? I’m sure Applejack is more than willing to lend us some apples.” A pause. No reply. Rarity continues. “The hospital staff actually just got through inspecting the rest of the food for any further poisoning, and…”

She trails off. Shaking her head, Rarity reiterates her original question. “I-Is there anything I can get you, darling?”

More silence. It appears Sweetie Belle is only barely here. Did that poison leave brain damage? Rarity feels a sickening chill the moment the thought enters her mind. Before that thought can give birth to panic, Sweetie Belle speaks.

“...Had a dream.”

Another pause. “W-What was it about?” Rarity asks.

Sweetie Belle swallows. A look enters her eyes—one that’s hard to read. Fear? Sadness?

“I was on a road,” she begins. “Was a really long road. I was walking along with lots of other kids. Some of them I recognized from school, like Pipsqueak and Twist. The Cake twins were there, too.” A pause. Rarity breathes in sharply—those were the names of other foals who’d been poisoned.

Sweetie Belle continues. “And there was this pony. She was tall and pure-white. Almost like Celestia, except she was completely white, head to hoof. And she didn’t have any eyes.” She gulps. “She didn’t have any eyes but you could tell she was looking at you. So I was scared at first.”

Rarity feels a lump form in her throat.

“But when she looked at us, she smiled.” Sweetie Belle looks at Rarity more intently. “She was really pretty. Like you and Mom.” She raises her hoof and points at nothing in particular. “And she pointed to a real high mountain that was very far away. And on top of that mountain was a beautiful castle. Like… something out of a fairy tale.”

Rarity swallows, trying to kill the lump, but it remains steadfast.

“She told us… that castle was where we were gonna live from now on, and that we were gonna be really happy there.”

Hot tears start forming in Rarity eyes. She bites her bottom lip before it can quiver.

“So she took us there. Long trip. A lot of the path was really dark. But the white lady was there, so we knew we were safe.” She blinks. “I dunno how I know that, but I do. I just... felt safe with her.

“Then one by one, everypony started fading away. I got scared. Soon, it was just me and the white lady walking down that path. So I held onto her. And she told me not to feel scared: I was just about to wake up.”

Rarity feels a spasm within her and recognizes it as a stifled sob. She sniffs back a tear and holds her sister tenderly, not saying anything. This scene lasts for long, tired minutes before Rarity finally says, “Sweetie Belle, I love you.”

For the first time in what feels like ages, Sweetie Belle smiles. It’s not the same wide smile she had when she was whole and happy, but Rarity takes comfort in knowing it’s genuine. “I love you too, Rarity,” she responds. “You don’t need to tell me that. I already know. I always knew.”

The tears finally break, streaming down Rarity’s face as she kisses her sister’s head. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she whispers. “Sometimes… Sometimes I’m so stupid, I'm afraid you might forget.”

All the graves are empty. Strangely shaped mounds of mud dot the cemetery, along with what look like pieces of shattered lantern pottery. Quietly, Applejack walks across the length of the rows of graves. Her green eyes flick to the tombstones as she passes them by.

It’s odd to attach names to the creatures that attacked Ponyville, odder still to believe they’d once been ponies themselves. Once been alive. Once been loved. And happy, and hurt, and married. And had names, and had been like anypony else.

This sense of strangeness segues into melancholy as Applejack passes by each grave. Every single one had been destroyed, broken coffins lying neglected. Finally, she finds the two grave markers she’d been looking for the moment she passed those cemetery gates.

CORTLAND APPLE, Beloved Son, Brother, Husband, Father.

BELLADONNA APPLE, Beloved Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother.

Both graves are empty.

The dirt that held the coffins is scattered about, as are bits of wood. The coffins in the graves had their lids knocked off, the lids themselves lying a few feet away. Despite her wrangling with some of the monsters that attacked Ponyville, she elected to never tango with the zombies. Looking at the evidence that lays before her now, Applejack realizes she’d made the right choice. These zombies were freakishly strong if they were able to rise from their graves with this much brute force.

She removes her hat and holds it to her chest. A lonely wind blows by, playfully swatting at her mane and tail as it does so. For a minute or so, Applejack holds her humble position—head lowered, eyes closed, hat to chest.

Finally, she finds the words she feels she needs to say. “Ah’m so sorry,” she says quietly. “Ah’m not about t’blame myself, since nopony could’a seen any’a this comin’. But all the same, Ah wish Ah could’a done somethin’ about all this... besides what Ah done.”

“You only say that because the situation itself made you feel powerless.”

Applejack turns her attention to the dry voice coming from behind. Aeon draws near, stopping at her side. His horn glows, pulling out of his white jacket a pair of healthy red roses. He rests one by the side of Cortland’s tombstone and the other by Belladonna’s, then bows his head in respect.

Aeon comes back up. His dull gray eyes return to Applejack. “It is good that you choose not to blame yourself for something you were not responsible for. Too many waste their time with such pointless self-doubt.”

After some silence, Applejack places her hat back on her head. “Hey. Aeon?”

“If you intend to apologize for hitting me yesterday, please refrain from doing so.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Ah might be upset by how… aloof you been, but Ah had no right t’punch you like that.” She sighs and looks down, ashamed. “Or spit on you, either. My behavior yesterday was just… totally uncalled for.”

Aeon’s eyes are fixated on her, but looking at him, Applejack swears his mind is looking at something else. It’s a look of engrossed detachment, as if his attention can be in two places at once. Finally, he blinks, breathes deep, and says, “Apology accepted.”

Applejack releases a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. “Thanks for understandin’, sugarcube.” She pulls him into a bear hug. The squeak he makes as she does so indicates he didn’t expect it. “That made me feel worlds better.”

She pats Aeon on the back as she lets go. All of a sudden, Applejack laughs, relieved. “Hoo-wee!” she sighs. “Cain’t seem to get as many o’those as Ah need! ’Salmost like air—y’don’t even miss it till you ain’t gettin’ one.”

“…A hug?” Aeon asks, almost amused by Applejack’s exclamation.

Applejack raises an eyebrow. “What? Y’just ain’t never been hugged before?”

An awkward silence descends on the two. Applejack looks back to her parents’ graves. “Yeah, sorry,” she says, “Din’t mean that.”

More silence. Aeon shrugs. “That is all right. It is true; this one has not received a hug for…” His eyes flicker, as if attempting to tally a large number. “Well, a while,” he says, foregoing the math.

They share a short laugh, then fall silent again. Aeon clicks his tongue after a few seconds. “You know, your parents—and every other pony in this potter’s field—were not ‘risen’ from the dead in the usual sense of the term. Dracula’s servants include ethereal creatures such as ghosts, which often reach deep into the ground to possess and pull out the deceased.”

Applejack nods, a grim and bothered frown stretching across her lips. “So my parents were just playthings to him…”

“Everyone’s loved ones were,” Aeon says, motioning to all the other emptied graves. “It is his way. Everything is a game to Dracula and his minions. He cares not for what is important to anyone. His servants share similar selfishness.”

Applejack thinks for a second or so. “Even findin’ Dracula’s body parts? Ah’d think puttin’ my king back together would be more important than some game.”

Aeon smiles at her. “Take it from this one: immortality is very boring. It seems the older one grows, the more childish and impatient one becomes. If it will take them fifty years to put their master back together, they might as well make the most of it.”

Applejack more closely scrutinizes Aeon. “Fifty years? They been at this fer fifty years?”

“Give or take. Time passes differently in each dimension.” He checks the time on his stopwatch before snapping it shut and cocking his head back towards Sweet Apple Acres. “Speaking of, I think it is time we head back to your orchard. I will tell you everything you want to know on our way there.”

Applejack nods in agreement. As they turn to leave, she gives her parents’ graves one last, somber look before following Aeon out of the graveyard.

“So,” Applejack begins as they reach the entrance. “That Actrise said somethin’ about a Janine." An awkward pause. Applejack takes a deep breath. "If it’s OK fer me to ask... who was she?”

Aeon smiles sadly. Just mentioning Janine’s name seems to make the red jewel in his jacket pocket feel so much heavier. They round the corner, leaving the graveyard behind. “That is a very long story…”

As Aeon tells Applejack more about Janine, the sun above shines on the roses he had left between the tombstones, making them sparkle against the light. The lonely wind from before returns, pushing Belladonna’s rose towards Cortland’s, entangling them.

It's in her mind, then leaving without a trace as she slowly comes awake. It's almost as if Fluttershy is gradually emerging from a pool of water, from the water of dreams to the cold, biting air of morning. The dream she had was almost a terrifying one, but as she wakes up, she begins to forget it. She forgets the sound of a cracking whip, the smell of a body burning, the face of a thing long dead.

As she emerges from that dream-pool, the first thing Fluttershy feels is a nibble on her mane. She groans slightly as she turns in her bed. Last night had been the first night since all this madness started that she’d been able to rest in her cottage again, not that being in her own bed helped her find sleep. All she could think about were her little animals she’d buried in the front yard. The cold dampness on the pillow reminds Fluttershy vaguely that she’d cried herself to sleep the night before.

The nibble on her mane returns. Fluttershy sniffles a bit as she tries to open her eyes. They creak and groan as the darkness around her opens to reveal a blurry world. A small white blob wobbles slightly on a longer, pink blob before Fluttershy’s waking mind understands that Angel is chewing her mane to get her to wake up. Usually, Angel settles for kicking her in the flank if she oversleeps, but it seems he’s in a much more patient mood this morning.

“Good morning, Angel,” Fluttershy says as she sits up in her bed. She yawns and stretches as Angel looks up at her with a smile. Her fetlocks ache as she crawls out of bed and continues her morning stretches, arching her back, flapping her wings. She hears the clink of metal and feels a definite weight around her neck. Looking down, Fluttershy remembers she slept with the cross around her neck. She smiles.

Fluttershy then turns to Angel. “It’s all right, Momma’s gonna start some breakfast for you. The usual?” Angel nods, his big smile unfading. His eyes dart about as she yawns and exits her bedroom, wondering what she’ll think when she actually wakes up.

Still sleepy, Fluttershy carefully walks down to the kitchen, careful to not stumble down the stairs. She smiles as she recalls how many times she’d done that when she first moved into this cottage. She wasn’t used to living in a two-story building at the time, and was nearly always too groggy in the morning to watch where she was stepping on the stairs.

Fluttershy walks by the animals in the living room. “Good morning, everyone,” she greets them as she continues into the kitchen. “Hope everyone’s well res… ted…”

Her eyes widen as she realizes she’d just walked by the animals she thought had abandoned her. Fluttershy runs back out of the kitchen, now fully alert, and rubs her eyes to make sure she isn’t seeing things.

There, in her living room, are several of the animals who, only a week and a half ago, had turned into monsters. Only now, they are… de… Dracula-ized? What would the word to describe their current state be? Ah, yes—uncorrupted! Fluttershy’s friends are now uncorrupted, looking to her with the friendly furry faces she recognizes.

With a delighted squeal, Fluttershy dashes into the living room and pulls all her remaining critter friends into a group hug. In the middle of her joy, Fluttershy begins to cry. “I-I thought I’d lost all of you!” she says as she feels the hot tears roll down her face. Mr. Bear's massive paw wipes the tears away.

“How did this happen?” she asks. “I thought Dracula still had you under his spell…” The moment the word “spell” is out of her mouth, the answer pops into Fluttershy’s mind. “The spell! The spell that Twilight cast!” She begins to pace her living room excitedly. “It muted Dracula’s influence, not just on his loyal minions, but his reluctant ones, too!”

Fluttershy bounces around the room, giggling. Angel descends the stairs, and as he reaches the bottom, Fluttershy scoops him up into a hug. “Angel, did you see everyone?” Angel nods, his smile now more bashful than anything else. Fluttershy only notices now that the other animals are staring at them.

“Oh right—breakfast,” Fluttershy says quickly, blushing. She puts Angel on her back as she returns to her kitchen. “After being under such a nasty spell, I bet you’re all starving! I’ll be right back with some food.”

As she looks through her pantry for the feed bags, Fluttershy begins humming a merry tune, making a mental note to thank Twilight later. The cross around her neck clinks and jingles, almost as merry as the pegasus wearing it.

The sun is now rising in the sky. No sleep had come to Rainbow Dash the night before, evading her like an expert escape artist—Houdini-ing just out of her grasp before she could enter dreamland. The bags under her eyes are heavy, her aching muscles even more so.

She’d been trying to work herself into a state of exhaustion all night. Performing her tricks under the moonlight and the protective forcefield felt different from what she’d been used to. The wind in her mane was soulless without the warmth of the sun on her back. Either way, although it did much to tire her, it did little to ease her into sleep.

Her wings flap as hard as she can make them as she comes to a rest on the roof of the Ponyville General Hospital. She yawns as she stretches and lies down, forsaking the work it would take to form a cloud for her bed and settling for the hard rooftop. Once more, she closes her eyes and chases that Houdini act called “sleep.”

It escapes her again—laughing at her this time—as she hears a slow, quiet noise nearby. It sounds almost like something being filled. She cracks open an eye to get a better view of what’s causing the noise. She sees balloons of many colors floating in the air. She wonders how on Earth she'd managed to not see them before. Underneath them is an earth pony with a washed-out pink color scheme and a flattened mane.

“…Pinkie Pie?” she asks. Pinkie turns around, her blue eyes ancient and tired. “What the heck are you doing?”

Pinkie stifles a yawn as it tries to slither out. “I’ve been up here all night preparing for this morning.”

Rainbow Dash cocks an eyebrow. “What were you planning this morning?”

With a step devoid of her usual energy, Pinkie moves aside to reveal a helium tank. Behind it are more helium tanks, presumably empty. The hundred or so balloons hang suspended, tied to part of the rooftop’s pipeworks running along its ground.

“Where’d you get all this—” Rainbow Dash begins, before melting into “—oh right, balloon emergencies like this one.” She groans as she tries to stand back up. “Ya need any help?”

“I just need around four more balloons,” Pinkie says quietly. As Rainbow Dash helps her attach a balloon to the lip of the helium tank, she looks to Pinkie’s haggard form. The muted pink and flattened mane display more than mere fatigue. She says nothing until the balloon is almost full of helium.

“So, uh… what are all the balloons for?”

“One hundred and twelve.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “A hundred and twelve balloons?”

“One hundred and twelve victims,” Pinkie says somberly. She returns to her uncharacteristic silence as she ties the next balloon shut and ties its string to the pipe with its brothers and sisters.

Rainbow Dash swallows. Pinkie continues before she says anything. “Today’s the twenty-eighth of July. So every July twenty-eighth, I’m going to inflate a hundred and twelve balloons.”

“What are you gonna do with the balloons?”

Pinkie inflates the next balloon. “Let them fly,” she answers after some silence.

Rainbow Dash ties the second-to-last balloon to the pipeline. “So, uh... why're you gonna do this every year?”

Pinkie Pie starts inflating the next balloon. “When they decided to start burning the bodies of the victims, a lot of them went unidentified. The lobby in the hospital’s got entire walls of missing pony posters. Everypony assumes they’re dead.”

She finishes inflating it and gives it to Rainbow Dash so she can tie it down. “I’m scared they’re gonna be forgotten about eventually,” Pinkie says as she inflates the last balloon. “There’s nothing worse than dying… and then being forgotten about like you never existed at all.” Her bottom lip quivers as the helium tank quietly hisses into the balloon.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widen at Pinkie’s suddenly negative attitude. “But they’re not going to be forgotten,” Pinkie says, her voice at a stronger volume. A tear rolls down her face. “Because I refuse to forget them. Every year, I’m going to inflate a hundred and twelve balloons—one for every victim.”

She ties the balloon’s tail shut and gives it to Rainbow Dash, who looks at her in awed silence. Slowly, Rainbow Dash takes the balloon and ties it down. Pinkie Pie takes a few steps back to observe her work. “It’s… how I want to remember them,” she whispers.

Rainbow Dash joins her in her admiration for a few seconds. She looks aside to her. “Pinkie,” she says with a smile, “have I ever told you how much you amaze me sometimes?”

Pinkie Pie meets Rainbow Dash’s eyes. Her color brightens as her mane inflates like the balloons. Finally, she smiles. Snorts a short laugh. “I’m not nearly as amazing as the friends I’ve made,” she says.

“Oh, that isn’t true,” Rainbow Dash retorts, giving Pinkie a playful shoulder-shove. “None of us would’ve thought to do this. This is really thoughtful of you.” Her smile becomes a bit saddened. “Their families... y’know, their families are gonna be really happy.”

Pinkie chuckles. She trots to the pipeline where all the balloons are tied and begins untying them. “Once a year,” she says.

Rainbow Dash helps her out, using a wing to cut the balloons loose, turning them into a billowing cloud. As they float above into the morning sky, filling it with a spectrum of vibrant and joyful colors, the balloons begin to part ways and spread out. Looking at them all makes Rainbow Dash think of a time in her life when everything was this grand and beautiful.

She puts a foreleg around Pinkie Pie and gives her a reassuring hug. “Once a year,” she agrees.

In Ponyville this morning, a pegasus repaired feeds her once-lost animals.

A pair of sisters reunited weep in each others' embrace.

A pony forgiven listens to a story of lost love.

A unicorn trapped lies in her prison cell as she is slowly devoured from the inside.

A pegasus defiled rests against his cot, still feeling cold and unclean.

A unicorn broken cries in the arms of her dragon assistant over a nightmare that has only begun.

In Ponyville this morning, a pair of friends watch the flock of balloons with a shared smile as their home wakes up to a breathtaking sight...

Original Sin, Part I

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“Let’s review, then shall we?”

The teacher turns around to meet his audience. The Royal Guards present stand at rapt attention as his ice-blue eyes descend on them. He pushes back a lock of platinum-blonde hair from his pale face and clears his throat. “First question,” he says, his baritone becoming more serious. “How can you tell when someone has been possessed by a demon?”

One of the ponies raises a hoof. He points to him. “When they possess knowledge they couldn’t possibly know.” The guardspony is rewarded with an approving nod. Their teacher turns and writes the answer on the board behind him. He turns and points to another raised hoof.

“When they perform acts that they would otherwise be unable to do?”

At this, their teacher raises an eyebrow. “Can you name any precise examples?”

The guardspony nods back. “Such as a pegasus performing telekinesis, an earth pony being able to fly, or a unicorn having vast amounts of physical strength.”

The answer is added to the board, along with the examples. He rests his chalk and returns his attention to his audience, his hands behind his back. Another hoof is raised. “When they have an extremely low body temperature.”

Added.

“When they have powerfully negative reactions to holy objects.”

Added.

“And what counts as a holy object?” asks the teacher.

“Anything used for religious worship,” comes the answer.

His blue eyes flicker for a passing moment. “Can you be more specific?” he asks evenly.

The guardspony swallows. “R-Right. Objects such as sacred symbols used to represent the personal sacrifice of gods or immortal beings…”

Added.

“…Prayers given to holy beings…”

Added.

“…And, uh…”

His daunting eyes seem to pierce the guardspony as he thinks harder. Another hoof is raised, gaining the teacher’s attention. “Weapons or objects made from wood, water, or metals that have been blessed by priests.”

Added.

Down goes the chalk. Their teacher looks at them, his face still as stern as before. “All right, let’s move along. We know the signs of someone possessed. Now. How are we certain that the demon and his host are not collaborating with one other in some form of mutual pact?” Somewhere during his question, a ghost-white figure walks by the lecture hall’s door, just out of the corner of the teacher’s eye, disappearing before he can focus on him.

As his students begin raising hooves, Alucard returns his gaze to them and begins gathering more answers. Outside the lecture room, Aeon walks by briskly, now in his original human form. He checks his Stopwatch and puts it back into his coat pocket, making a mental note to make time to fix it. In addition to its strange effects when its powers are activated, it’s at least a few seconds behind.

His walk through Castle Canterlot is a thought-provoking one. Such architecture as built by creatures long-believed to be either dumb pack animals or outright myths, yet can still be compared to the most beautiful and intricate constructions of man. The bright, angelic colors really bring the design together, acting as a sort of glue that binds together both the regal and the godly.

Aeon hears a voice and looks in its direction. Inside the ballroom, a large human instructs his guardspony pupils on how to defeat a vampire. His aging features do little to impede the raw courage he exudes, his long brown jacket and dusty red hair complimenting his overall strength.

“The vampire is a creature of deception,” he says to his students. "Creatures of dark powers. They say a vampire is created when he steals the soul of a demon." He walks slowly across the front of his audience. "That said, their powers are great... but that doesn't mean they're invincible." He stops in front of a training mannequin.

"Let's say this fine fellow," he says as he pets the mannequin, "is a vampire. He has all the powers of a demon, but none of the contract details. No restraints. How can he be defeated?"

The man takes a step back. He brings out his weapon of choice—a long, black leather whip—and with an effortless flick, knocks off the mannequin’s head with a jarring crack.

The head rolls along the floor to the man’s foot. He kicks it upward and catches it in his free hand, lifting it like a prize. “Quite simply, really. They are weak against holy objects, same as any other demon. Magic is also effective, as is the alchemy that gave the vampires life. But in every case, you must remember one thing.” He tosses the head into a pile of abused mannequins and puts away his whip. "Always, always, always aim for the head."

He turns to his students. “All right, troops,” he says. “Today’s lesson is complete. You know what time it is now!” He and a few of the nearby castle servants begin setting up targets for his students as they ready throwing knives, axes, and magic crosses.

Aeon continues his trek to the Princesses’ throne room, passing by a few castle servants as they wave to him. He returns their wave as he continues on his way, walking through the castle’s indoor garden. The exotic flora secretes a wonderful smell that seems to cleanse the entire area, as well as paint the otherwise deep-green garden with a splash of wild colors here and there.

He looks up as he sees another human—this one a tall woman with long black hair and ivory-white skin—leaning against a pillar with a detached look in her ice-blue eyes. The outside light bathes her dark clothing and armor in a splendid glow, drawing special attention to the exotic tattoos that line her arms. She looks to him as he nears.

“Aeon,” she says, her voice a tired monotone.

He checks his Stopwatch. Well, despite the fact that his stopwatch is at least thirty seconds off, Aeon decides there’s enough time for a chat. Not to mention that failing to acknowledge the personal sacrifice of those involved in this mission would make them feel unappreciated. Wouldn’t want that!

Snapping the Stopwatch shut, Aeon holds out his hand to shake hers. She does so, but only hesitantly. “I do hope our equine comrades are not leaving you bored, Shanoa,” says Aeon.

“Not at all,” she responds, her emotionless face unmoving. “I was able to go through some of their spellbooks, and found some new runes I can make Glyphs out of.”

“I take it you have been practicing?”

Shanoa nods. “Been putting in the training. I’ve had trouble finding partners, though.”

“Alucard and Julius seem to have taken it upon themselves to teach what they know. Perhaps you could offer that same service?”

At this, Shanoa shakes her head. “It’s a fine suggestion, Aeon; but no, I don’t think my powers are something that can be taught. There are magic-users here, but… they…” Her eyes dart about.

Suddenly, something fast and red bursts out of the bushes. Without a moment’s pause, Shanoa turns and parries an axe blow—an ethereal sword suddenly materializing from the tattoos on her arm. A sickle forms in her left hand as she brings it up for a counterstrike, only for her quarry to push her away and dodge the slash.

He laughs as Shanoa brings down an axe, he chortles as she swings a blade, he guffaws as she thrusts a rapier. He leaps and feints and misleads and with a final ducking dodge, he springs back up, getting Shanoa in the chin with the butt end of the axe he carries. She loses the feeling in her legs for a split-second—long enough for her red-coated enemy to give one of her armored knees a kick, putting her down in a humiliating bow. The axe head hovers just to the side of Shanoa’s neck.

The red-coated man’s blue eyes shimmer with good humor, complimenting the rest of his youthful facial features. His blonde hair is tousled by the wind as it blows by. “Do you admit defeat?” he asks in a young, heroic voice.

Shanoa looks up to him, her face unreadable. Suddenly, she lunges upward, swatting away his axe with a sickle, her lance materializing with its point only an inch from his face. The two combatants hang there, as if frozen in time. “Never,” she growls.

Her enemy smirks, his adolescent cockiness never waning. “Might wanna look down, Shanoa,” he says. He holds the axe upside-down, the blade meeting Shanoa’s stomach. One good upward swing would rend Shanoa in half—or failing that, leave a lethal stomach wound.

Despite the ferocity behind every strike, there is finesse and self-restraint within these warriors. Aeon grins and applauds their match. “Good show, Jonathan!” Aeon cheers. “Very good show! You actually managed a stalemate against Shanoa this time.”

Jonathan Morris—for that is the blonde young man’s name—stifles a half-offended laugh. “Oh, come on!” he says. “I’ve beaten her at least a few times now.”

Shanoa takes this moment to her advantage, using her lance to swipe the axe out of Jonathan’s hands and sending him to the ground with a kick. She keeps him well-placed with a heel, her lance again pointed at his face. “Yeah, a distraction,” Jonathan snorts. “Like that’s fair.”

“Pay closer attention to your enemies,” she says curtly. “Dracula’s minions may strike at any time. They won’t be fair.” With that, Shanoa’s lance disintegrates back into the tattoo on her arm. She turns and leaves the garden, walking by a few earth pony servants who eye her with caution after having witnessed such a brutal turnabout.

Aeon helps Jonathan up. “My apologies,” he says. "I did not intend to distract you."

“Don’t be sorry.” Jonathan looks in Shanoa’s direction and shakes his head, annoyed. “Jeez. Shanoa’s all business, all the time. Girl needs to loosen up a little.”

“Sparring is serious business, Jonathan,” Aeon says. “The more seriously you train, the more seriously you fight.”

Jonathan breathes a sigh. “You guys remind me of every instructor I’ve ever had.” He looks Aeon straight in the eye. “You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. No problem.”

Aeon puts a reassuring hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “But I do trust you, Jonathan. If I did not, you would not be here.” He looks around a second. “By the way, where is your little girlfriend?”

Jonathan scowls and looks away, blushing. “Shesnotmygirlfriend,” he says quickly.

Aeon chortles as the two continue on their way out of the garden. “But the two of you are just so comfortable around each other. You share a connection even many married couples do not possess.”

They pass down a hallway, the windows allowing the morning light to spill on the two comrades. Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Look, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times. Charlotte. Is not. My girlfriend. She’s been my best friend since we were kids. She’s like my baby sister, almost.”

Aeon’s smile widens. “Many of the most successful marriages I know of were born from strong bonds formed as childhood friends.”

They walk for some more silence. Aeon finally looks aside at Jonathan and is greeted by a scowl. Jonathan glowers and looks forward. “Quit suggesting it,” he says silently.

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t true.”

“Because you will not allow it to be true? Or because Charlotte will not allow it to be true? Marriage is an agreement between two people, after all.”

Jonathan groans and waves a hand impatiently. “Why do I even talk to you?”

Up ahead, the throne room doors are open. Aeon tries not to stare at how very, very tall the ornate doors are, but he finds them so impressive that not staring might come off as a bigger insult. The two unicorn guardsponies at the door look to the incoming duo. Aeon nods to them.

“I have returned to deliver a report from Twilight Sparkle to the Princesses.”

The guardsponies nod and, with some effort, open the door. The two humans walk in to a rather amusing sight.

In front of Celestia’s throne is the previously-mentioned Charlotte Aulin. Her long brown hair is tied back into a smart bun, a pair of reading glasses at the bridge of her nose. Her shawl is forsaken from her wardrobe for now, her white blouse and deep blue skirt and socks making her look even more like a young librarian. She sits demurely in front of the Princess of the Sun, several books piled all around her. Aeon looks at them a little more closely and notices they are notebooks, many with tags and notes sticking out.

Next to Celestia’s throne sits her sister Luna. The difference between them is startling—the elder sister is bright and cheerful in her appearance, while the younger sister is dark and moody in hers. Both are equally beautiful creatures, their eyes and voices and shimmering, otherworldly manes complimenting their overall regal forms.

Luna sits at a small tea table across from another young human. This one is ghost-white in his appearance—much like Aeon. His white ankle-length coat stands out more than any of his other features, except perhaps his pale blue eyes and ivory hair. He sips his tea as he turns his attention to the two visitors, his boyish face half-hidden by the raised teacup.

“All right,” Charlotte says, noticing that other business is at hand, “May I ask you one more question before I go, Your Highness?”

Celestia nods. “Of course, but only one more for today.”

Charlotte looks down at her open book and readies a pen. “All right. Can you tell me more about the zebra culture you mentioned earlier?”

Celestia's horn shimmers as a book from her own pile is floated over to Charlotte. Its cover says Zebra Culture. "As you may read in this book, their vast knowledge of magical alchemies—potions and incantations thereof—come from their long lineage of tribal teachings and other ancient practices.”

Charlotte nods. “I see,” she says as she puts down her pen and thumbs through the book, her baby-blue eyes drinking in words and pictures faster than she realizes. “It’s interesting that many of these equine races seem to mirror, almost perfectly, the practices of several human races. These zebras, for example, remind me of the African negro tribes.”

The young man in white nearly spits out his tea. After choking it down, he clears his throat. “The, uh… what... tribes?”

She looks to him with a smile. “African negro tribes, Soma. You know—colored people.”

Soma looks to Charlotte with a kind of patient awkwardness. The confusion in his eyes dissipates when he remembers the vast difference in the eras in which Charlotte and he grew up. Still, he’s grateful his half-black friend Hammer isn’t here to hear this. That and it’s always awkward hearing such terminology from the mouth of someone in his own age group.

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Charlotte, please stop pestering royalty. It’s embarrassing.”

Celestia raises a hoof to her mouth and giggles. “Oh, nonsense, Jonathan! Charlotte is merely a mind eager to grow. She reminds me so much of my own student—always ready to expand her knowledge in whatever way she can.”

Charlotte beams at Jonathan in a way that feels almost comically insulting. She nods at him, as if expecting an apology. He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Either way, I don't think it's okay to—”

“Silence!” bellows Luna from the tea table. Her sudden outburst causes Soma to nearly drop his teacup. “Thou address Our sister in naught less than insolence! Is that any way for an honorable warrior to engage a Princess?”

Jonathan bows. “I apologize, Your Highness. That outburst was… discorellous of me.”

“Discourteous, Jonathan,” Charlotte corrects as she puts all her notebooks in a bag for later study. “The word you’re looking for is discourteous.”

Jonathan shoots her an impatient grin. “That outburst was discourteous of me,” he says.

Celestia nods. “Jonathan, you must learn to be more like your friend Julius Belmont. Now he is a real gentleman.” Her smile broadens. “Always mindful of the fairer sex, eager to help, slow to anger, good with children…”

Luna suddenly sports a mischievous smile, her flowery language disappearing along with her anger. “Why, Sister! It appears you bear much fascination for Sir Julius. If I knew no better, I might assume you wish he were born a stallion instead of a man.”

For the third time in as many minutes, Soma fights the tea that threatens to shoot out of his mouth in surprise. Inwardly, he wonders why he always drinks tea when someone says something shocking.

Celestia blushes at Luna’s assertion. “Finish your tea, my sister,” she says brusquely. “If Aeon is here, that means he brings development on my student’s crusade against Dracula.”

Aeon then nods and turns to his friends in the room. “Indeed, Your Highness. For the rest of you, please continue to train and teach her soldiers your arts until further notice. I appreciate your continued participation and patience in this confusing situation.”

Silence as the three humans and few remaining Royal Guards leave the room. After the large double-doors close, Aeon draws out the message from his jacket and hands it to Celestia. Luna steps up beside her sister to read over her shoulder—a vice she’s had since she was a child. All three read the scroll…

When Aeon exits the throne room, Soma watches him as he makes his way back to the garden. He thinks nothing of it until he realizes that, oddly enough, Aeon could have simply “dimension-hopped” back to Equestria right after receiving the Princess’ response message. The unnerved grimace on the time-traveler’s face does nothing to assuage his concern.

Soma purses his lips in thought, watching Aeon as he takes a seat near the red roses. He plucks one and smells it. There's a look in his eyes, a faraway look that suggests he remembers something.

Soma draws near, slowly, unsurely. Is it truly his place to question the motives of a time-traveler? All the things Aeon has seen and experienced, tasted and felt—all these things must certainly make him a better man than he. But still, Aeon’s odd behavior is just… becoming odder and odder.

Aeon looks up as he stands next to him. Soma nods to the bench, wordlessly asking if he may have a seat. Aeon places the plucked rose onto his pure-white jacket pocket. The contrast the spot of red makes against his white coat is striking.

“Is there something you would like to ask me, Soma?” he asks softly.

Soma doesn’t take the seat, thinking it better to look around, his serene blue eyes picking apart the garden, checking for anyone who might listen in. They return to Aeon hesitantly. “…You OK?”

Aeon smiles. Even his smile feels odd; unnatural. Like there’s no reason for it to be there on Aeon’s face. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Soma puts his hands in his jacket pockets and tries his best to make and maintain eye contact. It’s like watching a shy boy try to recite lessons in front of a class. “Well, I mean during this whole, uh... crusade against Dracula, you occasionally took some of us with you to these worlds to fight his minions...”

“Yes. Yes, I did. And you did a masterful job in defeating Olrox, by the way.”

Soma blushes and looks away. “Thank you. But... well… um…” He takes a deep breath and returns to meet Aeon's gaze. “You haven’t done that… lately.”

Aeon’s gaze turns to the garden for a moment, before slowly making its way back to Soma. He sighs through his nose and nods, a curtain of melancholy draping over the action. “No, I suppose I have not.”

“Well, why not?” Soma asks earnestly. “This land of Equestria is all that stands between Dracula and his regeneration. And if that happens—”

“He will become even more powerful and embark on a voyage to conquer all creation, I know,” Aeon says in a tone Soma has rarely heard from him. It’s still as calm and dry as his voice always has been, but there is frustration present beneath his monotone.

“Well then, why not at least take me or Jonathan back with you? Or Alucard?”

Aeon shakes his head. “That is… something... I…” The thought Aeon attempts to project dies on its way to becoming words. It is rare he finds such difficulty in expressing himself—usually only saying what needs to be said. But now? How to explain…

Soma raises an eyebrow. “Aeon? Aeon, is there something wrong? I know your powers are beginning to dull, we all know. But—”

“They are not dulling,” Aeon says in a quiet, controlled voice. “It is not just my powers that are fading. They are fading as a result of…” He breathes in deeply, then turns and looks Soma Cruz in the eyes.

“Soma… I’m dying.”

Those two words linger there. I’m dying. The two words that seal a personal fate, the two words that admit one’s mortality, the two words Soma never imagined he’d hear a time traveler say.

Aeon clenches his teeth as he looks to the rose on his jacket. He pulls it out of his breast pocket and analyzes it. “I might not be physically aging, but I can feel it. Like a flower that blooms in spring and wilts in the fall, I can feel time now." He frowns, his voice becoming almost... angry. "Janine was right when she told me I'd become so arrogant, so used to merely observing time, I… I never knew what it was like to feel time as it slipped away from me, simply because I was not mortal like you or your friends...”

Soma holds his breath when Aeon mentions Janine, feels a cold at his back. He does not wish to hear more. No more about Janine. No more about how great she was (And she was), no more about how clever she was (And she was). The entire group understood what they'd lost when they'd lost Janine. They'd lost a lot.

They'd lost Aeon, for starters.

Despairingly, Aeon lets the rose fall to the ground. Soma watches it flutter weakly, landing soundlessly. “My time is short,” Aeon continues. “My time is nearly… over. I have become so very weak.”

He pulls out his Stopwatch, the very tool he uses to stop time. It opens with a click. Aeon watches the seconds tick by. “I must rely on machines and relics to do things I used to be able to do merely by thinking or wanting it to happen. And even then, I cannot use Janine's devices to their fullest.”

The hour hand is approaching a number Soma hadn’t noticed before—thirteen. A frown bothers his mouth as Aeon snaps the Stopwatch shut and looks to him again. “Our final battle with Dracula draws nearer and nearer. Partly because I am certain he and his forces will attempt an attack on this castle, and partly because I cannot do it anyway, I will not take any of you along with me to Equestria.”

“...Is there any other way for us to get to Equestria?” Soma asks, his eyes pleading.

Silence. Aeon sighs. “Soma. I understand your situation. It is not such an easy thing to take, but you must not feel responsible for Dracula’s actions.”

Soma’s body language changes, from a shy boy into a teenager demanding his right to his family’s fortune. “But I am Dracula. Aeon, if there is any chance I can undo my past self’s sins, then—”

Aeon waves away Soma’s response impatiently, not unlike a father attempting to finish his thought before his children interrupt. “When I spirited you away from your time period as our world's entire continuum collapsed to nothingness, I did not do it to give you a chance at righting whatever Dracula wrongs. You might have inherited his soul, and his powers, but you did not inherit responsibility for Dracula's actions. You must learn to put all that behind you.”

Soma pauses for a moment before breathing deeply. He rocks on his heels, awkwardly, shifting about a little. “...All right. But, Aeon, does anyone else know that you’re…?”

Aeon stands up. “None that I know of, although I am certain at least Charlotte and Alucard have both figured it out on their own.” The Stopwatch is put away, the rose on the ground now forgotten. The first man in white walks by the other, a look of determination coming over him.

As Aeon walks away, Soma calls out to him. “Good luck. We’re all rooting for you.”

Aeon pauses. Then turns. Then nods. Then disappears without making a sound, leaving Soma Cruz alone with the plucked rose.

Rose can see it. Rose can see it and smell it and taste it and hear it and feel it and above all else fear it. It’s all over her, crawling and screaming. It’s red. Blood red. It stops crawling and screaming, but it still poisons and frightens as it claws its way into Rose. She looks aside as she strangely feels no pain, and sees that all the other ponies are red, blood red.

All the blood red ponies are screaming and crawling over one another, smothering Rose. Desperate. There’s desperation. Anger. Distrust. The blood red ponies mash into one another as they begin to fall down an abyss. They become one thing. They form a body, then an ocean, then a monster, then a wail, then a death. They die just as they smash through a mirror that reflects what each pony really looks like, and the reflections hardly flatter them.

The pieces of the mirror fall without a sound, they fall to the ground like seeds. The ground opens up for them, swallows them. Then the ground begins to twist and distort until it gives birth to a creature unlike anything Rose has ever seen before. The creature looks up to the blood red ponies. The wails of the desperate, angry, distrustful ocean body fall silent mid-scream, as if suddenly devoured by silence.

And the Castle watches it all. Smiling. There’s no way for a Castle to smile, but it does, and Rose can see it. Rose can see it and smell it and taste it and hear it and feel it…

…and above all else, fear it.

Original Sin, Part II

View Online

Detective stories often hold that it’s fairly easy to break a perp under pressure. Just make the right threat, rough ’em up a bit, tell ’em they don’t owe those punks nothin’. (And it’s always “You don’t owe those punks nothin’” in a detective story, just like “We’re takin’ you downtown” and “She was a classy dame.”)

Of course, all that means is detective stories are stupid, stupid, stupid. When the perp’s boss holds more cards than you, getting them to talk is like trying to eat a wall. Nothing Shatterstorm could have tried would have mattered. He could have told Actrise she didn’t owe this Dracula character anything, but the fact is, she likely does. Very likely.

His time with Actrise in the interrogation room—a small, choked ass-crack of a room—yielded only a few things. The first he noticed was that this calm, cool, arrogant, powerful unicorn was suddenly timid and docile, flinching when Rainbow Dash raised a hoof to her as if she expected to get hurt. The slight French accent was gone. It’s almost like she’s a totally different pony now. He’d noticed it a little last night before that blue unicorn tried to give her a chance to escape, but this little session helped to definitely confirm his suspicion.

The second is that whatever Dracula and his minions are doing to keep Actrise quiet works. She doesn’t narc, doesn’t squeal, doesn’t rat. And he can see it in her eyes: she’s not talking because she’s terrified of what might happen if she does.

Shatterstorm recounts all this with Rainbow Dash on their way back to the library, where Twilight had told them to meet up with her. Rainbow Dash had noticed these things about Actrise, too—or at least, she claims to. It's not like she took notes or anything. Shatterstorm groans in exasperation. It's like high school joint studies all over again.

Before he can lecture her on taking her mission more seriously, a pegasus races by them, carrying a bag of hammers. "Comin' through!" he shouts.

“’Scuse me!” says another, heaving a barrel of nails.

They look around to find the sky is full of their fellow pegasi, darting about, helping the Ponyvillians with their reconstruction. Rainbow Dash recognizes a few of them. “Hey,” she says, “Looks like Cloudsdale’s lending a hoof.”

Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm duck and weave through the busy aerial traffic. The ponies below bustle about as they reconstruct houses and buildings, the sounds of tools pounding and whirring and clanking. Out of the corner of her eye, Rainbow Dash spots a Cloudsdalian she could spot anywhere.

Her overall color scheme is a screaming ball of fire shaped into into an equine body. While she is out of her Wonderbolt costume right now, Spitfire wears what looks like a military shirt, complete with a tie. She and two other similarly-dressed Wonderbolts direct other ponies about, apparently acting as makeshift foreponies.

The previous year Rainbow Dash spent in the Wonderbolt Academy was a very impactful one, and one of the biggest benefits was that she and Spitfire went from “admirer” and “idol” to “student” and “teacher”. Rainbow Dash looks to Shatterstorm and grins impishy. She can imagine the look on his stupid face when he learns she and Spitfire are tight. Will it be dumbfounded shock? Jealousy?

But before she can swoop down to get Spitfire’s attention, Shatterstorm looks at Spitfire and brightens up. The smile on his face is wide and sudden, like a foal opening a present on Hearth's-Warming Eve.

“Spitfire!” he called.

Spitfire looks up, catching a glimpse of the oceanic-colored pegasus as he swoops downward and lands in front of her. A big smile stretches her face as her eyes dance happily. “Shatterstorm!” she cries.

He nods, still smiling. “How’s it going, Spitz?”

Spitfire wraps a foreleg around him as Rainbow Dash descends in thunderstruck silence, her jaw slack and eyes wide. She’s too stunned that they're already acquainted to notice the way Shatterstorm tenses at Spitfire’s touch. It’s there and gone in a blink.

“I’m doin’ great,” Spitfire says. “I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages, kid!” She pulls away a second, her eyes attaching themselves to his tumbling, ocean-green mane. “And you’re letting your mane grow back, I see.”

Shatterstorm shrugs, his sudden nervousness apparently forgotten. “It’ll take some time for me to look like a rock star again,” he says with a nonchalant shrug and boyish grin. The way he says rock star, and the way Spitfire chuckles at it, imply a chummy inside joke. Suddenly, Rainbow Dash feels an incredible amount of jealousy, an emotion that burns through her with jarring force. Her teeth clench angrily as she stares daggers at the back of Shatterstorm’s head.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Shatterstorm asks.

“The Mayor of Cloudsdale and the Mayor of Ponyville decided to lend hooves to one another,” says Spitfire. “In light of recent events, you know? This is the kind of time we ponies ought’a stick together.”

“Took ’em long enough,” Shatterstorm smirks. “But what about Cloudsdale?”

Spitfire shrugs. “Cloudsdale got attacked, same as Ponyville. We managed to survive as best we could for about a week before figuring we’re better off together on the ground with Ponyville than by ourselves in the sky.”

“Well, Ponyville does have a defense forcefield now,” Shatterstorm says.

Spitfire laughs. “True. Kinda hard for us pegasi to get one of those.”

At the news of her hometown’s fate, Rainbow Dash lets go of her jealousy with a sigh, letting her escaping air take it someplace far away. She recomposes herself, reminding herself that there are much bigger things going on than News Flash: Shatterstorm Cheeses Off Rainbow Dash Yet Again!

Shatterstorm gives Spitfire a hoofbump before he tells her he has to go. He turns to leave. “Oh, wait,” he says, turning back around. He unfolds one of his colossal wings in Rainbow Dash’s direction. “This is Rainbow Dash; she’s a friend of mine.”

Spitfire nods. “Yeah, I know her,” she says with a knowing smile. “She’s currently training to be a Wonderbolt.”

Shatterstorm looks at Rainbow Dash strangely. “You? You’re a Wonderbolt cadet?” he asks in genuine surprise.

Rainbow Dash finally receives the look of bewilderment she’d wanted. She pompously puffs out her chest, her cocky smile smugly, silently tugging at Shatterstorm’s ego.

He turns back to Spitfire, his eyes glazed-over. “Seriously?” he asks with a dry, flat tone. “Y-You’re kidding me, right?”

Rainbow Dash deflates with a huff. “Oh, what? Can’t believe somepony this awesome can be a Wonderbolt?”

Shatterstorm smirks. “No, I just can’t believe somepony as undisciplined and lackadaisical as you are could have trained under Spitfire.” He shakes his head as Rainbow Dash clenches her teeth, feeling her anger bubble up again.

“You sure she’s Wonderbolt material?” he asks Spitfire.

Spitfire laughs as Rainbow Dash sizzles. “Just as much as me, Junior. And if I recall correctly, there was this one kid in the cadets who was so snotty, rude, and disobedient that I had to go out of my way to straighten him out.” She grins maliciously. Shatterstorm’s eyes try to escape Spitfire’s as a blush comes over his face.

Rainbow Dash laughs. Before Spitfire can continue, Shatterstorm reminds Rainbow Dash that they have to return to the Library. Rainbow Dash nods. “Naw, it's OK,” she says. “You can go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Shatterstorm inspects her behind squinting eyes and a growing frown. He knows—they all know—that Rainbow Dash intends to glean more hilarious history from Shatterstorm’s time in the Academy, and that Spitfire’s all too eager to oblige. Shatterstorm sighs, glumly accepting what he can’t prevent. “Sure,” he growls. With a fuming flap of his wings, he takes off for the Library.

Rainbow Dash looks to Spitfire as Shatterstorm flies out of earshot. “So,” she starts. “Shatterstorm was a Wonderbolt cadet?”

“Was,” Spitfire emphasized.

“He get kicked out?”

Spitfire shakes her head. “No, actually, but he did get punished a lot. He was only disobedient because he was like, sixteen. All boys that age are rebellious.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “I... didn’t think the Wonderbolts took in anypony that young.”

“The kid crashed into a hurricane and destroyed it!” Spitfire said, waving a hoof to emphasize her point. “We’d have to be crazy to turn down an applicant with that kinda cred!” She leans in. “And for the record, you didn’t have to wait that long to submit your application, either. You broke the sound barrier with literal flying colors when you were like… what, seven?”

Rainbow Dash shrugs. “Just wanted to have all my cards in place first,” she says. “Anyway, I think I know the real reason he was so rebellious.”

“…You think he’s sexist, don’t you?” Spitfire smirks. Rainbow Dash nods. Spitfire sighs sadly, and lowers her voice. “Look, he’s…” She pauses, trying to figure out a polite way to phrase her next sentence, then leans in forward and lowers her voice further. “…Shatterstorm is really complicated. For reasons I don’t think I have the right to explain,

(“You were always good to Momma.”)

he’s always had problems with mares, especially mares in positions of authority.” Spitfire’s face brightens. “He’s apparently warming up to you though, so that’s progress.”

Rainbow Dash only notices her own bothered frown just now, and wipes it away with an understanding nod. “Yeah, he’s… I-I’ve noticed that.”

“But he’s a very sweet guy once he cools off,” Spitfire continued. “He and I became almost like brother and sister later on during his time in the Academy. Heck, we even kept in touch long after he’d left.”

“Why’d he leave, anyway?” Rainbow Dash asks.

Spitfire gives Rainbow Dash a tired smirk one can associate with telling a reluctant truth. “Same reason you almost did,” she says. “It was my first year as drill instructor for the new recruits. And, noob I was at the time, I made the mistake of pairing him with a pony with a lot of talent but no self-control, and he didn’t like having to put up with her.

“At first, I chalked it up to his conflict with mares, but he was also a very promising flyer and I hoped he could tough it out, but… well…” Spitfire shrugs. “I mean, both Shatterstorm and this other kid—Blue Yonder, I think her name was—had some real talent. If you and that one kid… uh…” She taps her hoof on her cloud, trying to recollect the ex-cadet’s name.

“Lightning Dust,” Rainbow Dash says. She dislikes the memory associated with that name: that cocky, uncontrolled pegasus whose antics were a danger to everypony around her. Perhaps the most disgusting was her apparent lack of remorse or empathy.

Spitfire points. “Yeah, Lightning Dust. If the two of you are speed, Shatters and Yonder were power. No matter what we threw at them, they plowed through it like it was wet toilet paper.” She chuckles a little. “They were a great pair—at least, at first.”

Boy, that sure sounds familiar, Rainbow Dash thinks.

“But then it happened. Shatterstorm packed his things, walked into my office, said his piece, left his badge on my desk, and walked out. We found a letter in his room, on his bed, that explained everything, telling me why he left, apologized for leaving…” Spitfire smiles wistfully. “…and then apologized for being such a little snot to me.” She closes her eyes and chuckles slightly.

“So there I was, down one star flyer and finding myself having to expel another for her reckless behavior. And when I found the same thing happening again almost seven years later”—she leans forward, smiling—“to yet another pair of star flyers, the first thing that ran through my mind was, Oh great, we have another Shatterstorm situation. I was lucky I stopped you before you left.”

Rainbow Dash sniffs a laugh. She remembers that debacle a little too clearly. Her laugh is joined by Spitfire, who looks back down at the working ponies below.

“Shatterstorm’s actually a lot like you, come to think of it,” Spitfire says suddenly. “You’re both stubborn, determined, gutsy, passionate, daring…” She looks aside at Rainbow Dash. “…very loyal…”

After a second, Rainbow Dash blinks. “Oh brother, not you too,” she groans, facehoofing.

Spitfire laughs and gives Rainbow Dash a playful shoulder-shove. “Hey, I just want the two of you to be happy,” she says with a smile. “Plus, this is Shatterstorm we’re talkin’ about here. Dude needs a girlfriend, stat.”

“Well then, he’s gonna hafta look somewhere else,” Rainbow Dash frowns as Spitfire giggles. Rainbow Dash brightens up. “It’s been fun talkin’, Spitfire, but it looks like we’re both busy.” She gives Spitfire a hoof-bump, turning around and readying her wings for take-off. “Catch ya later!”

“Hey, before you go, can I ask you something?” Spitfire says suddenly. Her tone catches Rainbow Dash off-guard. It sounds quiet… serious, even. Not nearly so laid-back as she was only moments ago.

Rainbow Dash turns around, an eyebrow raised. “…Yeah?”

Spitfire bites her bottom lip thoughtfully. She didn’t mention it before—even pretending it didn’t happen so as to not alarm Shatterstorm—but she felt the way his body tensed when she hugged him. It was as if he’d expected her to hurt him…

A pause. Then, “Nah, forget it.” Spitfire laughs it off, making a mental note to ask Shatterstorm himself when they meet next. “Peace out,” she says. With that, Rainbow Dash takes off from the cloud, making a beeline for the library.

Spitfire returns her gaze to the worker ponies below. “Hey, you!” she yells down to a purple earth pony. “Yeah, you! You put that flask away and get back to work!”

“Sorry, Spike,” says the salespony. “But I don’t give credit. Come back when you’re a little richer.” He’s a skinny thing, covered in acne. The dorky glasses, brown mane, and nasally voice go well with his milquetoast mannerisms. Everything about him begs to be punched and kicked.

“But you’re the only stand here in the whole marketplace who sells them!” Spike protests.

The haughty salespony’s nasally squeal becomes more refined. “Pan’s Needles are of precious commodity, especially now. I can’t part with them for less than a hundred bits each.”

Spike looks down at the bag of money he’d brought with him. After purchasing the other ingredients Twilight needs, he was left with a little under ninety bits. His scaly lips contort as a soft, aggravated grunt escapes his nostrils.

“No bits, no Needles,” the salespony says curtly. With that, he turns his attention back to setting out wares for other potential customers.

Spike sighs, slumping his shoulders. As he turns to go back to the Library, he hears something land next to him. “Hey, Spike!” says Shatterstorm. “What’s up?”

Spike looks to Shatterstorm with a grumpy frown. “Hey, Shatterstorm,” he says.

“Sounds like something’s wrong in Spike Land,” Shatterstorm says. His casual choice of words is offset by his serious tone. “Somethin’ bothering you?”

Spike went through a quick explanation: the list Twilight made (Which was thankfully short), the items he was sent to acquire, and finally the current issue of the problematic salespony and his ridiculous expectations for trade. “I can’t seem to talk him down,” Spike sighs.

Shatterstorm nods understandingly. "Well, I have a little money," he says. "I'll help you out." They return to the ingredients stand.

The salespony turns around with a disinterested look in his eyes. “Yes?” he sniffs.

Just the sound of his voice alone makes Shatterstorm want to punch him. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give my friend here my military discount?”

At this, the salespony stiffens. “Military?” he asks.

Shatterstorm puts a hoof to his armor. “Military,” he says, smiling.

The salespony nods. “Well, I think I can appropriate for that.”

Spike smiles at Shatterstorm. “Thanks,” he whispers as he reopens his moneybag.

“That’ll be ninety-nine bits per Needle.”

A pause sinks between seller and customers, the quiet noise of the marketplace becoming quieter. “Your military discount is only one bit?” Shatterstorm asks incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Pan’s Needles are incredibly difficult to come by,” the salespony explained. “And with the trains and other forms of quick transportation almost completely down at the moment, I’m stuck having to raise prices on everything just to make ends meet.”

Shatterstorm scowls. “That’s not making ends meet, that’s price gouging!” He waves an accusing hoof at the salescolt. “You’re deliberately taking advantage of someone in need!”

“The same could be said of all sales ethics,” the salespony shrugs.

A tense silence. Finally, Shatterstorm sniffs. He turns to Spike. “Come on, we’re going.” The two then depart from the ingredients stand.

Shatterstorm groans and runs his hoof through his ocean-green mane. I can’t believe that guy! he thinks. As his thoughts become grumbles, his eyes descend to his dragon companion, whose attention has floated elsewhere. His moody body language has been swapped for one more perky and lively.

“Hi, Rarity!” he chirps, waving.

Her purple mane has been redone from the nearly-day’s-length it spent neglected, back to its beautiful curls. Her pearl-white coat becomes positively radiant in the late-morning light, drawing special attention to the scrumptious curve of her back and the delicate shape of her face.

Shatterstorm looks to her and holds a breath, watching. Waiting to see what she would do.

“Good morning, Spike darling,” she greets, giving the dragon a quick hug. “And how are we today?”

“Well,” Spike began, “we were trying to get this one guy to reduce his price on some Pan’s Needles, but he wouldn’t budge, so…”

“Who are we talking about?”

Spike jerks a thumb to the ingredients stand. Rarity smiles and nods. “Leave this to me, darling.”

Shatterstorm observes Rarity as she walks to the stand. Her body language has changed completely—from casual canter to enchanting sexiness in as few as two hoofsteps. A blush forms over his cheeks as he watches the sway of her hips and the way her tail seems to bounce with every step she takes.

He can’t hear the conversation she has with the salespony, but the looks on their faces say everything he needs to know. Petey Pizza-Face has probably never been laid in his life, as evidenced by how immediately enraptured he is by the sudden attention of such a beautiful mare. Rarity’s winning smile—as framed by her full lips—moves in just the right way, saying just the right things.

Shatterstorm sees all the signs. Nervous coughing. Adjusting his glasses and bowtie. The increasing redness of his face. He’s being pulled in. Helpless.

Finally, after some further smooth-talking, the Pan’s Needles are hoofed over to Rarity, in exchange for a small purse that probably hold less than half the bits Spike was carrying. Rarity puts the Needles into her own saddlebags, winks to the salespony, then returns to Spike and Shatterstorm, her sexy saunter not stopping until she was sure she was out of the salespony’s sight.

Rarity gives Spike the Needles. He looks at her with eyes that contain more than admiration. Shatterstorm feels suddenly worried for his little buddy—the poor thing has a baaad case of puppy love. “Thanks, Rarity!” Spike says, “You’re the greatest!”

Rarity shrugs nonchalantly. “Oh, it was nothing, really. Anything for a friend.”

Toying with a lonely stallion was nothing to her? Shatterstorm thinks uncomfortably.

“It was fun helping you, Spike, but I really must run,” says Rarity. “I'm off to check on the damage done to the Boutique."

"I've been by there a few times," Spike says. "All the damage is on the first floor. Didn't look like the second floor was even touched." He smiles. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Red alarms blare in Shaterstorm's mind. If he doesn't stop Spike now, Rarity might take advantage of him the same way she did the salespony. "Spike, weren't you already running an errand for Twilight?"

Rarity brightens. "Are you now? Well, I don't want to keep you, darling." She looks into Shatterstorm's eyes. "Oh! How rude of me! I don't mean to act like you aren't even here, Shatterstorm."

"Don't worry about it," he says, shyly making eye contact.

That winning smile comes back. "I must say, I feel much better now that I know such a fine specimen of pegasus such as yourself is keeping an eye on my Spikey-Wikey."

The blush returns to Shatterstorm's face. He sighs through his nose and forces a smile. Rarity giggles at his reaction, that same kind of giggle a mare uses when she attempts to ensnare a stallion. That oh, he's so cute kind of giggle that's supposed to earn his attention.

Rarity pecks Spike on the head. "Be good to Shatterstorm for me, won’t you, darling? I’ll see you later.” She leaves the two, weaving herself back into the crowd of ponies in the marketplace.

“Isn’t she something?” Spike asks dreamily. Shatterstorm remains silent. “She’s just as beautiful as she is generous…” He places a claw to the spot on his head where he'd been kissed. "I... am never washing my head again."

Suddenly, an idea pops into Spike’s head. He turns to Shatterstorm. “Hey Shatterstorm, have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Shatterstorm answers Spike with a crooked frown and a heaving sigh. “Yes,” he says slowly. Apparently, Spikey-Wikey has forgotten about Shatterstorm's... problem... with mares.

Spike smiles. “Share some tips with me, then! How do I impress a mare like Rarity?”

A looooooong and uncomfortable silence. Spike’s smile slowly fades. “Shatterstorm?”

Oh, the wonderful world of dating. All the verbal abuse, the casually taking advantage of a lonely pony, the awkward sex that ends with tears and apologies and self-loathing. Shatterstorm clicks his tongue. “Trust me on this one, Spike. You don’t want her.”

Spike seems taken aback by Shatterstorm’s sour disposition. “What do you mean, I don’t want her?”

“You’re setting yourself up for epic disappointment,” Shatterstorm says despondently. “She’s a stallion-eater, Spike. There’s a million just like her.”

The crushed look on Spike’s face says everything even before he opens his mouth. “What are you saying?” he asks. “Shatterstorm, you don’t even know her!”

Shatterstorm grunts. “I don’t have to. What did we just see her do?”

“We saw her get us the magic ingredients Twilight needed!” Spike argues.

Shatterstorm nods. “Mm-hmm. And how’d she do that?” A pause. “By taking advantage of that guy’s desperate want for female company. She didn’t even think anything of it; you heard her.”

Spike goes from shock to outright anger. “He deserved it!”

Shatterstorm stomps a hoof, his wings fluttering. “Nopony deserves that!” he nearly shouts. “Nopony deserves to be taken advantage of like that! Mares like her pull stunts like that so they can feel powerful!”

“Rarity’s not like that!” Spike shouts, tears in his eyes. “She’s not like that at all!”

Shatterstorm facehoofs and growls. “Good. Grief. We just saw her demonstrate what kind of power she has, Spike. How many times has she pulled that on you already?” He looks Spike right in the eye. “You tell me.”

Spike wants so badly to tell Shatterstorm of all the wonderful things Rarity’s done. All the wonderful things Rarity is. But he’s already in the camp that thinks Shatterstorm isn’t willing to listen. And unfortunately, he’s right.

“You don’t know her,” Spike growls. He looks away. “You don’t know her at all.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Shatterstorm says. He sighs and puts a hoof on Spike’s shoulder. “Look, Spike, I’m just trying to keep you from making the same mistakes I made.”

With a quick movement, Spike throws the unwanted hoof off. “Love is not a mistake. And it’s not Rarity’s fault the mares you loved didn’t love you back.” His green eyes seem to pierce Shatterstorm—but not as badly as his words.

A few seconds pass before Shatterstorm realizes he hasn’t drawn a breath since Spike put him down. The little dragon turns and flees the market, escaping this confrontation with hot tears in his eyes. As he does so, Shatterstorm feels tears of his own well up. He quickly wipes them away.

He looks around to see several ponies staring—probably had been since Spike started shouting. Shatterstorm glares at them. “What're you lookin’ at?” he growls. The ponies in question resume their business, their hushed words buzzing around Shatterstorm like bees.

With a heavy heart, Shatterstorm flaps his wings and returns to the skies, making way to the Library again.

Original Sin, Part III

View Online

Chapter 3~ Rising

The Golden Oaks Library stands as a tree half-dead. The back entrance is completely gone, with much of the interior bloated and damp from the one or two days of rain. As she tucks in her wings and descends through the hole in the back wall, Rainbow Dash sees Twilight Sparkle pacing forlornly amongst her ruined books.

It’s a depressing spectacle: Twilight trotting among the corpses of her cherished collection, a look of vulnerability in her eyes. Many of the books were destroyed in Dirt Nap’s attack, simply incinerated completely. The rest were wrecked by the rain.

Twilight’s movements are slow, mechanical. Destroyed books are lifted by a magenta glow that deposits them into boxes marked “Unsalvageable.” Nearby, Twilight’s nighttime assistant Owlowiscious stands on his perch, observing his mistress with a keen interest.

“Hey,” says Rainbow Dash as she lands gently beside her friend.

Twilight looks over another book, almost not even paying attention to Rainbow Dash. She sighs as she drops it into the “Unsalvageable” box. “Did you and Shatterstorm find out anything?” she asks, her back still turned.

“Well, she’s not talking,” Rainbow Dash replies as she steps over some books. “Not about Dracula or his plans. Not even about that book you’re still missing. Her whole attitude’s changed, too. Really meek. Like, worse-than-Fluttershy meek.”

Twilight stops, then turns to look Rainbow Dash in the eye. “So you’re saying…” She begins to pace the room, her “dead” books no longer on her mind. Owlowiscious’s head turns as she walks a circle around his perch. “So you’re saying this Actrise character. No information. Not acting herself.” She taps a hoof to the floor suddenly in realization. “Of course.”

She stops and looks at Rainbow Dash in the eye. “That isn’t Actrise.”

Rainbow Dash cocks her head. “Not her? So… What does that mean?”

Twilight summons the bestiary Aeon had given her and opens it, flipping the pages until she finds the section on witches and other magic-users. “This bestiary claims that witches are capable of several forms of black magic. What we’re looking at is either something like hypnotic suggestion or physical possession or…”

“Shatterstorm thinks she’s working with Dracula’s minions,” Rainbow Dash interrupts. “Like, willingly. Or at least, she was at first.”

Twilight stops and looks up at Rainbow Dash. “…Continue.”

“Basically, if you’re right, and Shatterstorm’s right, then this chick’s a henchmare,” Rainbow Dash shrugs. “And one of the rules of being a bad guy is you never divulge too much info to your henchponies. Whatever her connection to Dracula is, I don’t think she really knows anything. It was a good try, but… she’s pretty much a dead end.”

A pause. Twilight considers Rainbow Dash’s theory, feeling the weight of its depth. When she connects the dots, Twilight feels a groan crawling up her throat and silences it with a facehoof. “Great,” she mutters. “That means I’ve completely lost that book.”

“What is it with you and that book, anyway?”

Twilight paces again. “It was the personal journal of Starswirl the Bearded himself. I received it the same night I received that letter from Shining Armor.” She stops. Blinks, as if in thought. “Almost at the same time, in fact. Never got to read it before… well, everything else that’s happened.”

“Aw, come on, Twi,” Rainbow Dash says, giving Twilight a playful punch to the shoulder. “It’s not like that was the only copy.” A pause. Rainbow Dash frowns. “…That was the only copy, wasn’t it?”

Twilight nods. “Celestia kept it in her possession for generations.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “If she had it in her possession for generations, then why didn’t she make a copy of it?”

Twilight looks at Rainbow Dash. “That’s a good question.” She begins to pace the room once more, stepping carefully over ruined books. “I surmise it might be due to the fact that since Starswirl dabbled in many different delicate, potentially harmful spells, it was a better idea to keep the only copy of his journal hidden instead of making it easier for enemies of the Crown to distribute such a potentially dangerous text.” She stops and shrugs. “Not that it matters now. Either way, it’s been stolen.”

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes as she drifts into the air, largely ignoring Twilight’s explanation. “Still say she should have made copies,” she says, folding her forelegs behind her head.

Twilight shakes her head. “It certainly wouldn’t have put us where we are right now,” she sighs. “But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m sure the ward on the journal should protect it from their evil.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “It has a ward?”

Twilight shrugs. “Another safety precaution. You know, in case it falls into the wrong hooves.

“Anyway, Spike will be back here shortly with the ingredients I needed for the compasses, so for now we…” Her voice trails off. Her eyes scan around Rainbow Dash, then around the room. “Where’s Shatterstorm right now, anyway? I thought I sent both of you…”

Rainbow Dash looks around. “Uh… he… shoulda… been here before me, actually,” she says. “Dunno what’s holding him up.”

“Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm! Hey Shatterstorm!”

The pink thing simply won’t leave. Shatterstorm cannot hide from her squeaky voice and high-octane energy, no matter how much he tries, no matter how much he wants to simply shrink and disappear. How she managed to jump high enough to tackle him as he flew is certainly a mystery for the ages. He releases a defeated grunt as he slowly trots back to the Library, Pinkie Pie bouncing all about him like a one-mare stunt show.

A sudden weight lands on his back as a frizzy pink mane and a pair of darling baby blue eyes pop into his vision. “Hey Shatterstorm! Hey!” she chirps. “Why you so sad, Shatterstorm?”

It’s the blue eyes that get Shatterstorm. They aren’t the same color as his, but they have the same feel. Exactly the same. They’re tender and caring, her eyes. Eyes that hug you when she sees you. You can look into them and believe everything’s going to be OK.

Just like his.

A long frown—well, longer than usual—stretches at the ends of his mouth as he sighs through his nostrils, his descending eyelids shutting out both Pinkie’s eyes and the painful void Tiger Cross left behind.

“Aw, turn that frownie upside-downie!” Pinkie jumps off him, landing on one foreleg and twirling about before resuming walking on all fours. Despite her infectious energy and merry attitude, Shatterstorm’s disposition remains cheerless.

He sighs. “Look, Pinkie, it’s… been a long and almost-thoroughly disappointing morning for me, so—”

At this, Pinkie turns and faces him. Her girlish grin becomes a simple line before crumpling into a frown. “So?” she says, her eyebrows slanting downward. “You’re so busy being a mopey-dopey pants that you can’t see how it’s been a long and thoroughly disappointing morning for everypony!”

“—Uh—”

“I mean, it’s been a long and very disappointing past twelve days for most of us!”

“—W-Well, er—”

“And here you are, thinking you’re the only one who’s sad!”

Her unexpected criticism of his behavior catches Shatterstorm off-guard. It’s like he’d been walking around with a bag over his head, only to have it rudely jerked away. Suddenly, he is able to hear the construction work going on. He sees ponies who have lost a lot these past few days. He sees and hears the ponies rebuilding, pulling themselves together—pulling each other together—and realizes how selfish it is to shrink the world down to just himself and his own problems.

“Well… You got me there.” The words exhale his self-centered depression. He smiles a little, welcoming a breath of fresh air.

Pinkie smiles again, and puts a foreleg around his neck, pulling him close. She doesn’t notice the way his body tenses. “See? You just gotta look at the big picture! Life’s too short to get all hung up on bungles and bumbles!” She pauses, a look of mystification floating through her eyes. “Bungles and Bumbles,” she whispers. “That’s like the best name for a rock band, ever.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call them bungles or bum… bles…” A long pause. “…What?”

Pinkie Pie resumes bouncing along the path to the library. Her hooves leave the ground with a cheerful twinkling noise. “Well, OK, maybe Bumbles and Bungles instead.” She laughs. “And they’d sing the greatest song in the world!”

Shatterstorm walks alongside the little pink sugar buzz. “Out of curiosity—and my better judgment—which song would that happen to be?”

Pinkie Pie hums a few bars before Shatterstorm recognizes the tune and rolls his eyes. “‘This’? That old number that got Sapphire Shores famous? Please.”

Pinkie Pie shrugs. “’This’ is the greatest and best song in the world!”

“‘This’ is not the greatest song in the world,” Shatterstorm scoffs. “‘This’ is just a tribute.”

Pinkie’s bouncing trot slows down. “A tribute to greatness!” she chirps. “It’s a song that’s aaaaaaall about believing in yourself, and confidence, and cherries on top, and maybe something about mashed potatoes, but I think they’re a metaphor, which is really silly because the only thing I can associate with mashed potatoes is clouds except that clouds don’t taste nearly as yucky except when the potatoes have ketchup but I like to use maple syrup instead because maple syrup and mashed potatoes both start with MMM-MMM!”

She looks at Shatterstorm once she acknowledges his lack of response. He looks directly ahead, his hard eyes scrutinizing with an intense focus. Pinkie follows his gaze and notices somepony standing at the front of the library, looking in through one of the windows.

She turns her head the moment she realizes she’s being watched.

There’s muted shouts outside that draw both mares’ attention. Rainbow Dash thinks to fly out the hole in the wall to investigate, but before she can act, the front door slams open and in walks Shatterstorm. He shoves a mare inside the Library, and she lands face-first onto the ground. Twilight immediately recognizes her: the creamy coat, the rosy mane…

“Roseluck?” Twilight asks incredulously.

“Found her right outside, peeking in through a window,” says Shatterstorm. From behind him bounces Pinkie Pie, who lands on his back—much to his annoyance.

“Don’t treat Rosie like that, Stormdrain!” she chirps.

Rainbow Dash chuckles as Shatterstorm glowers. “Stormdrain?”

“Yup, that’s his new nickname,” Pinkie Pie says as she leap-frogs off Shatterstorm’s back. She lands in front of Roseluck and helps her up. As she does so, Pinkie shoots a withering look to Shatterstorm. “I call him that because he’s such a sourpuss.”

Shatterstorm snorts. “Have we nearly forgotten this little pervert we caught lurking outside Miss Sparkle’s window?” he growls in frustration.

Roseluck says nothing but looks aside at Shatterstorm with a scowl and squinting eyes, accepting his distrust and meeting it with some of her own. The tension in the air feels like piano wires just about to snap.

Before the situation can spiral further out of control, Twilight interrupts. “Rose, what’s the meaning of this?”

Again, Roseluck says nothing. Pinkie Pie cocks her head in confusion at Rose’s reluctance to speak. “What’s wrong, Rosie?” she asks.

“What were you doing looking through her window?” Shatterstorm demands as he takes a step forward.

Rainbow Dash hovers around Roseluck. “Are you a spy?” she asks, invading Rose’s personal space.

Her eyes go from pony to pony before settling on Twilight. Finally, Rose speaks. “I wanted to speak to Twilight.

“…Alone.”

The sound of her voice—a hoarse, dry monotone—causes Shatterstorm, Pinkie, and Rainbow Dash to recoil. She sounds like a mare about to die.

A pause. Twilight sighs and nods. “Don’t worry about me, everypony, I’ll be fine.”

The other three ponies exit the Library with looks of unease. Before he closes the door behind him, Shatterstorm shoots one last accusing glare Rose’s way as a warning. I’m watching you.

Rose catches his glare and returns it with a mock-kiss. The door is closed.

“You could have just used the door, Rose,” Twilight says. “You could have avoided that whole confrontation. What is wrong with you?”

Rose paces a bit before mumbling something Twilight can’t hear. She looks out the window to see if anypony is eavesdropping. When she’s sure the coast is clear, Rose returns her attention to Twilight.

“I had another vision,” she croaks, ignoring Twilight’s question completely. Rose recounts it all: the blood red ponies, the screams, their attempts at killing one another. The mirror. The shattering. The graveyard of glass shards. The Castle.

Twilight scratches her chin. “Your last vision came true,” she says. “I didn’t prepare for it then…”

Rose shrugs as she looks at Owlowiscious, who cocks his head inquisitively. Rose does likewise. “Well,” she says, “I’m not sure what it means. Just like last time, really. How do you defend against a threat this vague?”

“But your vision this time sounds like it was more intense,” Twilight says. “You said it had something to do with mirrors…”

Rose breaks away from her staring contest with Owlowiscious. “So what do you intend to do? Just break all the mirrors in Ponyville? I’m sure that would work.”

“We might have to,” Twilight says.

Rose breathes a slow sigh like a plume of cigarette smoke. “Do you have some kind of seek-and-destroy spell that can wipe out every mirror—heck, maybe even every reflective surface?”

Twilight pauses to think, stroking her chin in thought. Rose has a point. Unless she can somehow destroy every reflective surface, whatever would cause the calamity in Rose’s vision will go unabated. But in relation to everything else going on—the reconstruction work, the assembly of the trackers, Aeon’s upcoming tell-all—this seems almost like a distraction.

No rest for the wicked, Twilight supposes. But how to approach this problem…?

“What if we were able to get this message out?” Twilight asks. “If this involves as many ponies as you saw, then that likely means it’s going to affect Ponyville at large.”

Rose rolls her eyes and sighs. “Twi. Babe. Listen.” Nonchalantly, she drapes a foreleg over Twi’s withers. “I was declared mentally unstable three days ago. I’m actually not even supposed to be out of the mental ward right now.” Twilight’s eyes widen at this blasé delivery of life-changing events. Rose’s eyes—twitchy and bloodshot—flick to Twilight suddenly. “And you? Remember the last time you tried to warn Ponyville of impending doom?”

Twilight scoffs, pushing Roseluck off. “W-What’s your point?”

Rose’s entire demeanor changes almost instantly. Her eyes suddenly sharpen. Her voice goes from the icy monotone into a growl, growing in pitch and volume with every word. “My point is, do you really think anypony’s going to listen? Gonna believe you? Gonna believe us?”

Her legs move her forward with an uneven, uncalculated stride that makes her every movement seem spidery. Twilight takes a step or two back. “Nopony’s going to listen to a madmare and a librarian,” Rose nearly shouts, “especially not when the instructions are BREAK ALL THE MIRRORS!!!” In frustration, Rose shoulders a stack of books over.

Twilight’s horn glows almost reflexively as she adopts a more-aggressive stance. Rose’s scowl worsens. “That how it’s gonna be, Twilight? Threaten me?”

“Get out, Roseluck!” Twilight warns, her voice cracking at out. “Go home.”

A pause. A soft look settles over Rose, as if finally realizing she’d just snapped at the only pony she trusts. She nods, slowly. As she walks to the door, Rose mumbles again before sighing. She places a hoof on the doorknob, but stops and turns her head to see that Twilight hasn’t relaxed yet.

“…Be careful out there,” she says quietly, her voice crackling as if coming over an old radio. Rose stands there a moment, as if waiting for Twilight to reply. When she receives none, she opens the door and leaves.

Outside, two nurses—apparently brought by Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm—are waiting. Twilight looks out the window to see Rose being led away. Back home.

With all the other crazies.

She breathes a heavy sigh, watching how worried Pinkie Pie seems over her friend. She can’t imagine the grief Roseluck’s unintentionally putting on Daisy and Lily. All because the Castle sees fit to bully her with nearly-incomprehensible visions. Maybe it's that they both share the same vein of “precise target” victimhood, but Twilight feels she might have something of a twisted soul-sister in Rose…

Twilight notices her slight reflection in the window. She pulls the curtain around it closed.

The bushes rustle slightly. Must be the wind. Or at least, Fluttershy believes so until she hears whispers.

She looks up from her spot on the grassy ground. At first, Fluttershy’s unsure of what she just heard. It could have been just a whisper of wind sneaking through the sound of Ponyville’s reconstruction. But the looks on the faces of her animal friends imply they hear the whispers, too.

Fluttershy pauses, waiting. There it is again, the whispering. It sounds like somepony talking. Then more whispers join it.

She wets her tongue, not realizing that her throat has become dry until she does so. Her animal friends have taken to standing up, all looking in the direction of the bushes, their picnic forgotten. Mr. Bear begins to growl.

“Hello?” Fluttershy asks, putting her tea down. “Is somepony there?”

The whispers stop. For a few seconds, only the faraway sounds of hammers clinking and directions being shouted. Fluttershy repeats her question before taking a step forward. Mr. Bear puts himself between Fluttershy and the bushes.

“Great,” a female voice says at a perceptible volume. “Thanks a lot, Chloe.”

“What’d I do?” asks another voice, this one smaller, squeakier.

Another voice, this one feminine but aggressive and croaky. “The fact that you’re louder than a chainsaw when you’re whispering?”

Fluttershy looks from Angel—who stands by her side, looking ahead at the bushes suspiciously—to Mr. Bear. Her eyes then go back to the bushes, which rustle again before three bizarre creatures Fluttershy has never seen before come out from them.

They’re all bipedal creatures, all walking on two feet while standing at least five feet tall. One of them wears what looks like a stereotypical witch’s outfit, complete with the wide-brimmed, conical hat. Another one of them is taller, lankier, and wearing a rust-red robe. The last one is shorter than the other two, wearing a plain, purple one-piece dress, and like the witch, has long brown hair.

The tall one in the robe floats in the air, ghostlike. Now that she’s closer, Fluttershy notices her eyes are just cold white dots behind a milky film. Fluttershy takes a step back as Mr. Bear growls at the ghost-girl. She sticks a hand out. “Easy there, Gentle Ben,” she says in her croaky voice. “Believe it or not, we aren't here to kill you.”

“H-How did you get past the forcefield?” Fluttershy asks, trying to hide how deeply terrified she is. Her eyes dart about, hoping against hope that any authority figure is nearby.

The witch holds a hand up to her mouth as she laughs. “Hey, listen to this little chicken-shit!” she says. “She sounds like she’s gonna piss herself.” Fluttershy cowers at the utter cruelty of the witch’s words.

The one in the purple dress frowns at the witch. “Bella,” she says, “don’t be mean!” Her voice is the squeaky one from before. Chloe. She turns to Fluttershy. “Don’t listen to Bella, little one; she’s just being a bump.”

Bella rolls her eyes and scoffs. “But lookit her, Chloe! I’m afraid I might kill her just by looking at her.”

Chloe purses her lips. “You’re scaring her!” she chides.

Fluttershy suddenly interrupts. “Um, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but… could you answer my question, please?”

The robed one smirks, then moves her hand forward. It stops against the still air as if it’s solid, causing a white glow to press against her hand. She moves her hand around, as if stroking glass. “We can’t actually pass this little barrier you got here,” she says. “It only stops just a bit before your house.”

Fluttershy flicks her eyes to her cottage not even a hundred feet away. The idea that these three might have been sitting there watching her sleep welds a healthy dose of terror to her already-full list of unpleasant things she’s been put through. She clicks her tongue uneasily as her critter friends glare the three witches down.

“What do you w-want?” Fluttershy asks, trying her hardest to put her fear in the back of her mind. She almost feels angry at herself—she’s safely on the other side of the barrier. They can’t hurt her. But she still mewls like a whimpering little kitten.

Chloe squeals as she claps her hands together. “She. Is so. Precious,” she squeaks. “I want herrrr, she’s so prettyyyyy~!”

Bella facepalms. “We had this discussion like five seconds ago, Chloe,” she says. “You’re terrible at keeping pets. Remember all those familiars?”

Chloe puts her hands on her hips defensively. “There’s a difference between a familiar and a pet!”

The robed one picks at her ear. “Right, sure,” she mumbles. “Remember that white unicorn Mother Actrise had working for her? I think you terrified it just by suggesting that same idea.”

Chloe jumps in place like a child barely able to contain her excitement. “But she was pretty too, Allie! How come I can’t have the pretty ponies?”

Fluttershy winces at the mention of Actrise’s name. They claim she’s their Mother…

Bella continues. “Because you’re totally irresponsible when it comes to animals. We take this little chicken-shit home and you’ll forget to feed her in a week.” She cocks her head to Allie. “And Allie and I ain’t gonna take care of this thing for you.”

There’s a degree of humiliation and degradation in being referred to as a dumb animal. Fluttershy never treats her animals this way. Her fear of these three clowns suddenly suspends as her mouth bends into an unimpressed frown accompanied by an offended grunt and a furrowed brow.

“But what’s wrong with wanting a cute pony?” Chloe argues. “And so what if I wanna starve it just to see how long it takes to die? That’s the fun part!”

Fluttershy’s face contorts with the thought of how many others Chloe had “taken in.” Right back up to scary with as few as two sentences.

Allie laughs. “Like that one dinosaur thing? I forget its name.” She shrugs. “Gurgle, or something. Shit, that thing’s been suffering forever.”

Bella joins in Allie’s laugh. “It’s fun trying out new spells on him, though.”

Mr. Bear roars, getting everyone’s attention. Fluttershy looks from him to these three contemptible creatures before her now. “I agree with Mr. Bear,” she says evenly. “I’m getting a little impatient myself. Why are you three here?”

Bella sneers at Fluttershy. “Aw, wookit da wittle pony! Suddenly got a backbone, chicken-shit?”

Her patience with Bella’s mean-spirited humor at its end, Fluttershy gives her The Stare. The moment her eyes turn to ice, Bella recoils. Fluttershy’s wings stand up instinctively, making her seem larger and more threatening. “If you have no business here, then you should leave,” Fluttershy warns.

The three witches look at each other, then slowly back to Fluttershy. Their faces become less clownish. Fluttershy gets the impression that if it weren’t for the barrier, these three wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Bella squats down until she’s at eye-level with Fluttershy, entering a staring contest with her own set of stony eyes and a thin frown.

“Who you think you are, chicken-shit?” Bella asks through clenched teeth. “You know who you’re talkin’ to? If it weren’t for this little barrier—” (she knocks on it, causing a rippling of white)“—and your animal buddies—” (she jerks her head to Mr. Bear, who snorts) “—there wouldn’t be enough left of you to leave a stain on the dirt.”

Fluttershy holds up the Cross she wears on her neck so suddenly, the very sight of it sends Bella into a squealing near-panic. Fluttershy laughs. “You’re all just a bunch of cowards and bullies,” she says dismissively before she and her animal friends turn to leave.

As Fluttershy makes her way back to her cottage, Allie pipes up. “What if we told you we have something that might be important to you?”

Perhaps it’s the way Allie says it, but it stops Fluttershy cold in her tracks. Her face expressionless, Fluttershy’s breathing becomes shallower. Angel looks to Fluttershy with worry. Against her better judgment, Fluttershy turns around to once again face those three fiends.

Chloe holds it out like it’s a prize. The smiles these three sinister sisters share ooze a much-more-open sense of hostility than before. Fluttershy holds a gasp.

There, clenched in Chloe’s fingers, is Princess Cadance’s crown.

Original Sin, Part IV

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Chapter 4 ~ Heavenly Doorway

An author of little talent would describe it as a big watery thing, like walking through an ocean where you can breathe. An author of moderate talent would embellish, claiming it is more like an ocean of time, rippling at every unnatural movement made inside of it. An author of great talent would outright lie: the Heavenly Doorway is an ethereal creature of thought, with every wave being both a memory and an event yet to happen, with ripples of truth and falsehood, the tide merely harmony and disharmony greeting one another, then departing.

I am none of those authors, so all I can say is that when Aeon walks upon the treacherous Heavenly Doorway, it is akin to walking against your own destiny. It’s a feeling deep inside—the kind that twists the innards and scrapes against the soul. Any Traveler who dares to walk the Heavenly Doorway becomes a thought in its head—and it is hungry for thought, an intelligent and eager nightmare.

St. Germaine used to tell Aeon and Janine about the Heavenly Doorway before they even began using it, calling it a hellish nonsense that binds all possible realities together. A collective, adhesive imagination that keeps dimensions together like pieces of a shattered vase. But at the same time, it’s a thinking and feeling creature—much like the Castle—and being inside it, without protection or knowledge of direction, could spell the end of any Traveler. With a tip of his hat, St. Germaine disappears from view—and it’s only then that Aeon realizes the Heavenly Doorway has noted his presence and stolen a memory from right out of his head.

As his feet make soundless noises across the liquid floor, Aeon checks his watch and hurries. He’s been here often enough to know his way around. Out of the corner of his eye—it’s always the corner of his eye—Janine runs by, her deep blonde curls bouncing like a woven blanket of gold. He thinks he hears her laugh. He can hear her footsteps—haphazard and pitter-pattery in comparison to his authoritarian stride. Everywhere in the Heavenly Doorway is suddenly Janine.

No, such is a lie. Aeon knows it is. He accepts it, but God forbid the Heavenly Doorway let him. No, the Heavenly Doorway teases as he walks, as Equestria—the One Equestria out of the million possible Equestrias—comes just into view. His breath grows shallow as Janine

(no, the Heavenly Doorway)

haunts him again. Teasing. Taunting. Wanting him to forget the truth and embrace its bewitching, comforting madness. Like St. Germaine warned, the Heavenly Doorway is not merely an ocean of memory, not merely an intelligent and eager nightmare. It is a void where guilt lies in wait. It waits for any Traveler with enough gumption to walk its amorphous corridors, only to pounce, to bite, to chew, to swallow—to devour. It licks its translucent lips.

Aeon looks down as his authoritarian stride falls apart and he sprints, his ghostwhite legs moving like quickened clock pendulums. Janine giggles. She reaches out her little hand—from the corner of his eye, as always—and asks him where he’s going. God, he wants to cry.

Aeon lifts his head and looks to the sudden stress in his right hand. Clenched between his black-gloved fingers—the red jewel. The real Janine. It glows, a light in this dense darkness. A light that begs him not to look at the Heavenly Doorway as it taunts, as it whets its teeth and wets its lips, ready to devour him. His eyes focus on the red jewel’s light, and the red jewel’s light focuses back.

Equestria is right ahead. She looks up as she senses him coming. He runs by the corpses of other dimensions—dimensions his clumsy hands have sped to ruin—those pale pendulums beneath him pumping harder now.

He hears it erupt behind him. A raucous laugh. The Heavenly Doorway has dropped the Janine act. Aeon dares not look behind himself as he hears the mighty footfalls of Galamoth—dares not look, for Galamoth is also merely an invention of the Heavenly Doorway. But the squiggling tremors beneath Aeon’s feet tell him Galamoth is real and here and right behind him and eager to crush him like he wanted to right from the start.

Equestria looks to Aeon as he draws nearer. She makes a motion with her hand—give me yours, Aeon! The tremors behind him becoming fiercer, Aeon jumps. His legs are no longer pendulums, but rockets—propelling him across the Heavenly Doorway with the force of a catapult.

Equestria welcomes him back with her beautiful smile and warm embrace.

It feels good to be back.

The clock hands close in on noon, whether anyone prepares for it or not. As Fluttershy is given Cadence’s crown—as Rarity and Spike leave her boutique—as Applejack treks to the Library—as Roseluck is placed back in the mental ward——as Aeon exits the Heavenly Doorway to safety, his two legs once again becoming four, the clocks all strike.

It is noon.

Well, it’s to be expected—the tardiness. Aeon receives a glance or two from Owlowiscious as he helps Twilight go through some more books. Shyly, she apologizes for the lateness of her friends. “I don’t know what’s taking them so long,” she says.

“Do we have to wait?” Rainbow Dash sighs impatiently. “Why can’t we just fill ’em in on the details afterward?”

“I’m with Fruit Loops,” Shatterstorm says. Rainbow Dash shoots him an icy glare, to which Shatterstorm deflects with a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, what? I’m the only one who has to be stuck with a goofy nickname?”

Pinkie Pie hops in one place—then over there—and then over there—barely containing her constant, kinetic excitement. “Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh the real story’s about to start I CAN’T WAIT EEEEEEEEEEEEEE—”

Her gleeful shriek is cut off by a cyan hoof. “Down, girl,” Rainbow Dash says.

“Seriously,” says Shatterstorm with a shake of his head. “Didn’t they build you with an off switch?”

Pinkie Pie giggles. “An off switch? Silly Stormdrain! If I had one of those, I’d be a robot!”

A knock at the door breaks their conversation over its knee. It opens, and into the Library walk Rarity and Spike, with Applejack just behind them. “Sorry fer bein’ late, y’all, ” Applejack says, closing the door behind her. “Big Mac ’n me had a heck of a time tryin’na git plans drawn up fer reconstruction.” She laughs. “If’n it weren’t fer Apple Bloom, we’da been there all day!”

Spike and Shatterstorm share an awkward silence before Shatterstorm sighs through his nose. He steps forward—but before he is able to apologize for his outburst earlier, Spike holds out a tiny claw. “Don’t,” he demands.

“What?”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Spike says. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, trying his hardest to retain eye contact. “I… Shatterstorm, I’m really sorry for what I said to you in the marketplace. It was wrong for me to say something so cruel to you.”

Shatterstorm waves a hoof. “That’s OK. You know you and I are always gonna be tight. And if anypony’s got anything to apologize for... it’s me. It wasn’t right for me to force my point of view on you.” He smiles. It's small, but reassuring. Rainbow Dash catches it just before it leaves his face.

She’d seen how he lit up when he saw Spitfire. Before then, Rainbow Dash didn’t think he could smile. She’d seen him smirk, and she’d seen him grin. But this—both this and the smile he had for Spitfire—is the genuine article. A curve on his face that can convince the world innocence can persist even in the heart of such a cynical creature.

The moment these thoughts enter her mind, she tosses them out with a fierce blush and a stifled grunt.

Spike gives Shatterstorm a hug as Rarity comes near and laughs. “See? What did I tell you, Spike? Shatterstorm’s more understanding than that!”

Shatterstorm raises an eyebrow. “…What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

Rarity chuckles into the back of her hoof. “Oh, Spikey-Wikey was so concerned that he’d hurt your feelings so badly, you’d never want to be his friend again. The poor dear, worrying his head off like that…”

Spike blushes. “R-Rarity! TMI!” he says.

Twilight laughs as she places a hoof on her assistant’s head. “That’s our Spike,” she says between giggles. “Always making a big deal out of everything!” Her comment earns her a discerning stare from her friends—friends who’d known her long enough to know how big a deal everything is to Twilight.

Aeon clears his throat, getting everypony’s attention. “If we are all gathered, I take it we can begin…?”

Twilight looks about. “Well, it looks like we’re just waiting on Fluttershy.”

Rainbow Dash shakes her head. “I think we’re done waiting. We can tell her what she missed when she shows up.”

Pinkie Pie gasps dramatically, sounding more like a bullhorn in reverse. “What if she got kidnapped?!”

Aeon frowns and scratches his chin. “…A disturbing possibility…”

Applejack shakes her head. “Now Pinkie, there’s no need to worry ’bout—”

“—Or! Or what if she got kidnapped, then rescued by aliens, and then CAPTURED by the ALIENS WHO RESCUED HER?!”

Silence. Aeon removes his monocle. Cleans it. Puts it back. “Pinkie?”

“Yes?”

“Be serious, please,” he says. His impatience with Pinkie’s outbursts was only barely hidden beneath his monotone. “This is an important matter that involves all of you. We shall wait for Fluttershy for another five minutes. After that, I think we should look for her.”

Rainbow Dash steps forward. “How about I just look for her now, then? Save us some time.”

Twilight sighs and runs a hoof through her mane. “Well, I suppose if that’s okay with—”

“Right,” Rainbow Dash nods, unfurling her wings. As she does so, Shatterstorm unfurls his. Rainbow Dash glares at him. “Oh, what? You wanna come too?”

“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” Shatterstorm opines.

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes. “Oh, for—! Seriously? Following me around, wanting to do everything with me, even knows the same ponies as me?” She waves a hoof. “Just admit you’re crushing on me and be done with it!”

Her sudden accusation draws a blush out of Shatterstorm’s face as well as amused grins from everypony else. He grits his teeth. “If you could see past your own monstrous ego,” he hisses, “you’d understand I’m only offering my help because I think you—might—need—it.”

“I don’t need your help!” Rainbow Dash screams. “I don’t need you following me around all the time!”

Shatterstorm remains rigid, his voice still slithering from his mouth like a serpent. “Is it my fault we’re both pegasi and that means we’re better at covering long distances in short amounts of time?”

“No, but it’s starting to get on my nerves! I can do this alone!”

“Are they like this all the time?” Aeon whispers to Spike as the two argue some more.

Spike shrugs. “I know, right?”

“Git a room, you two,” Applejack says.

“ENOUGH!!!” Twilight shouts loud enough to rock the Library. Silence for a few precious seconds. Twilight looks from Shatterstorm to Rainbow Dash, reading their shocked expressions. “Shatterstorm? You take the west end. Rainbow Dash, east end. Catch anything unusual, report back to me. If you find Fluttershy, bring her here.”

At here, the door burst in, a flailing Fluttershy stumbling through, gasping for breath. She nearly tramples Spike before Aeon uses his unicorn magic to prop her back up on all fours.

“Fluttershy, darling!” Rarity exclaims. “Where have you been? We were about to put out a search party!”

Fluttershy attempts to explain—honest, she does—but her voice comes out in haphazard bursts. “Witches—forest—crown—bad—oooohhhh my—not good—”

Twilight grabs Fluttershy and gives her a shake. “Calm down, would you?!” she says. A few seconds pass, Fluttershy in Twilight’s hooves, before Fluttershy swallows and her racing heart begins to slow. Her breathing gradually returns to normal and she is let go. “Now then,” Twilight says, much gentler this time. “Tell us. What took you so long?”

“I ran,” Fluttershy stammers. "I ran—I ran the whole way here to tell you that—"

“You ran?” Rainbow Dash asks.

Fluttershy nods, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Yes, I—I ran."

“You... ran?” Shatterstorm echoes.

“Y-Yes,” Fluttershy repeats, her face furrowing into a frown. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm share unamused aside glances. They look back to Fluttershy.

Then unfurl their wings.

“...Oh,” Fluttershy whispers, her cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time she forgot she could fly.

Applejack rolls her eyes. “Okay,” she sighs, dismissing Fluttershy's forgetfulness. “So you ran here. Then what?”

“OK,” Fluttershy says. “I was just enjoying my morning with my little critter friends—and thank you so much by the way, Twilight; your spell broke Dracula’s hold on them. Anyway, I got approached by these three witches. They looked kind of like Aeon does when he’s… uh, when he’s… not... a pony? And they mentioned that they work for Actrise. And then—” (She sifts through her saddlebags and pulls out the crown from before, much to the collective shock of everypony gathered) “—then they gave me this!”

Wide eyes and half-open mouths and silent gasps are followed closely by a few seconds of stunned silence. Twilight lifts the crown from Fluttershy’s grasp, tinting it magenta with her telekinesis. Her eyes scream in terror and heartbreak. She isn’t able to get out much more than a weak “Oh no…”

“This is bad,” Shatterstorm says hoarsely. “Without a Princess to rally ponies together…”

“Quick, Twi! We gotta make a plan!” Rainbow Dash says.

“How we gonna do that?” Applejack asks. “This crown’s the only clue we got. We don’t even know where to start lookin’!”

“What if they took her to their spooky castle!?” Pinkie asks, genuinely panicking now. “What if they took her there and they’re gonna sacrifice her or something?!”

Aeon releases a harsh sigh from between clenched teeth, totally frustrated. “I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but that’s a terrible predicament. Besides the obvious, Dracula’s minions are capable of tracking individuals through using exact soul-targeting.”

“In English, please?” Rainbow Dash asks impatiently.

“What that means is, not only do they have your Princess in their power, they can also use her unique soul-signature to track others of her kind. Other alicorns.” He lets this sink in. “The other Princesses.” A snake of distress slithers across his back, his fears of Dracula’s minions attacking the Princess’ castle proven correct—and all too soon.

“This is a distraction,” Twilight says suddenly.

“Whatever do you mean, it’s a distraction?” Rarity asks.

Twilight looks the crown over more carefully, as if inspecting it for fraud. “Fluttershy, those witches who gave this to you… You said they work for Actrise?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Then not only is it a distraction, it’s a challenge—and on top of all that, it’s an obvious trap.” Twilight sets the crown down on a nearby table. “Kidnapping a close friend of mine for a cause that her superiors would probably have kept secret? Actrise is doing all this because she wants to draw me out into the open.”

Aeon nods. “This is very much Actrise’s work. Distractions are her forte.”

Twilight trots about nervously, as if afraid something is going to jump up from underneath the piles of ruined books. “Princess Cadance would have visited Canterlot in order to check on Shining Armor…”

“But wouldn’t it be more responsible of her to stay in the Crystal Empire?” asks Spike.

Twilight stops and shoots Spike an accusing glare. “Her husband is afflicted with a disease that has some… ugly results, Spike. She wouldn’t just leave him there like that. Besides, she has a high council that can at least maintain order in the Crystal Empire until she comes back.” She resumes pacing. “Anyway, since Roaring Yawn hasn’t responded to my message I sent almost six days ago, I’m going to have to assume that Canterlot’s now totally under Dracula’s control.”

A collective sigh fills the room. “That would explain how they got Cadance so easily,” Rarity says. “All they had to do was wait for her to come to her husband’s side. Such a fiendish thing to do!”

“Well, the research team was dumb enough to stick around instead of evacuating,” Rainbow Dash says.

“But the Royal Guard stayed behind as well to protect the research team,” Shatterstorm counters.

Twilight turns to look at him. “But when did you last receive any orders?”

Shatterstorm thinks this over until his face becomes pale. “…You’re right. I was under the assumption that HQ was really just preoccupied with trying to maintain order across Equestria… but if something like this happened…”

“Then the Royal Guard’s been wiped out?” Spike asks, alarmed.

Fluttershy whimpers. “Th-Then, if all this is happening… what do we do?”

The room is quiet. The disturbing sense of unease snakes through the room again before Twilight takes a deep breath, puts a hoof to her chest, then exhales while pushing her hoof outward, swatting the awful silence like a gnat. “OK,” she says. “Here’s what we’re going to do:

“Aeon. Before we do anything else, we’ll need your input. You gathered us here to hear you out, and we’ll do that for you.

“Rainbow Dash. Shatterstorm. You can both cover long distances in short amounts of time. After Aeon finishes, you two go to Canterlot, scope out the situation, and if at all possible, investigate where they’re holding Princess Cadance.

“As for me, I’m going to build the trackers we need to find Dracula’s remaining body parts before his servants do. The rest of us will form teams and use these trackers to find Dracula's remaining parts.”

“So, you’re not gonna fight Actrise?” Spike asks.

Twilight shakes her head. “That’s exactly what she wants, Spike. And most of us in this room have been on the business end of her magic already. We can all attest that she’s too powerful for me to take on mare-to-witch. But I’ve outsmarted her once, and I can do it again—I just need time, and planning.”

She continues. “Finally, we need somepony to get to the Crystal Empire. We need to know if it’s doing okay.”

Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm share a knowing look. “I think we know somepony who can handle that,” Rainbow Dash says.

Twilight nods to them. “All right. Good. That’s good to hear.” She turns to her assistant. “Spike, I need those ingredients I asked you to get.”

Spike nods and sets his satchel down by a stand, rummaging through it and bringing out each of the necessary items. Twilight looks them over. “Good, everything’s in order.” She looks to Spike. “I need you to take these down to the basement lab.”

As Spike did as directed, Twilight turned back to the rest of the group. “We’ve got a lot to do this week.” She looks to Aeon. “So let’s get started. Aeon, if you may?”

Aeon has watched Twilight throughout this entire speech, and is amazed at her innate talent for leadership and resource management. Even with the terrifying news of Cadance’s kidnapping, she remains solid and fearless—if only so her comrades don’t panic. She reminds him so much of Soma. Growing into a true leader, without even realizing it.

He smiles and nods. “All right then,” he says. “Let us begin.”

Original Sin, Part V

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Chapter 5 ~ Original Sin

“Reality.

“Such a delicate thing, held together by that adhesive constant, time; completely ignorant of the nothing that produced it. From the disorder of a singular void came a veritable spectrum of realities, whispered into existence, perhaps unwillingly in some cases, by a mysterious voice no one can truly name.

“The truth is, there is no one ‘main’ reality. They are all equal, but different: maybe in forms dramatic and overt, or perhaps in ways infinitesimal and minute. One reality is that humans rule the world. Another, like yours, is ruled by ponies. Still more could be altered simply by deciding what you will have for breakfast. Millions of circumstances—billions of people—trillions of decisions. It is all so maddeningly intricate.

“But the threads of time are what hold all realities together. As such, a Traveler—one such as myself—should know better than to alter the fragile. A Traveler is allowed, of course, to look, but never touch.

“So why did I reach? Why did I extend my hand, cupping the world within my eager fist, kneading it curiously with each black-gloved finger? Shaking it just to watch the ensuing chaos, the way a child is mystified by a snowglobe?

“I am by nature, and by my own admission, a curious creature. When I find I do not know something, I yearn for knowledge. I hunger for understanding. I love mysteries, and at the same time despise them for eluding me—for thinking they could elude me in the first place.

“That curiosity, that want for knowledge, was married to the arrogance of a rebel youth—a child who, once upon acknowledging the flaws and shortcomings of his parents, believes he can discover life’s truths for himself. I should have realized the dangerous chemistry of these two sides of me, and I should have divorced them the moment I was able. If only, if only.

“I could blame someone else. To place him on the stand before those whose lives he ended. Charge him with misleading me and charging him with the murder of countless worlds. But in the end, none of this would have happened had I the good sense to doubt his beautiful lies.”

The soft sound of pages being turned is the only noise that alerts Charlotte to a second presence in the room. She turns her head suddenly as she stands up. Years of fighting Dracula’s forces had instilled in her—and in her comrades—a sense of paranoia, complete with each member of their team always having a weapon ready; and as such, her right hand clenches around hers (the book Don Quixote), ready to impale the intruder with its ethereal contents.

She recognizes Aeon only a second before she attacks. He looks at her, then to the book in her hand. Slowly, Charlotte sets it aside on her desk. She looks back up to Aeon, sporting an embarrassed blush. “Uh, s-sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to.”

“That is quite all right,” Aeon returns with a wry smile. “I have made a terrible habit of dropping in unannounced.” He looks about the Royal Library. The only lights are by candle, illuminating several ransacked bookshelves and tables stacked with towers of books. Any books that couldn’t fit on the tables are stacked neatly by the desk Charlotte had been seated at, its top covered in yet more books. Aeon’s smile doubles—there was only one other person he could think of who would think to live in a library.

“Have we kept busy?” he asks.

Charlotte nods as she sits back down. “This world… there’s just so much to learn.” She laughs a little. “So many cultures, with so many spells. And so much magic! So much more than is present and ever-ready in our world.”

Aeon nods. “Indeed. And it is magic I have come for.”

Charlotte looks around awkwardly, then spreads her arms as if presenting Aeon with the entire library around her. “Take your pick,” she giggles. She holds up the book she’d been reading and waves it. “I’m still learning these time-manipulation spells.”

“Time-manipulation?”

Charlotte thumbs through the book. “Well… to a degree. This Starswirl the Bearded guy was really on top of his game. I’m curious as to why his studies in time magic were never followed up on…” Her voice trails off before she looks to Aeon, then clears her throat and puts the book away, once again blushing in embarrassment. Time magic? The altering of what should by all definition be left a constant? The question had just answered itself.

“A-Anyway,” she says hastily.

“Anyway,” Aeon says in a tone he hopes does not suggest he was offended, “the kind of magic I need is for someone else to use. A magic she cannot learn from any unicorn.”

Charlotte leans back in her chair and clasps her hands in front of her face. In the dim light of the desk’s candles, Charlotte resembles a scheming pulp fiction villain. “Go on,” she purrs.

“She needs her expertise.”

“Enter Galamoth. An ancient devil time forsook, perhaps out of misplaced divine pity. I cannot count how many times he has died, or how many times he has been born—never reborn, mind you; just born. He has probably died more often than he has been born, and perhaps born more often than he has lived, only adding to the frustration of ridding all continuity of his rancid presence.

“He came to me. To my mentor, St. Germaine. To Janine. Innocent, trusting, intelligent, wickedly witty little Janine. He came to us, not in his terrifying true form, but in the shape of a beautiful dove. He warned us of a great cataclysm.

“You see, in the year 1999, Dracula was meant to perish at the hands of a Belmont. 1999 was the year the Belmonts’ generations-long crusade against Dracula finally would come to a conclusion, in which the Belmonts finally ended the Count. But something had gone terribly wrong.

“He showed us a future in which Dracula had won. As you have witnessed yourselves, such a world would be brutal and hopeless.

“The three of us, though Travelers we might be, knew not of Galamoth, nor of any reality besides the one we commonly stalked. As Galamoth showed us this reality—unbeknownst to us, an alternate reality—we planned to fix this perceived mistake. We could not let this beautiful world whose time-stream we traveled be delivered into such a warped and ugly fate.

“We knew the rules. To look, but not touch; to watch, but not act; to observe, but never partake. We decided, at Galamoth’s insistence, that this rule—our Golden Rule—must be broken to preserve the future of the only reality we knew. So break it, we did.

“We split up. St. Germaine went back to the year 1479, to confront one of Dracula’s former allies, who we believed to be an unintentional instigator of events leading up to this chaos. Janine knew of the unfortunate fate of one of the sons of Belmont, and took flight to the year 1698 to offer him a chance to undo the cruel spell placed upon him—and in doing so, offer the Belmonts a better chance of defeating Dracula more than 300 years later.

“But these are stories for another time.

“My role was simple. And I admit it, that I should have told you as much when we first met. But I was so certain you would come to distrust me if you knew; and so clutched was I by the kind of fear only a child would know, that I kept it secret.

“I am the one who cast Dracula’s remains to the winds of the universe.”

There’s a long pause as Charlotte’s grin slowly spreads. She nods, getting up from her chair. She walks around the desk, to a red trunk she’d left in front of it. Getting down on one knee, Charlotte flicks back some of her long brown hair before looking at the lock. Curiously, the lock has no keyhole. She traces an intricate shape upon it, then brings her fingers up and—snap!—the trunk opens all by itself.

“Well,” she says as she rummages through the trunk, “I’m sure she’d appreciate the company.”

Aeon waits patiently as Charlotte thumbs through all the books she’d collected on their journeys. It actually feels rather morbid of her, at least on some level, to keep these books from dead realities, like collecting fossils from generations long-gone. But her collection has served Charlotte well so far. It’s a real shame that Aeon can’t just introduce her to Twilight…

And just like that, Aeon sighs. Not loud enough to be heard by Charlotte as she rummages, but loud enough to voice disappointment in himself. He takes off his monocle and cleans it in an attempt at looking preoccupied.

“Found it,” Charlotte says as she grabs a blue book. She stands up, and once again snaps her fingers, commanding her trunk to close. She turns around, holding the Blank Book in her arms as if she’s a shy new student at a high school.

She and Aeon look at each other a moment. Aeon hadn’t thought so before—merely thinking Charlotte had taken her time in finding the book because of the vast “hyperspace pocket” her trunk is—but looking at her now…

…she knows. She knows, but is merely afraid to ask.

“With St. Germaine confronting one of Dracula’s former warriors, and with Janine guiding one of the Belmonts, Galamoth finally found me, the most arrogant of the three Travelers, alone and vulnerable. He spoke to me in his sweet voice, telling me what my heart warned me was a lie. But again, I was foolish, arrogant, and overconfident in my heroism enough to believe him—to believe the fate of an entire timeline, the fate of an entire reality, rested squarely upon my shoulders.

“There came many times in which Dracula’s body was torn to its basic components, and were preserved in the walls of his castle… no doubt part of the Castle’s own inability to let its master die.

“One such time was during Richter Belmont’s breakdown. Richter’s fall would eventually call forth a second Castle—a twin to the one on your Princess’ mountain—to emerge. This was one of the ‘three cataclysms’ that Galamoth claimed would lead to the outcome of the alternate 1999, along with the previous two quests I mentioned.

“Anyway, I’d gone to the Castle during this time and looted it for its master’s pieces, undetected by the others wandering the halls. Once I had found all the pieces, Galamoth opened the Heavenly Doorway, the chaotic nothing out of which all realities were born.

“Without a second thought, I cast Dracula’s parts to that nothingness, finally glad I was doing something that could save my world. But… well, let us not be pretentious. Everything went to hell.

“Galamoth revealed to us his true form—a towering, saurian creature dressed in gold, bearing the distorted face of dead things. In many ways, he was not unlike Dracula… and such was his design: to replace the Count.

“He had used us. St. Germaine’s quest—Janine’s quest—all diversions to what he was truly up to. His desired control of the Castle, thereby taking the title of Demon King.

“But what he did not count on was that the Castle could still feel the presence of its old master. While others had also sought to control the Castle, the Castle is still a thinking creature. It can agree to follow, or it can reject.

“And in Galamoth’s case, the Castle rejected him. Violently.

“Much more unfortunately however was the serendipity in favor of Dracula’s minions. After the Castle had picked Galamoth’s remains from its jagged teeth, it left the reality of Dracula’s world behind in search of its master. Of course, the Castle is guided by the likes of Death and Actrise—and many, many others of their ilk—and with Galamoth’s ability to open the Heavenly Doorway now in the employ of Dracula’s servants, the Castle was free to chase its master’s pieces, wherever they had gone.

“There seemed little hope for us, then. No Dracula, meant no Castle, meant no way to resolve the fate of our reality. With Dracula and the Castle both gone, the whole timeline would collapse in on itself, essentially an act of self-cannibalism. Our reality would end at the Year of Our Lord, 1798, shortly after I cast away Dracula’s pieces.

“We decided to gather a small army. We could not call anyone from time periods previous to our reality’s collapse, since that would only destroy the timeline further. So instead, we decided to take heroes from further points in time as the timeline began to fall backward. Three heroes from 2038, just before the timeline folded upon it. Two heroes from 1946. A hero from 1869.

“But to enter the Heavenly Doorway would be a difficult task. To open it, we Travelers all had to eat a piece of Galamoth’s remains. Disgusting, yes, but I like to think this a bold act on our part—for Galamoth was revolting in taste, no matter how much salt was used.

“…Yes, Pinkie, we did try using sugar instead. We were met by the same result.

“Moving along.

“With Galamoth’s magic now a part of us, we were able to travel the Heavenly Doorway and chase the Castle…”

Charlotte looks down at the book in her arms. “You know, this book…” She struggles for the right words. “I mean, you know… Sometimes I talk to her.”

“…Go on.”

“Yeah, I do. I talk to her. I promised to visit her more often…” She looks away sadly. “I wish I could say I’ve always kept that promise, but I’d be lying.”

“No one holds it against you,” Aeon says. “With everything else going on, you are bound to forget.”

“We’re talking about my teacher,” Charlotte argues. “And now she’ll be teaching someone else. One of these ponies.” She looks to Aeon. “Which pony is going to learn from her?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Aeon replies with a nod. “I am sure the Princess speaks of her often?”

Charlotte suddenly beams and presses the book harder to herself. “Princess Celestia’s personal protégé? Seriously?!” Her smile fades. “You know, Aeon, I… kinda wanna meet her myself.” Aeon opens his mouth to say something, but Charlotte silences him with a wave of her hand. “I-I know why I can’t, but…”

More silence. Charlotte was always more of a conversationalist than most of her group, second maybe only to Janine. That she seems to have a hard time in reaching her point worries Aeon. “Is there something else I can do, perhaps?” he offers. “Maybe a letter?”

Charlotte smiles. “A letter?” She laughs. “Why didn’t I think of that? Dunno what I’d say, though…” She shrugs, putting the book down on the desk. She clears some space, tearing a piece of paper from a notebook and grabbing a pen.

“I hope you do not intend to write her a novel,” Aeon kids.

Charlotte snorts. “No, I’m gonna make it brief. Mostly just instructions on what to expect when… well, you know how she can be sometimes.” Some silence, broken only by the muttering of pen against paper.

Aeon looks around himself again, waiting for Charlotte to finish her letter. When he hears the pen go quiet, he looks back to find Charlotte eyeing him curiously. “Yes?” he asks.

Charlotte’s face becomes solemn. “You know… Aeon… um…” She sighs. “Aeon, can I just say it’s been a real treat to work with you?”

Her statement draws a smile from Aeon. “Well, it is a rare opportunity for this one to find the company of someone as unique as yourself,” he returns half-awkwardly.

Charlotte picks up her letter and folds it neatly, scribbling something on the back. “There you go again!” she giggles. “You always find the longest way to say something as simple as ‘Thank You!’” She takes the letter, folds it, opens the book, and puts the letter in, pressing the book shut. Getting up, Charlotte hands the book to Aeon.

She looks at him a little longer. “But I guess that’s one of the things I like about you,” she says as Aeon wraps his hand about the book. “You’re clever and smart—to the point where you can’t tell when it’s okay to just be simple. Kinda like Alucard, actually.”

Aeon puts the book in his jacket. “Alucard is a… colder sort of fellow.”

“But he’s smart,” Charlotte replies. “Or—no!—I’m using the wrong word. He’s wise. He’s wise, you’re smart, and…” She sighs. “…And I’m not making any sense.”

Aeon chuckles and rests a black-gloved hand on her shoulder. “Do not trouble yourself, Charlotte, I understand what you mean.”

As he turns to leave, he hears Charlotte call to him. “Hey, Aeon?”

He stops. “Yes?”

“…I just want you to know. We’ve, uh… We’ve all lost loved ones at some point in all this.”

Ah. There it is.

Aeon stands there. Hoping she can get as much out as she thinks he needs to hear. Finally, Charlotte continues. “You know? We’ve all made friends from all this. Friends we’re never going to see again—friends we’d never see again even if we won, if only because we don’t belong in their world. We’ve… well, we’ve all lost a lot.”

Aeon doesn’t turn around, but he can still see the tears in Charlotte’s eyes. He hears her voice crack at some points in her exposition. He steels his jaw as she continues. “So… don’t go thinking you’re all alone in this, OK? Because none of us really are.”

“…‘Let go.’”

Charlotte cocks her head. “Huh?”

“‘Let go’,” Aeon repeats. He does not turn around, instead keeping his eyes forward—if only to not let Charlotte see the way his ancient eyes ache. “Those were Janine’s last words to me. Just before the lights in her eyes went out. Before the stars in her universe all faded away.”

Aeon feels his hand clench around something small and hard. He looks down, greeted by the little red orb at the end of the necklace he wears.

“‘Aeon…’”

He balls his black-gloved fist around it, hiding both the jewel and the pain it means to him.

“‘… let go.’”

The silence that follows this sudden admission is weighted, made damp with the sorrow that permeates Aeon’s monotone. Charlotte finds herself at a loss for words. She bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling as she once again feels her eyes grow hot and moist. “Aeon,” she says. “…I’m so sorry.”

“…Charlotte.”

“Yes?”

“The next time you speak to the Princess… can you tell her something for me?”

“Sure. Anything. What do you want me to tell her?”

Aeon looks at his watch. Not much time left. Make this brief. He snaps it shut and looks at Charlotte, who wipes a tear from her eyes.

“All right. Tell her…”

Aeon sits on his four legs, atop what might pass for a nest of books. The air inside the library is a damp and syrupy musk that clings to everything, coloring all with the grey of complete silence. He looks at his listening audience as his story finally closes, cleaning his monocle with a small towel produced from his jacket pocket. “My tale is told,” he says.

“That can’t be everything!” Rarity says. “Whatever happened to those other two people?”

“St. Germaine elected to stay behind,” says Aeon as he puts his monocle back on. “He had this idea that someone needed to keep our reality from collapsing completely. He was correct, of course. Thanks to his tireless efforts, we will at least have a home to return to.”

Rarity purses her lips. There’s something about that name—St. Germaine—that feels so oddly familiar. Before she can ask anything further, Pinkie asks a question of her own. “What about Janine?”

Aeon finds himself uncertain as to how to phrase it. Applejack detects his discomfort, and remembering his story from much earlier that morning, she looks Aeon in the eye. “Hey,” she whispers. “’Sall right, sugarcube. You told me, you ’kin tell them. They’ll understand.”

Hesitantly, he draws a breath and addresses the others. “Janine… is a casualty of this ongoing war.” The words coming out of his mouth are like the tines of a fork being sunk and drawn into his flesh: painful and tearing. He deflates. “She wasn’t the first to die, of course. But she was the first of my core group to die.”

Silence. Pinkie gets up, walks over to Aeon, and nuzzles him.“…I’m sorry, Eenie,” she says softly.

“That’s… that is all right,” Aeon says. “But… the only thing I can say about her death is that under no condition should you ever trust any of Dracula’s minions.”

“That sounds more like common sense to me,” Rainbow Dash shrugs.

Aeon gets up from his nest of books and walks about the library. “It might to you. But in this world, have there not been situations in which grace was bestowed upon your enemies?”

Fluttershy nods. “Like with Discord.”

“And with Trixie,” Twilight agrees. “They both got better.”

“In spite of your successes here in your own world,” Aeon says, “you must all remember that these creatures are not anything like you are familiar with. They cannot be reasoned with. They cannot be bought off. They cannot be intimidated. They cannot be trusted, or given the benefit of the doubt, no matter how friendly or charming they can be sometimes.

“Even if they claim to be seeking refuge from Dracula. Even without his direction, his influence upon them—powered by their flaws and their miseries—is great. Though there are cases in which some of his minions manage to flee from his control, they are incredibly rare. One in a million.”

He looks back to his team, the gravity in his voice and eyes now apparent. “I suppose my point is, do not set your hopes too high. It could be the death of you. So absolutely do not trust anyone who has ever been affiliated with Dracula.”

They watch Aeon as he walks up the stairs of the Library. “In fact,” he calls down as he ascends, “do not trust anyone outside this room at all.”

Julius cannot attach any color to the dimension outside the widows of Castle Canterlot. No scents. No sights. No sounds. It’s like a liquid dimension: too amorphous to have any real shape. The unfortunate aftermath of an unfortunate battle.

He hears some hoofsteps. Julius’ grip on his trusted whip, the Vampire Killer, tightens as he turns. His battle instincts prove incorrect, as he is met by Princess Celestia. She stops next to him and joins him in looking out at the odd world outside quietly for a moment or so. “When Aeon told me where we are,” she says, “I could not believe what I was hearing. I have lived for millennia, and never have I seen anything like this.”

Julius nods, returning his gaze to the windows. “But it’s true,” he says. “This really is a lost world.”

Silence. Celestia looks to Julius, her face grim. “Aeon and Alucard keep calling it that, too. I assume that by ‘lost world’, you mean…”

Julius looks aside to Celestia and with a somber nod confirms her suspicion. “Yes,” he confirms, “this is the end result of Dracula’s forces succeeding in destroying an entire dimension.”

The silence returns, this time accompanied by subtle unease. Celestia swallows. “To be cast away from my subjects, into a dead world…”

“I’m confident that we’ll be able to return you and your castle,” Julius says, smiling suddenly. “We just have to have faith in those who are currently in a position to oppose Dracula. We must stay positive.”

Celestia almost laughs. “Listen to me, being moody! I sounded more like my sister just now! Always worrying.” She shakes her head, amused. Suddenly, she turns to Julius. “You’ve been through such a merciless quest, Julius. Tell me, how do you stay so upbeat?”

Julius observes Celestia. She notices he isn’t looking at her—he is observing her. Drinking her in. Weighing what she is, in his mind. His smile fades, and Celestia realizes, the moment it goes away, that it was never a smile to begin with. Without even the fake smile, Julius looks… ancient. Bedraggled. Like a tired and beat-up old man. “Truth be told,” he says, “I’m… not.”

He looks back outside, unable to keep comfortable eye contact with Celestia. “We’ve all seen so much death. So much senseless destruction these past three years.” He sniffs. “Aeon tells me it only feels like three years to us, but it’s really been more like fifty. Or something. I dunno, time travel’s confusing.”

Celestia chortles. “Starswirl used to say the same thing.”

“Starswirl? One of your subjects, I presume?”

“When he was alive, yes,” Celestia nods. “He tried studying the flow of time, and other ethereal, intangible qualities of the universe. If he only kept at it, he could have figured out how to properly travel through dimensions like you or your friends—of this, I have no doubt.”

“What happened?”

Celestia shrugs. “He was always lazy, but… then he got too old. It was so hard for me to watch him age.” Julius finds some vulnerability in Celestia’s voice as she says that last sentence. Nostalgia, loss, and regret, all at once.

She looks at him more closely. “But we’re getting off-track. Julius, I just wanted to thank you for being so positive in the face of what we’re all going through right now. Even if your upbeat attitude is false, I can tell that your heart, and your courage, are genuine.”

There is pause. Julius nods, his smile coming back slowly. “It… Well, it isn’t every day I get thanked by a god.”

Celestia rolls her eyes. For a second, her body language reminds Julius of a teenage girl, and his smile doubles as he stifles a laugh. “Oh, don’t—that’s—oh,” Celestia stammers. “There’s no need to admonish me with such a title. I am hardly a god.”

“Well, you possess an angelic presence that gives your subjects hope, you have a talent for impressive magic, existed for millenia, and your subjects revere you as more than just their princess,” Julius says, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’d say if you aren’t a god, then you’re the next best thing.”

Then Celestia does something Julius doesn’t expect. She blushes. Full up, straight on blushes. And it’s cute. She turns her head, coughs, and remains silent. Finally, she does something else Julius doesn’t expect. She says, “Gods don’t make mistakes.”

“Come again?”

“Gods don’t make mistakes,” Celestia repeats, a little more forcefully than she intended. She is no less graceful for her outburst, but Julius can feel the sadness in her voice. “Gods don’t get cast out of their world, or find themselves helpless when against real threats, or let their subjects be devoured by sick animals.”

Julius lets Celestia’s comments hang for a moment. Before she can turn to leave, he says, “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

Celestia scrutinizes Julius. He can see stars sparkling within her pupils, shimmering wetly like diamonds at the bottom of a mine. “…I try to accept that. I really do.” She turns away. “…But I can’t. My subjects are getting hurt. They are being tormented. And while all that happens, here I am, bound up, safe in my castle where I can do nothing to stop it.”

Celestia walks away. Julius hears two words whisper from her mouth as she exits, recoiling from how bitter they sound. “…Like always.”

Before Celestia can leave the room, she feels a strong, weathered hand fall on her withers. She looks aside to Julius. His eyes are earnest, his smile friendly and no longer forced. “But you’ll return,” he says. “You wrote in your letter that you have faith in your student and her friends. You must hold onto that faith. Hold onto it… and never let go.”

Silence. Celestia smiles. Faith. Of course. How could she forget? The only link between the destitute and their salvation. The reason Julius battles his pessimism. The reason he and his friends keep on fighting. The reason Twilight and her friends will keep on fighting.

“…I think I am beginning to understand your way of thinking, Julius,” she says. She hopes he doesn’t notice how much she likes the sound of his name. “Please forgive me if I sounded… frustrated.”

“Anyone in your position would be,” Julius shrugs.

“Am… I interrupting anything?” comes a small voice from their right.

Julius and Celestia are pulled from their scene to Charlotte, who stands there with a sheepish grin and a slight blush. Julius puts two and two together, rolling his eyes. Come on, Charlotte, he thinks, don’t be ridiculous.

“Not at all, Charlotte,” Celestia insists. “What brings you here?”

Charlotte walks over to Celestia. “Aeon dropped by again. He’s introducing your student to my teacher…”

Celestia smiles. “Is that supposed to make me jealous?” She laughs a little. “I certainly hope she doesn’t run out of things to teach Twilight!”

Charlotte giggles and shakes her head. “Well, I just thought I’d let you know, that’s all. By the way, Your Highness, Aeon wanted me to tell you something…”

With that, the meeting is adjourned. Everypony had their assigned tasks, and set about them as soon as Twilight gave the word. Aeon promises Twilight something special that he should have remembered beforehand, but being what St. Germaine would call a “sightless dunce”, he had completely forgotten.

“Really?” Twilight asks curiously. “What is it?”

“First I must go retrieve it,” he replies, and with a quiet movement, Aeon turns and walks away, entering another room before fading like a dream.

Twilight feels a slight tug on her tail. She turns to be met by Spike, a look of concern on his face. “Spike? What is it?”

“It’s the Elements of Harmony,” he whispers hurriedly. “They’re not where you hid them downstairs…”

A pause. Twilight takes a deep breath. “Spike,” she says quietly, “please don’t tell anypony else about this.”

“But why not?” he asks. “Aren’t you supposed to, y’know, use them against Dracula?”

“We will,” she says. “Just be patient.”

Spike grows more and more confused with Twilight’s nonchalant reaction to the possibility that Actrise may have stolen the only objects they possess capable of defeating Dracula. She stands there, waiting for Aeon to return, her face lacking any kind of concern for what she’d just been told.

Then, she gives Spike an aside glance and tosses him a knowing wink.

Of course. Spike purses his lips and quietly nods. He’d forgotten that Twilight is something of a schemer. No doubt she had something planned—but what it is, he is without a clue. It looks like he’s just going to have to have faith.

“There we go,” Aeon says from behind them, causing them both to jump.

“Aeon!” Twilight barks. “If you’re going to disappear like that, the least you could do is reappear where we can see you!”

Aeon observes them blankly for a moment. “I apologize,” he says. His horn shines and from his jacket pocket comes a book: hardcover, bluebacked, with silver edgings and an equally silver sculpted lion’s head gracing the front cover. He gives it to Twilight, whose eyes widen with anticipation. Could it be a collection of magical knowledge from another dimension? A journal of a powerful wizard? A…

…completely…

…blank… book?

“Aeon?” Twilight asks as she flips the empty pages. “Is… this some kind of joke?”

Aeon shakes his head. “Not at all. This book was written by a great witch who did not want her knowledge to fall into the wrong hands.”

Spike waves a claw. “Whoa, wait a second,” he says, “a great witch? Like Actrise?”

Aeon raises an eyebrow. “Similar, yes,” he says. “But before you say what I know you are going to say, Spike, you must know that she is in fact a good witch. She fought the forces of Dracula long before you were born. She has taught many a mighty witch to continue her legacy against the Count, and I trust she will be more than willing to pass her knowledge to Twilight.”

Twilight looks over the book again. “This is to prepare me for Actrise… isn’t it?”

“In the event Actrise decides to confront you directly,” Aeon confirms. “You yourself said that you would not stand a chance if such a situation were to occur. Consider this my giving you a fighting chance against Actrise’s powerful magic.”

Twilight comes across a small, folded piece of paper. At first, she thinks it’s a bookmark of some kind, but upon closer inspection, she finds that it’s a letter. On its front is written, in beautiful script, the words, “From Charlotte.”

It glows magenta as Twilight pulls it out and unfolds it.

Greetings and salutations!
My name is Charlotte Aulin. I’m one of Aeon’s friends, and the owner of the book you hold in your hands hooves. I hope this letter finds you in good health.
Your mentor, Princess Celestia, has told me much about you and your friends. I wish I could meet you in person! You all sound like such nice people ponies. I like to think we both have much in common. Ha, ha!
But onto matters of more important business: The book you hold right now contains its own world. Entering it will allow you to meet my own mentor. (I think she’ll like you, but just in case, I should warn you that she’s centuries old, and rather cranky. So watch out for her mood swings!!)
When you’re ready to enter this book, hold your ha hoof over the lion’s mouth and speak to it the words, Tenebrae horrendae devicerit aurorae sol . (It’s Latin. Not sure if they speak it in your world.)
And when you meet my mentor, just give her this letter. She’ll trust you more easily if she knows you have my recommendation. (Won’t you, Boss?)
Well, it looks like I’m about to run out of room on this paper, so I’ll wrap this up. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet in person, or under better circumstances. Either way, I’m honored to help you out!
~Charlotte

Twilight smiles. “Looks like I have a fan,” she says. She looks the letter over again, and raises an eyebrow. “But it says we can’t meet. Is there a reason for that?”

Aeon looks reluctant. “Aeon,” Twilight implores, “if there’s something you need to tell me, you should tell me.”

Said the pony who’s keeping secrets, Spike thinks.

“Twilight…” Aeon looks this way and that. “Twilight, my powers have been fading gradually. I don’t know if it is that I have been away from my reality for too long, or for some other reason, but… but I am dying.”

(“By the way, Your Highness, Aeon wanted me to tell you something…”)

Twilight’s eyes widen, but she says nothing. Aeon continues.

“Yes,” he admits, for the second time today. “My powers are fading, and the only recorded instances of this happening to any Traveler is when they are soon to die.” A pause. Aeon gulps. “Please, do not tell the others. I do not need anyone to worry for me.”

Twilight shakes her head. “Aeon, you’re one of us now. We all worry about you, because you’re our friend.”

Aeon sighs through his nostrils, hanging his head. “…I’m flattered you would… that you would consider me, er…” His fumbling tongue silences him. Finally, he just smiles and says simply, “Thank you. For worrying about me.”

(“Yes? What did he have to say?”)

Twilight weighs this news in her mind. Aeon is the sole driving force in this conflict: without him and his ability to hop dimensions, there’s no way for anyone else to do so. Janine is dead. St. Germaine keeps their original reality from collapsing completely. There aren’t any other Travelers to help them besides him.

Death. It’s an inevitable outcome of life, no matter what; and with things the way they are now, death’s inescapability is blatantly apparent. But what does one do when they know they are not long for this world…?

Her eyes descend once again to the Blank Book. To Charlotte’s letter. Finally, she gets an idea. “Aeon,” she says. “Have you ever thought about training someone to take over for you?”

(“He wanted me to tell you that for as long as he’ll live, he’ll fight for your right to exist.”)

A surprised pause. Aeon purses his lips in thought. “…You know, I… I never thought about that before…”

Twilight continues. “Well, I mean, St. Germaine trained you. You said so yourself that he was your mentor. So why not pass on the knowledge and responsibilities of a Traveler to someone else?”

Aeon thinks it over some more. “Well… it would be difficult. I would have to find someone who has no ‘home time’—a rare feature to possess, indeed.” He smiles reassuringly. “But I am sure there must be other ways. There might be clues. I will have to investigate.” He nods to Twilight. “Thank you, Twilight.”

With that, Aeon turns and once again walks away, leaving Twilight to her devices.

(“That he’ll fight for as long as he can. And that he’ll never let go.”)

Intermission ~ Awake

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Rainbow Dash loves clouds. That’s hardly a secret. They’re soft, fluffy, and make for awesome beds when she could use a power nap. And after such a rough yesterday followed by a sleepless night followed by such an exciting morning, she could use the sleep.

But she has this perfect formula for sleeping (well, nearly perfect; it didn’t work last night). She finds the fluffiest cloud—and if she can’t find one, she makes one. Then, when it’s good and super-fluffy, she forms it into a more reclined shape that’s like this crossbreed of bed and chair.

And then the best and most important part: sleep.

Sleep finally comes to Rainbow Dash, that familiar senseless haze rising like a tide, submerging her at long last. Soon she is fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with small snores.

Suddenly, she is shaken awake. “Wh—what—WHAT!” she barks as she snaps out of her slumber.

It’s Shatterstorm—his ocean-green eyes wide, his dumb, stupid face frozen in this expression of desperation. Rainbow Dash reclaims herself, straightens up, and crosses her forearms in exasperation. “Oh, for—what do you want? I’m entitled to some sleep, you know.”

Shatterstorm waves his front hooves in defense. “No, this isn’t about your laziness, this is—this is something different. It’s important.”

“What? What’s so important you had to wake me up? We have a mission here in a few hours.”

“Yes, I know—that’s why I need to admit something.” Shatterstorm pauses, his eyes widening. “I-In case… in case we don’t make it back.”

Silence. Then, Rainbow Dash groans. “All right, all right,” she says, electing to humor him until he goes away. “What is it?”

Shatterstorm takes a deep breath, placing his hooves on both her shoulders. “Rainbow Dash… I’m in love with you.”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes shoot open, her heart stopping as she feels the heat build up in her face and ears. She snorts. Then bursts into laughter. “Shatterstorm, you stupid—you can’t already be in love with me! We’ve only known each other for, like, what? A week and a half at most?”

“And every second of it was an eternity,” Shatterstorm counters.

Rainbow Dash is stopped cold by Shatterstorm’s heartfelt words. He continues. “From the moment we met, there was this… connection. I didn’t know how to react to my attraction to you, so I ended up coming off as a total jerk, and I’m sorry about that.

“But I’ve done some reflection on it and I realize, you’re the mare for me. You’re courageous, passionate, heroic. Very loyal. I mean, you’re hardly perfect, but even with your flaws, you’re nothing less than awesome. You’re…” He gulps. “You’re everything I could ever want, and everything I can’t live without.”

The heat in Rainbow Dash’s face rise and rise the more passionate his words became. When he finishes, her world goes blurry. She wipes away her tears, her bottom lip quivering. “I-I…” She sniffles. “I never knew you really felt that way about me…”

“And now you do,” Shatterstorm says softly. Slowly, he wraps his forelegs around her, pressing her face to his chest, his face to the top of her head.

“Do… Do you feel the same way about me?” Shatterstorm whispers.

Rainbow Dash breathes deep, choking back her tears. “…Yes,” she admits as she wraps her forelegs around his middle. “Yes, I do. You’re smart, and you’re strong. Stronger than anypony I know. Of course I love you…”

The two of them break their hug, then stare into each other’s eyes. Rainbow Dash stares into the whirling hurricane that whips and whirls behind Shatterstorm’s ocean greens. The hurricane—all the anger and resentment you can always see in his eyes—is finally dispelled. His rage is finally… gone.

And then he smiles.

And it’s beautiful.

Their lips touch.

Rainbow Dash shoots up with a shriek. “What a horrible dream!” she cries.

Shatterstorm rolls over in their bed. “Can you keep it down, dear?” he mumbles. “We have a mission soon and I need my sleep.”

Rainbow Dash jerks awake, her breathing heavy, her face damp with sweat. She looks around in terror—this way, that way. No Shatterstorm over here, no cheesy declaration of love over there. Rainbow Dash lifts a hoof and bites it. She doesn’t suddenly wake up, so she must be in reality, on her cloud-bed, over Ponyville, the sounds of reconstruction going on below.

She lets herself fall back down onto her cloud, relieved. Runs a hoof through her mane, blowing a sigh out of her lungs. What a wacky dream.

After she and Shatterstorm had told Spitfire of Twilight’s plan, Spitfire readily agreed to it, and afterward asked Shatterstorm to accompany her. It looked to Rainbow Dash that they had some catching up to do, so she decided to nap in the interim.

Now that she thinks about it, she still can’t get over how Shatterstorm and Spitfire know each other. He even knew Spitfire long before she’d met her—and they’re on a first-name basis—and they’ve kept in touch for years!

But if he was in company that cool, that has to mean he’s not as bad as she thinks. And in fact, she really didn’t think he was that bad to begin with. He’s a snotty, arrogant, stuck-up, short-tempered, chauvinistic jerk—but he’s hardly what she’d consider bad.

And the dream she just had.

No. No, no, no.

But she’d seen his smile before and—

No.

Oh come on, you saw how his—

NO!

Rainbow Dash sinks into her cloud and stews, grumpy now that her nap is over and Shatterstorm dances in her subconscious like the stupid, snot-nosed little goblin he is. She has bigger things to worry about—the desperate state Equestria is in now, Dracula’s forces and what they’re up to, her upcoming mission…

…and Dad.

Her frown worsens. She hadn’t seen her father in forever, nor had she received any word from him since he wrote her, saying he was going on vacation to the Crystal Empire. That was two, three weeks ago now?

And with Cadance now kidnapped, and the Crystal Empire in jeopardy… well, even though Rainbow Dash knows her dad—the tough-as-nails, hard-assed stallion he is—is strong enough to take care of himself, that didn’t stop her from asking Spitfire to keep an eye out for him.

There’s so much more going on than just her.

But Rainbow Dash is a creature of impulse. Wouldn’t it be great to find Shatterstorm and give him a piece of her mind?

Rainbow Dash nods. Yes. Yes it would.

It takes some searching, but Rainbow Dash finds him within twenty minutes. She hadn’t used that time to think over which piece of her mind to give Shatterstorm, but it matters little until she spots a familiar oceanic pegasus in a house whose roof has been burned away. She descends noiselessly, like a hawk about to swoop in to snap up an unsuspecting rabbit.

She only notices something’s wrong as she closes in.

Shatterstorm is sitting on his haunches, with Spitfire’s forelegs wrapped tightly around him. The little reddish rims around his eyes are puffier than usual, his back hutching occasionally as he sniffs back tears. Spitfire pressed her face against the top of his head and stroked his back, whispering for him to just let it all go, that it’s okay, he’s gonna be all right.

From where she perches, Rainbow Dash has a good view of his face.

And all she sees is pain.

Rainbow Dash drinks in the implications of the scene, her piece of her mind now forgotten. She breathes deep, releasing her frustrations with a quiet sigh, then turns and spreads her wings, ready to take off.

She chances a glance behind her again. She could go down there. Tell Shatterstorm he’s not alone. Tell him about how worried she is about her dad.

…Tell him about Mom.

But no matter what her conscience says to her, Rainbow Dash does not take the chance. She turns back around and away she flies.

“Done, and done!” Twilight says victoriously. She lords triumphantly over a library devoid of wet, ruined books and debris. The areas under the holes in the roof are still damp and warped, and boxes of ruined or salvageable books still clutter some of the corners, but for the most part, there’s enough room in here to dance.

So that’s exactly what Twilight does.

In the midst of getting down with her bad self, she hears Spike clear his throat. She stops. “Something wrong, Spike?”

Spike jerks a thumb to the room behind him. Inside is even more damage—burned books, destroyed furniture, and other nasty afterwards of Dirt Nap blowing up her library. Twilight frowns. Sighs. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

As Twilight enters the next room to investigate the damage, she hears the sound of something landing on the library floor behind her. She gasps, frozen almost in place before she whips around, her horn aglow.

Rainbow Dash holds her front hooves out defensively. “Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing!” she yells.

Twilight’s horn fizzles out as she breathes a sigh of relief. “Sorry about that, Rainbow Dash. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Rainbow Dash’s mouth puckers as she squints angrily at Twilight. “I wasn’t scared!” she insists.

Twilight laughs. “So. I’m guessing you’re here for the debriefing before leaving for Canterlot?”

Rainbow Dash gives a salute.

“Right,” Twilight nods. She looks around. “So… where’s Shatterstorm? He’s disappearing a lot lately. And the pony you and he selected for the investigation—I still need to give them details.”

Her statement gives Rainbow Dash pause. She clears her throat. “Shatterstorm’s talking with Captain Spitfire at the moment,” she says.

“Captain Spitfire?” Twilight echoes. “The Wonderbolt?”

“Yeah. She should be arriving any minute now.”

“Oh hey, you used ‘arrived’ in a sentence correctly,” snickers a disbelieving voice. “So you can sound smart!

Both mares and dragon look to the voice’s direction as Shatterstorm descends. His hooves touch the floor, his expansive wings folding to his back with a ghostly movement. Rainbow Dash notes his smirking face is clean of tears.

Spitfire lands beside Shatterstorm with twice as much silence. She shoulders him impatiently.

Rainbow Dash snorts. “Just because I’m not quoting math equations in my sleep doesn’t mean I’m stupid!”

“Enough, you two,” Twilight groans. “This isn’t the time to be ruffling each other’s feathers.”

Rainbow Dash’s face flashes beet red as Shatterstorm drops his smirk with wide, surprised eyes. The corners of Spitfire’s mouth are twisted into an odd smile as she snorts back a laugh. Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash eye each other angrily, then look away.

Twilight raises an eyebrow at their odd behavior. “Did I say something wrong, or…?”

“It’s a pegasus thing,” Spitfire chuckles. “Don’t worry about it.” Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm harrumph.

“R-Right,” Twilight says, worried at what that expression might mean in pegasus culture. “Captain Spitfire, I presume?”

Spitfire nods. “The one and only! And you must be Princess Celestia’s personal protégé.”

“That’s me!” Twilight replies, glad her status has finally earned her some respect from the populace. “And I suppose you’re here for the Crystal Empire reconnaissance mission?”

Spitfire nods. “Sure am. What’s the skinny?”

“All right.” Twilight looks to Spike and nods. He runs out of the room and comes back, holding Cadance’s crown. Spitfire’s eyes widen.

“Is that…?”

“Yes,” Twilight Sparkle confirms. “This crown belongs to Princess Cadance. She was reportedly kidnapped earlier in Canterlot, and due to next to no news travel these days, I need to know how her kingdom is doing.”

“Wouldn’t she have a council to govern her empire in her absence?” Spitfire asks.

“I’m assuming she does,” Twilight says as Spike puts the crown away. “But it would really help ease my mind if news were brought to me as to how her empire is doing, and if possible, to inform the council of…”

Spitfire raises an eyebrow as Twilight's voice trails off. “…Yes?”

Twilight nods. Even though Aeon had already told them not to trust anypony else, it looks as though she’ll have to break his rule. “Here’s your mission,” she says, her tone commanding. “I need you to go to the Crystal Empire. I need you to tell them about Count Dracula.”

“Count Dracula?”

“He’s the creature responsible for all this violence lately,” Twilight replies. She looks out the window at the Castle—Spitfire does likewise. “That Castle… is an extension of his power. I was able to soften his influence over Equestria, if only a little, but that doesn’t mean his minions—those monsters that have been plaguing us recently—have decided to lay low.”

“I see,” Spitfire confirms. “So you need me to warn them about Dracula?”

“If they haven’t already experienced any attacks,” Twilight says with some worry.

“They probably haven’t yet,” Spitfire says. “If that Castle’s been attacking only the towns closest to Canterlot, the Crystal Empire should still be safe.”

“Let’s hope so,” Twilight says. “This mission shouldn’t take you very long. I’d say maybe two days—three at the very longest.”

“Two days?” Spitfire scoffs. “I can do it in one. When do you need me to leave?”

“As soon as possible.”

Spitfire smiles and nods. “I’m on it. See you tomorrow!” With that, Spitfire spreads her wings and with a mighty flap, she shoots up and out of the library, soaring for the Crystal Empire.

Okay, one down. Twilight clicks her tongue, then looks to the other two pegasi. “All right, you two. Now let’s get on with your briefing.”

Her horn glows, creating a flat map of Canterlot that hovers midair. Both pegasi are taken in by how much detail is put into the map—the neighborhoods, the restaurants and hotels of downtown, mansions of uptown, even Canterlot Castle.

“Obviously, this is an outdated map,” Twilight says. She updates it.

Canterlot Castle fades away, and its place stands the jagged, black jaws of Dracula’s Castle. The friendly-looking Canterlot warps into something decayed and brown, harmful to eyes and spirit. It disturbs everyone present that this change is no exaggeration.

A red circle is drawn over one of the buildings. “This is the hotel where the research team and I were staying,” Twilight says. “Shatterstorm, you remember the hotel, right?”

Shatterstorm nods. “The Princess would have likely been where her husband was. If memory serves me correctly, the Captain was moved from the hotel to the Canterlot Hospital, Psychiatric Wing.”

Twilight looks at Shatterstorm for a second before the red circle disappears, then is drawn around another building. “Right, forget the hotel then,” she says as Spike snickers. “Your first destination is to investigate the Hospital to see if you can find any clues as to where Princess Cadance was taken to.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “But wouldn’t they be holding her in the Castle itself?”

“That’s too obvious,” Twilight says. “We have to be careful, Rainbow Dash. The enemy we’re up against here is extremely clever. They’ll hold out the most obvious solution only to rip it from underneath us. So instead, we’re playing this one carefully. We need clues to confirm where they’re holding her.”

“Not to mention that the Hospital might actually make the best location for a laboratory,” Shatterstorm adds. “If Aeon’s correct in his assumption that they’re studying the Princess’s unique aura to locate the Royal Sisters, then they’ll need the perfect place for it.”

Twilight points to Shatterstorm. “Precisely!”

Rainbow Dash sneers at Shatterstorm. “Suck-up,” she mutters.

Two other buildings are circled on the map. “Of course, there’s also two big laboratories in Canterlot. The first—” (she points at the most westward one) “—is the Royal Institute of Academic Study. The second—” (she points at the most southward one) “—is the independently-owned Galactic Laboratories.”

Twilight rubs her chin in thought as she analyzes the map more closely. “Roaring Yawn conducted his research on cryptology at the Royal Institute. I’m making an assumption, of course, but there’s the possibility that Dracula’s minions may be stationed there to use his analytical equipment.”

“You must be pretty jealous,” Rainbow Dash says with a smile.

Twilight raises an eyebrow. “Why should I be jealous?”

“Because they’ve seen your boyfriend’s equipment,” she giggles, adding a suggestive eyebrow wiggle at equipment. She bites back a laugh as Twilight’s face flushes.

Twilight fights for the right words to use before finally barking, “Rainbow Dash!” She cocks her head to Spike, who didn’t quite seem to grasp Rainbow Dash’s euphemism. “Little ears!”

Shatterstorm glares at Rainbow Dash. She shrugs. “Well, I thought it was funny.”

“Only you would make an engaged audience for your own lame jokes,” Shatterstorm says dryly.

“Back on topic!” Twilight says before the situation can spiral out of control. “Your first destination will be the Canterlot Hospital. From there, you’ll have to deduce where they’ve taken Cadance.

“Then, once you find her, you must rescue her and return her to the Crystal Empire. After that, return here.”

The last item on the list of mission objectives hangs in the air for a few seconds before Twilight nods. “Any questions?” Silence. “Good. If you need essentials, you need to pack them now. I’m giving you both one hour until you both leave for—”

“But the sun’s about to set,” Spike points out. “I thought Dracula’s monsters all get stronger at night…”

Twilight looks at Spike dumbly for a few seconds. Then she purses her lips.

“This mission needs to get underway as soon as is possible,” Shatterstorm opines. “Tonight may be the most dangerous time to embark on this mission, but all the same, we can’t allow the Princess to be in their possession for any longer than necessary.”

“And besides, what’s a little extra danger, anyway?” Rainbow Dash laughs as she drifts up into the air. “Danger’s my middle name!”

Twilight pauses. “Well… I hate having to put you in harm’s way like this, but if you’re sure you can handle it…”

Both pegasi nod.

“…All right then. I’ll give you both an hour to prepare. Be ready.” Twilight’s horn ceases to glow, causing the map to dissipate. She points to Rainbow Dash. “Rainbow Dash, I’m appointing you the leader of this operation.”

Rainbow Dash grins. “Hear that, Shatterstorm? You’re my lackey now!”

“Lucky me,” Shatterstorm dourly grumbles. “It’s like I just won the boss lottery.”

“Knock it off, both of you!” Twilight says. “I might be giving you the lead, Rainbow Dash, but the reason I’m letting Shatterstorm go with you is that he’s less brash than you are. When he offers you his advice, you’re going to listen to him.”

“What?!” Rainbow Dash squeaks.

“A good leader listens to the advice of her followers,” Twilight opines.

Rainbow Dash scowls, then snorts. “Fine,” she says. She flicks a glance at Shatterstorm and whispers, “But just because you give me advice, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna follow it.”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Twilight warns in a tone that makes Rainbow Dash grimace. “I want to trust you, Rainbow Dash. You haven’t let me down yet. But another remark like that, and I’ll make you follow Shatterstorm instead.”

Silence. Rainbow Dash sighs and nods. “Okay,” she says. “I’m sorry, Shatterstorm.”

“No offense taken,” he replies with a shrug.

“All right, without any further delay,” Twilight Sparkle says, “please make your preparations and be back here in an hour.”

Both pegasi nod. Then they spread their wings and take off.

Twilight breathes a sigh of relief. She has somepony going to the Crystal Empire, two of her friends going on a rescue mission, she's got those compasses to make…

Twilight gasps. “I’ve been so busy I forgot about making the compasses! Spike, to the basement lab! We need to get the ink to a boiling point and let it settle for eight hours, and then...”

As she dashes downstairs while going over instructions, Spike nonchalantly shrugs before following her. “Just another day in paradise,” he mutters.

The Wolf Revealed, Part I

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A lonely wind meanders through Canterlot’s once-proud streets, indolently batting about small debris and garbage, a sickening chill cloaking its shoulders. The buildings all stand in mournful silence, their lusters lost, their innocence traded for an emptiness that grows like kudzu. Celestia’s star is nowhere to be seen; although it is still daylight, the matrimony of the ashen clouds above and the fog crawling along the streets below produce their own fearsome atmosphere.

Overlooking Lost Canterlot is the ominous Castle that began all this madness, tall and dark, clawing forever upward. Between the heaving fog and the whispering wind, the Castle is merely a vague black shape—but it watches them. Rainbow Dash can feel it. No eyes. Yet it stares. It knows they are here, and mockingly, it welcomes them to its new residence.

She can’t say she likes what it’s done with the place.

“Okay,” she says quietly, her breath coming out in cold clouds. “We’re here.”

Shatterstorm observes the new surroundings, this ghost city, in all its emptiness and eerie serenity. “This close to the Castle, there’s bound to be some powerful monsters. Stay alert.”

“Hey, thanks for the protip, Captain Obvious,” Rainbow Dash says glibly. “What would I do without you?”

Shatterstorm scowls. Harrumphs.

“So, anyway,” she continues, “the plan’s to get to the Hospital first. I dunno why you wanted for us to land; we could probably just fly there from here.”

Shatterstorm looks upward, head tilted at an analytical angle. There’s a storm gathering above; he can feel its presence. Despite the lack of any telltale signs—rainfall, lightning, the booming of thunder—something deep inside him prickles at his senses. It’s a feeling not unlike the gradual awareness that you are becoming sick. He looks to his partner and shakes his head.

“Not even two steps into Canterlot and you’re already set on killing yourself,” he sighs.

Rainbow Dash smirks. “Shatters. I have wings. You have wings. I say we use ’em.”

“It isn’t about if we can fly, it’s about whether or not we should.” He waves a hoof as if to present their surroundings. “We’d be more visible to the enemy in the air. We need to play it safe.”

She rolls her eyes. Sighs. Shakes her head. “So? I’m a fast flyer; this’ll only take like a second.”

“And what about the monsters I apparently didn’t need to tell you about?” Shatterstorm asks, his voice more solid and biting. “Did you already forget what Actrise was capable of? We don’t need more nasty surprises.”

Rainbow Dash waves a hoof. “Dracula’s out of surprises! We’re prepared this time.” She scoffs. “At least, I know I am.”

A pause. “…You think you’re so tough,” Shatterstorm grunts, scowling. “Dracula and his minions aren’t a joke.” He turns, his hooves clopping against Canterlot’s cobblestone road. “Be serious about this mission. It’s pretty sad I have to tell you that.”

“Don’t lecture me!” Rainbow Dash says irritably, shaking her head and following Shatterstorm. “I’m just naming some good ideas. Heck, why don’t we just raid the Castle now and put an end to this? It’d be easier, right?”

“That’s not what we’re here to do,” Shatterstorm says impatiently as they pass by some ruined buildings. He recognizes one as the coffee shop he and some of his squadmates would visit while off duty. “We’re here to investigate where they’ve taken the Princess.”

Rainbow Dash groans. “Am I the only one who thinks that Princess Cadance is being held in the Castle itself? Like, big castle? Kidnapped princess? It’s so obvious! Dracula might as well put neon signs all over the windows: ‘KIDNAPPED PRINCESSES: TWO FOR ONE DEAL.’”

She catches a smirk dancing across Shatterstorm’s lips before he puts it away. “You’ve been watching too many action movies. That’s too obvious a solution—or were you asleep during Miss Sparkle’s briefing?”

“I just think you guys are over-thinking this,” Rainbow Dash sniffs, stepping over some debris. “Dracula’s overconfident at this point. He won’t be expecting just two pegasi to sneak into his castle.”

“‘The most obvious solution to a situation set up by your enemies is always a trap’,” Shatterstorm quotes. “General Winter.”

“General who?”

“General Winter,” Shatterstorm repeats, taking a left at the corner. “He was a general and philosopher. Wrote a lot about strategy and warfare.” He pauses, taking the moment to look around. “Of course,” he adds snidely, “if you actually read books, you’d know that.”

“Hey, I read books!”

The mental image of Rainbow Dash actually sitting down and reading a book pops into Shatterstorm’s mind, twisting his lips into a smirk that threatens to burst into a laugh. “Oh, really? Which ones?” He rolls his eyes, expecting her to name some silly comic book or trashy “young adult” novel.

I read Daring Do!” she announces with a proud smile. “I’ve read each book in the series cover-to-cover three times!”

Shatterstorm turns to her suddenly, his eyes sparkling in admiration as a boyish smile lights up his whole face. “I loved Daring Do!” he says in an uncharacteristic squeal.

“Really?!” Rainbow Dash says, sharing Shatterstorm’s starry-eyed fangasm.

He blows a huff of hot air. “Yeah... when I was ten.” He turns around, a mean smirk on his lips and a mischievous look in his eyes, as he continues down the street. “Lemme know when you’re ready to read books meant for us grown-ups.”

Rainbow Dash’s face distorts into a puckered glare. She growls, but elects to leave this fight where it lies and follows him until they’re once again next to each other. The fog only thickens, as does the unsettling silence. Cautiously, they walk along as Canterlot closes its mouth around them.

Empty, quiet hooffalls echo in the empty, quiet city. They pass by a couple buildings before Shatterstorm notices that Rainbow Dash has fallen silent. An aside glance reveals she is no longer beside him. He quickly turns his head, catching the only colors amidst this now-dreary, fog-stained street. She’s turned to look at something—frozen in place, face pale, eyes wide, and lips thin. Immediately, Shatterstorm rushes to her side and whispers, “What’s wrong?”

Rainbow Dash points. Shatterstorm follows her hoof.

His breath is stolen.

A wall is scribbled with mad warnings and feverish images. Black chalk barks at anypony whose fool eyes fall upon it. Warnings. Repeating. Spiraling. Screaming.

You Too Shall Be My Puppet, warns the wall.

YOU TOO SHALL BE MY PUPPET, shrieks the wall.

yOu ToO shA LL bE M y PuPPE t, sobs the wall.

The warnings on the wall become more hastened, less controlled, more jumbled, less coherent. Scribbled eyes accompany the warnings, gazing deeply into their two witnesses. It all forms almost a mass near the bottom, finally descending into a single black line that drags from one end of the wall to the other, the chalk that was used to write this madness now rattling on the cold ground as the slow wind bats at it in boredom.

There, nestled in a heap below the warning and not even a few inches away from the chalk, is a puppet the size of a full-grown pony. Its four wooden legs are splayed recklessly, as if it were simply dropped without a care. The detail to its face is stunning and eerie, frozen in a crumpled expression of terror—eyes wide, lips red and twisted.

Rainbow Dash bites her bottom lip and exhales slowly. She looks aside at Shatterstorm. “Y-You sure that hoofin’ it’s gonna be easier than flying to the Hospital?”

“Never said it was gonna be easier,” Shatterstorm says quietly. “I just said it’d be safer.”

Rainbow Dash cocks her head to this morbid scene before them. “By how much?”

Shatterstorm looks up at the ashen sky. Despite the horrible thing they’ve found on the ground, he still feels that there’s something even worse up there. Something that refuses to makes its presence known yet. It watches. It watches, and it waits.

“Enough to make a difference,” he says quickly.

Rainbow Dash opens her mouth to argue, but Shatterstorm is quick to shoot her down. “Just trust me on this one, OK? Do you trust me?”

Silence. Rainbow Dash nods solemnly. “…Let’s just go.”

They leave, stealing down another street. The stick of black chalk is stroked by the wind, rolling further into the indecipherable fog.

“You sure this is the way?” Rainbow Dash asks.

“I’m absolutely sure,” Shatterstorm replies.

The fog is thickening—so thick that Shatterstorm can barely make out the many colors of Rainbow Dash’s namesake mane, despite that she’s at most three feet away from him. The buildings have become the same unrecognizable walls of gravy on either side, with any bushes, trees, benches, and other street occupants becoming nothing more than vague grey blotches.

The two stop. Shatterstorm reaches into his saddlebags and takes out his map, looking it over in frustration. It’s too foggy to even read it.

“…We’re lost, aren’t we?” Rainbow Dash says flatly.

Shatterstorm scowls at her—not that she can see it.

“It’s because of the fog,” he says, putting the map away.

“I’ll take that as an invitation,” Rainbow Dash says. She flaps her wings.

Before Shatterstorm can demand she stay grounded, the fog around them is pushed away. Every flap of her wings swats the fog away for a few good feet. Shatterstorm catches onto her idea and unfurls his own wings. Within a few flaps, visibility is restored—for twelve feet ahead, anyway.

“Why didn’t we think to do this before?” asks Shatterstorm quietly.

“Sorry,” Rainbow Dash smirks. “Got too busy getting creeped out by an eerily empty city.”

Shatterstorm ignores Rainbow Dash’s retort, and takes in their immediate surroundings. “Okay,” he says. “We’re gonna walk down this street and reach the plaza. We’ll know we’re there when we see the fountain with a statue of the royal sisters. From there, we’ll go down Bodeley Avenue, which takes us west.”

Along they go, occasionally flapping their wings to dust away the filth of fog. Not another word is exchanged between the two, both now much more alert thanks to the puppet’s warning.

Of all the weirdness that’s happened so far, it’s the emptiness of the town that unnerves Rainbow Dash most. Most other times she’d been here, the place was just alive, with ponies bustling, the sounds of conversations all merging into one oceanlike sound, the sun shining overhead. She recognizes this street. Some months ago—maybe even just a week and a half ago—there’d been foals playing around on the cobblestone, while their parents sat nearby, reading newspapers and shooting the breeze. It all feels so surreal.

Breaking the silence like an explosion comes an ominous howl from far away. It’s a piercing wolf howl, slightly distorted, warbling as the light and visibility of Canterlot slowly ebbs away.

“…Scared?” asks Shatterstorm, a bit shaken himself.

Rainbow Dash only realizes the moment Shatterstorm speaks that she’s holding onto him like he’s a comfort blanket. She pushes him away. “A-As if!” she lies.

Shatterstorm dusts himself off in a way he hopes doesn’t look nervous. Off in the distance, a door claps shut, causing them both to flinch. They stare wide-eyed in the direction of the sound.

Slow creaking above. They look up sharply and are met by a pub’s sign pushed by the cold wind.

Leaves rustle, blown across the street by the wind picking up.

Something small drops to the cobblestone with a muted plink.

Every sound seems intensely magnified by the silence they periodically break.

Gingerly, the two ponies walk forth to the plaza. They take as careful steps as they can, their rhythmic clip-clop-clip-clop barely audible. Finally, the fountain depicting the royal sisters comes into view. As if it’s an oasis in a desert, Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash rush to the fountain, gliding slightly over the ground and landing quietly beneath the effigy of the sisters.

Rainbow Dash takes note of her fast breathing. Shatterstorm’s as well. His face is caked with beads of cold sweat. A wipe of her hoof on her own brow reveals the same for her. She gulps, only now noticing how quickly her heart is racing, how hard it pounds against her chest. Part of her honestly wishes something would just jump out at them already; the terror building inside her is too much.

Shatterstorm takes out his map as he sits on the park bench in front of the statue. He sits up suddenly. “What’s wrong?” Rainbow Dash asks in near-panic.

He looks aside at her. Then he smiles sheepishly as he reaches underneath himself and pulls out a piece of paper. “I just sat on something,” he whispers. “False alarm.”

On the paper, there is noticeable writing, but with the fog and the waning daylight, it’s difficult to read. Rainbow Dash reaches into her saddlebags and brings out an oil lamp. Shatterstorm raises an eyebrow as she lights it and brings it over his shoulder, spreading visibility over the paper.

He reads it aloud in a whisper:

To whoever finds this:
I’m sorry I had to return to this place… its not like I wanted too. But there’s somepony in trouble—life and death. We all evacuated but she didn’t get out with us before all communication stopped with Canterlot. I can’t call myself her best friend if I was to scared to look for her. So I’m back in here doing just that.
I wish I could say something cool, like I hid weapons somewhere or something, but this is’nt that kind of message. Sorry for not bing able to help you!!
If I never return from this place, I’m sorry.
Good bye.

Shatterstorm puts the letter in his saddlebag, but says nothing. He sighs and resumes looking at his map.

Rainbow Dash looks at him curiously. “…Shatterstorm?”

“What?”

“…You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, a little too quickly, his voice cracking at fine. He traces a hoof down the map. “We go down Bodeley until we see the Wonderhorse Theatre. From there, we go north. Can’t miss it.”

He looks up to see Rainbow Dash biting her lower lip in thought. “What?”

She looks to him, her eyes expectant. “…That note.”

“Don’t even suggest it,” Shatterstorm warns. “We have enough on our plate as it is. We can’t just… go play hero in a place... where…” His voice trails off as his ear perks.

Rainbow Dash is about to ask him what’s wrong… until she hears what he does.

A small whine. Like static from a radio.

Both pegasi turn their heads to the sound. There, amidst some rubbish, is a small battery-powered radio, likely dropped by looters. The static it produces grows in volume, going from a slight whine to crackling screams.

The hairs on the back of Rainbow Dash’s neck stand on end. Her eyes dart around, terrified of what they might land on. Surprisingly, she finds nothing.

The radio static cuts out abruptly.

For nearly a minute, all the two pegasi can hear are their own heartbeats. “…You think the batteries died?” Rainbow Dash asks, hoping her statement comes off as a wry joke.

She gets no response from Shatterstorm. Rainbow Dash turns her head

and finds Shatterstorm staring, his mind kidnapped by terror, at a large figure looming right next to them. Thanks to the light cast from the oil lamp, Rainbow Dash can make out its face: lupine and hoary, with long black wisps of hair protruding into every direction. A pair of beady eyes glisten wetly like a pair of silver coins at the bottom of a well. Its massive maw—easily big enough to envelop a pony’s head—opens slowly to reveal rows of teeth sharp as needles and breath as hot and toxic as a dragon’s.

The moment the beast realizes it had its preys’ attention, its mouth springs open and lets loose the same loud howl they’d heard only a few minutes ago. The beast makes an announcement: its hunt is now on.

In response, the only thing the two pegasi could do was run for their lives, Rainbow Dash dropping the oil lamp as they flee, the oil lamp breaking with a loud pop and setting the ground it fell upon in flames. As they both run, Rainbow Dash steals a look behind her, and sees the giant wolf stepping through those flames, its mouth twisted into a fanged grin, its eyes steeled, the tongues of flame whipping and flailing around its legs.

Then it bounds.

The Wolf Revealed, Part II

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Their plan to head down Bodeley gone from their minds (as well as Shatterstorm’s warning about not flying), the two pegasi bolt from the wolf, pumping their wings with all their might to get above Lost Canterlot’s streets, away where it can’t reach them.

As he follows Rainbow Dash’s lead, Shatterstorm’s heart shakes his chest with every beat of his wings. His teeth clench of their own accord. Tears of terror mass around his eyes.

Then he sees it.

It’s still too foggy to see, and the dying light distorts everything further. But Shatterstorm swears up and down that he sees it. There’s something sitting on a nearby spire—a spire from the nearby church—something black and scrawny, with a creamy-white face and dark, wet eyes. The sounds of crow-cackles echo as little black things gather around this creature.

Its creamy-white face is turned in Shatterstorm’s and Rainbow Dash’s direction.

Don’t look.

The dark, wet eyes narrow.

Don’t look!

It watches them. Has been since they arrived.

She feels a hoof wrap around her back—then forced descent onto a building—then landing—then being rushed behind a rising roof—then being thrust ahead—then being pulled down—then Shatterstorm harshly whispering in her ear, “Siddown and shuddup!”

Even from up here, Rainbow Dash can hear its growling, feel its heavy footsteps. How in Tartarus a beast like this could have been quiet enough to sneak up on them is beyond her.

The beast grows quiet.

Then they hear—no, feel—the entire building shake.

Shatterstorm lets go of Rainbow Dash and whispers, “RUN.”

The wolf shoots up over the side of the building, its huge mouth open and hungry. Rainbow Dash unfurls her wings to fly away again, only for Shatterstorm to bite her tail and take off running, yanking her along with him. “I said run, not fly!” he yelled.

Rainbow Dash thinks to yell a retort, but her voice and thoughts are swallowed by the wolf’s piercing howl behind them. Her legs find the rooftop beneath her and immediately pound it, propelling her forward, the wind whipping her mane and tail with every step.

The giant wolf closes in on its prey, foaming drool and knife-like tongue spinning wildly in its cavernous mouth. It emits a hungry hiss, almost able to taste the oceanic-colored one in front of it. With a sound like two pieces of metal clamping shut, its mouth bites down on Shatterstorm’s tail, yanking him off his hooves.

With a slight hook of its neck, the wolf pulls Shatterstorm into the air, then slams him hard enough to leave an indention on the roof. It repeats a few times, jiggling Shatterstorm’s insides, using enough force to have broken the neck of most ponies, but the most it gets out of Shatterstorm is a few bruises.

Rainbow Dash leaps to the next building, but stops as she hears Shatterstorm cry out in pain. She turns her head, and through the fog sees the faded outline of the wolf, jerking its head to and fro with something pony-shaped in its mouth jerking about spastically.

Without so much as a blink’s hesitation, Rainbow Dash turns back and, with a flap of her wings, shoots straight for the wolf, speeding back over to the previous building. “Get your filthy paws OFF him!” she barks as she turns around. Her hind legs may be no Bucky McGillicuddy or Kicks McGee like Applejack’s, but they leave impressions on the wolf’s face either way.

Stunned, the wolf staggers back a few steps as Shatterstorm is dropped onto the rooftop. Rainbow Dash thrusts a hoof out to help him back up, only for Shatterstorm to smack it away and stand up himself. Shatterstorm only realizes he’d smacked her hoof away after she sneers at him.

“You’re welcome,” Rainbow Dash shoots snidely.

There’s not much time for Shatterstorm to work up a counter or apology; the wolf regains its bearings and growls, the rooftop shuddering from the sound.

“Get ready!” Shatterstorm says. “Here it comes!”

The wolf bounds for them, its mighty stride shaking the entire building, the rooftop beneath Rainbow Dash’s hooves rumbling perilously. She and Shatterstorm get ready to jump it as it lunges, ready to shoot down as it flies beneath them, ready to…

The two pegasi raise eyebrows as the giant wolf suddenly flops down on its side with a yelp and a thunderous crash, sliding to a stop just in front of them.

Rainbow Dash, unsure of what the heck just happened, finally gets a good look at the wolf’s face. Its terrifying, predatory grimace morphs into a vulnerable, weak look of shock, a small, puppylike whine escaping its lips. Its wide, frightened eyes slowly lose focus… roll upwards slowly… then close.

“What in…?” she asks. Then she notices the small, white dart in the wolf’s side.

“We got it!” cries a voice from some distance away. The accent sounds Trottish.

“Great shot!” says another.

“Well,” replies the first voice as they grow closer, “they don’t call me ‘Eagle Eye’ fer nothin’!”

“…Eagle Eye?” asks Shatterstorm, snapping to attention suddenly.

Just as Rainbow Dash is about to ask Shatterstorm who that is, two gray shapes form in the fog. Shatterstorm cranes his neck forward. “Eagle Eye!” he calls.

The two figures stop. “…Shatterstorm?”

Shatterstorm breathes a sigh of relief. “Eagle Eye, yes, it’s me! Good grief—I thought you guys were dead!”

The two shapes come further from the fog until Rainbow Dash can make out details. One has a dirty purple mane, off-white pelt, a horn; the other guy has a dark curly mane and tail, grey pelt, wings. Of course, the fog’s still wrecking her view, but at least she can tell they’re ponies.

“Shatterstorm!” cries the unicorn (Eagle Eye, by the sounds of his Trottish accent). He gallops over, wrapping a foreleg over Shatterstorm, who flinches at first, but returns the hug anyway. “Great to see you again, you ole’ tosser! We thought’cha bit it back when all this came down!”

The other guy pokes the giant wolf cautiously. It twitches. Then lies still. He turns his head. “Hey, Professor!” he calls. “It looks like your paralysis medicine worked!”

“Paralysis?” comes another voice, resonating like thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. Rainbow Dash hears hooves hitting hard rooftop, gradually becoming louder until a large shape begins to form in the fog. “You’re cleary mistaken. What’s in that dart was a strong sedative. It’s meant to put her to sleep.”

The grey guy kicks the wolf. “I don’t see why we can’t just kill this thing,” he says. “It’s already eaten Night Flight and Dead Air.”

Finally, the deep voice has a form to be attached to. The blue pelt, the gold mane, the long horn, the smart clothes, classic handsome features, piercing green eyes behind a set of spectacles. The size of this guy. Rainbow Dash recognizes him right away from the magazine Twilight had.

“To kill her would be wasteful,” opines Roaring Yawn, stopping just in front of the Royal Guard. “We need her alive if I am to conduct any further research on lycanthropy and how it affects ponies.”

The grey Royal Guard looks at Roaring Yawn disbelievingly. Then he kicks the wolf. “She’s giant, hairy, and extremely violent. I’d say it affects ponies the same way it affects those weird apelike creatures from the Castle. Case closed.”

Roaring Yawn waves a hoof. “I’m not here to argue, Lieutenant Shakey. I’m here to bring in this specimen for study.”

“Yeah, yeah, study, study, study,” grumbles Shakey. “It’s always books and potions with you, Yawn.

“So. She must weigh, like, four times any of us. Not to mention she already destroyed our cage-carrier we were gonna put her in. How we gonna lug this bitch around?”

Almost at his words, the wolf begins to shrink. Her hair segues back into a normal, slate grey pelt, the deep black stripe that crowns her back becoming a wave of long, black mane, her even-longer, silkier tail spilling like ink all around her. Her body trades its lupine shape for an equine one, the paws closing into hooves, the snout shortening into a muzzle, the fangs curling into blunt teeth. The dark hair on her flanks reveals a treble clef for a cutie mark.

“...Does that answer your question?” asks Roaring Yawn.

Rainbow Dash gets a closer look at the thing that had been chasing them for the past twenty minutes. Her chest rises and falls slowly, rhythmically. A soft snore escapes her nostrils. She smacks her full lips in her sleep. It’s surreal that so pretty a mare could become so terrifying a monster.

“Here, let me carry her,” Shatterstorm volunteers.

“Whoa there, loverboy,” jokes Eagle Eye, “now’s no time to go crushin’ on dark beauties with terrible curses.”

Shatterstorm shoots Eagle Eye a smirk. “No, I mean, it’s been forever since I saw you guys. It’s great that the Royal Guard at least still exists.”

A pause. Eagle Eye smiles. Laughs. “What’s that got to do with her?” he asks, cocking his head to the once-was-a-wolf.

“I… just… wanna be useful,” Shatterstorm says with a shrug. He looks to Rainbow Dash. “Hey Dash, gimme a hoof here.”

Rainbow Dash is broken from her stupor; she nervously rubs a hoof against her temple while releasing a shaky sigh. Too much is happening at once, too much to take in. “Y-Yeah, just gimme a second.”

“Oh, what? Going too fast for you?” Shatterstorm snarks.

“Any slower and you’d be going backwards, Shatterdork,” Rainbow Dash shoots back as she gets on the other side of the unconscious mare. “You want my help or not?”

Shakey laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Ooh, she’s a fireball, this one! Where’d you get a catch like her, Shatterstorm?”

Rainbow Dash blushes as she sets the once-was-a-wolf on Shatterstorm’s back, his wings cupping the mystery mare’s body carefully. Shakey and Eagle Eye look at her with wide smiles, their eyes twinkling with expectation… and maybe something else.

“Catch?!” she snorts angrily. “H-He’s—”

“We met shortly after arriving in Ponyville,” Shatterstorm interrupts with a charming smile.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widen, recoiling as Shatterstorm continues. “She and I ended up having a lot in common, so I asked her, y’know—”

Roaring Yawn groans and waves a hoof impatiently. “I’m sure your love story is quite compelling, but we must get going before the sun sets.”

Roaring Yawn and Eagle Eye ready their ropes to descend the building and head for the nearest edge. When she’s sure they’re far enough away, Rainbow Dash turns and gives Shatterstorm the mother of all death glares. “What. Was. That?” she growls.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” Shatterstorm whispers harshly.

“Protect me? By pretending to be my boyfriend?!”

“Not so loud, stupid!” he says, leaning in. “Didn’t you see the looks on their faces when they saw you?”

Rainbow Dash shrugs. “So they think I’m awesome. I have that effect on everypony.”

Cue facehoof. “That wasn’t awe!”

“Really? What else did you see?” Rainbow Dash asks earnestly.

Shatterstorm grinds his teeth, his blood boiling at Rainbow Dash’s complete genre blindness. “Awe!” he grumbles. “Not ‘all’, awe! A-W-E, awe! That was not awe in their eyes! I gotta spell this out on a chalkboard for ya?!”

“Hey, quit making out back there!” Shakey shouts with a laugh. “This is a G-rated mission! Let’s go!”

Rainbow Dash starts toward the group, then stops. She turns her head aside to Shatterstorm and whispers, “Just so you know, you’ll never be my boyfriend.”

“Lucky me,” Shatterstorm retorts as Rainbow Dash walks away. She stops when she doesn’t hear his hoofsteps behind her. Slowly, she cranes her neck behind her, catching Shatterstorm looking about the fog cautiously.

“What’s the holdup?” Rainbow Dash asks.

With a startled breath, Shatterstorm snaps to attention. In a way somehow both sheepish and arrogant, he trots along to catch up with everypony, not so much as offering any explanation as he walks by Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash shrugs. “Fine,” she snorts as she trots along. “Be all mysterious.”

The fog grows thicker, the fast-fading sunlight coloring everything in dark dust. The visibility vanishes, and a milky darkness takes its place. Their trek back to base takes them through murky streets and past colorless, formless buildings.

“First things first,” Shatterstorm opens. “We need to know where Princess Cadance is.”

“Don’t worry,” Eagle Eye says. “She’s okay.”

Rainbow Dash pops an eyebrow. “Then what were those freaks doing with her crown?”

“It was a close one, for sure,” Eagle Eye replies, turning his head to look at Rainbow Dash. “We almost didn’t get away in time when they attacked the hospital! She lost her crown on our way out, and I guess those clowns must’ve found it.”

Rainbow Dash facehoofs. “Are you kidding me?! They punked us?!”

“Sounds like something they’d do,” Shatterstorm grumbles. “This was a trap, after all.”

“A trap?” Roaring Yawn asks. His sharp green eyes dart about as he puts two and two together. “For Twilight Sparkle, I take it?”

“You guessed it,” Rainbow Dash says as she carefully hovers over the street, her wings beating silently. “She went and pissed off one of Dracula’s minions—Actress, I think—”

“Actrise,” Shatterstorm corrects.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rainbow Dash says, rolling her eyes. “But anyway, Actrise’s henchponies… hench-apes…?”

Shatterstorm stifles a groan. “Try ‘lackeys’.”

Rainbow Dash shoots him a glare. “Her lackeys gave Fluttershy—she’s a friend of ours—Princess Cadance’s crown to try luring Twilight here.”

Roaring Yawn nods. “I see. It’s good to hear Twilight is doing all right.” He walks around a fallen chariot. “I certainly hope whatever she’s doing in sending you two here in her stead will work. Actrise is one of Dracula’s most dangerous minions, if not the most.”

“She been giving you guys trouble too?” Rainbow Dash asks.

Eagle Eye shakes his head. “Like ya wouldn’t believe! We managed to get ’er off our backs, but I still get nightmares about her. If I were you, I’d steer clear of her as much as possible.”

“Too late for that,” Shatterstorm grumbles, shuffling his wings, readjusting the once-was-a-wolf on his back.

Eagle Eye raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You two ran into her already?”

Rainbow Dash nods. “Pretty much. She possessed some mare, and…”

Silence. Everyone looks aside to find Rainbow Dash sullen and hesitant. There’s this look of discomfort on her face that Shatterstorm can see even through the thick fog and dimming light. “What she did,” he says, breaking the silence, “she’ll pay for. She’s on our list, don’t worry about it. Right now, we’re just here to retrieve the Princess.”

Shakey snorts. “Retrieve? Hate to break it to you like this, but there’s this little problem we’ve been having.”

“W-What do you mean?” Rainbow Dash asks.

“Getting into Canterlot’s the easy part,” Eagle Eye explains. “Getting out is another issue entirely. Dracula’s lieutenants have eyes everywhere—in the sky, in buildings, on the streets. They’ll welcome you in, but don’t expect a goin’-away party that doesn’t involve a casket your size.”

“Especially since your aim is to rescue the Princess,” Roaring Yawn says. “I doubt very much Dracula’s minions would simply let you slip past them.”

“It’s worked out for us so far,” Rainbow Dash says with a smile.

Eagle Eye snickers. “Don’t git cocky, aye? ’Fore y’know it, you’ll find yerself surrounded by shamblers ’n willy-beasts.”

“Aw, I’d like to see ’em just try it!” Rainbow Dash says, mock-punching the air before her. “They’re the ones that don’t know what they’re getting into!”

Eagle Eye’s snicker breaks into an outright laugh. “I like this chick. She’s got spunk. You’re a very lucky stallion, Shatters.”

Shatterstorm chuckles nervously as Rainbow Dash gives him an uneasy aside glance. “Darn straight he’s lucky!” she crows, hoping she sounds convincing.

Shakey laughs. “You shoulda seen ’im before you met him, Dashie. Every time we caught him makin’ eyes at mares—’specially this one cutie of a barista—he’d just, y’know, deny, deny, deny.”

“Yeah,” Eagle Eye agrees, putting one foreleg around Shatterstorm’s neck facetiously. “Made us kinda wonder about you.”

Shatterstorm rolls his eyes and blows a huff of air. “Not this again…”

“Hey, it’s all right to like guys, too,” Shakey says. “We’re not, y’know, judging you or anything.”

Rainbow Dash presses a hoof to her turned-up lips as a snort chuckles its way out of her nostrils. Shatterstorm frowns. “I-It’s not that,” he says flatly, “I just… don’t like using my military status to—”

Eagle Eye shoulders Shatterstorm. “Oy! Enough with the fake modesty. We know how much time you spend with Tiger Cross.” He shrugs. “Though honestly I never thought he’d be the type. You’re not just datin’ this fine mare here to make ’im jealous or anything, are ya?”

Rainbow Dash can barely hold her laughter at Shatterstorm’s flat frown and furrowed brow. The death glare he shoots at Eagle Eye could probably count as a laser beam.

“How is that old blighter, anyway?” Eagle Eye asks. “He was with you last, right?”

Silence. The group stops and looks behind them, to where Shatterstorm stands, struck silent. He’s frozen in place, his hilarious frown now much more somber, the hard look in his eyes answering Eagle Eye’s question. A heavy sigh billows from Shatterstorm’s nostrils as he trots ahead to rejoin the group, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

“…Oh,” says Eagle Eye silently. “I-I’m sorry.”

The group walks along in a damp and uncomfortable silence, the news of Tiger Cross’s death crushing the Royal Guards’ good humor. From the grief on their faces and the loss in their eyes, Rainbow Dash can hazard a guess as to how precious and admired Tiger Cross was to the Royal Guards.

“How’s the Captain?” Shatterstorm asks suddenly, apparently wanting to change the subject. “You were studying him, right?”

Roaring Yawn looks to Shatterstorm as Eagle Eye and Shakey glance away morosely. For the first time since they’ve met him, Roaring Yawn struggles for what to say. “Captain Rose Blade is fine,” he says.

Shatterstorm shakes his head. “No, not—not Captain Rose Blade,” he says, “The Captain. Shining Armor.”

“Shining Armor,” Roaring Yawn says, his voice struggling, “is… beyond my help. There was… an incident.” He sighs as they turn another corner. “He has succumbed fully to the madness of his infection.”

Roaring Yawn stops, as well as the rest of the group. Without turning to look at them, he rolls up one of his sleeves. Rainbow Dash takes in a sharp breath as she sees the bandages wrapped all around his foreleg. “…After only a few days’ study, he suddenly attacked my team, and I… was the only survivor.”

Ice strokes Rainbow Dash’s spine at the sight of Roaring Yawn’s leg. A taste of cold that courses through her suddenly, grabbing her, squeezing her, its claws digging deeper and deeper. She swallows a lump in her throat. Shit. What is she going to tell Twilight?

“D-Does,” Rainbow Dash stutters, “uh… Does Princess Cadance know?”

Roaring Yawn sighs uncomfortably, looking straight ahead, avoiding Rainbow Dash’s eyes. “Not yet. She has no idea her husband has…”

He is interrupted by a hideous silence.

“I did my best,” Roaring Yawn concludes in a quiet and small voice. “…But I have failed.”

Shakey pats Roaring Yawn’s back. “Hey,” he says. “Hey. Stop. We know you did your best, it’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

Silence. Shatterstorm shifts his weight from one side to other uncomfortably as he looks aside at Rainbow Dash. She clears her throat. “Hey, guys, I hate to be the one to say this—”

“No,” Roaring Yawn says suddenly. “No, no, you’re absolutely right. There is no time for this.” He sighs, recollecting his previous rigidity, and leads the group ahead once again. “Absolutely no time. We must reach the base. The daylight is waning.”

It relieves Shatterstorm that the base looks about the same as when he’d left. The Academy where he’d been chiseled into a Royal Guard sits as a sentinel at one end, a squat and square creature, while the two other buildings—the Headquarters—stand erect at the other. The remaining sunlight has drained away, leaving only the black shapes of the base standing in a dark and milky fog, lights in their windows like yellow eyes twinkling in the night. The tall stone and iron wall separates the base from the rest of Canterlot, the last bastion of resistance against Dracula’s near-complete dominance.

But Shatterstorm doesn’t remember the barbed wire. He also doesn’t remember the bodies hanging just outside, or the bodies on pikes around the main gate, or the piked bodies lining the road here.

“Don’t like the new decorations?” Shakey asks. “Good, neither do we.”

Shatterstorm can see Shakey’s bright purple eyes even in the fog. Closer to Shatterstorm is Rainbow Dash, her cyan face fallen and pale and beaded with uncomfortable sweat. “What’s with the…?” she asks, her voice trembling, her words dissolving.

“We got some traitors,” Eagle Eye responds, his voice uncharacteristically glum. “When we found out they weren’t with us, drastic measures were taken.”

“Ya think?!” Rainbow Dash glowers.

“Considering who we’re up against,” Roaring Yawn interrupts, his voice even and strong, “it’s absolutely the most necessary precaution to take. Hanging the bodies of Dracula’s inside-ponies sends a message that needs to be said. Impaling the bodies of his fallen minions sends a message that needs to be said. So far, no further attacks have been made on our base.” He pauses. Blinks. “It seems the message is understood.”

Suddenly, a shaft of light falls on the group. The moment their searchlights pierce the dark fog, the Royal Guards recognize Eagle Eye, Shakey, Roaring Yawn—and cheer when they see Shatterstorm, followed by giving him the usual good-natured shit.

Shyly, Shatterstorm readjusts the once-was-a-wolf on his back just as he feels her weight begin to slip. He doesn’t take his eyes off Rainbow Dash’s face as they draw nearer to the base’s gates.

The color in her face is nearly gone.

As Shatterstorm and his squadmates converse a bit, their words fail to reach Rainbow Dash’s ears, instead settling into barely-audible white noise. As she stares at eyes that stare back.

Don’t look.

Their blank eyes watch her, their gray gazes settling on every detail. Their slack, open mouths scream soundlessly. Their legs… all broken. Twisted. The pegasi all lack wings. The unicorns have no horns. A crow descends, lands on one of the impaled. It cackles as it reaches its beak into the eyesocket and pulls out a meal. As more crows descend, the first crow turns its head, eyeball in its beak, as if giving the dead Guard a good view of Rainbow Dash.

Don’t look!

Was… any of this worth it? Considering how Shakey and Eagle Eye reacted to hearing of the loss of their comrade, it makes Rainbow Dash wonder how hard it must have been for them, and the other Royal Guards, to fight, much less kill, their own. And what would cause these Royal Guards to turn on their own kind...?

The gate’s main doors squeal maliciously as they open, the sound loud enough to jerk Rainbow Dash back into the present. As the gate opens, a sharp wind rockets by the group, surprising Rainbow Dash enough that she finds herself up off the ground, her wings keeping her aloft.

She expects Shatterstorm to snicker at her, crack a joke about her tension. But one look at his discomforted eyes, their wide whites, their shrunken pupils, and she can see it in him as well.

As they are ushered through the base’s gates, the Royal Guards’ eyes press against her. She’s the center of attention again, but this time it’s different.

“Hey, who let this pretty little thing in?” said one with an Appaloosian drawl.

“Think she wandered in by mistake?” asks another. “She’s too pretty a mare to be around lugs like us!” He laughs.

She smiles weakly at the Guards as they become increasingly close. There’s an uncomfortable feeling inside Rainbow Dash, growing with every compliment given to her. Finally, Shatterstorm steps in.

“Hey guys, come on, leave my girlfriend alone,” he says in a way that sounds authoritative. “She’s got enough on her plate.”

“I bet she does!” grumbles a deep-voiced Guard. “She’s dating you after all!”

Everypony laughs, and suddenly everything feels okay. Shatterstorm had taken a pin and deflated the situation before it could balloon out of control. Rainbow Dash finds it immensely relieving, but at the same time surreal.

A set of Royal Guards approach, pulling behind them a large cage on wheels—like the kind the circus would use to house tigers and elephants. They take from Shatterstorm the once-was-a-wolf, delicately loading her unconscious body inside the cage. A thin frown and pitying eyes from Rainbow Dash accompany the poor mare on her way in.

Shackles are applied to the mare, snapping around her fetlocks with loud chomps. A muzzle hides her mouth, leather straps attaching it to her head like some monstrous parasite. After fastening everything, the Guards then exit the cage, closing the door behind them, and locking it tightly with several locks. Their animal is caged.

Roaring Yawn looks in at the mare with a look that’s half-curiosity, half-sympathy. He scratches at the foreleg with the bandages. Rainbow Dash wonders if he’s trying, deep down, to make up for his failure to cure Shining Armor. Trying to avoid repeating his mistakes. Trying to help somepony.

As the Royal Guards pull the cage-wagon towards the holding cells under Roaring Yawn’s direction, more Royal Guards appear. Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash are showered with praise and attention—two of Rainbow Dash’s favorite food groups. As Rainbow soaks up the adoration, Shatterstorm rolls his eyes in exasperation. Afterward, Shakey and Eagle Eye lead them into the base.

The gates are closed behind them with the same ominous squeal as when they opened.

“Captain Rose Blade, sir?”

Rose Blade sniffs dispassionately, the scent of his namesake flowers wafting into his nostrils and piano music from his record player tickling his ear drums. He sweeps his icy turquoise hoof through his long, firetruck-red mane, admiring the way it drifts as it falls, admiring how well it matches the stains on his hoof. Even fast-approaching forty, he looks not a day past twenty. He turns a deep green eye to his subordinate.

“Yes, my Vice Captain,” he says, a snakelike baritone slithering from his mouth. “Report.”

Vice Captain Whisper White has always been the demure type—how in Equestria he became Vice-Captain under Rose Blade is a topic of frequent debate amongst the troops—but at the sound of Rose Blade’s voice, he suddenly stands rigid, his wavy electric yellow mane bobbing cutely while his equally yellow eyes stare ahead, his clown-white crystal pony body but an image in Rose Blade’s ornate round mirror. “The collection team has returned, their mission successful,” he says in his soft tenor. “The escaped Wharg is in our possession again.”

Rose Blade’s horn—long and sharp as a spearhead—glows the same deep green as his eyes as he turns on the faucet. He washes his hooves in the sink before him, scrubbing vicariously under clear water turning reddish pink under his hooves, not taking his eyes off his own reflection in the mirror. The hot water sparkles as steam rises to his face. “Good,” he mumbles, not terribly interested in the outcome of that little mission that rambling fool Roaring Yawn begged him for.

“They returned with a pair of survivors,” Whisper White adds suddenly.

Rose Blade turns his head slightly, his long tail flicking irritably. “Survivors?”

“Corporal Shatterstorm was recovered along with the Wharg… as well as one of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony.”

At this news, Rose Blade cocks an eyebrow. For the first time this conversation, he turns around to face Whisper White. “A Bearer? Intriguing.” His thin lips crook into a grin. “It wouldn’t happen to be the former Captain’s equally-irritating sister, would it?”

“No, sir,” Whisper White replies. “It would appear the Bearer in question is a pegasus. Her name Rainbow Dash.”

Rose Blade takes a deep breath, as if inhaling the memory behind the name. “Ah, yes. The winner of the Best Young Flyer Competition some two years ago. The one responsible for that colorful sonic boom.” His smile broadens. “I must meet with our Corporal… and our new prize.”

He steps down from his mirror, descending a small dais, the piano music filling the silence in their conversation. He stops in front of his subordinate. “Whisper White, I may have checked myself over in the mirror, but do me a favor and tell me if my cutie mark remains unmarred?”

Whisper White smiles boyishly as his attractive eyes, the same electric yellow as his mane and tail, analyze the sword surrounded by roses on his Captain’s flanks. There’s a look of admonishment in his eyes that Rose Blade quite enjoys seeing. “I see not one scar, not one smear, not one smudge, my Captain,” he coos.

Rose Blade’s smile becomes more pleasant. He nods approvingly, and leads Whisper White out of the room, leaving the record to finish its song as the traitor he’d spent the last half-hour bludgeoning lies broken and shackled on the floor, surrounded by the heads of plucked red roses soaking in his spilled blood.

The Wolf Revealed, Part III

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She swims forever upward, her black mane and tail trailing behind her like a cloud of ink. Her grey legs pump as hard as she can muster to break the surface above, to burst from unconsciousness into consciousness, but the crushing green ocean of her mind is against her: it rises and rocks and tumbles and slaps and pushes and pulls and refuses to let her escape from its avaricious grip.

Hopeless questions swim by like schools of fish. Why bother escaping? What is the use? Why put so much effort into this when you know you’ll only become that beast again? When it will overtake you to slake its bloodlust?

Her ascension to consciousness is paused. Useless, senseless tears gather in her eyes. A sob escapes her somehow, turning into a mumbled moan as she tastes bile and iron in her mouth. A prisoner when awake, now a prisoner when asleep.

There’s a voice just above the surface of her unconsciousness, a deep baritone—a voice like thunder rumbling ominously in the distance—ringing from a million miles away...

Doooowwwwaaannnnn wurreeeeeee...

Isss willll heeerrr forrr onlyyyy a seconnn…

Something penetrates her. While she feels a sting, it, like the voice, rings from a million miles away. Upon its touch comes pain, then a sense of impregnation. The sting nestles itself deep within her. She sinks, she plummets, screaming soundlessly, into the darkest depths below as the tide rises above her, swallowing her whole, drowning her in her subconscious.

Then the sting touches the Beast. It aches with desire. It burns with anger.

And it grows and grows…

Honestly, this part of the base more closely resembles a mansion: red carpeting, ornate wooden architecture, armor worn by Royal Guards past lining the hall. Candles on the walls vomit whatever light they can manage, their eerie flickers dancing intimately with the shadows on the walls. These hallways are long and winding, closed and silent doors on either side of their small group.

The Guards flanking them don’t so much as peep. Shakey and Eagle Eye—both of whom walk in front of Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm—have mysteriously fallen silent as well. Somewhat hesitantly, Rainbow Dash takes it upon herself to initiate conversation.

“So, uh…” Rainbow Dash runs a hoof through her mane. “Princess Cadance. We’re gonna meet with her, right?”

“Once you get settled in, yeah,” Shakey says quietly, after a pause. “But for now, you’ll be meeting with Captain Rose Blade.”

“Hey, I don’t get something,” Rainbow Dash says thoughtfully. “You guys are always calling Shining Armor ‘the Captain,’ even when he’s not really the Captain of the Guard anymore…”

“He still is,” says Shakey. “Or rather, was. Sorta. He was stationed in the Crystal Empire, since he was their relatively new Prince. He still called the shots over here though, even after Rose Blade was appointed Captain.”

“Huh,” Rainbow Dash huffs contemplatively. “Shining Armor must have been pretty awesome if he could do that.”

“Of course he was,” Shatterstorm says, his voice its usual curt impatience. “He was the youngest Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard in Equestrian history! A stallion doesn’t earn that title any more easily than a mare could earn the title of Princess. He was just a…” He pauses. Clicks his tongue quietly. “He really was that talented a soldier, one worth looking up to, one worth being inspired by.”

He looks aside at Rainbow Dash. There’s a smile on his face, small but marvelous, as he reverently whispers, “We’ll have more Captains as the years roll by. We’ll always have a Captain, but they’ll never quite be the Captain.”

Eagle Eye cranes his head to give Shatterstorm an approving smile. “Couldn’a said that any better m’self,” he says quietly as they arrive at a heavy set of double doors guarded by a pair of Royal Guards.

Shakey sighs. “I agree, but try not to...”

The double doors open before Shakey can finish his sentence, the initial crack loud enough to make Rainbow Dash jump. The long and ominous creak afterward starts her heart into a horse race.

Behind the doors comes a Crystal Pony, a darling little smile on his shiny, clown-white face. His build and shape are noticeably coltish and cute. He waves a hoof theatrically and bows low, his electric-yellow sausage curls bobbing adorably. Rainbow Dash can’t help but smile girlishly at his mannerisms and appearance.

“Welcome back, Corporal Shatterstorm,” he says in a syrupy tenor. He extends a hoof to Rainbow Dash. “And I bid you welcome, Miss Rainbow Dash. Captain Rose Blade will be pleased to see the both of you. I am Vice-Captain Whisper White. I will see you inside. Please, follow me.”

As he turns to lead them into the chamber, Shakey and Eagle Eye take their positions at the entrance, suddenly standing resolute. Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm are ushered in by the two Guards behind them, four sets of hooves—five, counting Whisper White’s—lightly trotting on thick carpet. Rainbow Dash notices the controlled calmness in Whisper White’s stride: disciplined like Shatterstorm’s, but demure like Fluttershy’s.

A crystal-studded chandelier big enough to count as a boat hangs from the ceiling chases away the shadows that clung to the group in the previous hall, hanging from a ceiling of various collected paintings depicting the rise of Princess Celestia. The tiled floor is blanketed by some of the richest-looking carpet Rainbow Dash has ever seen (not that she’s some connoisseur for carpets, but still). There’s a door on the far right side, small and red and studded with metal pins, with a gold emblem depicting the Royal Guard insignia fastened on its face. Rainbow Dash wonders where the door leads.

The paintings lining the walls of this circular chamber depict various Royal Guard Captains from over the years. She looks about, but can’t seem to find any painting of Shining Armor, finding it odd that such a beloved figure would be overlooked in this collection. Then her eyes fall on a square-shaped discoloring on the wall, indicating a painting was once hung there. Rainbow Dash pops an eyebrow curiously.

“Captain,” Whisper White says softly, gaining Rainbow Dash’s attention. “Corporal Shatterstorm and Miss Rainbow Dash are here.” He is answered by a quiet crunch of teeth against apple.

On a raised dais sits a regal-looking desk, papers and files strewn all about its top, a basket of bright red apples resting on one end. The filing cabinets are as messy as the desk. The whole thing contradicts the clean and majestic image of the rest of the chamber. The tall, elaborately woven windows behind the desk would probably have given them a perfect view over Canterlot, had it been daytime and before the coming of the Castle.

Looking out that window now is the current Captain, Rose Blade. He turns his head slightly, his long scarlet mane drifting about his neck and shoulders. His eyes, deep green, remind Rainbow Dash of Applejack’s—the only difference in them is the measure of command Rose Blade’s hold. In his upturned hoof is a bright red apple, a bite already taken out.

Rose Blade smiles upon seeing the duo. “Ah! Corporal Shatterstorm! So good to have you back with us.”

Rainbow Dash looks aside at Shatterstorm, who doesn’t exactly return Rose Blade’s welcome. Then again, it’s rare for his mouth to be anything but a frown. “Captain,” he replies, with a halfway-polite nod.

“I imagine your journey back to us has been very difficult,” Rose Blade says as he walks around his desk, his movements slinky and alluring. “It has been some time since we shared any kind of contact, and I do apologize. Communications have all but been stopped completely, thanks to outside interference.” He takes another bite from his apple, chews it thoughtfully, and swallows.

Shatterstorm stands rigid, unblinking, unwavering, respectful in the presence of a superior officer. Finally, Rose Blade smirks. “At ease, Corporal!” he laughs. “You aren’t guarding a door or something.” He sweeps his apple-holding foreleg. “You’re in the company of fellow ponies! Breathe, relax.”

Rainbow Dash looks aside at Shatterstorm again, not exactly expecting him to just melt. He instead looks away shyly.

When she looks back at Rose Blade, his smile is ear to ear as he sighs and shakes his head. “Same old Shatterstorm, always so morose,” he chuckles. “Has anypony seen to feeding you two?”

“Well… no,” Rainbow Dash answers honestly.

Two apples in the basket on the desk glow deep green, are lifted into the air, then brought over to Rainbow Dash and Shatterstorm, who looks at his apple suspiciously. “This, uh, th-this isn’t all that necessary, Captain Rose Blade, sir,” he stammers. “We already... had rations packed for this mission, and…”

Rose Blade interrupts him with a laugh, biting into his apple, chewing it. Then he swallows. “What’s wrong, Shatterstorm? Afraid they’re poisonous?”

There’s a pause. Rose Blade rolls his eyes—a lively movement that stirs some strange fluttering in Rainbow Dash’s lungs—and gives an apple from the basket to Whisper White. Obediently, Whisper White bites it. Chews it. Swallows it. He doesn’t appear to be harmed in any way...

Rainbow Dash looks at Shatterstorm disapprovingly. Never thought she’d be the one to be mindful of manners, but there it is. With a reassuring glance his way, Rainbow Dash bites into her apple audaciously, savoring its taste. Definitely a Sweet Apple Acres apple—she can tell from its juiciness and texture. The taste itself is nearly intoxicating.

“At least one of you knows how to respond to hospitality!” Rose Blade chuckles.

As Rainbow Dash gorges on her own apple, Shatterstorm looks again to the apple in his upturned hoof. Carefully, he bites into it, chews decorously, then quietly swallows it. No sudden chills. No sudden heat flashes. No paralysis. No drowsiness. Just apple.

Rose Blade walks around the two pegasi, chewing his apple, his eyes not leaving Rainbow Dash. “We will be having a more formal dinner later. I hope the two of you are hungry for something Neightalian.”

Rainbow Dash licks her lips at the thought of an actual meal. It feels like forever since she’d had anything to eat besides that shitty hospital food. Her thoughts of delicious pastas and cannoli are broken by a sudden question from Shatterstorm.

“Why are you being so relaxed, Captain?”

Rose Blade looks at Shatterstorm inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“Considering our situation, I mean. You’re pretty much next-door neighbors to a wellspring of never-ending threats. There are dead bodies on pikes right outside the base. And frankly, I’m more interested in where Princess Cadance is right now.”

A pause. Rose Blade laughs. “Always so sharp. The Castle’s forces slowly whittled away at our morale, to the extent that out of despair and frenzy, many attempted to betray us in order to save their own lives. I’m sure you both saw the unfortunate results outside.”

Rainbow Dash blinks, and the crow holding the eye looks at her. Don’t look.

“Y-Yeah, we did,” she says uneasily, no longer interested in her apple.

“But you’re serving fancy dinners,” Shatterstorm says suspiciously. “That implies you still have a good amount of food. Mutinies and betrayals like that tend to occur most often when supplies run low.”

“They do,” Rose Blade says with a nod. “And for a while, that was true. The Castle’s forces had found our supply stashes and set to destroying each one. Fortunately, I was able to barter with them.”

Ice forms in Rainbow Dash’s stomach at his statement, a look of unease burrowing into her face. “Wait, what?”

Rose Blade shrugs nonchalantly, finishing his apple. “You heard me. We bartered with them.”

Shatterstorm shakes his head, his own concerns rising. “Captain. With all due respect, you’re dodging certain questions. Where is Princess Cadance?”

Whisper White analyzes the two more carefully, his little smile unwavering. Rose Blade’s apple core finds its way into a wastebasket nearby. He looks at Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash, his grin thin and menacing, as the Guards flanking them both bristle as if ready to fight.

“What I mean is, Shatterstorm, dearest,” Rose Blade coos facetiously, “is that, in exchange for the continued well-being of myself and my troops, we made a trade.” His smile doubles. “The Princess… For supplies and safety.”

There’s a burst of electricity inside Rainbow Dash as anger conquers her senses. Whatever fear had been placed inside her was ejected at Rose Blade’s admittance to Cadance’s endangerment. She finds herself in the air, on her way over to Rose Blade’s smug face, both hooves ready to dig into flesh.

With a loud crash, pain swells up in Rainbow Dash’s right side, flattening her right wing onto her body, twisting it painfully. She lands on the ground with a thud. Through the ringing in her ears swims laughter. Rose Blade’s laughter.

She looks up, her eyes widening as she sees Shatterstorm jerking around like a clumsy marionette. At first, she thinks Rose Blade is manipulating his body through unicorn telekinesis, but Shatterstorm doesn’t glow the way the apples did.

Then Whisper White stops moving, wisping into visibility suddenly. Shatterstorm drops to his knees. Whisper White disappears again, no flash of light, no loud pop—appearing behind Shatterstorm with a thin smile on his lips. He pounds Shatterstorm in the back with an elbow drop, knocking Shatterstorm into a bow.

Rainbow Dash realizes Whisper White isn’t using any kind of magic… he’s just moving unbelievably fast, his sudden movements deadly silent.

She drags herself up to her hooves, only to be grabbed by the Royal Guards that flanked them before, their burly forelegs hooking around her middle. With a squeeze in just the right spot, they give her a painful reminder of her sprained wing; and with a wrenching of her foreleg, she is brought down and kept down.

Both pegasi are brought before Rose Blade, humbled before him. He laughs. “I expected you may disagree,” he says, his snakelike baritone much more condescending than before. “But it was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” Rainbow Dash growls. “You just forked over Cadance to save your own hide!”

“I had almost nothing to do with it,” Rose Blade shrugs, brushing another apple against his chest. “The Princess had given herself up.”

“Likely story!” Shatterstorm spits.

Rose Blade shrugs. “I don’t know why she did it. Really, I don’t, but I didn’t argue.” Taking a bite of his apple, he leans in close to Rainbow Dash’s face, blowing a breath of air over her mane. “But… I can’t help but think.”

He swallows his bite of apple. His smile widens as he extends his free hoof, and with a gentle movement, strokes Rainbow Dash’s face. “What if we were to give them something they’ve been searching for? A prize that could grant us amnesty in their eyes?”

Rainbow Dash bites at his hoof just as he yanks it away, giggling. “Bastard!” she spits. “You’re gonna trade me because you think Dracula’s forces are gonna cut you some slack?! What do you even think you’re doing?!”

Rose Blade shrugs. “Isn’t it obvious? We’ve already lost this war. It’s better to preserve what we have left under Dracula’s rule than to risk losing everything trying to regain what’s been hopelessly lost.”

“So, what? You’re trying to build an empire under Dracula?” Rainbow Dash growls. “You’re crazy.”

“Say what you wish,” Rose Blade says nonchalantly, stuffing an apple into Rainbow Dash’s mouth to silence her. “I’m only doing what it takes to preserve my men.”

“To preserve yourself, you mean,” Shatterstorm grumbles. “You were always selfish. I can’t believe I didn’t think you’d stoop this low.”

“It doesn’t surprise me you’d take your little girlfriend’s side on this,” Rose Blade says. “Even when you were at your best, you never really fit in with the rest of us. Always so mopey and contrary.” He chuckles slowly, leaning into Shatterstorm’s face, forcing him to turn his head sideways. “As far as I’m concerned, you were never a Royal Guard. You weren’t good enough to be one of us.”

Rainbow Dash glances aside to see Shakey and Eagle Eye watching this scene uneasily. Shatterstorm looks at them sadly, only for them to give him reluctant nods.

Shatterstorm turns his eyes back to Rose Blade, his face suddenly steeled. “That’s funny,” he says spitefully. “You weren’t good enough to be Captain.”

Cold silence. Rose Blade’s smile drops.

“That’s why Princess Celestia kept Shining Armor in charge of the Guard even when he became Prince of the Crystal Empire, right?” Shatterstorm smiles meanly. “Because no matter how hard you tried to earn your promotion, your selfishness would always prevent you from ever achieving it. Celestia saw it. She knew. You’ll never be even a tenth the Captain Shining Armor is. Never.”

With a jarring pop, Shatterstorm’s head is rocked to the left by a flash of deep green light. “Oh, what’s wrong?” Shatterstorm growls, his smile unbroken. “Can’t dirty those dainty little hooves of yours, girly-boy?”

Rose Blade’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates, his irises shrunken to pinpoints, his hoof raised, then brought down. The sound of hoof connecting with meat was surprisingly loud, causing Rainbow Dash to recoil.

“Now I know why you don't use hooves,” Shatterstorm shouts. “You hit like a bitch!”

Another pound of hoof against flesh.

“That all you got?!”

Another.

“Captain!” Whisper White says, his boyish tenor not raising high enough to count as a yell.

The anger in Rose Blade’s eyes dissipates as he raises his hoof for another punch. He looks up at Whisper White, and they share a moment or so in silence. Finally, he regains his composure, sneering down at Shatterstorm. “You’re not worth it.” Rose Blade spits, a phlegmy wad smacking Shatterstorm right on the small bruise he left over his right eye.

Rose Blade cocks his head to Rainbow Dash. “Take her to my dungeon. We’ll exchange her to Dracula later.” He looks at Shatterstorm, who still sits defiantly, scowling the Tartarus out of him. “As for this one?”

He looks to Eagle Eye and Shakey. “Prove your loyalty to me. Kill him. I don’t care how.”

Rainbow Dash spits out her apple. “Don’t you fu—!” But before she can finish, a hard hoof connects with the back of her head, and everything falls to black.

Shatterstorm’s mouth opens in horror as he watches Rainbow Dash’s unconscious form flop down. He tries to call her name, but Whisper White wraps his foreleg around Shatterstorm’s neck, reducing his voice to a gasp. Rainbow Dash is carried away by the two Royal Guards, past the red door, into a dark hallway. As the darkness swallows her, the red door is closed with a foreboding shout of steel against steel. Shatterstorm chokes, his eyes filling with tears.

Eagle Eye and Shakey look to Rose Blade, then to Shatterstorm. All they’d been through—the skirmishes, the Changeling invasion, Discord running rampant—it had to be worth something to them. Shatterstorm has to be worth something to them, doesn’t he?

He looks at them with pleading eyes. Don’t I?

Eagle Eye swallows hard, Shakey releasing a sigh as they walk forward. “Sorry, mate,” Eagle Eye says as his horn glows amber. “I like you, but I like bein’ alive more.”

“Wait!” a deep voice shouts suddenly, freezing everypony in the room.

Roaring Yawn enters the chamber gracelessly, as though finishing a day-long running marathon, coughing, sputtering, wiping his brow, regaining his breath and his composure. Rose Blade glares him down. “…Yes?”

Roaring Yawn fixes his glasses and kneels before Rose Blade, a mountain kneeling before a snake. “If it pleases you, let this one become one of my test subjects.”

Deep green eyes scan Roaring Yawn carefully, then drift to Shatterstorm. “What for?”

“When we approached the Wharg, she’d attacked this one using enough force to kill any other pony.” Roaring Yawn looks at Shatterstorm with curiosity, bordering on admiration. “Yet, this one got away with only minor scrapes and bruises.”

Rose Blade purses his lips in thought. It’s true that Shatterstorm seems able to survive anything—in fact, that’s the biggest reason he was selected as a Guard—but after all those demeaning things he’d said, Rose Blade is in the mood to see this punk’s blood staining the floor.

“I wish to study his physiology,” Roaring Yawn continues, “and see if there’s a way I can replicate such an ability for your troops.”

“...You can do that?” Rose Blade asks, eyebrow cocked in interest.

“A similar formula was concocted by Red Haze many centuries ago,” Roaring Yawn says.

"Red Haze?" Rose Blade echoes. "That one suicidal druggist?"

"Yes, her," Roaring Yawn confirms. "I was working on alternatives to producing the results she was going for before all this madness happened. Just give me some time, maybe a few weeks, and I’ll have it all ready.”

A slow pause. Rose Blade’s smile slithers up his face as he prances to Roaring Yawn, wraps a foreleg around him, and laughs in his ear. “Well, since it was your bumbling that helped me achieve my recent promotion, I suppose I can do something for you in return.”

Shatterstorm snorts. Would it kill this guy to at least pretend to compliment others? He used to be so good at it before. He wonders how hard it must be for Roaring Yawn to keep his hoof from giving Rose Blade a fat lip.

“He’s all yours,” Rose Blade sing-songs with a sweep of his foreleg. “But first? Promise me you’ll make this process as horrible as possible for him. I want you to record... every... scream.” His smile is small, but full of teeth.

Roaring Yawn, slowly and cautiously, raises an eyebrow at the odd request. Rose Blade lets go of Roaring Yawn and slithers behind Shatterstorm.

Shatterstorm shivers at the touch of Rose Blade’s hot breath on his shoulders. He leans close to Shatterstorm’s ear, as if with the intention of nibbling it tenderly. “I’m going to keep that recording on my desk,” he whispers airily. “And every time I feel lonely, I’m going to play it. Over and over.”

“Go to Tartarus,” Shatterstorm growls.

Rose Blade backs off, giggling. “Look around you. We’re already there.”

With a wave of his hoof, Rose Blade commands Whisper White to force Shatterstorm to his hooves. Shakey and Eagle Eye flank him as he takes Shatterstorm away. Roaring Yawn follows them demurely as a Neighponese geisha following her samurai.

Darkness.

An eye.

don’t look

devouring

DON’T LOOK

Rainbow Dash lifts her head with a gasp, her eyes wide and awake. There’s an immense cold in this room, a cold of darkness and silence.

Then there’s the stench. She’d taken a whiff of it upon her reawakening, an invasion of odors that strangles her nostrils. Piping hot liquid gets caught in her throat, threatening to be ejected out her mouth.

It succeeds.

As the warmth and stench of her vomit drifts into her face, Rainbow Dash shivers. Her hoof moves by accident, of its own accord—and the sudden yank against her fetlocks and sound of metal links scraping against tile tells her, before she even looks at it, that she’s been chained to the floor.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes travel the length of the chain, adjusting gradually to the all-swallowing darkness. There’s a vague shape nearby. Another pony?

“Hey?” she calls.

She tries to make a move toward the vague shape, but to no avail—the chains do not allow her to move more than a few inches in any direction. She tries to open her wings, but a brace applied around her middle constricts them. She curses.

“Hey!” she calls again. “Hey, guy. Where are we?”

The shape on the floor is definitely another pony, but there’s no sound of his breathing. Only hers, and it begins to escape her in cold rasps.

As she shuffles on her hooves, Rainbow Dash feels something warm and thick and sticky cling to them. Little by little, light or no light, she begins fitting the pieces together as to where she is, who is with her, and what may happen next.

No time to panic. Can’t panic. You’re a brave mare, Rainbow Dash—fearless. You’ve been beaten before, but you’ve always bounced back. You can do this.

Her internal pep talk gives her strength of some kind, though not very much. As she swallows the bitter taste in her mouth, Rainbow Dash attempts to piece together some kind of plan. Strategy was never her forte, nor was foresight or guile. No amount of thrashing or smashing would get her out of this one.

Rainbow Dash pauses. How would her hero, Daring Do, escape? She’d been imprisoned by various villains at least once a book—even set in death traps that would have spelled a gory end for lesser ponies. How would she get out of this one?

Daring Do usually used something in her surroundings. There was always some kind of flaw with the trap that she could exploit. But Rainbow Dash has difficulty seeing so much as a few inches from her face; what could she possibly find to break her chains if—

That line of thought is derailed with a slow squeal. The door is drawn open, allowing a modicum of light inside, flowing from behind a slim, serpentine shadow. Suddenly, lights turn on, forcing Rainbow Dash to recoil, eyes crushed shut, as if the light had punched her eyes. The chains around her fetlocks rattle as she reflexively tries to draw her hoof to shield her face, keeping them bound and grounded.

“Come now,” slithers the voice of Rose Blade calmly. “You haven’t been in the dark for more than fifteen minutes.”

Rainbow Dash slowly opens one eye, allowing the light to color in what once was blank. She finds Rose Blade, leaning smugly in the doorway, a smirk crooking his lips. Her eyes flick to where the pony-shaped thing is, and as she half-suspected, it is a corpse.

The corpse—a cyan pegasus stallion, judging by the bloody stumps on his sides—lies in a puddle of blood littered with rose heads and rose petals, juxtaposing the macabre with the romantic. The blood seeps across the floor, tile by tile, pooling under the corpse. Much of the blood had wandered to Rainbow Dash, staining her hooves, forelegs, side, and belly where she’d lied before.

She swallows a scream as hard as she can, bringing her eyes back up to the door. Rose Blade is no longer there—instead, he is over by an object she hadn’t seen before, a gramophone. His horn glows as he turns the crank, the sound of hooves gliding dexterously across piano keys, slowly, then surely, billowing from the horn and filling the room with jarringly peaceful music.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Rose Blade says, walking from the music player to the mirror on the wall. “I didn’t have time to clean my mess from earlier.” He fixes his mane proudly, his eyes going from his own reflection to Rainbow Dash’s behind him.

“Your boyfriend gave me an awful lot of trouble back there.”

Rainbow Dash has a million things she could say to that, none of them nice. Instead, she remains silent.

Rose Blade turns around, slowly, meeting Rainbow Dash’s glare. His smirk births a smile. “Instead of killing him right on the spot like I initially wanted, I put him in one of my cages. I haven’t quite decided what to do with him, yet.”

“You hurt him, and I swear you’ll—”

“Regret it?” Rose Blade says playfully.

“You won't live long enough to,” Rainbow Dash growls.

A pause. Rose Blade trots forward as the piano continues to sing over the gramophone. “You’re in no position to make threats.” He stops just in front of Rainbow Dash, leaning in close enough he could kiss her.

“But if I have your permission, we can…” His eyes press themselves against her forelegs, up to her chest, settling on her face. “…Perhaps, make a deal.”

His breath, hot and sweet, strokes Rainbow Dash’s face, his lips almost on hers. She turns away her face, grunting in disgust as she shuts her eyes. “N-No.”

“No?” Rose Blade laughs, backing away. He saunters around her, and she can feel his eyes picking clean every detail of her anatomy with a perverted smile. “You don’t even want to hear my deal?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Simple, my dear—because you’ve no choice.”

Both ponies fall silent as Rose Blade stops just behind her. The piano picks up.

“Here’s my deal,” Rose Blade says, his snakelike baritone coming more slowly. “I leave Shatterstorm alone. He lives. For now. And in return…”

Rainbow Dash clenches her teeth and takes a sharp breath as she feels Rose Blade stroke her back, on the spot where her spine meets her flanks. Her heart slams against her chest. Cold sweat climbs down her face.

“You give me… yourself.”

“You already have me chained up,” Rainbow Dash notes. “Why are you making a deal at all?”

Rainbow Dash can’t see it, but she knows he’s smiling. “I like giving you the option. It makes you more willing.” A pause. Then his whispering voice and hot breath tickle the inside of her ear. “You’ll invariably say yes to make sure your boyfriend lives, and in return I’ll show you and do to you everything he cannot.”

Something inside Rainbow Dash breaks. Sacrifice her dignity, or sacrifice her friend. Her options swell into something heavy, crushing her with its obvious outcome. She can’t let Rose Blade hurt Shatterstorm… but at the same time, she can’t be sure Shatterstorm is even alive anymore. She could very well be agreeing to a bum deal.

But is that a chance she can take?

Her vision swims. Rainbow Dash doesn’t realize it until it’s too late, but tears are rolling down her face. A lump forms in her throat, heat building up in her nostrils and lips. She feels Rose Blade’s hoof—cold, condescending, and strangely comforting—slide up her back, stopping at the nape of her neck, Rose Blade himself standing beside her with his damned smirk.

He has her. He knows he does.

This is too much. Rainbow Dash is unsure of what’s hurting her more: Rose Blade’s offer, that Shatterstorm might already be dead, or that this situation makes her realize she’s not nearly as tough as she thought.

She’s just giving him what he wants. With a hard swallow, Rainbow Dash lifts her head away and closes her eyes, not honoring Rose Blade with eye contact.

“Well,” Rose Blade says coolly, “at least think about it. I have other business to attend to at the moment.” His hoof cascades up her neck, cupping her chin as he walks around her, trying to get a good look in her shut eyes.

Suddenly, the hoof disconnects from her face. Rainbow Dash opens her eyes as Rose Blade makes his way to the door. He makes one last pause, looking at his reflection again (Jeez, why don’t you just marry the stupid mirror, you sick freak! Rainbow Dash thinks), fixing his firetruck-red mane, then finally reaches the door as the piano begins to slow its crescendo. He turns to look at Rainbow Dash one more time.

“You’ll have to make your decision by tomorrow morning,” he says with his pretty-boy smile. “Get plenty of rest. You’ll need it.”

The door slams shut, leaving Rainbow Dash alone with a corpse and gentle piano music.

Intermission ~ Reincarnated Soul

View Online

He sits up with a sharp gasp, cold sweat clinging to his forehead.

His mind races in every direction, each distorted memory scrambling over the others, desperately trying to reform. One by one, his memories come back: the disappearance of the Princesses… the twisting, clawing spires of the Castle… the giant bat… the Captain…

…bulging, red eyes…

…fangs.

The rest is darkness.

He lifts a leg, but something constricts it. Quickly, he panics—but a voice from deep inside tells him to stop. He isn’t tied down, those are just devices meant to monitor him… though strangely, the monitors they are hooked to are off. His breathing remains hoarse and shaky as he undoes the wires and plugs dotting his body, sitting up as he does so.

Taking a moment, he curls up in the hospital bed, looking around. The room he’s in—perhaps once meticulously clean—is now covered in dust. Some of the hospital equipment lies neglected in a corner. How long has he been out?

It’s too quiet, and too dirty, and too lonely, and too much to take in at once. It’s the silence that unnerves him most. A hospital is normally a quiet place, but there’s an ugliness that lurks just beneath that quiet—an ugliness that grins to itself as it whets its teeth eagerly.

Gathering what shriveled courage he has, he crawls off the bed, cringing slightly as the sheets and mattress crackle and slur beneath his movement. He can’t quite figure out why he feels as though he’s attracting unwanted attention, but the atmosphere itself is thick and oppressive enough that he feels right to be paranoid.

His hooves make quiet sounds that are still too damn loud. He makes his way to the door, passing by the sink. His eyes latch onto the sink’s faucet as he does so, subliminally reminding him how dry his throat is. How achey and parched and limp and fatigued he is as a whole.

He stops. Turns. As an earth pony, he has no telekinesis or wings to work the faucet’s knobs, so instead carefully places the frog of his hoof onto one—the cold switch—and twists.

No water.

Of course.

There’s a mirror on the wall above the sink. The stallion in the reflection stares back at him with haggard, worn-out silver eyes. His snow-white mane is a mess, forming unwashed knots on his head. His face, even though riddled with stubble, is pretty—nearly feminine—but set on hulking shoulders that fan out into a large, sturdy body. His orange pelt is just as unwashed as the rest of him. There’s a patch on his shoulder, covering a spot that throbs and bites.

A name returns to him—Baldwin. Friends had given him the ironic nickname Tiny. From the name, everything else flows: his family, his parents’ divorce, moving away, his time in the Royal Guard, the return of Nightmare Moon, the return of Discord, the Captain’s wedding…

Everything swirls. He crushes his eyes, shutting out a swimming world of color and memories, and sighs.

Then he suddenly sobs, lifting a hoof up to his face to hide himself from his own reflection.

It takes him some time to regain control, but he manages. Tiny looks out the window. And he sees the Castle.

And he remembers the bulging red eyes.

The door refuses to go gently. With a sharply delivered buck of his hind legs, Tiny breaks the doors down with a crack that rocks the entire building. The silence afterward chases the sound away, leaving Tiny by himself once again.

The air here is cold and somehow crusty, like breathing in dust. It tickles his nostrils, drawing a sneeze out of him as he enters the hallway itself. He shivers.

Then Tiny sees something that stops his heart.

The bed that had been blocking his door had been kicked into the wall, fallen onto its side. Right above it sits an abstract shape of blood that has browned since its birth. It stretches and travels from an impact point down to the ground, where it becomes a long, tattered trail on the linoleum floor. The trail turns down one hall, disappearing out of sight.

Tiny’s heavy hooves carry him across the floor, following the trail almost against his will. He’d seen horror movies before—and almost always, the heroes would do something stupid, like… well, like following a blood trail down a portentous hallway. But now that he’s apparently in the middle of a similar scenario, he comes to an understanding of why the characters in those movies do such dumb things: part curiosity, part helplessness.

His breathing becomes sharper as he nears the corner. He slows to a stop. Clenches his teeth. Just a peek. That’s all, he promises himself. Only a peek down the hallway, and that’s it.

But he’s a Royal Guard, interjects one side of himself. It’s his job to protect the innocent. To investigate acts of violence. To bring justice and keep the peace. Why only a peek?

Because he’s never experienced anything like this before, another part of him argues. No eerie Castles replacing your Princess’ own. No strange creatures with bulging red eyes or fangs. No smears of blood on the wall trailing down to the floor and around the corner. Only a peek is necessary.

He shivers. Then, with a quick motion of his head, Tiny looks down the hallway

bulging red eyes

expecting to see a body

fangs

or pieces of one. Instead, he sees spider webs that hang like bedsheets, blocking his view of where the victim had been dragged off to. He reaches a hoof out to the screen of web and touches it. It’s soft, sticky, and sturdy enough to be a wall. He gives it a punch, sending shivers across its ghost-white network.

He’d heard stories about giant spiders that live in mountains. If one—or, more worryingly, a group—had moved into Canterlot and taken residence in a hospital that has since been shut down, then that means it’s time to leave.

Tiny glances down the rest of the hall. Milky daylight drips through the dirty windows, the hall dressed in alternating shafts of yellowed light and olive shadows. Wheelchairs and other hospital accents litter this place, knocked over and abandoned.

He walks quietly, alertly, his eyes darting everywhere, the oppressive atmosphere nearly caving in on him. Tiny only realizes he has no idea of where to go or any indication of what he’s doing when he approaches a door on his right that’s been left ajar.

A second quietly fades. Then another. And another. Finally, Tiny reaches for the door and gives it a slight push, revealing more of the

CREATURE SITTING RIGHT THERE ITS RED EYES BULGING ITS WHITE FANGS BARED JUST SITTING THERE WAITING FOR YOU

but no such creature exists. There is only a bed without an occupant, a single window staring into the room. A small doll sits on the bed, its empty glass eyes facing him, its little lips curved into an eerie smile. The contrast its red dress makes against the monochrome colors is striking.

Tiny brings a hoof up to his right shoulder, where the bandage holds him together. The trauma that brought him here. The creature with the red eyes and the fangs. What was it?

He pulls himself away from the room, his silver eyes falling onto a set of double doors ahead. Taking a deep breath, he trots away from the room, the clip-clop of his heavy hooves echoing, becoming quieter.

Had he hesitated in leaving, he might have seen the doll’s eyes follow him as he left.

Tiny stops in front of the double doors, noticing the windows on them are emitting light, however small. Peering into one, Tiny wonders what could be creating that light. If there’s no water, no power, then…?

He attempts to push the doors open, but something on the other side is blocking it. He purses his lips, asking himself why it’s blocked—

His question is suddenly answered as a face jumps into view. It pales suddenly, the eyes widening.

Tiny thinks to scream, but the face merely stares for a second. “...Who are you?” asks the pony on the other side of the door.

Tiny collects himself, going soldier-rigid in his stance. “Private Baldwin,” he answers. His voice is too young-sounding and high-pitched for a guy his size, cracking from lack of hydration.

“Private?” asks the pony, his face becoming more relaxed. “You’re a Royal Guard?” Before Tiny can confirm it, he turns away from the window. “Guys!” he calls. “Hey, guys! I was right! The Royal Guards are here! We’re saved!”

Tiny clears his throat. “I-I’m sorry, there must be some misunderstanding.” The face turns back to meet him. “I only… just woke up.”

Another face looked in through the second window, this one analyzing him sharply. “Only just…? Wait.” He looks to the other face. “Wait a minute; Squeaky, I thought you said the patient in Room 8 got eaten.”

The first face—Squeaky, apparently—pales. “It, er… it appears I was mistaken.” Before the other face argues, he changes the subject. “A-Anyway, did you see any of those spider-creatures?”

“…No,” Tiny answers uneasily.

“That doesn’t mean they’ve left,” comes a third voice from inside the room—a mare, by the sounds of it. “That just means they’re hiding.”

“Are you guys,” Tiny asks before his boyish voice stumbles. He tries again. “H-have you seriously just been holed up in there since all this… started?”

The sharp eyes answer. “A day or so after the Castle appeared, these giant half-spider, half… something else—these things attacked the hospital. The power went out shortly afterward. We’ve tried escaping a few times now, but…”

“…But?”

“There used to be eight of us,” says Squeaky. “We would run from one room to the next, hide, and repeat until we got out, but that turned out to be… costly. So we’re camping out here until help arrives.”

“Yeah, great plan,” snarks the sharp eyes. “Let’s just camp out here in the ER with a failed surgery patient. Great plan.”

“How many others are in this hospital?” Tiny says suddenly, electing to change the subject before a fight breaks out.

“We only had a few doctors, nurses, surgeons, and patients here,” Squeaky replies. “The others all got moved to other hospitals in other towns thanks to the evac. There were those of you from the Guard who sustained some injuries from that expedition into the Castle. You and a few other guys.”

“I remember the Captain was hurt during that expedition,” Tiny says. “What happened to him?”

“Don’t you remember?” returns Sharp Eyes. “He attacked you.”

Tiny stops.

“You are the guy from Room 2C, right?” asks the sharp eyes.

“I-I don’t—I mean, I never actually saw the number…”

“You woke up only further on down this same hallway, right? I mean, if that’s true…”

Tiny looks down at his bandage. Where the Captain had bit him. The memory struggling in his mind suggests that the bite was savage. He dreads looking under the bandage to see what exactly the damage looks like, feeling an ache creep around just beneath the white square.

“But none of that answers my original question,” Tiny says, returning his attention to the doctors. “Why haven’t you guys tried to escape?”

“Have you seen what’s been going on out there?” asks Squeaky. “We were waiting for the Royal Guard—”

The sharp eyed face turns aside to look at Squeaky. “No, we weren’t! Your idea was stupid. Sitting around, waiting for help that won’t come? We’re waiting for a chance to escape, and it looks like now might be a good time.”

“But those monsters,” argues the third voice. “They’re just hiding. Don’t you get it? They remain quiet enough to lure us out—”

Sharp Eyes cocks his head towards Tiny. “If they were out there, do you think this guy would even be alive right now?”

The mare has nothing to say.

“We can’t just stay here, waiting forever!” argues Sharp Eyes.

“Didn’t you see what happened to Check Up and those two other nurses?!” Squeaky growls. “We need to wait for the Royal Guard!”

“Oh, would you—just—SHUT UP about the Royal Guards!” returns Sharp Eyes. Tiny hears sounds of struggle from inside the room as Squeaky is knocked aside from the windows.

“Knock it off!” yells the mare. “All I know is, we’ve been stuck in this room for the past two days with a dead body, with no food or water!” Her voice catches before she sobs, “I just wanna go home!”

Silence. Tiny shifts his weight from one side to the other awkwardly, apparently forgotten by the doctors in the blocked room.

“Prissy’s right,” says the mare after some silence. “We need to get out of here. Even if we get killed by those things, it’s better than starving to death in here.”

“Uh, guys?” asks Squeaky.

“Shut up, Squeaky!” yells Sharp Eyes (presumably Prissy). “I’m sick of your shit!”

“I said stop arguing!” says the mare.

“If you’d just stop being such a stupid baby—”

“Don’t call him names!”

“Guys?”

“You’re all a bunch of whiners! Why don’t you just go and—”

“Leave him alone!”

“Shut up! I said SHUT UP!”

“GUYS!” Squeaky finally shouts.

Silence.

“…Where’s the body that was on the table?”

Tiny thinks to calm them down, draw them out of the surgery room, only for his thoughts to be cut short by a moan from inside. It’s followed by a yelp of terror that causes Tiny to take a step back, his eyes pried open with fear. Sharp Eyes shouts directions to the others, but to no avail—the moan from before warps into a shriek as everypony screams.

The screams intermingle with sounds of struggle, the shriek shivering and warbling angrily. The blocked door shakes as if struck. Tiny takes a few more steps back, checking behind him in case this was drawing the attention of the spider-things the doctors mentioned. He only looks back when the sounds of struggle and the helpless screams end abruptly. The shriek slowly warps into gurgling.

Tiny stands there for what feels like eternity, at the very mouth of what he imagines Tartarus must be like. Suddenly, a new face appears in the window: something ruined, its lips puffy, a gash on its head leaking something silky red over its mouth. Its empty eyes don’t appear to be looking at anything, yet Tiny can feel it looking him.

It moans.

The door begins to shake.

Tiny gasps and turns and flees in the other direction. What happens next flies by Tiny, a series of photographs rapidly riffled one after the other.

The hallway with the smear of blood on the wall.

A hallway where spiderwebs are plenty.

Descending down a staircase.

A dark room.

Something crawls along the walls. Something big.

Another hallway. Tiny doesn’t remember how he got here.

More darkness.

The feeling of falling.

Staircase. Broken.

Bulging red eyes.

Fangs.

Sounds of the river near his childhood house in the woods. He thinks he hears his mother calling.

Then, sounds of hissing.

Hallway. Low visibility. Something with many legs.

Hissing.

Spiderwebs.

A crack on the floor.

His teenage bedroom. The window offers a beautiful view of downtown Manehatten outside.

Windows to his left. Something looks in at him.

Webbing.

Hissing.

A thing of many legs.

Bulging red eyes.

Fangs.

Darkness.

Darkness.

As wide as he opens his eyes, all Tiny sees is a dark, ghostly blue mesh. As quiet as he tries to remain, Tiny can only hear muffled sounds. As much as he struggles, Tiny remains tightly bound, suspended from the floor and stuck to the wall behind him. He breathes, and struggles, and gasps, and moans. After a few minutes of these inconsequential actions, Tiny returns to stillness.

All is quiet.

Suddenly, he hears something. It’s muffled, but it’s definitely a hiss—a shuddering, slow sound that denotes the presence of predators. The thudding of many legs against a cold, hard ground, carrying a heavy body. The hissing and thudding outside his skintight prison stop only a few feet away from him, turning into silence, then a low growl.

Tiny’s breathing clenches, catches, twists, and twirls. His lungs squeeze desperately as panic overtakes him. Divine Sisters, he pleads, oh, Divine Sisters, please don’t—don’t let me die; not like this! Oh, Sisters, Sweet Celestia, no, don’t abandon me, NO!!!

A sudden, thick sound from his right, coupled with a scream cut short. Then the predator—whatever it is—pounces. Despite the muffle provided by the webbing (and it’s definitely webbing, Tiny realizes; it could be nothing else at this point), the sucking and chewing and gnashing and rending is loud enough to shake his eardrums and messy enough to turn his stomach.

Panic overtakes Tiny; clasping its hooves around him mischievously, enclosing him in the dark respite of unconsciousness.

The darkness slides away as gracefully as a tide from the beach. Tiny takes a deep breath and attempts to raise his head from its uncomfortable position, but to no avail. The webbing is too constricting.

Strangely, he can still breathe. The blue around him has small stars—tiny pokes where the webbing is not, letting in air. He can feel the tiny whistling of cold air from these spots; there are precious few of them, as if only enough to keep the prey alive until… needed.

He remembers his early childhood back in the woods, and the spiders that would take residence in his father’s shed. How they’d catch flies and other insects in their web, kneading them into a tight cocoon as they thrashed helplessly. Tiny was always enraptured by the spider’s performance, how easily and expertly it caught and wrapped up its prey as nonchalantly as his mother would roll dough.

Tiny now understands what it’s like to be the fly in these situations. How helpless. How afraid. What he’d just heard…

Oh. Oh, dear Divine Sisters…

This is it.

Tiny whimpers. Sobs. Weeps.

He waits for the spider to come back.

How much time has passed? It must at least have been a few hours.

Biding his time the way a prisoner awaiting a hanging might, Tiny hums a small tune his mother used to sing while working in her kitchen. He can even smell the eggs and hay in the frying pan, and for a single, lonely second, longs for home and safety and sweet, lost childhood.

He stops when he hears a small sound outside his cocoon. It might be a gasp, but the webbing in his ears muffles it too well. He waits a few seconds. Then a clatter, chased by a harsh, quiet, “Shit!”

Hope peeks through the window of Tiny’s mind that moment. He finds his mouth open already. “I-Is somepony there?”

He hears a gasp, then for a few seconds, nothing. Tiny wiggles as much as his constricted body can muster, shaking his cocoon. “Over here!” he says at a volume he hopes is both loud enough for his potential rescuer to hear, but quiet enough to not draw attention from anything else.

He hears clopping of hooves drawing nearer. A vague shape appears before his bluish screen of darkness—definitely a pony. “You OK?” the voice says quietly. “Hang on, I’mma get’chu outta there.”

The voice is raspy. Feminine, but tomboyish. Accent is inner-city Canterlot. Somewhat familiar, as well.

Tiny follows her directions and remains still. Suddenly, a knife’s point pokes into the cocoon, slowly inserting, stopping just under his chin, glowing a cool blue.

“Hey!” Tiny gasps. “B-Be careful!”

“Fuck you,” his rescuer spits. “This is careful. Now hold still or you’ll end up losin’ something real important.” Slowly, the knife descends. When she feels she’s cut a long enough vertical line, she reaches a hoof over to part it into a hole.

Cold air rushes in, splashing his sweat-soaked pelt, as light reduces his vision to wet shapes. He feels a warm hooftip poke him on the chin. No longer within such a crushing constraint, Tiny’s lungs grab greedy gulps of air as he leans forward and out of the cocoon. The first pearl-white hoof is joined by a second, searching his body for something they can grab onto, settling onto one shoulder. He yelps as the hooves close around the patch covering his wound.

“C’mon,” she commands. “Push yourself out! Push!”

Every muscle in Tiny’s body screams as he forces himself out of his cocoon. He flops onto the stone cold floor, gasping for air as he works his way onto his back, staring upwards, his eyes struggling to focus.

There’s no visible ceiling, concealed completely by a labyrinth of pipes and air ducts, all seemingly held together with thick spider-webs. Tiny turns his head and sees that they must be in the basement level of the hospital—and holds a gasp as he notices cocoons on the walls, all broken and empty, soaked and slicked with various shades of red and brown.

“Not a pretty sight, is it?”

A head pops into his view. It’s as pearl-white as the hooves that helped him out of the cocoon, with magenta eyes that remind him of his drill sergeant’s: hard and demanding. Her unicorn horn is lost in an electric-blue mane that hangs from her head like a palm shade, a set of purple-tinted glasses resting just underneath it. “Y’arright?” she asks after a pause.

Tiny gulps again. “Yeah,” he says wearily. “…Yeah, I’m okay. Just a bit surprised, that’s all.”

The mare sits down next to him gently, her full-looking saddlebags settling on either side of her noisily. Tiny only realizes now how small she is compared to him: it’s almost like a kitten sitting down next to a St. Bernard. She lets him catch his breath.

“Name’s Vinyl Scratch,” she says suddenly.

“…Private Baldwin of the Canterlot Royal Guard,” Tiny responds. “Friends call me Tiny.”

Vinyl’s little lips turn up in an amused smirk. She stands up and offers him a hoof—which he takes. With some effort, he’s able to hoist himself back up on all four hooves. “We shouldn’t stay here,” he says quickly.

“No shit?” Vinyl asks dryly. “I was kinda hopin’ to rent this place out.”

Tiny looks at her quietly. Then quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck you,” she says bitterly as she walks by him. “Get onto me for makin’ a joke…”

She takes a few steps away from him before stopping and turning her head around. “Ya gonna follow me outta here, or did you jus’ want a nice view of my ass?” she asks with a saucy wiggle of her flanks.

Tiny shakes his head as he follows the foul-mouthed mare into a small tunnel. What has he gotten himself into this time?

The silver padlock on the basement level’s door sparkles as Vinyl’s glowing horn casts light on it. Legions of chains sparkle as well, hugging the door tightly. “Oh, fer—! What kinda stupid motherfucker locks a fuckin’ door when—” is about as far as Vinyl gets before her voice becomes a frustrated gurgle of curse words.

“I got this,” Tiny says. “Stand back, please.”

Vinyl takes a few steps back as Tiny approaches the door and turns around. He takes a deep breath just before he brings up his hind legs. They rocket behind him, breaking the doors open. The padlock and its army of chains clatter helplessly to the ground. The sound is loud enough to make Vinyl Scratch’s ears ring.

“Hey—! The fuck, guy?!” she whispers harshly.

“You wanted an open door,” Tiny says. “You got an open door.”

“I coulda just unlocked it myself!” Vinyl Scratch argues. “It’s how I got around here inna first place! Bet every fuckin’ spider-bitch in this hospital heard us!”

“All the more reason for us to get outta here now,” Tiny says evenly.

Vinyl Scratch’s answering sigh dissolves into a groan as she pokes her head out the door, glancing left, then right, then up. She holds her head up for a time longer than Tiny is comfortable with.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Not yet,” she says over her shoulder, looking this way and that around the ceiling. Her lit horn blinks out, giving back the shadows it stole from the darkness around them. Tiny gasps.

“Sorry there, big guy,” she says quietly. “Don’t wanna attract more ’ttention than we already have.”

Tiny debates whether or not Vinyl Scratch is punishing him for opening the door. It ends prematurely as he hears the quiet clip-clop of Vinyl’s tiny hooves traveling down the hall. He follows. “You sure this is the way out?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she sniffs.

Tiny grunts. “This hallway’s too dark. There isn’t any more light coming in from the windows.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s not gonna do us any good to just stumble around lost when it’s dark, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“So don’t you think you should be using your light?”

“Whatever.”

Tiny growls. “Hey, what’s your problem?” he asks.

He hears nothing. Suddenly, Vinyl cusses softly as she stumbles over something, falling over completely. Tiny fights the urge to laugh, simply reaching forward where he heard her fall, intent on helping her back up, his large hoof finding Vinyl in the dark.

Tiny hears Vinyl gasp again. Warmth builds in Tiny’s face as he realizes exactly where his hoof had landed. There’s a cool blue glow that illuminates the hallway suddenly—and the glow slaps Tiny hard across the face before fading out.

“I know I got a reputation in th’ clubs, OK?!” Vinyl Scratch growls. “But we don’t got time for that shit right now!”

“Sorry,” Tiny apologizes, blushing. “I didn’t see where you fell. Maybe if we had a light or something…”

Vinyl stands up in the dark, her small form chest-to-chest with Tiny. He feels a hot snort rake his stubbled chin as she growls through clenched teeth, “Maybe if some ponies weren’t so fuckin’ noisy—”

Tiny inhales sharply, the inflation of his chest pushing Vinyl Scratch back. “With all due respect, Vinyl Scratch, I was unaware of what you wanted. You saw a lock and started complaining about it; I just assumed you saw it as a bother, so I went and broke it.”

Silence.

“…I’m sorry,” Tiny says.

Another pause. “Me too,” Vinyl Scratch says. She sighs. “I-I’m sorry, it’s…”

Cautiously, Tiny puts a hoof forward, finding what he hopes is Vinyl Scratch’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, it’s just this situation wearing on us. We gotta keep cool heads if we wanna get outta this alive.”

He hears her sigh, and maybe it’s his eyes adjusting to the dark, but he sees a shape just below his chin—her head—bob with a nod. “OK,” she breathes. “We need a light if we’re gonna get outta here. So…”

Vinyl’s horn glows, casting its cool blue light all over the room.

All along the walls and ceiling crawl black spiders giant enough to dwarf Tiny, their long, hairy legs heaving heavy bodies. Where their heads should be instead begin new bodies: slim and pale and hairless and apelike upper torsos with long arms with small tangles of claws at the ends, their heads crowned with long scraggly hair—

—and fangs in their mouths—

—and bulging

red

eyes.

The spiders hiss.

Tiny finds himself kidnapped by the spider-things’ stares, their clenching, jagged teeth curving into menacing smiles as they ominously skitter down the walls, their impossibly long and twisting legs thumping with every step. His breathing catches. Cold sweat dots his whole body as he freezes on the spot in pure, abject terror.

Something deep inside him broils amidst his panic. A sense of duty? Anger? Self-preservation?

Whatever it is manifests without any time for introductions. Tiny grabs Vinyl and bounds across the hallway, barreling towards the door at the other end, moving like a rocket as the spider-things descend.

Something thick and hard hits his hind leg, sticking to him and pulling taut, stopping Tiny cold and causing him to fall forward. Vinyl launches off his back at the sudden stop, spiraling forward and crashing onto the linoleum floor. The knife she’d used to free Tiny before falls out of her saddlebag and clatters onto the linoleum.

Vinyl Scratch mumbles something as her form crumples and the light from her horn goes out.

Tiny cusses under his breath as he hears the spider-things’ hissing grow louder—more numerous—closer. He crawls forward, hoping beyond hope that he might escape, his frivolous action coupled with nervous grunts and gasps. The darkness around his eyes grows wet with terrified tears.

His hoof brushes against something suddenly.

The knife.

Acting faster than he can think, Tiny picks the knife up in his mouth and with some dexterity he folds himself over, bringing his legs up to his mouth. He slides across the floor, the spider-thing on the other end of the web drawing him nearer to the awful hissing—what Tiny assumes oblivion must sound like.

With great effort, Tiny cuts the webline, disconnecting himself from impending doom—for now. Without hesitation, he gets back up, knife between his teeth and vigor in his limbs, and darts forth, ducking his head down in search of Vinyl Scratch. The moment his snout touches her, he thrusts his head beneath her belly, picking her up and settling her unconscious body onto his back. This all happens in the timespan of a blink—Tiny is barreling forth through the dark as his eyes adjust to shadows, leaping over fallen beds and wheelchairs and other debris, shooting straight for the exit as the hissing behind him resumes their chase. Thick webbing smacks against the floor behind him, the walls next to him, each shot expected and countered with a well-timed dodge.

Through this hall, and the next, and the next, the chase continues.

Suddenly, Vinyl’s weight is torn from Tiny’s back. A gasp caught in his throat, Tiny turns his head to witness Vinyl fall onto the floor, dragged into a hissing darkness. There is moonlight, however faint, stealing inside from a nearby window, painting Vinyl’s unconscious body in ghostly colors as she is pulled across the floor.

Tiny’s mind makes a calculation. There’s a pair of bulging red eyes directly in front of the webline pulling Vinyl Scratch.

With a flick of his neck, Tiny launches the knife. The moonlight glints off its form as it sails, becoming a single line of silver before he hears the thick, muted sound of steel meeting flesh amidst the hissing, followed by a choked yelp that warbles and falls silent.

Vinyl’s ghostly form ceases to drag across the floor. That’s all the indication Tiny needs.

Tiny doesn’t recall going back to retrieve Vinyl Scratch, but her weight is definitely on his back again, his hooves are definitely pounding the floor beneath him as he propels forward, and the hissing is still definitely behind him.

He feels a pair of hooves wrap around his neck, Vinyl Scratch apparently waking from her spell. She grumbles something Tiny cannot hear over all the hisses and shrieks.

His hooves tired, his heart pounding against his chest, the flesh beneath his bandage screaming at him, Tiny nearly lets out a yelp once he finds himself in a dead-end hallway with a single large window at the end, casting a carpet of moonlight onto the floor. The hissing gathers once more. He turns—

—and the bulging red eyes gather in the darkness. The moonlight coming in from the window behind him stops just before the spider-things, their blackened forms becoming more solid and real as they draw near. Their hissing is released in bursts, coming out sounding like sinister chuckles as their pale upper bodies clench and unclench their claws in excitement. The thudding of many legs against floors and walls as those many legs become visible. They gather.

Tiny clenches his teeth, steeling himself for what might come next. Suddenly, Vinyl Scratch’s weight disappears from his back again. “Cover your ears,” she warns.

“What?”

“I said cover your ears, ya fuckin’ idiot!” Vinyl bellows as her horn glows. She brings down her purple shades, the blue of her light shimmering across their lenses.

Tiny clamps his hooves over his ears, his large body settling onto the floor.

Even through his hooves, he can hear and feel it. Vinyl Scratch emits a sound so deep, it shakes the hallway—perhaps even the whole building. The sound turns into a series of beats that pound the hall, perhaps even the entire hospital, with monstrous force, crumbling the walls and crushing the floor. The spider-things raise their strange claws to their pointed ears and open their wide mouths in screams that get covetously devoured by the destructive bass of Vinyl’s magic.

Tiny can feel his teeth rattling in his mouth, his brain jiggling in his skull. The sound is nearly unbearable to him, but the howling spider-things steadily back away from the little pearl-white pony before them, their ears covered by pale claws, trails of blood running down between each finger.

The window shatters with a howl, each piece glittering with moonlight reflected as they are swept outside. The ceiling above begins to loosen. Small bits of debris and dust flutter downward.

Vinyl shouts something unheard (likely a foul taunt, if Tiny’s recent experiences can attest) as she briefly increases the volume of the bass, cranking it until the ceiling begins to warp. With a crash hidden by the bass, the ceiling caves in at the entrance to the hallway, burying any spider-thing unlucky enough to be caught beneath it.

After the entrance to the hall is sufficiently filled with debris, Vinyl’s horn ceases to glow, casting all back to both silence and darkness.

There’s pause, a lengthy allowance of quiet that fills the hall. Tiny lowers his hooves, an invasive ringing taking all that he hears. He looks, bewildered, at Vinyl Scratch, her head hung low, hoarsely heaving breath after tired breath as sweat rolls down her petite form. As sound slowly ebbs back into his ears, Tiny can make out her heavy panting. She swallows.

Then Vinyl Scratch turns her head, giving him an aside glance. A smile pulls at her lips. “Enjoying the view back there, soldier?” she asks. Before Tiny can ask what she means, Vinyl Scratch gives him another suggestive shake of her rump. She laughs at his stunned reaction, then sits down to rest.

Her horn glows as a bottle of water is lifted out of her saddle bags. The cap is unscrewed, then the bottle is brought to Vinyl’s lips where she gulps down some much-needed hydration.

“Where’d you—what was that?” Tiny asks, only realizing when he opens his mouth that he’s still very much out of breath, and that the patch on his shoulder aches, and that he still has had no water. Vinyl Scratch takes the bottle away from her own mouth and offers it to Tiny. He pulls the bottle to his own mouth and drinks.

“I only use that for the clubs I perform at,” Vinyl says. “I usually use it to underline the rest’a my music. Never had it that loud before.” She breathes wistfully. “I had it any louder’n I could’a burst their heads like grapes.”

Tiny chokes on the water a bit before swallowing. “You mean that spell’s lethal?!” he barks, his eyes wide as saucer plates. “Why would you use it at clubs? Around other ponies?”

Vinyl Scratch shrugs. “It’s every bit as lethal as devil sugar,” she says nonchalantly. “It’s pleasant when you use only a little. It’s only deadly when ya use too much.”

Tiny puts the water bottle down. Quiet. “Knew there was a reason I don’t really care for dubstep,” he says quietly.

“That’s cool,” Vinyl Scratch says with a smile, “neither do I.”

A pause.

“…Thanks,” Vinyl Scratch says, scratching the back of her head. “For the, uh… for the rescue.”

Tiny waves a hoof. “Nah, you were the real star of the show here. That bass is what drove them off.”

“If you didn’t save me, there’da been no bass. We’d both be all twenty-one flavors of dead right about now.”

The two share a smile. Tiny offers the water bottle back, only a little liquid in it now. It glows blue, then is brought back to Vinyl Scratch’s saddlebags as she clears her throat. “So what now?” Tiny asks.

“Dunno ’bout you, Tiny, but I’m lookin’ for a friend’a mine. Long dark mane ’n tail, purple eyes, the kinda mare you’d prob’ly wanna date. Don’t suppose you seen her?”

Tiny shrugs. “Unless she’s a doctor here at the hospital, no. And if she is a doctor here, then I’m afraid she’s already dead.”

“Thank Celestia she got her Master’s in music then,” Vinyl Scratch snarks as she settles her saddlebags back onto her flanks. “I’mma keep lookin’ for her.”

Tiny stands up. “I’m going with.”

Vinyl chuckles. “Yeah, I know. I’m irresistible.”

A wry smirk tugs at Tiny’s lips before he turns around to face the window. Just outside, broken glass litters a foggy parking lot. “We’re on the first floor,” he remarks. “Cool.”

He takes a step back, making a dramatic motion with his foreleg. “After you,” he says playfully.

The two survivors then steal into the foggy night, no directions, no clues. All they have is a single fighting chance.

The Wolf Revealed, Part IV

View Online

Shakey shivers. The air around here is too damn cold, like a freezer. Small bits of ice have already formed on his armor and are beginning to crop up on his legs. But nonetheless, he and Eagle Eye are to stand guard, resolute and without complaint.

Again, a slam rocks the walls around the door. Then another.

The door is four feet of heavy steel, magically reinforced to survive any kind of penetration. Its design seems superfluous for a small holding cell, but then again, Shakey has learned to stop asking too many questions when Rose Blade or Roaring Yawn are involved.

The next slam shakes some dust from from the ceiling—and is then followed by more slams, short and quick ones. More shouts. Demands to let him out.

Shatterstorm has been battering the door for the better part of the past six hours. Eagle Eye had yelled at him over the noise, telling him about the door, about how he could never in a million years break it. Shatterstorm didn’t listen—never does—and continued his assault.

What bothers Shakey the most about his new assignment is what Shatterstorm does between slamming the door. When there is pause between each slam, Shakey can hear his old comrade. Even from behind the brick and the metal, he can hear Shatterstorm sob quietly.

There was one such pause. Then another a few minutes later. The third one, happening right now, stabs Shakey right in the heart—for it’s that pause in which he hears Shatterstorm mumble, gasp, sob; mewling a tiny “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for this.”

It’s that pause, that sob, that apology that tempts Shakey to open the door—to release Shatterstorm—to help him—to help Rainbow Dash. He glances aside to Eagle Eye, and sees the same thoughts racing across his comrade’s eyes.

But there’s no going against Rose Blade. He holds the keys to the supplies and to the other Guards. They would be rent in half by Rose Blade’s pasty little loverboy before they could make good their escape, and then placed outside as a decoration. Shakey knows, as well as any other Guard, that those bodies on pikes aren’t meant for scaring off Dracula’s personal zoo of freakshows. They’re there to intimidate would-be dissenters into compliance. Many of Shakey’s own squadmates and friends hang from those pikes now.

His mind wanders again. That mare. Shatterstorm’s mare. The way Rose Blade looked her over…

Shakey wants to help. Celestia’s white wings, he wants to help.

But he can’t. He can’t because of the pikes.

Shakey shivers.

Again, a slam rocks the walls around the door. A few seconds of silence. Then another.

Dammit, when’s Roaring Yawn coming back? Shakey wonders. He and Eagle Eye both release a sigh from their nostrils as Shatterstorm’s assault continues, in short and quick bursts, on the door.

It might have been only hours. Or it could have been a month, or even a year. Wherever time is right now, it crawls along, its legs broken, out of breath, in search of safety.

After dazing in and out of consciousness, Rainbow Dash’s eyes have looked over everything in this bathroom-turned-torture-chamber: the mirror over the sink, the gramophone on the stand, the toilet just beside her (and cruelly just out of her reach), the corpse nearby, the flies that eat away at him, the blood and roses on the floor, the vacant shackles across from her. There are enough for at least two other ponies to be tied down.

Most haunting are the utensils she sees sitting just behind the tub. A long metal pole with a leash at the end. Jugs of suspicious chemicals, a few of them only half-full. A gas mask. A small basin filled with sharp implements, scissors and pins and knives. The reddish-brown stains on the tub’s interior…

Don’t look!

Rainbow Dash closes her eyes and shivers, not wanting to follow that train of thought any further.

Her mind then floats back to the shackles at her fetlocks. It takes Rainbow Dash another minute before she realizes something. If the chains were added only recently, wouldn’t that mean…?

What would that mean?

Probably nothing.

Yet…

Rainbow Dash sits on her haunches—shuddering at the sticky feeling of the coagulating blood gathering around her resting flanks and tail—and draws her forelegs up sharply. For the next twenty minutes, Rainbow Dash tugs at her chains, stretching their five-inch lengths taut. Even with the huge disadvantage of her constricted wings, with some effort the five inches of chain become five and one tenth.

She grins suddenly, her lips parting to reveal teeth, her eyes widening, her nostrils flaring.

Eureka, bitch.

There it is. There’s one link in the chain that’s beginning to warp.

She yanks harder and harder, drawing the chains as far back as she can pull them. The shackles squeeze her fetlocks like mustard bottles, her legs turning slightly purple at the lack of blood flow. Pain, slow and ebbing, crawl up and down her legs before Rainbow Dash finally stops for a moment to recuperate, sweating and panting from useless effort.

The door opens.

Rainbow Dash snaps up, expecting to see Rose Blade and preparing her best scowl. Instead, standing there with a disarmingly pleasant smile is Whisper White, his clown-white Crystal Pony body shimmering as light hits it in just the right ways. He enters the room with that disciplined-yet-demure stride of his, his electric yellow tail brushing at the floor behind him.

His hooves clip-clop against the tiled floor, his armor clanking with each quiet step. He stops in front of the corpse. With movements too fast for Rainbow Dash’s eyes to follow, the chains on the corpse’s fetlocks are undone.

As Whisper White flips the body over, Rainbow Dash sees the remains of a face: pins sticking out of a ruinous pulp of pinks and reds and a little greenish yellow, a mouth of missing teeth, a single, dead eye peering out from a dark cave.

Don’t look!

Whisper White dunks his head under the corpse, lifts it up onto his back, turns, and then leaves the room, humming a merry tune, shutting the door quietly behind him. The sound it makes closes this surreal scene with loud finality.

All the while, Whisper White does not so much as bat an eyelash at Rainbow Dash throughout any of this. It’s almost as if he refuses to accept she exists. And all the while, he continues to smile as if nothing is wrong—as if the pony on his back is just taking a nap—a spring in his step and a song in his heart.

As much as Rainbow Dash hates Rose Blade, she finds Whisper White the truly scary one.

He’d seen the way his friend had ogled the mare as she was brought in. He’d seen the way his friend had longed for her as she was put into the holding cell they were meant to guard. He’d seen the way his friend’s eyes tasted the mare as Roaring Yawn injected her with more of his strange medicines. And he catches the wanting glance his friend gives the holding cell where she sleeps.

“Don’t even think about it,” says the first Guard to the other. “Not worth it, dude.”

“Look,” the second says curtly, “I know she killed a few of our guys, but… but come on, it’s been a while.”

The first Guard shakes his head and sighs. “Dude, you just came back from visiting your girlfriend. It’s only been a week and a half. Maybe a little more than that.”

“And in that week and a half, we’ve seen more death than we ever expected in our lives,” the second Guard counters. “I don’t even know if Rocket Fire’s still alive. I know for sure we’re not gonna last a whole month in this place. If I’m going out, I’ll be going out after I get me some action one last time.”

The first Guard mulls it over, stroking his chin as he observes the holding cell door a little more closely. He looks in through the view-slot and catches her sleeping figure: her attractive shape, those full lips, that black mane and tail that continue and continue and continue… that enchanting, round little ass of hers. The dark lighting of the holding cell, all adds alluring mystery to her.

“…It’s tempting,” he says at last.

“See? I mean, we’re the ones guarding her for the next few hours, and that knockout medicine or whatever is gonna keep her out of it for days, no matter how hard we ride her. We’ll be the only ones who know. Why not?”

There’s another thoughtful pause. The first Guard looks at her again, wondering exactly how much longer he—or any Guard for that matter—have left to live under Dracula’s grip, or under Rose Blade’s reckless whims.

“Fuck it,” he says with a shrug. He removes his keyring, the jingle of metals singing as he inserts it into the holding cell’’s door.

Inside the cell, the once-was-a-wolf rests on her side, her legs in shackles. Unconscious. Beautiful. The two Guards hover over her, their horns glowing as they remove their helmets. The purple of their combined lights wash over her face, making her look even more appealing. There’s a silence that drifts through this scene for well over a minute.

“Well?”

“…Uh…”

“C-Come on,” the second Guard mutters, “what’s stopping you?”

“Me? You’re the one who thought this was a great idea!”

The second Guard pauses. Fidgets. Growls. He takes one hoof and moves the once-was-a-wolf over onto her back. He’d always had a kink for positions where he could see the mare’s face while he rutted her: that look of surprise and terror and delight. Not that he’d see it on an unconscious mare, but it’s difficult breaking habits.

He goes in low, crawling on top of the mare. He hooks his forelegs around her, breathing heavily as he draws himself closer, his body heat increasing just by contact with a mare, hardening at the sight of her gorgeous facial features.

Just as he readies himself to enter her, the mare’s eyes snap open, beads of purple sitting in oceans of white. The color drains out of the first Guard’s face.

“Whuh—What are you—?!” is all the mare can sputter, her voice a weak, vomiting croak.

Suddenly, the second Guard shoves a foreleg over her mouth. “You scream and I’ll make it hurt,” he threatens.

Tears shimmer in her purple eyes as the intoxicating feeling of power bubbles within the second Guard. His lips split into a toothed grin as he snorts a breath of hot air over her face. The first Guard looks on uncomfortably as his partner begins to grind on top of the mare, dropping his foreleg from her mouth so that he can move in on her full lips.

“Wh-Why am I awake?!” she mumbles under his mouth. “I, I can’t be awake!”

“I said quiet!” the second Guard hisses. He lifts his face off hers, and his hoof is drawn across her cheek with a jarring pop.

The first Guard sweats and shakes his head, his heart clawing its way out of his chest. Before he can step in and do some damage control, the mare’s face snaps back to her tormentor, her purple eyes melting into an almond shape. Her pelt and mane grow thicker, becoming tangled like hay in a haystack.

Her teeth reach forward like eager claws, hooking into jagged fangs.

The second Guard lifts himself off the mare, coiling backwards in stunned terror as she pulls at her shackles with an absurd strength she didn’t have before, breaking the chains and climbing to her hooves—now breaking into giant paws—as she grows larger and hairier. Her beady purple eyes glare at her tormentors, sparkling darkly with thirst for vengeance.

It is awake.

Rainbow Dash waits a minute to make sure she’s totally alone. Then she returns to attempting to break her chains.

After a few more minutes of depriving her fetlocks of blood circulation, Rainbow Dash flattens onto her flanks, gasping for breath. She throws her head back, looking blankly at the ceiling, sweat flinging from her forehead as she stifles a groan.

She clenches her teeth, snarling as she looks back down to the obstinate chains. While some links have warped, it is only slightly. Rainbow Dash lowers her head and growls a curse. At this rate, she’d be here all night.

Suddenly, her thoughts bring up Shatterstorm. The look on his face just before her lights went out. Such terror. Betrayal. Heartbreak. When they were coming into this place, everypony acted like they at least knew him. She can’t imagine what it must feel like to wake up one day and find out all your friends are evil.

Again, an uncertain (and unwelcome) part of her wonders if he’s even alive right now. The more she thinks about him, the more she worries. Slowly, a lump forms in her throat. She swallows it. It goes down like lead.

Her eyes fall on her right foreleg, and how its purple glaze begins to recede like the tide. Lazily and without hope, she looks aside at all the blood and all the rose petals. Suddenly, she finds something she didn’t see before.

There, in the thickening, cool blood, is a long, slim piece of metal. A pin.

Obviously, her hooves can’t reach it from here. Rainbow Dash gets down on all fours, leaning forward to grab the pin between her teeth. Too far away. She snorts in frustration.

There’s not much time. Rose Blade could be walking down that hall any moment. Rainbow Dash’s breath becomes shallower. Harder. Finally, dunking down to her knees atop the thick, browning blood, Rainbow Dash leans forward as far as she can.

Her chin on the bloodied ground does no good, instead bouncing her jaws too far away from the pin. She pauses. Reluctantly, Rainbow Dash turns her head, resting her right side—hoof, fetlock, elbow, shoulder, neck, cheek, temple, ear, and mane—on the bloodied tile. The ambience of the room becomes a distorted silence on that side.

She is struck by an invasive pang of nostalgia. Rainbow Dash remembers, as a little filly, the strange, quiet distortion she heard when she pressed her hoof against her ear. When she’d asked her dad about it, he convinced her in the way any wise father would that she’d been listening to her hoof as it spoke to her in a mystical and silent language.

What she’d give to see Dad again. If she lived to see the end of this mission, she’d search the entirety of Equestria to see if he’s all right.

Maybe it’s the nostalgic thoughts of her father. Maybe it’s that she’s worried for Shatterstorm. Or maybe it’s that she’s smearing another pony’s blood all over herself. Everything crashes down around Rainbow Dash, pulling tears out of her eyes as she once again cranes her neck, jaws wide, biting for that pin.

She chomps. Still too short.

Sniffling, Rainbow Dash recollects herself, piece by piece, not taking her eyes off the pin just an inch away. Just another inch.

She takes a few deep breaths. Then she opens her mouth, and extends her tongue.

The iron of blood lathers against her tongue before she finds the iron of the pin. Rainbow Dash gags, her tongue shooting back into her mouth and spreading that awful taste around. The taste is joined by gaseous vomit. After some coughing and dry heaving, she sniffles again, damning herself for being such a crybaby all of a sudden.

Pink tongue against the browning blood, Rainbow Dash finally touches the pin, their tastes mingling. With a careful, flicking curl, her tongue rolls the pin into her mouth; her mission now complete, she immediately stands back up, out of the horrendous blood, holding the pin between her teeth.

Pin firmly between her teeth now, Rainbow Dash gets to work on undoing the inner machinery of the shackles. At first she’s too hasty—trying too hard to find the right angles—but after taking a deep breath and going a little more slowly, she finds the weak spot and the shackle lets go of her fetlock with a loud click.

Off go the other shackles, falling listlessly to the floor. Relieved, she rubs her purpled fetlocks, getting more feeling back into them.

Her eyes glance at her reflection in the mirror. She’s a thing out of nightmares: blood smeared all over one side of her body, with more on her hinds and a desperate look in her eyes. But more importantly, she has a fantastic view of the clamp’s lock and with some desperation, gets to work on it, the ticking of metal against mechanisms the only sound in this prison.

One wrong turn and the pin is rendered bent and useless. The wing-clamp must have a complicated lock. Rainbow Dash spits it out in frustration and looks for an alternative.

That’s when the sirens blare.

They’re like screams, bouncing off every wall as red lights flicker.

Shakey and Eagle Eye look all about in surprise the moment they hear it, Shatterstorm falling quiet for now. There’s shouting and other Guards running about on the upper floors.

“Are we under attack?” Shakey asks.

“Why you askin’ me for?” Eagle Eye says with a confused frown.

Hastened hoofsteps clip-clop down the hall, drawing closer, until finally Roaring Yawn rounds the corner. There’s this look of teeth-clenched terror and sweat on his face.

“What’s going on out there?” Shakey asks.

“The beast has escaped,” Roaring Yawn says. “She’s already killed four Guards.”

“She’s loose?!” Eagle Eye gasps in panic. “In the laboratories?! Here?!”

“Yes,” Roaring Yawn confirms with a nod. “But she’s working her way around our failsafes. It won’t be long before she tears her way through the entire base.”

As the two Royal Guards stand there stunned, Roaring Yawn waves a hoof. “Listen, there’s an exit that way,” he says, pointing the waved hoof further down the hallway. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m getting out of here!”

Shakey scoffs as Roaring Yawn turns to go down the hall. “What? What do you mean, getting outta here?”

“As in, leaving. Going away. Escaping this awful place.”

Eagle Eye shakes his head. “Roary, y’know as well as we do what Rose Blade would do to deserters!”

Roaring Yawn turns his head and scoffs. “Do I care? I could die here in the jaws of a beast, or I could die trying to get the Tartarus out of here and heading to safety—and quite frankly, I’d take my chances out there than in here.” With that, he disappears around the corner, his hooves pounding against the bricks growing quieter and quieter as the alarm continues to blare.

A pause. Both Royal Guards are suddenly jostled by a loud slam. At first, they think it’s Shatterstorm in his cell—but another slam confirms that it’s coming from the other end of the hall Roaring Yawn had just disappeared to. The color drains from their faces as they hear the Wharg’s piercing howl from the other side of that gilded door, followed by more eager slams.

Without any further hesitation, they bolt. Damn the situation. Damn Shatterstorm’s bad luck. Damn the Wharg that is now on the hunt for flesh. Their hooves beat against the floor, carrying them to what they hope is safety.

In the shadows, Roaring Yawn waits for those two clowns to run all the way to the holding cell’s exit. Teleporting quietly back to the door he’d entered through was easy enough. The recordings he’d made of the Wharg’s snarling also helped in scaring away the Guards, as well as simply bucking the door with his hind legs. The fact he’d layered the sound of door-kicking with an “Increase Volume” spell completed his hoax.

As Roaring Yawn makes his way to Shatterstorm’s cell to unlock it, the cell’s occupant begins frantically beating against the door, shaking dust and tiny bits of brick out from around it. How long had he been at this? Roaring Yawn has read Shatterstorm’s file (though granted it was very quick as he had not much time to roll this plan into motion), and knows of his fierce dedication and tenacity, but this is just silly.

With a telekinetic glow, Roaring Yawn reaches into his shirt pocket and readies a spare key for the cell. Just before he can put it into the lock, one more good slam against the door forces it off its hinges with an alarming creak. Roaring Yawn gasps in shock as the door—heavier than an elephant—begins to descend like a curtain upon him with a shuddering sound. Had he not backed up with a jump just as the door crashed to the floor, he’d have fit nicely into a sandwich.

Dust from destroyed brick lifts into the air like fog, an angry figure stumbling out of the tiny cell the door guarded. Before Roaring Yawn can do much of anything, that angry figure is on him—a pair of hooves hard as diamonds push into his chest, forcing him first onto his hinds and then onto his back as a body’s weight is forced onto his stomach, squeezing the air out of his lungs. One of those hooves hard as diamonds suddenly cracks down onto the brick right next to Roaring Yawn’s face, destroying both the brick and its neighbors.

Shatterstorm blows hot air across Roaring Yawn’s panicking face. “Rainbow Dash,” he demands, his voice a menacing growl. “Where is she?!”

She’s in the air vents, crawling quietly as the sirens scream and the Guards below scramble to... fix whatever had gone wrong, she surmises. Part of her hopes Shatterstorm suddenly broke loose, and she hopes he's giving them as much Tartarus as they deserve, and she hopes she can find him in time, and she clings to this hope with a burning fervor.

Many times, Rainbow Dash stops and waits for Guards to run by in case they hear her. She crawls—then stops at the sound of hoofsteps—then crawls again, this process proceeding for an indefinite period. It’s more annoying than it should be: the clamp around her wings holds fast to her body, making it more difficult to change directions.

The siren had jabbed a needle of panic into Rainbow Dash’s heart, and in a blind panic to escape before Rose Blade or some other Guard would check on his… “playmate”, Rainbow Dash jumped up to the air vent above the tub (ignoring the bloodstains was even more difficult this time), yanked off the vent, and climbed up.

Her first instinct is to find Shatterstorm—but unlike Shatterstorm, she has no mental map of the base, instead merely making estimated guesses. Needless to say, within only a few minutes’ time she is lost. Bet Daring Do never has days like this, she muses. Suddenly, a chilling and familiar howl rips through the metal of the vent.

She stops, this time over a grating, small shafts of light reaching up into Rainbow Dash’s face as she looks down. She finds herself over an auditorium of some sort (perhaps a movie theater for the Guards’ recreation?) and running rampant down there is the Wharg from earlier.

It’s a wild blur of fur and fang, a circle of Royal Guards badgering it with kicks and magic bolts. One Guard suddenly finds himself between its jaws… then finding his back legs in its mouth while he flops pathetically onto the auditorium floor, crawling away while babbling a prayer.

Rainbow Dash can only watch.

Ever since he was jolted from his meditations by the siren wailing in his office, Rose Blade had been struggling to maintain control. Many Guards still loyal to him—out of respect or out of fear, he cares not—attempted to find and neutralize Roaring Yawn’s pet, and by the time they’d found the damned thing, Rose Blade was sure at least a few of his Guards had deserted or been eaten.

Fortunately, through the clever use of baiting, his Guards were able to herd the Wharg into the auditorium. Many of them stood at the exits, awaiting his signal.

He locks eyes with that damnable beast, his lips drawn into a tight scowl. It chews the hind legs of one of his troops almost thoughtfully, as if savoring the taste. The unfortunate Guard whose legs were taken soon finds the rest of him in its mouth, pulled up off the floor and flung into the air. His screams reach a timbre that makes Rose Blade smile as he arcs, then descends, the Wharg catching him in its mouth, cutting his scream short.

The Wharg sets its catch down, placing one paw over the Guard’s head to keep him grounded. Then it pulls upward, the meat coming right off the bone. Red coats the beast’s fur, the floor, the auditorium chairs.

He watches. At the other exits, the Royal Guards look from the grisly scene to Rose Blade uncomfortably.

He nods.

At the signal, the Guards at each exit pull a switch that causes thick iron bars to descend, trapping the Wharg in the auditorium. The Guards still trapped in the auditorium notice the descending panic doors, and rush toward them, hoping to make it in time before they find themselves next on the Wharg’s menu. Some, in fact, do make it.

The iron shafts clang loudly as they touch the floor. A Guard beats his hoof against the one that separates Rose Blade from the auditorium. “Open up!” he pleads. “Please, for the love of Celestia, open up!”

Rose Blade’s lips turn up in a smirk as the Guard begs for his life. It’s as if the fool has no idea that making a ruckus will only draw the Wharg’s attention to him—and sure enough, the begging becomes a scream wrapped in the Wharg’s howl. Rose Blade watches through the bars as it digs into its second course.

One of the Royal Guards looks to Rose Blade as the Wharg devours his comrade. “Um, Captain? Are we really just gonna keep it here?”

“Certainly not,” Rose Blade says evenly. “We’ll wait until she falls asleep. Then we’ll kill her.”

He snorts, having grown tired of humoring Roaring Yawn’s pet-keeping. Despite its entertainment value, he’s losing valuable pony-power. Rose Blade swears the next time he sees that idiot, he’ll tear off his face and mount it on his wall.

Rose Blade lies down on the floor, watching the Wharg chase the other trapped Royal guards with keen interest. “Until then,” he says in a way so icy it makes his subordinates shiver, “let’s just enjoy the show.”

Part of Rainbow Dash wants to swoop in and help the Guards. But another part of her freezes her conscience. Getting involved now bears the possibility of disastrous results—considerably fatal. Is the idea of rescuing her enemies really worth the risk? And since when did Rainbow Dash ever hesitate to do anything?

As she ponders, a pegasus Guard flies up to grab onto the air vent, coming much too close to Rainbow Dash for her comfort. It seems this guy has the same idea Rainbow Dash had in Rose Blade’s bathroom.

She panics. If this guy catches her, he’d bring her back to Rose Blade. But on the other hoof, Rose Blade was obviously off his nut—that should be obvious to this Guard at this point. That doesn’t mean he himself is a good pony anyway. What if he tries to… what if he tries…

Panic seizes Rainbow Dash, its jaws closing around her, its jagged teeth sinking into her brain and taking over completely. As the Guard pulls off the air vent, Rainbow Dash reaches down to punch him—to keep him the Tartarus away from her—to not touch her—Don’t look!—Don’t look!

Rainbow Dash doesn’t realize she has fallen out of the air vent until she lands on the auditorium floor. The fall isn’t enough to cause any real damage to her (as huge falls have been plentiful in her training), but there’s a flash of white—and sound is reduced to a thin whine—and a frozen feeling overtakes her.

The whine evens out eventually, becoming growls and screams. The white fades away, becoming a sideways image of the Wharg shaking its victim—the pegasus Guard—around in its mouth like a toy. The freeze in her legs melts as she pulls herself up onto her hooves, the clamp around her middle weighing heavily.

There’s cheering. Rainbow Dash glances around when she hears it. The Guards at each exit—safe behind their iron doors—are watching, cheering, betting, whistling, hollering, and chanting like a packed stadium for a hoofball game.

She looks up at the Wharg, who finishes up its latest meal. Behind the Wharg, Rainbow Dash can make out Rose Blade, whose deep green eyes are initially wide with surprise, then gradually narrow as his snakelike grin slithers further up on his face than should be equinely possible.

Looks like Rose Blade has had a change of heart. Instead of forking her over to Dracula’s forces, he’d feed her to an out-of-control lycanthrope. Rainbow Dash harrumphs, making a rude gesture at him, to which he returns with a snicker.

There’s really no place for Rainbow Dash to hide. So when the Wharg sees her, it greets her with this look of realization. The huntress has found The One That Got Away.

It cricks its neck, left, then right, as if remembering how hard Rainbow Dash had kicked it earlier. The twinkle in its purple eyes begets an eagerness to rend and decimate, the rolling tongue projecting its agonizing, insatiable hunger.

The Wharg takes a few steps forward, slowly, as if challenging her worthy prey.

Rainbow Dash sneers. Grunts a hot breath. Paws a hoof at the ground, accepting the challenge. “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she growls, turning her head to spit. “You caught me on a really bad day.”

The cheering becomes more intense, the audience growing more excited by Rainbow Dash’s unintentional showboating. The game is on. They gather at their coliseum to watch a gladiator slay a beast, their mad emperor watching on with appalling merriment.

Then the game begins: both gladiator and beast lunge with a roar and a howl.

The Wolf Revealed, Part V

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The look in Roaring Yawn’s eyes as he babbled Please don’t kill me! and I’ll talk! had been submission and terror, but to Shatterstorm his words sounded strangely practiced. Still, he has no reason to doubt that Roaring Yawn was telling the truth—especially not after he’d given him some scars on his left foreleg to match his right.

His familiarity with the base’s layout aids Shatterstorm (and it doesn’t hurt to be able to fly and crawl up walls to keep out of sight, either) as he makes his way to Rose Blade’s personal chambers. He’s around the corner and hiding and down the hallway and in every shadow. He haunts the base’s anatomy, an invasive and unfamiliar virus infecting her, poisoning her, killing her on his way to her heart.

Some Guards run through the hall beneath him as the sirens continue to wail. From his perch, clutching fast to the ceiling, Shatterstorm watches and waits for them to turn the corner, his breath held until they disappear from his sight.

Down he goes, landing on the ground as gently and quietly as a feather. He dashes down this hallway—down that hallway—down the next hallway—past the empty suits of armor and the rows of doors—ghosting by windows where once upon a time a younger pegasus would stare out and question why the fuck he was even here—where he and Tiger Cross first became friends—where his mind falls to pieces for one second because Tiger Cross is dead and Rainbow Dash is about to join him—where Shatterstorm failed to save them—where Shatterstorm’s chest heaves with grief—but for only one second—only one—then he jolts under shadows, to the chamber where he and Rainbow Dash had been before. The deep bass of his heartbeat ravages his chest as he throws the doors open.

He looks to the right, where the big red door lies in wait like the mouth of some giant predator. A second later, he pulls the door, only to find it locked. His hind legs make a much more effective key.

Shatterstorm shoots through the doorway before it even hits the floor, his wings open and lending him speed, his hooves pounding against hard floor before coming to a screaming halt. He’s met with awful smells and low lighting. Rose Blade’s quarters has the appearance of an apartment: a small kitchen on the right, a darkened sitting room on the left stocked with bookshelves and all the comforts of home…

His heart withers the moment he claps eyes onto Rose Blade’s houseguests.

Blank eyes set in destroyed faces stare out at nothing. Their broken forms lean where they sit on the bloodstained chairs and couch, a tea tray on the coffee table between them. The whispering blue glow from the nearby fish tank—along with the red and orange lights here and there reflected by Rose Blade’s pet fish—paints this nightmare with exotic colors.

Shatterstorm is frozen to the spot. He doesn’t realize he isn’t breathing until he feels his face begin to burn, and inhales deeply—only to regret it. Hot vomit crawls up his esophagus, its acrid bitterness already staining the back of his teeth by the time he forces it back down.

His heartbeat didn’t slow down before, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to yield. Breathing heavily through his mouth, Shatterstorm begins to look away—

—only to notice the steam rising from the tea on the table. How long ago had that been put out?

He knew Shatterstorm would be here. The moment the sirens blared, Whisper White knew why they’d cried out. He’d put the tea set down, hid, and waited. Whisper White is good at waiting.

The moment his target burst into the Captain’s quarters—because Whisper White is smart and knew he would come here—he tenses, his pelt prickling with the excitement of his incoming battle.

When Shatterstorm is close enough, close enough that Whisper White can smell his pretty, pretty smell, Whisper White glides out from his hiding place. A falling leaf would have made more noise.

He doesn’t know Whisper White is here yet. Whisper White remembers his training—the years of grueling training he’d endured—the years of his childhood spent in King Sombra’s regimen—the years he spent killing and killing and killing. He remembers the first few years where he would kill just as silently and as quickly as he moved.

But he eventually entered his teens and discovered it was much more satisfying when his prey would look at him—look him in the eyes—see his cute little smile—just as he brought his hooves down on them and ended them and watched every moment of their lives glimmer and broil in their panicked eyes before the lights went out. Much, much more satisfying.

He stands just behind Shatterstorm, totally unnoticed. He waits. Again, Whisper White waits, waits for the moment he can make some noise.

Shatterstorm shudders the moment he sees the Captain’s guests. No surprise. The Captain was too rough and took too long with those anyway. The Captain loves brutality even more than Whisper White does.

Then Shatterstorm’s ear twitches. Danger.

Whisper White takes that as his cue. He glides, again soundlessly, using his small, coltish body to get underneath Shatterstorm, shivering with delight slightly as he feels his beautiful prey against his Crystal Pony flesh. Shatterstorm is up and flailing and slamming into a wall and falling down and landing on his forelegs before he can even yelp.

And Whisper White is on him, clown-white, glittering hooves battering against Shatterstorm’s pretty face. There’s grunting. There’s heavy breathing. There’s sweat and spittle and shouts and blood and everything everything everything Whisper White lives for. He smiles, his lips curving without mischief or maliciousness, as he beats Shatterstorm—and beats him—and beats him—and throws him into the living room. Shatterstorm falls against the coffee table, spilling the tea set all over the guests.

There’s a look in Shatterstorm’s eyes that go well with his perfect bruises. Determination. Good. Whisper White has only ever seen determination on this level in the eyes of a hooffull of ponies—King Sombra, the Captain, Princess Luna, the lovely Rainbow Dash…

Her magenta eyes. Like a valkyrie’s. Whisper White didn’t even need to look at her in the bathroom to know how powerful her eyes are. How strong she is. He can see it in her eyes. Eyes like a valkyrie’s.

“I knew you’d come for her,” Whisper White says coolly.

Standing back up is a battle between Shatterstorm and his own legs, but whatever force of gravity that still holds him together lends him the power. He snorts. Whisper White looks in his eyes. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful determination. Beautiful, beautiful.

“You’re both beautiful, you know,” he continues. The way Shatterstorm lifts an eyebrow is comical, and gets a chuckle or two out of Whisper White as he—for once, slowly—saunters around him. “Yes, beautiful. Both of you. Your determination. Your strength. It’s a shame you use it against the Captain.”

Whisper White already has a plan in his head—and just by closing his eyes, it happens. Shatterstorm is lifted and thrown down to the couch, knocking it over, sending the guests spiraling to the floor. The glorious noises the guests make as they land remind Whisper White of his early days as part of King Sombra’s elite: that sound was the only thing that noted his existence, and by the time anypony heard it, it was too late: the prey was dead and Whisper White was gone.

The excitement Whisper White felt before is swelling, aching. It grows and builds and begs for release. His smile, still small, still boyish, hides a giggle that bubbles in his throat.

“But you’ll never see her again,” he says. “You’ll die before that happens. It’s a shame, too—so beautiful. Both of you.”

There’s something that ghosts by Shatterstorm’s eyes, dancing with his determination. “You really think Rose Blade feels about you the way you feel for him?” he asks salaciously. “The only reason you’re his number two is because he’s fragile.”

Whisper White’s eyes shoot open, his smile unmoving, unflinching. Impossible. That’s impossible. The Captain? Fragile? Such a powerful creature, with his smile and his mane and his green eyes and his strength, his beautiful, beautiful strength? Impossible.

“He needs somepony there to stroke his ego,” Shatterstorm continues as he struggles back up to his hooves. “He needs you… because he’s weak and he knows it. He’s weak and he’s afraid.”

There’s a pause. It’s heavy and growing heavier by the second. Impossible.

Whisper White’s hooves wrap around Shatterstorm’s neck, yanking him forward. Their muzzles touch. All the while, Whisper White smiles as their hot breaths mingle. “Was that supposed to make me angry?” he asks, still smiling, his eyes merely slits.

His breath becomes hotter and his eyes snap awake and his pupils become microscopic black islands in oceans of electric yellow. “Because it did,” he says, still smiling, always smiling.

The fish tank. Whisper White introduces Shatterstorm to the Captain’s pets, holding his head underwater, patiently, waiting, waiting, waiting—waiting for the inevitable, coming limpness of body, slacking of form, one tiny, final gasp before everything Shatterstorm was and is falls silent.

Whisper White’s excitement mixes with his anger. His breathing becomes more hoarse, more shaky, more airy as his ears are kissed by Shatterstorm’s drowning gasps.

Then there’s a clap. Shatterstorm brings up both wings—both of them shooting upwards and into Whisper White’s ears, clapping them, quick, sudden pain chased by ringing and dizziness. The single moment of slack that follows allows Shatterstorm to suddenly bring up his head—bringing it up just as fast as his wings, colliding with Whisper White’s muzzle, putting fireworks in his mouth and setting them all off at once.

Whisper White, stunned, staggers backward. Then Shatterstorm’s hind legs are lifted and they fire like rockets.

This brief connection launches Whisper White into outer space. There’s stars that pop and suns that burn brightly and galaxies that swirl and dark colors that swim and no gravity or up or down. The wall greets Whisper White with a slap to his back, the impact leaving a huge crack and shaking the paintings off the Captain’s wall.

Sounds come back and the darkness fades and the colors stop swimming, but they take their time. And just as Whisper White opens his eyes, the fish tank flies at him and pushes his head back into the wall for a split, intimate second. There’s pain like no other, lights popping against darkness, water splashing, fish flopping all around him as he falls forward.

Then Shatterstorm shouts. Anger. Anger born of determination. Yes. Beautiful.

Then Shatterstorm is on him. And Whisper White feels it: the hooves that trample and stomp and punch and kick and dig deeply into every inch of Whisper White’s body. The way his hooves kiss and smother into Crystal Pony flesh as he screams a warrior’s song as Whisper White grunts under every fierce blow. There’s blood in the air, and on the wall, and all over Shatterstorm’s beautiful, beautiful face.

Whisper White’s lips fly back and his voice whimpers out of his lungs, shaky and warbling, growing into passionate screams as Shatterstorm pounds and pounds and pounds.

Beautiful.

The auditorium quakes beneath the Wharg’s padded feet as it catapults itself to its prey. The howl that whips from its open maw dances with the sound of cheering Royal Guards. Its eyes—beady purple little fireballs in dark, hairy caves—burn furiously as its prey, unfettered, runs towards it.

Rainbow Dash, even on hoof, even bound by the wing-clamp, lives up to her name—all moving colors and blurry image and mesmerizing speed. Her magenta eyes don’t burn the same way as the Wharg’s and her howl doesn’t shake the world the way its does and her hooves don’t pound the way its paws do. But her eyes are like a valkyrie’s. Her roar is like a tiger’s. Her hooves are like a locomotive. She’s dangerous. Unstoppable.

The clash that explodes the auditorium’s building tension is a colossal thing, a perfect painting, a godlike moment frozen in time. The Guards all cheer the moment it happens: the giant Wharg bearing down its glistening, bloodied fangs on a leaping, whooping mare one-third its size.

The explosive clash is followed by a deafening silence. The Wharg is taken aback, staggering stupidly on reluctant legs. Rainbow Dash steps backwards, unsure if the blood on her hoof is from her enemy, her previous cellmate, or herself. The dazed look in the Wharg’s eyes and the snarling wobble of its lips implies an opening—and, like everything else she’s ever wanted in her life, Rainbow Dash reaches out and takes it.

The Royal Guards cheer for the blow that lands—and for the blood that spills—and for the howls of pain and for the teeth that bite and for the hooves that stomp and for the claws that swipe. All the while, as his subordinates cheer, Rose Blade smiles slowly, coyly, reveling in the sight of a beautiful mare battling a beautiful beast.

Finally, the bear-trap jaws of the Wharg come down on Rainbow Dash, teeth digging into either side and lifting her up off the floor. A sound erupts out of Rainbow Dash’s mouth—not a scream, not a shout, but a sound like cracking thunder. The Wharg has drawn out her anger, and as it shakes Rainbow Dash around like a rag doll, its jaws closing more and more on the clamp, bending it, breaking it little by little, that anger festers—and broils—and electrifies—and the moment that clamp breaks with a bang, Rainbow Dash escapes like a cannonball fired from its barrel.

Cheers and whoops from the audience. An approving smile from Rose Blade. Were Rainbow Dash not pissed off to her current extent, she might have opened her pride’s mouth wide and gorged upon the praise. Her ego might have been nourished by their adoration.

But not today.

Her audience and their cheering fade away like somepony slowly turning the volume down on a radio. They quiet, quiet, quiet until the world is only Rainbow Dash and the Wharg. The dead bodies, torn with their insides and their blood painting the floor, sink into darkness. The world is only Rainbow Dash and the Wharg.

As Rainbow Dash flies above the Wharg, it looks up with those purple, feral eyes burning brightly. She drops like a hammer, hooves out. It opens its mouth, teeth bared. Again, a clash. Again, blood. Again howls and roars and cheers.

A hoof extends, a nose it bends, and the Wharg lets out a roar. A paw is whipped, and flesh is ripped: blood flutters to the floor. Cheers and jeers all abound as there comes a second round of hooves of steel and claws so long. Their shadows dance in death’s advance—their battle rings like a song. Thumping applause at punches and claws, every voyeur in the audience grins.

And all the while, Rose Blade smiles—because whoever falls, he’s the one who wins.

Shatterstorm snaps out of it. His breathing is even worse now than when he came in, his heartbeat an incessant clamor in his ears. All around him, darkness and the stench of death. In front of him, a wall colored by the lights dancing in front of his eyes—the things you see when you close your eyes so hard you see shapes.

He suddenly feels cold. Spent. Heavy. Every inch of him is covered in sweat. Every inch of him hurts. Every inch of him heaves with every tired, ugly breath.

And there, lying beneath him, is Whisper White: unconscious, bruised, beaten, bleeding, one eye crumpled into unrecognizable jelly, and still

fucking

smiling.

He shudders. Shatterstorm never liked this bastard. But he has to admit, this scuffle was… enjoyable. Relieving, even. Haven’t been in a fight like that since the Changeling invasion.

He takes one last sigh of breath as he gets up off Whisper White and stumbles his way to the bathroom, where no doubt Rainbow Dash waits. On his way there, the kitchen nook—still lit, by the way—reveals a body bag. Evidently, this guest wasn’t invited to tea time with the others.

He opens the door.

He turns on the light.

The blood. The instruments lying behind the bathtub. The chains on the floor, tying into the walls and to the toilet. Shatterstorm has had to see some truly ugly things in this line of work, but this is…

He sees the feather. Cyan feathers.

Her feathers.

The body bag out in the kitchen nook. Shatterstorm turns to look at it, his jaw going slack, his ears drooping, his breathing once again becoming spastic.

“No,” he whispers meekly, his eyes growing wide and wet.

No. Not Rainbow Dash. There’s no way she’d have gone down without a fight. There’s no way she…

Just like there was no way Tiger Cross could have gone down without a fight. No way. But he still fell. He still was killed—because you are worthless and you weren’t there.

You were useless to Tiger Cross. You were useless to Rainbow Dash. You’re useless to everypony. You can't save them. You can’t save anyone. WORTHLESS.

Wait. Stop. Stop. Don’t fall apart.

He breathes deeply. His breath is still shaky, interspersed with tense half-sobs.

Shatterstorm walks to the body bag and, with some reluctance, draws the zipper down to reveal the cavernous remains of a face. He gags, hot bile begging to escape, forcing it all back down. The zipper goes further down, revealing the ravaged body of a complete stranger. No form of identification… just another nameless traitor, another bag of flesh Rose Blade had his way with—another sin he’ll be made to pay for.

While this poor soul met a gruesome end, Shatterstorm whispers a prayer of thanks to Celestia that Rainbow Dash may still be alive. But was Roaring Yawn lying about keeping her in the bathroom, or…?

Back into the bathroom, where all the blood and all the implements of horror lie. His eyes scan the room again, picking up detail after detail, looking for a clue. There’s a grill next to the tub, with all the other dangerous instruments. How had he missed that before?

And up above, an open air vent...

Shatterstorm snorts and shakes his head in irritation. “Dammit, Rainbow Dash,” he growls as he crawls up into the shaft. “Would it kill you to be feminine for once and let yourself be rescued?!”

The wall behind Rainbow Dash is nice enough to catch her, but rough enough to leave bruises and cruel enough to just toss her to the ground. For one tempting moment, unconsciousness dares dangle its carrot in front of Rainbow Dash’s nose, taking her legs’ will to stand and clouding her vision with spots and filling her ears with ringing silence.

Her body is this close to simply breaking. All the claw swipes and the bites and the bashing and the crashing have left Rainbow Dash in tatters. The Wharg charges her once more, its strides clumsy and tired.

Every muscle in her body, bleeding and battered, screams to simply lie down, give it time to rest, time to heal, to mend—to die, most likely. But that cutie mark on her flanks is a mark of destiny, a badge she earned by never going down easy, and never tiring, and never giving up.

Rainbow Dash forces herself to stand, pushes herself. She wishes she’d always been one who pushed herself, but there were years where she didn’t. Where she simply was a hot-headed loser, skipping lessons, falling asleep during class, not bothering to put any effort into becoming better...

The Wharg gets closer.

But that changed, didn’t it, Rainbow Dash? At some point, you realized how you were letting down everypony who believed in you. Dad never raised a loser, and he’d tell you. Every day. Maybe he’d compliment you on what you did right, or maybe he’d yell at you when you did something wrong, but he never gave you permission to lose.

Closer.

Dad didn’t raise a loser.

Closer…

Mom didn’t die for a loser.

The Wharg’s mouth opens.

A hoof covered in blood snaps it back shut.

Rainbow Dash’s wings carry her up—and around—and with a few mighty pumps, those same wings fire her like a laser beam—bouncing off the Wharg’s jaw—into its rib—through its hind legs—onto its back—across its face—across its face—across its face. Her hooves connect like electricity with every blow, frying the circuitry of the Wharg’s brain and body.

The Wharg, finally, lets out one last warbling howl before it falls forward, beaten bloody and senseless.

Rainbow Dash stands atop her fallen foe’s furry form, panting with exhaustion, sweat and blood caked to her body like war paint. She notices her audience has stopped cheering, instead just staring at the spectacle with wide eyes and gaping jaws. She flings her head back, sweat sparkling as it flies from her forehead, and gives out a throaty yell.

“WHO ELSE WANTS SOME?!”

The Guards all back down. Rose Blade rolls his eyes. “Fools,” he says, “she’s the one in the cage.”

“Sh-Should we go in and retrieve her, sir?” asks one Guard shyly.

Rose Blade looks once more at Rainbow Dash. Observing her. How beautiful she is, covered in blood and sweat. She’s a valkyrie, a warrior. All pegasi are, to some degree—but she’s a goddess among all of them, and the dangerous part is she knows it.

Still, even goddesses falter. Those two incompetent Princesses are proof enough.

He waves a hoof dismissively. “No,” he says. “Those iron bars should stay down. If she tries escaping, those wounds she has won’t let her get very far.” He looks up thoughtfully at the air vents she’d come in through. “Let’s see, now… She’s probably trying to escape, so she’s headed… yes, that ventilation system runs through the auditorium to the main hall, the kitchen, and the mess hall from here. Gather the best troops and place three or more of you at each vent.”

The Guard looks at his comrades. “You heard the Captain. Let’s move!”

As his troops get into position, Rose Blade looks back to Rainbow Dash as she half-struts, half-stumbles off the Wharg. Covered in sweat. Covered in blood. Good and roughed. A valkyrie. Goddess-like beauty.

Yes. Beautiful.

Rose Blade licks his lips. And smiles.

Her lungs feel as though they’ve swelled up bigger than her head. Her heart feels like it’s battling every artery, every vein, every capillary just to keep blood pumping. Her skin feels like it’s on fire. Her wings feel like every feather has been plucked off, every muscle twisted into something shapeless.

But Rainbow Dash staggers on. She regains her balance, finally, as she looks back up to the air vent. She sighs, and beats her wings, giving herself some lift, reaching up for the air vent. Her wings ache with every flutter.

She falls back down, landing on legs that have become jelly, falling to a belly dressed in blood and claw marks, panting heavily. Her body has become too heavy to lift. Her adrenaline subsides like a tide, leaving each wound to sparkle under a hot sun.

She opens her eyes and looks aside, catching Rose Blade smiling at her. Licking his lips like a pervert. Leering. Itching. Waiting for his chance at her. Her stomach lurches.

Sound becomes distortions. Sight becomes kaleidoscopes. Feeling becomes numbness. Everything begins swimming away from her. As her breathing becomes increasingly harsh, Rainbow Dash drifts into an ocean of a broken mind and broken body.

The first time she’d met Fluttershy at flight camp, the poor thing—so scrawny, so helpless—getting bullied—should rescue—and she did.

Her first race—against those three jock losers—broke the record—broke the sound barrier—did a Sonic Rainboom—Dad was so proud—first time she’d seen him shed tears of joy.

The first time she and Gilda tried witch weed—how they choked and sputtered—and got the giggles—and couldn’t stop—and they laughed and laughed.

The Wharg’s eyes snap open.

Pinkie Pie pulling pranks with her—the disappearing ink—the candy that tastes like boogers—classic stuff—lots and lots of laughs.

It grunts.

Read Mom’s letter—so beautiful—never met—never hugged—never kissed—never got the chance to truly love her—read Mom’s letter—her father cried.

It pulls itself back up on wobbly legs.

She challenged Applejack—so many contests—so many victories—so many losses—more than enough draws—best friends—best rivals—like sisters—sisters because you couldn’t have any—asked Dad once why not many years ago—first time she’d seen her father cry.

It stumbles and it staggers, but it comes closer.

Twilight Sparkle’s birthday—first time she’d celebrated her birthday with her friends—so much fun—Rarity kept leaving—so much fun—best friends.

Its lips draw back, revealing rows of teeth.

Met Shatterstorm just after all this insanity started—good guy—she can tell—too uptight—but good—she can tell—makes her angry—makes him angry—but feels good—good guy—she can tell—don’t leave

It growls, hungry.

don’t leave

The Wharg distorts into a blur. Rainbow Dash’s eyes are wet.

don’t leave

Rainbow Dash’s legs push her up, slowly, painfully.

don’t leave me here

The Wharg’s teeth look so much longer and sharper now that they’re only two feet away.

don’t look!

Yawning darkness. Crowned by yellowed fangs. A single, grotesque pink tentacle slithers out.

The wall said DON’T LOOK

The crow said DON’T LOOK

DON’T LOOK

But she ignores the warnings. Rainbow Dash looks anyway, staring deeply down into oblivion. She raises a hoof, ready to give one last punch. If I die, says the courage in the back of her mind, I’ll do it standing up, eyes wide!

The Wharg yelps. Falls.

Rainbow Dash blinks in stunned confusion, her hoof frozen in place.

Shatterstorm stands on top of the Wharg’s head. Its body has gone limp, its fangs stuck into its extended tongue, blood dribbling over its mouth. Shatterstorm himself looks beat-up, tired, hurt: one side of his face beginning to bloat with bruises, blood from his lip, a black eye. He has his usual scowl, and his usual screwed-down eyebrows that always make him look constantly pissed off. But his eyes shimmer, just like hers, with relief.

“Dunno about you,” Shatterstorm says in forced coolness, “but I’m getting outta here.” He extends a hoof. “You coming or not?”

The Wolf Revealed, Part VI

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Suddenly, all the energy that escaped Rainbow Dash before refills. Too Tired to Fly blossoms into The Strength of God. Her lips turn up in a smirk as she reaches out to his hoof. “I was about to leave without you. Where’ve you been?”

“Just cleaning up,” Shatterstorm says with a smirk to match Rainbow Dash’s. He takes her hoof in his, loading her onto his back.

“I can still fly, you know!” she growls.

“You’re not doing anything, with the shape you’re in,” he shoots back. “I’ll handle the escape, thank you very much.”

There’s an argument brewing inside her, but there isn’t time to act on it. Rainbow Dash eyes the air vent above. “If we get into the air vents, we can—”

“No air vents,” Shatterstorm says suddenly, his wings—almost larger than his own body—popping open. “We’re taking a faster route. Hang on!”

Shatterstorm had her at “faster.”

His wings pump, each beat unleashing a sound like a dragon’s roar as the two pegasi shoot towards one of the auditorium’s iron-barred exits. His hooves extend forward. “Brace yourself!” he shouts.

The iron bars bend and die with a squeal of twisted metal. Spitfire had told Rainbow Dash how Shatterstorm could plow through obstacles as if they were—if Rainbow Dash recalls correctly—“wet toilet paper.” If Rainbow Dash didn’t believe her before, she does now.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” Shatterstorm murmurs as he flexes his fetlocks. Rainbow Dash hides a snicker.

The rest of the hall whips by them, each dragon-roar beat of Shatterstorm’s wings carrying them faster and faster. Rainbow Dash glances behind them and finds Royal Guard pegasi giving chase. She grins just before blowing a raspberry at them.

“Brace yourself!” Shatterstorm shouts again.

Rainbow Dash hears the window break before she even feels the impact. Glass flutters by her like snowflakes before she shuts her eyes, as if taking a photograph. In her mind, the glass snowflakes glitter against early morning sunlight. The wind whips by her. Shatterstorm’s wings roar like dragons. It’s a moment she’ll remember for a long time—that moment and the wild freedom it fills her with.

Shatterstorm cuts. And dives. And corkscrews. And ducks. And Rainbow Dash hangs on, her tired wings clinging to her battered body, as the Royal Guards giving chase clumsily crash into buildings behind them, into bridges and towers as Shatterstorm feints and rolls and swerves.

A murder of crows cackle by, their wings fluttering as they fly towards their pursuers. Suddenly, the Guards stop. Their faces become pale. Their eyes widen. They turn tail and fly away, the crows not even having so much as pecked at them. The crows then fly back down to earth, their cackling falling quiet.

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. Just as she’s about to wonder aloud what all that was about, she’s answered by a loud, sudden shout from one of the rooftops below. Something tiny rockets by her ear, screaming into it, nibbling its edge for roughly one tenth of a second.

The sound of the shout is joined by other, similar shouts, and more of the tiny rockets fly by. Shatterstorm wavers as he curses, dropping altitude, heading straight for the ground. Rainbow Dash closes her eyes

(don’t look!)

and opens them, the fog all around them growing thicker as they descend. Even through these bothersome pillows of fallen clouds, she can make out tall, slender, almost lizardlike forms squatting on the rooftops, holding in their two hands a long, slim something: something that extends a red frog’s tongue of light before its end flashes and shouts and spits the tiny rockets that threaten to rip them to shreds.

Down, down Shatterstorm goes—and the long red lights follow them—and the rockets still scream—and the rooftops still shout—and there’s a slight thud as Shatterstorm touches down—and there’s the uneven gait of a full gallop as Shatterstorm takes off—and the shouts from the rooftops are followed by the rockets bouncing everywhere—and there’s monstrous laughter all around them—and there’s burning balls of fire set in dark caves set in laughing, ruined faces—and skeleton things give chase with their ghostly strides and shimmering blades—and Shatterstorm’s hooves pound on—and the two pegasi keep a prayer in their hearts, hoping beyond hope that escape is near.

Another shout from the rooftops. One of the tiny rockets ricochets off the cobblestone, almost hitting Shatterstorm in the head.

The chasing skeleton things are closing in. Rainbow Dash can see their forms in the fog. Her mind races.

Another shout from the rooftops. A streetlight shatters with a pop.

Then Rainbow Dash gets an idea. She smiles meanly as she stands up on Shatterstorm’s back. “What are you doing?!” he shouts over the rockets that smack against ground and brick.

“Trust me on this!” she replies. “Just keep running!”

The closest skeleton thing raises its blade and runs what might have once been a tongue over its twisted teeth. Rainbow Dash unfurls her wings, and with a pained, mighty flap, throws a strong gust of wind at their pursuer. As it curls into a tornado, the wind grabs hold of the skeletal thing, launching it into the air, where it flails as clumsily as a ragdoll. The others run by their comrade as it crashes to the ground below, left broken and to rot.

Their chase continues for some ways for some time. Rainbow Dash alternates between throwing wind at their pursuers and holding onto Shatterstorm as more of the tiny rockets fly, bouncing off the ground with metal yelps. Shatterstorm unfurls his own wings, taking off but staying close to the foggy ground—zigging and zagging much more easily than on hoof, putting a greater amount of distance between their pursuers and themselves.

Finally, Shatterstorm turns down an alley and throws Rainbow Dash into a dumpster. He jumps in after her, warning her with only his body language to keep her head down and her mouth shut. With fast movements, he buries the both of them underneath heavy trash bags. Rainbow Dash’s nostrils are assaulted by the smell. To save her nose she breathes through her mouth: slowly, and through clenched teeth.

Just outside the dumpster come the pitter-patter of small feet. The skritch-scratch of claws. The pitter-patter and the skritch-scratch remind Rainbow Dash of the way Gilda walks when she’s on all fours: the quiet pads of her lion’s feet interspersing with the scratching of her talons. Then comes the clink-clunk of heavy, armored feet, entering the alley with slow, powerful strides.

A trash can is knocked over. Another. There’s a sound like cardboard being torn, and a pot breaking. Nearby, a door is kicked and many of the searching feet charge in.

Her heart jumps to her throat as she feels the garbage bags getting pulled at. Some are moved around. She hears something above them breathe heavily, pulling fetid air into what must be only a remnant of lungs.

There comes a voice from some distance away, speaking hurriedly in a language that sounds oddly familiar to Rainbow Dash—but in words she doesn’t quite understand. A voice from above responds, in that same familiar-unfamiliar language. The first voice then barks at the second.

The second voice sighs in exasperation. Then the trash bag is put down. Footsteps receding, stopping by where the kicked-door sound erupted from.

A few seconds tick by, and it’s only now that Rainbow Dash realizes she hasn’t drawn any breath for some time. Just as she inhales a small lungful, there’s sounds of violence from inside the building the monsters invaded. Things getting knocked over. Warbling laughter. A scream for help, cut short by a wet, sharp, sudden sound.

She fidgets. A hoof reaches out and stops her before that fidget can become anything else.

Rainbow Dash looks aside and catches Shatterstorm, eyes wide open, his mouth a long, thin line. His nostrils flare with a released, terrified breath as he shakes his head.

There's more screaming, this time from a more feminine-sounding voice. More begging. More laughter. This keeps going, the screaming and begging becoming more frantic, more panicked, more in pain. All the while, Shatterstorm keeps Rainbow Dash grounded and silent.

Silence. Then, the door opens. Pitter-pattering footsteps. Clinking armor. Scratching talons. All exit the building, accompanied by a new sound: something being dragged along. There’s a few more comments in that familiar-unfamiliar language, coupled with sinister chuckling from its fellows. This ghastly parade marches by the dumpster, then out of the alley, gradually fading away.

They wait a few more minutes, until finally, all is quiet.

She sinks—is sinking. The green of her mental ocean clouds with darkness. The ringing in her ears buzzes until silent. Sinking. Down where it is blackest and quietest. Death?

She looks about, but there’s nothing here in the deep. No Pale Horse riding in through the darkness to come and whisk her away from the insanity that pulls her apart every time she wakes. She is alone.

It’s dark and cold and oppressive, but she is alone.

She barely even recalls how she got sent back down here. There was a warrior mare… a valkyrie. A valkyrie who screamed and destroyed and conquered. That’s all she can remember.

No, wait—there is something else. The valkyrie’s voice. Raspy. Cocky. Like Vinyl’s.

Vinyl, where are you?

She reaches out to the darkness. The darkness reaches back.

Vinyl, I… I need you.

She sinks further.

Vinyl… I-I’m cold…

Cold. Yes. Cold.

Suddenly, something reaches down. Something pulls her up. She thrashes and squirms in its too-strong grip, squealing as she’s pulled back to the surface where it’s colder and greener and noisier, sobbing because she cannot die—she cannot escape—she cannot be without this monster.

She opens her eyes.

The Wharg opens its eyes.

The open mouth of the broken window howls quietly as the morning air wisps through it. Jagged ends like teeth, twinkling against the modest sunlight shining through. Rose Blade looks up to this mouth, taking in its splendor.

He runs a hoof through his firetruck-red mane in thought. An escape like this feels too… organized. Too orchestrated. The Wharg waking up precisely before Rainbow Dash escapes? And Shatterstorm somehow getting loose around the same time? He’d even had Shatterstorm put in the special-made cell, the one with the strongest door—and yet he still got out? The pieces don’t fit.

He runs his hoof through his mane again. An inside job. They had a pony on the inside. Yes.

…Roaring Yawn. The Wharg was his charge. And he even had Shatterstorm locked up in order to perform experiments on him. Yes. Rose Blade runs his hoof through his mane again and scowls almost thoughtfully.

“Sir?” comes a voice from behind him.

“Report.”

“Shatterstorm and Rainbow Dash outran our troops into Dracula’s territory,” the Royal Guard says as he comes nearer. “Our troops withdrew the moment Malphas gave them a warning.”

Rose Blade nods begrudgingly and sighs. “There’s another plan gone up in smoke. Well, then, let’s allow those creatures to have their fun. What of the damages?”

“To the troops? It’s been profound, sir. Many are dead or unaccounted for. We found Whisper White in your… uh, quarters,” says the Royal Guard, no doubt shaken by what else they'd found. “He’s been badly wounded… sir.”

Rose Blade turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He’d sent Whisper White a while ago to clean up the body he’d forgotten to take care of…

“Somepony beat the bajeezus out of him,” the Guard continued. “We had our magic healers take care of him. They managed to fix his busted jaw, realign his ribs, and even grow back the teeth that had been knocked out, but they weren’t able to save his eye…”

Silence. Rose Blade’s smile has slunk away, leaving only a thin line to accompany the terrifying daggers of his stare. The Royal Guard swallows nervously. “Wh-Whisper White has regained consciousness; he, uh... he wishes to speak with you, sir.”

Another pause. “…Sir?”

“...Roaring Yawn.”

The Royal Guard gulps. “Uh…”

“Where is he? I suspect he has something to do with this.”

“With all due respect, sir, he’s also unaccounted for, along with several of the Guards. We assume they must have fled when the Wharg broke loose.”

Rose Blade’s nostrils flare. “How utterly convenient. The next time you see any of those deserters, I want them killed on sight.”

The Royal Guard—without any intention of following this insane order—stands upright and salutes. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“And what of our beloved beast, the Wharg?”

“It’s been detained. They’re awaiting your decision on what to—”

But before the Royal Guard can finish, there come shouts from down the hall. Shouts and howls and screams and the erratic, rampaging vibrations of something huge coming right this way.

Around the corner comes the Wharg, its fur matted and soaked with blood, its teeth dyed red, its tiny purple eyes twinkling madly in its cavernous skull. It stops momentarily the moment it sees Rose Blade. Then it bounds for him.

Rose Blade merely sneers. His horn glows, and with a quiet pop, he disappears, teleporting himself away to safety.

The Royal Guard giving him the report is not as fortunate, however. The Wharg’s grasping, groping jaws clench around his midsection as it launches itself forward, through the mouth of the broken window, breaking more of the glass, through to the morning sky outside, the broken pieces glittering as they fall with the Wharg and its victim to the ground far, far below.

Other Royal Guards run to the window, looking outside cautiously and murmuring. A flash of green light accompanied with a second pop alerts them to their leader’s reappearance. They look his way and part as he walks through their crowd, joining them in looking outside.

Outside the window, on the courtyard below, lies the Wharg. Its body is crumpled and in pieces. Blood stains the stone. The Royal Guard it took with it isn’t in much better shape. Rose Blade sneers. “Such a waste,” he growls as he turns away.

The other Guards continue to look out the window as Rose Blade walks down the hall. Suddenly, one of the Guards pipes up. “Uh, Captain Rose Blade, sir?”

He stops. “Yes?”

The Royal Guard waves a hoof, beckoning Rose Blade to come back. “We think you should probably see this…”

He looks back out the window. The blood still stains the stones… but the Wharg’s crumpled body… uncrumples. The legs that broke twist and snap and jolt back into place. The cockeyed position of its head resets with a hard crunch Rose Blade can hear even from this far up.

The Wharg gets back up as if it hadn’t just fallen three stories down. It shakes the body of the Guard like a chew toy, throws it down, and dashes across the courtyard, its four blurring legs carrying it past the pikes and the victims they hoist, scaring the crows off them as it runs—then bounds—then leaps—then scales the wall. It escapes back into Lost Canterlot, evanescing back into the thick fog and faint, murky buildings of its stomping grounds.

Rose Blade drums a hoof on the floor nervously, stunned by what he just saw. The world around him goes dead for a few seconds, his mind devoured by the image of what madness this place has become. What madness.

Madness.

What am I doing? asks a tiny voice.

“…Sir?”

Rose Blade waves his hoof, dismissing the invasive doubt before it can take root. “Yes?”

“Your orders, sir?”

He thinks for a second. “Regroup. Take a census. See who’s still here.”

As the Royal Guards leave the Captain, he stands there. Staring out the window. Out at the courtyard where the traitors all sit on pikes. At the wall that was penetrated so easily.

His defenses. Penetrated. So easily.

Easily. So easily.

“...Shit,” he says hauntedly, shaking his head.

Shatterstorm slowly parts the trash bags above them, shyly lifting his head up enough to look about. His heart sinks. There’s a big trail of blood, fresh from the looks of it, forming a carpet from the broken-down door to his left to the end of the alley at his right. Poor ponies never stood a chance…

He lifts one ear to the wind. Nothing.

“I think we’re safe for now,” he whispers. “We’re gonna need to be really quiet from here on in.”

He crawls out of the dumpster and helps Rainbow Dash out from under the trash bags. Her eyes widen sorrowfully at the blood trail. She looks from it, to Shatterstorm.

“We should have done something,” she whispers.

“Like what?” Shatterstorm says, waving a hoof. “We’re tired, we’re hungry, you’re badly wounded, and we were outnumbered. It’s not like we even knew anypony was hiding nearby. It was just… bad luck.”

“But all we did was just…” Rainbow Dash struggles for words. “…Was just… hide.”

Shatterstorm scoffs in disbelief. She must see the anger bubbling in his eyes, because she scowls at him in disgust. Before this can erupt into an argument neither of them need, Shatterstorm closes his eyes, exhales, and places a foreleg on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash. I know you wanna help ponies in need… but there are just some situations where we can’t give that help.”

He looks her over once more—drinking in the claw slashes and the teeth marks and the bruises and all the blood—and bites his lower lip in worry. “Here we are, having a morality debate while you’re bleeding to death,” he says, hurrying to change the subject. “We need to patch you up.”

Rainbow Dash just stands there, looking tired and dizzy, but says nothing.

Shatterstorm looks around the end of the alley. Just across the street is a general store. The fog is too dense to really look around. His ears perk. No sounds. Just a lonely wind. He turns to Rainbow Dash, who stumbles forth behind him.

“There’s a general store across the street,” Shatterstorm says. “We can see if there’s any supplies left there so we can restock what we lost at the base. They likely have bandages and first aid kits. Get on my back, OK? I can carry you there.” He gets down on his knees.

“I can walk,” she croaks. Rainbow Dash takes a few staggering, stubborn hoofsteps forward.

Shatterstorm grunts in vexation, moving forward quickly, dunking his head under Rainbow Dash’s side. Before she can protest, she’s up and on his back as he quietly flutters forth, quickly hovering over the street. It’s amazing how quiet he is now, compared to the dragon-roar beats of his wings from before.

He stops, setting her back down. Rainbow Dash makes sure to give him her biggest scowl. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” Shatterstorm says snidely as he tries the door. It’s locked.

“Can’t you just break in?”

“And draw attention?”

Rainbow Dash waves him out of the way and looks at the doorknob, screwing one eye shut while analyzing it closely with the other like it’s the most difficult math equation in the world. Before a befuddled Shatterstorm can ask what she’s doing, Rainbow Dash unfurls a wing, the tips of her feathers extending like claws.

Carefully, she inserts one of those feathers into the door’s lock. Rainbow Dash gazes at it with her comical scrutiny again, slowly turning it this way... that way... over and around... until finally, the door pops open with a quiet click. She pulls the door open slowly, hoping it won’t creak too loudly.

She walks into the general store a few steps before looking back at Shatterstorm. She cocks her head, telling him to follow. Shatterstorm shrugs and does as he’s told, closing and locking the door behind him.

The general store houses many of the things they’d missed—food, medicine, and saddlebags for them to carry their new possessions. Much of the place had already been looted, but there’s at least enough left over for them to grab. The entire place is covered in dust, grime building on woodwork that must have been polished to a fine luster once upon a time. Racks and rows of merchandise stand like forgotten islands. Boarded-up windows spit only little pools of modest light here and there.

Even though the back door they’d gone through was locked, the front door was not. And in the foyer in front of said door was more signs of struggle. Bloodstains and feathers. Shatterstorm observes one. Pegasus feather. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head.

With some effort, Shatterstorm manages to block the foyer entrance with some of the heavier furnishings. Then he goes to the back door—where he had and Rainbow Dash had stolen through—and locks it back up, leaving a heavy chair in front of it. Might not be enough to stop whatever monsters are patrolling this end of Canterlot, but at least it would slow them down, buying them time to find an escape. After finding a lamp they can work under, Shatterstorm sets it on the cashier counter, lighting it. Rainbow Dash seats herself on the counter, groaning with the effort.

Now comes the tricky part.

The moment the isopropyl kisses her wounds, Rainbow Dash grits her teeth and holds a scream. Shatterstorm presses the soaked cloth deeply against the claw and bite marks, and she can feel her flesh bubble under its touch. “Don’t scream,” Shatterstorm warns.

Rainbow Dash grunts.

He goes through several cloths before he’s sure he’s cleaned the wounds. One gash went particularly deep—and upon seeing it, Shatterstorm looks around the general store until he spots what he needs.

“Where are you going?” asks Rainbow Dash as he gets up and walks towards an aisle.

“Just hang on for a sec,” Shatterstorm says back.

He rounds an aisle and picks something up where Rainbow Dash can’t see him. When he rounds the aisle again, he comes back to her carrying a needle and thread.

Rainbow Dash gulps. “Sorry I gotta do this,” Shatterstorm says earnestly as he cleans the needle.

The needle bites through her skin. It pulls the thread into and out of her. She jerks and whimpers with every stroke. “Hold still,” Shatterstorm warns sternly.

“Kinda hard to do that.”

A few more. Shatterstorm reaches his head over, takes the thread between his teeth and breaks it. “OK, we’re done with that.” Then he breaks out the gauze and gets to work.

She feels the way Shatterstorm’s hooves glide over her body. His touch isn’t anything like Rose Blade’s—no carnal intent behind his hooves, no threat behind his quiet movements. It’s careful. Thoughtful. Even a bit gentle.

“…So, uh… since when did you become a doctor?” Rainbow Dash asks, awkwardly trying to start conversations.

“You get yourself hurt enough times and you eventually learn how to put yourself back together,” he says with a sad smirk. He puts some gauze around her leg. “What about you? When did you become such a master of unlocking, anyway?”

Rainbow Dash chuckles nostalgically. “Used to hang out with this one griffon,” she starts. “I wanna say she was a bad influence—and Dad sure seemed to think so—but looking back now, I think we were friends because we were both losers, and we knew it.” She smiles and shakes her head.

“She taught you how to pick locks?”

“Sorta,” Rainbow Dash continues. “She used her talons. But she knew how to use her wings to do it, too, so she showed me how. We broke into a couple places that way.”

Shatterstorm laughs. “So you were thieves?”

Rainbow Dash shakes her head. “Yeah, the Great Candy Store Robbery made headlines, didn’t you see it?” She elbows Shatterstorm playfully. “We made off with a candy bar here or a six-pack of beer there, but most of the time, we just broke in so we could say we did. But yeah, that was… that was just, forever ago. Y’know?”

Shatterstorm looks at her quietly, then smiles, snorts in laughter, and shakes his head. He backs away, putting his medical kit back into his saddlebag. “I wish I could recommend rest, but that’s not something we’re gonna have a lot of. I just feel I ought to warn you: be careful if you find yourself in another combat situation.”

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“The first thing the enemy is going to see is that you’re wounded,” he explains, pointing to the patches of gauze here and there. “And because they know where the wounds are, they’re gonna aim for them. It’s dirty, but nopony ever won a fight by playing fair.”

After an awkward length of quiet, Rainbow Dash shyly looks away. It occurs to Shatterstorm, just as she looks away, that they were sharing eye contact for far longer than they usually do. Finally, Rainbow Dash exhales. “Shatterstorm?”

“Yeah?”

“...Thanks.”

“You act like it hurts to thank me, Rainbow Dash,” Shatterstorm says with a playful smirk.

She returns it. “You could have just said ‘You’re welcome,’ like everypony else.”

“Everypony Else? Who’s Everypony Else? Never met him.”

She pauses. Then her smirk breaks into a smile as she looks away with a tired, amused look in her eyes. A chuckle climbs its way out of her throat as she shakes her head. The joke wasn’t particularly funny—but heck, it was relieving, after everything that’s happened.

Shatterstorm exhales. “Okay,” he says, “I give them two hours before they start really cracking down on their search for us. I’ll keep watch the first hour, and you can keep watch the second hour.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re keeping watch?”

Shatterstorm stares at Rainbow Dash awkwardly. “…Sleep?” he offers, finally.

Rainbow Dash snickers. “Sleep is for the weak!”

“Then do me a favor and be weak,” he says flatly as he walks toward the front door. Shatterstorm stops on the foyer, suddenly standing rigid like he’d been trained to do.

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes and sits down on the floor, readying her saddlebags as a pillow to rest her head. Sleep. What a laugh. She doesn’t even feel tired—not that she needs to, for as soon as her head hits the saddlebags, she’s out like a light.

Successor of Fate, Part I

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Twilight groans, the air in her lungs billowing out as cold wisps. There’s the distinct music of foals’ laughter somewhere, playfully fluttering by her ears. She hears somepony run by—but she doesn’t feel it, strangely. She doesn’t feel the presence of another pony or set of ponies, she doesn’t feel their body heat as they brush by. There’s the laughter and the sets of hooves, and they are but sounds.

She opens her eyes with the same effort one would if they were just waking. The blurry colors before her swim aimlessly before melting back into something familiar. Much to her shock, Twilight finds that these colors form an image more familiar than she expects: the hallways are the same as when she’d left, and the tapestry is the same as when she’d left, and even the sterile smell is the same as when she’d left. Sunlight sprinkles through the windows of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns…

…Just like it did the day she got her cutie mark.

More sounds. The music of foals’ laughter, the murmur of teachers’ discussion, the encouraging words of parents. But there’s nopony around to attach these sounds to. It’s all so ghostly.

“How the heck…?”

Twilight places a hoof against her temples, her other three holding fast to the floor. Numbness grips her body and spins her head. How did she get here? With some effort, her mind finds her spilled puzzle box of recent memory, and gets to work putting the pieces back together.

She and Spike had just dipped the Pan’s Needles into the modified ink. That much is clear. Spike had said something that made Twilight flinch, but she can’t recall what it was. Might have been something she took too seriously, might have just been Spike opening his mouth without knowing what he was really trying to say.

Then there was a small argument over that. Over what exactly, she can’t really remember.

Her mind pushes that thought away for now, and focuses on the book Charlotte had sent. The Blank Book.

It was thick, with empty pages yellowed from years of disuse. The hard cover, baby blue with a silver lion’s head roaring silently, silver leaves all around the edges. It had a look of ancient significance to it, in spite of its apparent lack of content.

She’d spoken to it, using the strange words Charlotte had written…

…and then everything else was blank.

“Did I…?” Twilight dare not finish her sentence. But it’s true, isn’t it? That she’s been sucked inside the book? But that doesn’t explain…

Twilight walks through this hall, taking in the nostalgic sounds and the misty environment. Her hoofsteps are inaudible, as if paradoxically she is the unreal one. She sees the door up ahead—the door to the room where she’d taken the entrance exam.

A voice pierces through the clamor around her. Her father’s. “Are you ready?” he asks, in his rich Germane accent. “No turning back now, Twilight.”

“Settle down, Nightlight,” returns the voice of her mother. “You’re going to scare her!”

“I’m not scared,” says a younger, more innocent voice. Her own voice, years ago. It’s shaky and uncertain.

There may be no image, but Twilight remembers the way her mother wrapped her into a hug. How her father smiled. Their warmth. Their comfort. Everything.

“It’s okay to be scared,” her father continues. “Really, it is okay. Your mother and I are going to be here. You’re going to do fine.”

Twilight remembers her mother giving her a kiss on the cheek. The memory of it makes her eyes grow moist. She hadn’t stopped to think about it before, but she really misses her parents. And with everything the way it is, now…

No. Don’t go there.

Maybe it takes an hour for her to collect herself, maybe it takes a second. Or maybe it takes a lifetime. With her wits gathered, Twilight opens the door and walks through.

She gasps. Where there should have been an auditorium, there instead sits rows of books and spiraling staircases and books lying open on the floor and windows that cast squares of sunlight onto the walls. Isn’t this place…?

“Spike!” she hears herself call out from upstairs. “Spiii-iiike!”

“Coming!” comes Spike from someplace. “Just a moment!”

“You better not be reading those books I told you not to!”

Twilight’s surprise is traded for a snort of laughter. She remembers that: the way she’d caught Spike, red-clawed and red-faced, reading books Twilight wished never ended up in her library.

“No, I’m not,” Spike says earnestly.

She hears Spike walk up the stairs. Out of curiosity, Twilight follows. The stairs, like the floor, are decorated with open books, dog-eared and highlighted entries aplenty. There, at the top, her old room. The bed, the books, the telescope, the books, the… more books. Everything is in its proper place.

“Okay, I’m here,” Spike says. “Ready to assist!”

“Good,” comes a curt reply. “I need a test subject for this next spell.”

Twilight rolls her eyes and decides to leave before “past Twilight” tries to turn Spike into a mouse. She still remembers how Spike would wake her up in the middle of the night, bawling his eyes out because he had a nightmare where he was being eaten by a cat. Well, either that or he’d occasionally get a strange craving for cheese.

She goes back down the stairs, the doomed transformation spell above becoming quieter. She opens the door—

—and back where the hallway should be is instead the Ponyville Town Hall. The sounds of ponies chattering, the decorations here and there… This must be the night of the Summer Sun Celebration.

Twilight finds another door across the room and walks toward it as she hears the thunderclap of Nightmare Moon’s dramatic entry. Nightmare Moon’s booming voice proclaims how the night shall last forever as Twilight walks through the door.

Through this door, her last birthday party. Rarity’s excuses whisper ghost-like through the jubilee before she disappears again.

Through that door, Dodge Junction. The thunder that follows Applejack’s escape-wagon is deafening.

Another door. Celestia’s School while Twilight was in her teens.

Yet another door. Canterlot. The shuddering sound of Changelings crawling everywhere.

Another door.

Her parents’ house. The luminescence of Celestia’s morning sun beaming in from the windows casts stark shadows on the walls, causing even the small things to stand out and glitter. The smell of her mother’s cooking is intense and delicious, wafting in from a nearby kitchen. There comes the sound of playful foals tumbling down the stairs.

“No fair!” cries a tiny voice. Her own voice.

“Oh, come on,” returns another voice. “Twily, you’re never gonna win this game with that kind of an attitude.” His voice is strong and warm.

Twilight stops. Everything inside her stops: her blood, her heart, her brain. His words come crisp and loud into her ears, brushing by her thoughts like a breeze across wind chimes, then leaves, becoming quiet.

Her bottom lip quivers as her eyes grow hot.

Instead of listening through the rest of this memory, she darts for the nearest door, tearing it open and barreling through before the tears can even wet her face.

The hallway to the Castle is long and foreboding, occupied with a chill that bites bone. A legion of armors built for alien creatures to wear sit silently in neat rows amongst ruined walls. Marble-white sculptures and effigies and paintings observe Twilight as she walks down the corridor.

The chatter of Roaring Yawn and his comrades buzz about like mosquitoes from far away. Then she hears her own voice.

Then Shining Armor’s.

His voice is strong and warm.

Again, Twilight pauses, this time listening, and at the same time wanting to escape, to find an exit. She wipes at the moisture gathering around her nostrils, sniffling as her eyes travel out the windows.

Instead of Canterlot, there is white. White and trees and frozen lakes and sounds of joviality and merriment. A song bounces playfully against the Castle’s window. The Winter Wrap-Up?

Twilight’s hooves make no sound as she nears the window. The muttering conversations behind her fade into white noise as the song outside grows and grows and grows.

It’s beautiful and nostalgic, just like all her other memories. There’s a part of Twilight that longs for these days again—a part that takes her hoof and rests it against the window’s glass.

Nostalgia… is that the point of the Blank Book? Can’t be. Didn’t Charlotte say that Twilight would meet someone here? Twilight wonders how much longer she must navigate this memory-maze until she can find this person…

The window bursts in front of her with such force it knocks her backwards. Shards of glass rain down on her, their jagged little teeth sinking into her belly and forelegs as she lands on the carpet with a thud. There’s a repetitive, waving sound—the swinging leather of bat wings. A shrieking cackle is met by screams of terror and stampeding hooves and war whoops and the hum of unicorn horns and the angered barking of a voice usually so warm and strong.

No image. No bat. No ponies. And suddenly, no sound.

This must be the point in which Twilight panicked and fled.

Slowly, she stands back up, cringing with the effort. Looking down at herself, Twilight finds little red mouths grinning here and there, one or two with a glittering fang of glass sticking out. Twilight inhales a deep breath before closing her eyes, focusing her magic, and removing the glass from her body.

They slide out easily enough, but with such a sudden jerk it makes the smiles open wider. They drool blood, however slight.

More focus. The smiles become thinner, thinner, thinner, until finally they close. The blood still speckles her lavender pelt like morbid constellations.

That’s when Twilight notices something else. There’s a cold breeze coming in from outside the broken window. Snow wanders inside, fluttering whimsically, tiny white dancers in a wind-tossed ballroom. Carefully, Twilight clears the glass shards from the window and climbs up and out.

The snow had apparently piled up until it touched the lip of the castle window… or rather, it’s the ground that touches the lip. Twilight’s hooves settle on that ground, lifting her up and out of her memory of the Castle. A glance behind her reveals that the Castle’s windows sit not against any wall, but rather against the open air.

Curiously, Twilight walks around the line of windows. No matter from what angle she looks, each one gives her a glance inside the Castle, casting her own moving shadow inside, cautiously tiptoeing within the light spit onto the floors.

“This place,” Twilight says to nopony in particular. “Where am I?”

“Inside a magical book” is no longer an appropriate explanation. This is a place governed by dream logic and subconscious thought, where up is down and down is whatever it wants to be. Any law of gravity is overruled, every law of physics appealed in favor of mind-warping absurdity. Twilight assumes this is what the world must look like to Discord.

Then she looks up.

Planets hover above and all around, each one a unique shape, never round or spherical. Houses attach to castles attach to forests to theaters to battlefields to circuses to factories to deep beneath the oceans. So many of these deranged planets—all suspended midair by some unknown force (can’t be gravity; that’d make too much sense) against a vast, darkly kaleidoscoping void.

What catches Twilight’s eye the most is how each planet is held by a length of chain, anchored to a single point inside the void. Whatever that single point is, it is much too small for Twilight to make out from here. There’s a chain that runs from that point to close by...

Astounding. These planets must all be made up of memories…

Between each planet swim worming rivers that carry things that are too small to see from where Twilight sits, tiny black flies swarming inside a turquoise tube. These rivers curve and spiral and twist around each planet, the small black things moving forward forever.

Twilight observes these awesome sights—and observes—and observes. Hours might be passing, but since everything else is topsy-turvy, who cares?

Eventually, she feels a numbness growing in her flanks. She only realizes now that she’d sat down to view these magnificent planets, forgetting the snow beneath her. Quickly, she stands back up, shaking off the cold.

She only notices something is awry when she fails to hear the sounds of ponies at work or in song. Everything has fallen into total silence. Twilight looks about, her dark mane and tail whipping in the sudden gusts of wind.

There, walking amid the trees, is a figure tall and cloaked. It moves on a long pair of slender, black-booted legs, with what must be arms tucking their hands into pockets. The baby blue hood pulled over its head doesn’t hide the locks of golden hair spilling out from its mouth. The creature’s stride is slow, calculated. Disciplined, actually—and rather masculine despite its slight figure and feminine curves.

The figure weaves through the trees, through the brush, through the snow. Twilight watches and waits, nonplussed at what exactly this figure is, and what its intentions are. Could this be Charlotte’s “Boss”?

When the figure finally stops just four feet in front of Twilight—standing tall enough to cast a shadow over the little pony—she stays where she stands, her breath fuming from her pointed nose in cold clouds. Twilight can see a pair of pretty lips underneath the hood, but aside from that, nothing else.

Finally, the figure cocks its head to one side. Its voice, droll and maternal and painted with a unique accent, forms a question that bounces off Twilight’s head.

“...The hell are you?”

The pause that follows is palpable. “…C-Come again?” Twilight asks awkwardly.

“What, are you deaf?” the creature asks impatiently. She folds her arms, the drooping blue sleeves of her cloak forming curtains in front of her torso. “I asked you what the hell you are.”

Twilight blinks, clears her throat. “Uh, m-my name is Twilight Sparkle; I-I’m a unicorn.”

The creature nods. “Greetings, Twilight Sparkle I’m A Unicorn. I’m Sypha Belmont. I’d shake your hand, if you had one.”

There comes an awkward silence, but when she gets the joke, Twilight smirks, deflated.

Sypha takes a few, slow, oddly masculine steps around Twilight, as if getting a good view of her from every angle. Twilight raises an eyebrow awkwardly. “I take it unicorns aren’t a common sight where you’re from?” she asks.

“Not really,” Sypha answers, finishing her circle and coming to a stop.

Twilight leans her head away from Sypha, their eye contact unbreaking, a strange twist forming on her lips. Just what is this creature’s deal? Wait, is she…

“Are you…” Twilight clears her throat and tries again. “D-Do you know someone named Charlotte Aulin?”

A pause. Sypha takes her hood and folds it down, revealing gold curls and a face that could catch male attention (and likely a fair share of female attention) like flies to honey. Her eyes, an intense royal blue, analyze Twilight more closely. Then her lips—which so far could only scowl—suddenly break into a smile. “You know Charlie?”

Twilight nods.

Sypha looks around for a second—this way, that way, smiling—before asking, “She here?”

Twilight shakes her head.

The smile vanishes from Sypha’s face just as quickly as it had appeared, becoming a dismissive sneer as she looks angrily to one side. Sypha mutters something Twilight can’t make out besides its short, terse tone.

“Uh, sh-she gave me a note,” Twilight adds, summoning it in a pop of magic. The page hovers in front of Sypha for a second before she snatches it rudely from the air. Twilight silently wishes people wouldn’t grab things still in her telekinesis like that—it gives a sensation like having your brain tugged at.

Sypha’s intense royal blue eyes analyze the letter, a look of haughty indignation combing her face. Suddenly, she looks up from the letter at Twilight, her lips pursed. Her chest heaves with a sigh, her face frozen in that haughty indignation for a good minute.

“Is something wrong?” Twilight asks with some earnestness.

Her lips slide from pursed back to almost a sneer. A breath exits her nostrils in a slow, rolling haze.

Then the note is burned away, a single plume of white smoke dancing upwards as tiny embers descend to the snow. Sypha’s face—almost-sneering mouth, analyzing eyes—remains unchanged.

Twilight gulps.

Sypha folds her arms again, leaning forward as if to really analyze Twilight.

Twilight stares back.

Sypha leans forward more, her royal blues blazing with intensity.

Twilight stares back, her worry growing by the second.

Finally, Sypha blinks. There’s a pause that lasts forever, followed by a sigh. She stands back up, her arms sliding out of their fold and placing one hand on each hip. “If Charlotte has sent you to me, then that means two things.”

Sypha brings up one hand and, curling all the other fingers, jerks up a thumb. “Number one, Dracula has invaded your world and wasted no time setting about to destroy it. True?”

“Yes,” Twilight nods.

A pointer finger joins the thumb. “And number two, Charlotte sent you to me for training because it turned out Dracula’s forces were too much for you to handle on your own. True?”

“It’s not that I don’t think we can’t handle him on our own, but—”

Sypha waves a hand quickly, almost smacking Twilight. “Don’t change the subject. Is it true? Yes or no?”

Twilight blinks in shock at Sypha’s rudeness. “Y-Yes.”

Sypha returns her hands to her hips and launches into another masculine stride around Twilight. “You got here by Charlotte’s own recommendation, and you will remain here under my own good graces. I will teach you to the best of my abilities. What you get out of this will be what you put in. So don’t waste my time.”

She stops and looks at Twilight, weirdly turning her head but not her whole body, making a motion with her hands. “Now obviously, you wouldn’t be here if you had no capacity for magic. Have you had any formal magic training where you’re from?”

Twilight’s whole face lights up at her opportunity to boast. “I was lucky enough to find myself under the tutelage of Princess Celestia herself—she’s the ruler of my homeland—and I’ve mastered a variety of spells and potions and—”

“You know any curses?”

Twilight blinks, her wide smile stuck on her face. “…What?”

“You heard me,” Sypha says, now turning around to face Twilight, her arms again curling around her middle. “Curses. Do you know any curses?”

“Uh, n-no…”

“Transmogrification?”

“Haven’t been successful with those yet,” Twilight says, her eyes darting away as her smile fades.

“How about hexes?” Sypha asks, now slowly walking forward, her intense eyes stabbing Twilight’s. “Spitting fire? Freezing an object? Creating a portal? Stopping time?”

Twilight, her dusky eyes wide, begins backing away from Sypha. “W-Well, I know some of those…”

“Some isn’t good enough.” Sypha stops, then snorts a sigh. “I’m sure you’ve already met some tough customers by this point. But I can guarantee that what you’ve experienced was only a taste of what Dracula’s army has to offer.” She shakes her head. “What comes next is gonna eat you alive if you don’t have the skills to thwart them.

“You’re gonna learn the magic I know, and since Charlie trusts you, I trust you. Don’t let me down.” Sypha eases off Twilight, breathing a relaxed sigh now that her introduction is apparently over. Twilight stiffens, eager to prove her worth to her new mentor.

“Now obviously,” Sypha continues, “since Dracula is already in your world, we don’t have a lot of time for you to learn. So we’ll begin with a review of what you already know and then move on to the harder stuff. You ready?”

Twilight nods. “Ready.”

Sypha nods back, but with a grin that injects Twilight with unease. She takes all of one step forward before she flicks her wrist, launching a fireball the size of Twilight’s head from her hand.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1n91wJaOQA

Twilight gasps, dodging the fireball with a shocked sidestep. “What are you—!” is all Twilight manages to squeal before Sypha takes another step, launching yet another fireball. This time, Twilight teleports, reappearing behind Sypha.

Twilight runs at Sypha, attempting a charge as her horn glows. There’s a sound like a whirlwind, Sypha’s blue cloak whipping all about as she quickly turns around, one hand balled into a fist and glowing white-hot. That fist is sunk into the snowy ground with a thunderous crash, causing the whole area around Sypha to erupt in a geyser of fire and earth and the hiss of melting snow.

As if she’d expected it, Twilight teleports again just before connecting with the geyser, once again appearing behind Sypha. This time, there’s no charge—instead, Twilight takes aim at the dull, smoky outline of Sypha Belnades and fires a bolt of pure unicorn magic. It penetrates the fire, breaking it apart, its embers becoming a swarm of burning butterflies that flutter and dance upward before fizzling out.

The breaking fire reveals no Sypha.

Suddenly, the snow beneath Twilight becomes a mouth, glacier teeth snapping just under her hooves. She bolts from the wintry thing as it closes with a snap. Then another mouth opens beneath her, then another—and another! Twilight makes it back to the windows from before, jumping through the broken one just as the snow beneath her would have taken a leg in its crocodile jaws.

Curiously, instead of landing back in the hallway of the Castle as she expects, Twilight finds herself in the chaos-torn Ponyville from back when Discord had first broken free. The checkerboard ground and floating windmills and cotton candy clouds and warped houses and other absurdities are painted in the same dark, silent blues and greys of the other “memory areas” Twilight had been before, the nostalgic whispers of the events that had transpired here buzzing about.

The obnoxious chuckling of Discord himself sticks its fingers in Twilight’s ears. She jerks her head in its direction—her eyes widening as she sees Sypha Belnades, apparently expecting her arrival, slouching lazily in the throne Discord had made for himself, the same wicked grin from before plastered on her face. As if impersonating the Lord of Chaos himself, Sypha snaps her fingers as Discord begins his boasts on the virtues of bedlam.

The snap summons a bolt of lightning that shoots up from the ground just in front of Twilight, causing her to jump back. Then came another, and another, becoming a series of lightning strikes chasing Twilight around. “What a riot!” cackles Discord.

Shut up, Discord, Twilight thinks irritably.

Finally, Twilight’s patience with Sypha’s sudden acts of violence reaches its end. Her horn glows. “Going UP!” she shouts as her spell is cast. Sypha is suddenly surrounded by the same magenta light, her whole body turning upside-down and falling up. The look on her face is somewhere between amusement and mild frustration.

Just as Sypha disappears from Twilight’s line of sight, there’s a sound behind her that shrieks and pops. She turns her head, and is met by Sypha’s sinister smiling face. Twilight’s heart stops cold for a second as Sypha lifts a leg and brings it down for a stomp that shakes the checkerboard earth beneath them.

A spire of pure earth jettisons from the ground, thrusting towards Twilight, closing in on her face. There’s a pop of magenta light, and Twilight is gone, now a few feet away. The single spire of earth becomes a trail of them, forming a jagged spine of rocks that chase Twilight, each one erupting up just behind her as she runs for her life.

Finally, a particularly large spire rockets forward, getting up underneath Twilight’s legs and carrying her upwards and forwards. In shock, she looks behind her, at this absurd memory-land now torn by Sypha’s magic—and at Sypha herself, who walks calmly, menacingly, up the spires as if they were a staircase, hands in her coat pockets.

“You’re already into gravity spells?” Sypha asks as she closes in. “You’re better than I thought.”

Her blue sleeves flap like bird wings as she brings her arms up, her hands glowing a sickening dark blue just before they spit dark bubbles that hum ominously. Each bubble is the size of Twilight’s head. They quickly float towards their target at the end of the spire.

Too tired from so much teleporting—and therefore in an attempt to conserve her energy—Twilight weaves through the incoming bubbles of darkness. They drone in a loud, deep bass as they barely miss her head, the intense cold of their bodies brushing the pelt on her face, singeing the fine hairs. A well-timed jump rockets Twilight past a bubble threatening her legs.

The spire beneath Twilight gives with a shivering sound, bursting into sedimentary confetti. As she falls, Twilight looks up to see Sypha, her blue cape fluttering behind her, her eyes wide and pulsing with excitement, her teeth clenched, her blonde hair rolling out of her collapsed hood as she reaches after Twilight.

Particles surround her hand once again, just as an ominous boom rings above them. Sypha’s hand glimmers a dull white just before a tentacle of lightning tumbles into it. It takes her an effort, but Sypha manages to swing the lightning down—and only as it forms an arc does Twilight see the enormous ball lightning at the end of the bolt descend like a hammer-head.

She barely manages to teleport to safety in time (safety being relative in this situation, of course). The checkered earth below the falling lightning-hammer gives too easily, bending underneath the blow, then erupting with a vociferous crash and flying debris and the hideous scent of ozone.

Twilight tumbles, everything becoming one long shape and sound. Her eyes focus and she realizes only now that she is falling down a hallway. The moment she realizes this—predictably—gravity takes hold of her and throws her across the floor like dice across a game board.

She turnslooks her head up sharply, taking in the stained-glass windows depicting her own adventures alongside other important moments of Equestrian history. The rug beneath her is dotted with the sounds of slowly advancing hooves, and the walls whisper of nostalgic conversation. A turn of her head to her right reveals to Twilight the locked safe door where Princess Celestia had once kept the Elements of Harmony. A turn of her head to her left reveals a gaping hole in the entrance of this hall, and cotton candy clouds and upside-down windmills that dangle just outside.

A robed figure looks down into the hole in the wall. Her outline is a black shape, but her eyes twinkle menacingly from where Twilight stands.

This unnecessary battle had been drawn out long enough. Resolving to emerge its victor, Twilight lowers her head, snorts, and paws at the floor beneath her.

Sypha smiles as she drops down from the hole, gravity taking hold of her and correcting her trajectory as she enters the hall. She lands on the carpet flawlessly, her blue cape rolling like ocean waves. Almost dramatically, Sypha stands up. Her hands are once again placed on her hips, her strange and masculine stride carrying her at a slow, intimidating pace across the carpet.

No words are said. Instead, Twilight charges, her horn glowing with her magenta light. Sypha smirks as she brings her now-glowing hands up.

Twilight is only ten feet away. Sypha lifts her hand and readies to throw a fireball—but just as she fires, the charging unicorn before her vanishes.

Knowingly, Sypha turns around, firing the fireball behind her instead. To her surprise, the fireball flies across the hallway and into the chaotic playground outside. She hears the crackle of lightning and smells the ozone just before she turns her head.

Twilight had teleported someplace above Sypha, this time her horn creating its own lightning-hammer. With a bow of her head, Twilight brings the hammer down as she falls, its neck an incredible length and its head an incredible size. It crashes with a marvelous destruction, splashing the entire hall with blinding whiteness and deafening noise.

Seconds later, the hall comes back to Twilight’s eyes. Ringing occupies her ears again, finally melting and giving way to the sound of her own tired breathing. All this running around and teleporting and use of magic has left her dry and thirsty and aching. But the victory is worth it.

Or rather, it would have been a victory if Sypha hadn’t simply taken one step back before the lightning-hammer struck where she’d stood. The air crackles slightly, smoke rising from the crater, obscuring Sypha’s form until gradually it parts.

Hands in her pockets, Sypha looks down into the crater Twilight’s spell left behind with curious eyes, as if studying something fascinating and exotic. Her intense royal blue eyes glance from the crater, to Twilight, back to the crater.

“…Where did you learn that spell?” she asks quietly.

“You just taught me,” Twilight answers, wiping sweat from her brow. “You generated energy particles around the tips of your fingers and forced them to magnetize the other particles in the air, combining it all into makeshift lightning. After you gathered it all into a spherical shape, you forced its main body away, letting the other attached particles form a hammer’s neck, with the body becoming the head. I recreated most of that with my horn.” She breathes heavily for a few moments as Sypha gazes in wonder. “I think yours was stronger, though. You have more finger-tips than I do horn-tips.”

Sypha’s curious expression does not change. Twilight tenses her whole body, still shivering and gasping for breath, ready in case Sypha decides to do something else. In this pause, Twilight can hear the ghostly conversations of days past, and as Discord asks what fun there is in making sense, Sypha smirks.

“We’ve only been fighting a few minutes,” Sypha says, cocking her head, “and you’re already this tired?”

Twilight, unsure how to answer Sypha’s question, fidgets.

“You show a lot of promise,” Sypha says, walking around the still-smoking crater. “But you lack endurance. If this is how quickly you tire out in a fight, Dracula’s stronger minions would have a clear advantage.”

Sypha stops in front of the crater, analyzing Twilight still. Suddenly, Twilight’s lips curve into a smile. “Advantage,” she opines, “all depends on strategy.”

There’s a sound like static growing behind Sypha, followed by cannon fire and a force like a tornado that explodes, shooting her forward off her feet, down the hall and straight towards Twilight. Her horn glows as her smile becomes impish. Sypha flattens against something invisible—a wall or forcefield, perhaps—for all of a split second before rebounding and being sent to the floor.

“I knew I wouldn’t be able to recreate that lightning-hammer in its entirety,” Twilight says, “so I enchanted the particles into playing the part of dynamite: waiting a few seconds more before exploding.”

“And by making them all go off at once,” Sypha says, “you create a hell of an explosion.” She runs a hand through her now-messy blonde hair as she sits back up. “That’s just…” She laughs. “That’s brilliant!”

Twilight sits down, gathering her bearings, panting and sweating and fighting the urge to simply fall over. “…B-But you’re right on that endurance thing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right?” Sypha asks. “You’re here to learn stronger magic. Don’t worry—better endurance is on the program. I’ll make a mage out of you yet.”

Twilight smiles. Looks like she has another teacher.

Successor of Fate, Part II

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It’s only an hour or so after Rainbow Dash’s and Shatterstorm’s fateful encounter of the Wharg. Elsewhere, more trouble brewed that day. Take for example, the events earlier that morning in the Canterlot Public Archive.

The Chronomage curses as he shuts yet another book. He tosses it over his shoulder to join its brothers on the floor beneath him. Book after book after book lands in the pile, followed by curse after curse after nonsensical curse.

Finally, the Chronomage kicks the shelf, his patience at its end. “There isn’t a twiddly-bit of the clues we seek,” he grumbles.

Not that he cares for any of this, honestly: Actrise’s forceful addition of him into this situation had drained his attachment to it. Nothing in this public archive contained anything about undoing… whatever spell that blasted bibliophile had cast before. Nothing.

This mission has been a total waste of the Chronomage’s time. And if it’s one thing he hates, it’s wasting time. And cold tea. And wasting his time drinking cold tea. So three things. But this situation is just the first one. So only that one, right now.

“Funkles and beans,” Chronomage mutters.

“Keep searching,” demands a voice behind him. Its tone is harsh, its pitch is womanly, its accent French.

He rotates his head a whole 180 degrees and catches the shuddering darkness of Actrise’s long skirt as she drifts across the ground. More books are pulled from the shelves by her own invisible demands, opening, pages fluttering, then dropped once none of the information was discovered. She growls.

Legions of her underlings—witches of all natures, though sadly not much variety by way of beauty—scour the library along with them, knowing better than to so much as murmur or whisper between each other in the presence of their Mother. Books hover above and around, suspended in midair by foul magic, their covers colored by the ugly light vomited from the windows. Above, hustling feet are heard on the second floor, their haphazard drumbeat underlying the picking and replacing and discarding of books.

A large thundercloud has grown over the overall atmosphere of the Public Archive since they arrived. It’s been this way for the past day, but the end of the Chronomage’s patience also ends his fear, and subsequent obedience, of Actrise.

“Searching for what?” Chronomage says, finally. “That spell she flimmered upon us is likely only found in the Royal Archive.”

All witches in the library freeze in place, turning timidly to watch this scene unfold. Actrise turns her head sharply, drawing quiet gasps from her witches. Her red eyes burn hotly as the Chronomage scowls, cleaning his monocle with a fish he’d pulled from his pocket as he returns her glare with his own.

“You know,” the Chronomage continues as he replaces his monocle, “the Archive that’s on the very property of the castle our Master chose to repropose?”

A bone-white hand worms fingers around his rabbit ears and yanks him harshly to a face with red eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched. “There has to be a counter-spell available!” Actrise hisses. “It makes no sense for them not to have one!”

“I am giving you three of your own seconds to relinquease my ears before I age your face into an old crone’s,” the Chronomage threatens.

Nearby witches draw in quiet, shocked breaths at the Chronomage’s tone. It is rare indeed to hear his voice reach such a venomous pitch. Two of those seconds pass before Actrise’s fingers peel off his ears, one by one. The menacing scowl on her face does not subside. In fact, coupled with her eyes, she appears even angrier than before.

“We’ve searched this library—and we’ve searched that other library—and even the other other library—and we’ve searched and searched and searched,” the Chronomage continues, slapping one gnarled hand against the other at every search. “The undoing of the Purple Padonkabonk’s spell lies elseplace! Certainly, you must understand that wherever it is, it is. Not. Here.”

Actrise’s breathing goes from an angered braying through clenched teeth, slowly into something more even and elegant. The look on her face finally subsides once she realizes it’s the crazy one—the one even Dracula’s other lieutenants think is mad—who’s talking sense.

“You’re right,” she says with a sigh. “You are right. This isn’t like me at all. I’m the schemer, the planner. I shouldn’t go running about a likely-senseless errand based on a hunch and a knee-jerk reaction. I’ve wasted enough of my time searching for that spell.”

“Glad to see you’ve replamented your wits and have—”

“Which is why, while I work on my next plan of attack, I am going to have you search for it.”

The Chronomage’s voice becomes a spitting contest between himself and himself. “What!” he cries finally, waving an arm across the library, pointing a finger at her own underlings. “Why can’t you just get one of your witches to do this?!”

“My witches are all busy with their own assignments,” Actrise says, turning around. “Such as Allie’s—”

Her words are cut short as she nearly bumps into the fluttering dark cloak and rancid, contorted face of Death. His scythe is out, its single menacing, crescent tooth glittering even in this low lighting. Cold clouds wisp from the gaps in his teeth as tiny red fireballs burn brightly somewhere deep in the caves of his eyes.

Actrise jumps back, her hands instinctively in front of her face. “M-My lord!” she cries. “My apologies, but I d-don’t understand! I th-thought I had enough time to—”

“I tire of your excuses, Actrise.” The way his words slither out of his mouth inject indescribable fear into his underlings. The Chronomage backs away from the range of the scythe as Death brings it up. “It is time I gave you the retribution you so richly deserve for your failure.”

“I d-don’t un-un-understand!” Actrise babbles from behind a genuine sob, falling to her knees.

The scythe is swung.

The scythe… is rubber.

Actrise looks at the scythe that had gently bounced against her face. Then back up to Death’s face. It contorts again, but this time the rest of his form does likewise, becoming nebulous as its colors wash into a mystical blue. Before all the watching eyes, this shape takes the form of Actrise herself, on her knees, hands clasped together as if begging, her lips stuck in a comical pout.

“Oh, p-b-b-b-please, Death!” cries the Actrise-thing in a histrionic whine. “Give me more tiiiiiiime! I’ll get dat wascally unicorn! Just one more chaaaaaaance!”

Actrise—the real one—swings her staff at her unflattering reflection, growling as it dodges too easily. “I am in no mood for your pranks, Doppelganger!”

The Chronomage snickers, half in relief and half in amusement, but stops once Actrise shoots him a stink-eye. The witches watch a little longer before going back to their original business of searching the library, small smiles touching their lips.

While the Doppelganger was never on good terms with most any of the demons of Dracula’s Castle, it got on well enough with at least a few of them, the Chronomage included. Its uncanny air for acting should have endeared it to Actrise, and perhaps at first it did, but that interest soon grew into mistrust and from there to disgust. Nobody had ever seen the Doppelganger in its original shape, if it ever had one, and it preferred to masquerade as its comrades or its enemies, depending on its mood.

The Doppelganger’s form once again melts, warping until four legs lift a lavender unicorn body and purple eyes blink and a mane and tail the colors of night just before dawn weave before going still. She looks sideways at Actrise. Her lips turn up in a smirk.

“Everypony’s talking about it, you know,” it says, its voice colored with Twilight Sparkle’s own syrupy sweetness. It begins walking in a circle around Actrise mockingly. “How Actrise, the Greatest Witch of Paris, got beaten in a game of wits by a unicorn...”

Actrise’s glare does not change.

“How she fouled up so badly, it’s set back our forces considerably…”

Actrise harrumphs, her scowl growing large enough almost to split her face in two.

Finally, the Doppelganger leans against Actrise in a way that feels almost coy, and says in perhaps the kind of mocking tone you’d hear from an adolescent, “How she’s on Death’s shit list if she fails!”

Though it is an entertaining thought to beat and kick and bite this Twilight imitation as if it were the real McCoy, Actrise settles for shoving the Doppelganger away. The Doppelganger giggles again. “Hey, maybe Death will go easy on you like he did with Slogra and Gaibon! If you’re lucky, you’ll be cleaning the holding cells alongside them!”

“Hear this, you shapeless rodent,” Actrise growls. “I will destroy Twilight Sparkle. She will fall by my hand. I am working tirelessly not just to undo the damage she has done, but to crush her utterly. Unlike some lazy, ambitionless creatures who idle their time playing pranks upon the industrious.”

“Oh say it with flowers, Precious,” the Doppelganger retorts facetiously, wiggling its rump suggestively as it saunters away. “Besides, I’m busy helping another with her own schemes. Seems we have some rats in the base and many of us have been tasked with flushing the little bastards out.” Its eyes widen as if a light had turned on in its head. “That reminds me!”

It turns around, once again becoming a blue gelatinous thing before it melts into the familiar form of a certain storybook character. its blue dress, blonde hair, and white apron all bob cutely as it approaches the Chronomage. It curtsies politely, and the Chronomage returns the gesture with a bow and a removal of his hat. “Who are you?” he asks, his grin a mile wide.

“I hardly know, Sir, just at present,” the Doppelganger replies in mock-confusion. “At least I know who I was when I got up this morning…” It places a girlish hand over its mouth as if to refrain from bursting out laughing. “…But I think I must have changed several times since then!”

Actrise rolls her eyes. How many times must she sit through this Alice in Wonderland routine?

“But whether I am me or you,” the Doppelganger continues, shapeshifting into the Chronomage as it says you, “I come bearing a message from Death.”

“Bearing a message?” the Chronomage asks. It’s no secret to any of Dracula’s servants that Death bears no particular fondness for practitioners or observers of chronomancy. It comes as no surprise to the Chronomage that Death would prefer to not give this message in person.

“You are to join me in this most prinkling venture.”

It also comes as no surprise to the Chronomage Death would employ him as a mere rat-flusher. Still, it beats being Actrise’s errand-rabbit. He hides a snort of disgust, instead nodding his head. “I see.”

He turns to Actrise. He raises his arm—his arm shooting along until it’s six-feet-long and noodly—and shakes her hand as, with his other (normal-length) hand tips his hat. “As much unfun as we were having, Actrise m’l’ass, it appears I’m off on a new quessignment of sorts. Good luck with your mobitiorions.”

And away the Chonomages walk, arm in arm, surreal alongside the unreal. It’s a portrait, to be sure. Actrise looks at the library, noting how quiet it’s become, and glares at the witches who stopped to watch these exchanges. They heed her wordless command and return to their work. Books are pulled off shelves, searched, then discarded.

Something tugs at Actrise’s sleeve. She casts her red eyes downward.

Blue eyes, blonde hair, pale face, dark and loose-fitting clothes. Gloria. Another of Actrise’s witches. The look on her face betrays something worrisome. Gloria whispers into her Mother Actrise’s ear. Actrise’s eyes widen, then sharpen, her lips twisting, then pursing. She sighs.

“I’d love to stay, children, but I alas! I am called away,” she says sweetly, taking her first few steps out the Archive. “Hermione is in charge until my return. Do have fun with your chores. Ta-ta!”

The expedience in which she makes her exit suggests Actrise is angry about something. Gloria leads her out of the room, out of the Archive, and into the fog where they disappear—vanishing in bursts of light.

They sit and talk for a while, long after the whispering memories have run their course and fallen silent. And there is so much to speak of. The questions Twilight asks are simple, tersely worded things that are returned by strange answers.

When she asks, “Where are we?”

She receives, “Inside the book. Duh. Where else would we be?”

When she asks, “What exactly is this place, then?”

She receives, “It’s what you made it to be.”

Twilight’s face deflates with a groan. Evidently, her new mentor—shrewd and coarse as they come—is playing yet another game with her. Carefully, Twilight pieces together a much more exact question. “So, outside, where we met in the snow,” she says. “I saw this… ocean-thingy. What was that?”

Sypha stretches and lays down on the carpet, folding her arms behind her head, her royal blue eyes gazing at the ceiling. “That’s the world inside this book. It’s its own universe. Intangible, yet there.”

“…That doesn’t explain anything.”

Sypha turns her head, her eyes squinting mischievously over a Cheshire smile. “Good.”

Finally, Twilight stamps the ground with an angered whinny. “Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?! These are simple questions, and there have to be good, scientific explanations for—”

But before she can continue her rant, Sypha explodes with laughter. She sits up, clutching her sides. Even as her guffaws melt into giggling, her wide grin earns a scowl from Twilight. “Sorry, kid,” Sypha says, wiping a tear from her eye. “You just—God, you’re a riot. Hell! You remind me so much of myself when I was your age.”

Twilight lifts an eyebrow as a pause sneaks by them. “…You don’t look that old…”

“Thanks,” says Sypha. “But. Surrus’ly. When I designed this book and the pocket universe inside it, I had to choose a form for myself if I were to exist as its guardian. Instead, however, I let my husband choose that form.”

She stops, and giggles, lifting a hand to her mouth as if trying to hide her girlish smile. “Now, Trevor—my husband—was always a sweet, gentle guy, but he had this sense of humor I swear he picked up from this friend of ours. I half-expected him to pick a form like a… flying pig or something.”

Her smile slowly shifts from girlish to wistful. The intensity in her royal blue eyes grows distant. “But, instead, he thought of that pretty-faced, abrasive twenty-something he found in a swamp one evening.”

Twilight grins. “You two met in a swamp?”

Sypha rolls her eyes. “Looooooong story.” She stands up, dusting herself off. “I’ll tell it to you on the way home.”

Twilight glances awkwardly around the hallway. “And, uh… where is home?”

Sypha nods, hands on hips. “Where the heart is. Where else?”

Another riddle. Twilight snuffles as she hoists herself back up on all four hooves.

“Don’t be like that,” Sypha says, nearly chuckling as she waves a finger. “Believe it or not, you’re the only one who knows the way out of here. This place is you, after all. So if you want to see my own house—where I’ll begin your training in earnest—you’re gonna have to be the one who leads the way.”

Instead of asking Sypha what she means (as this conversation has only managed to reveal how effectively and whimsically she can dodge a question), Twilight merely walks ahead, her lips purse, ruminating, mulling over her options. This place IS me, she thought, and if it IS me, then I should know my own way around here, right?

But if the sudden terrain changes are any indication, this place is volatile. Its form depends almost entirely on my memories. Maybe my emotions and desires play into it as well? What if I just really want to get out of here? Would this place listen?

She focuses her attention on this objective. It’s funny now, but when she was younger, she always reacted poorly when a pegasus or earth pony asked her if magic was like just making a wish. She’d hee and haw about it—unattractive behavior in hindsight—about how magic was far, far more complicated, how it involved an almost micro-management mental level to achieve a goal. Anypony who’s had to master a teleportation spell could tell you horror stories about what could happen should it go wrong.

She focuses. She closes her eyes, and focuses on the simple demand for an exit with the same simplicity and ignorance of the earth ponies and pegasi who thought that was all there was to magic. Like making a wish on a genie from a magic lamp.

Twilight keeps her eyes closed, and focuses.

She focuses harder.

Harder.

The beginnings of a giggle bubble nearby. Twilight’s eyes shoot open, glancing aside and spotting Sypha with a hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning from a laugh threatening to break. “What are you laughing about?” Twilight asks.

“Oh, nothing, nothing—I’m just waiting to hear what you sound like when you fart.”

Twilight’s face locks into an image of hairy eyeballs and lips stretched by a nonplussed frown.

Sypha’s laughter breaks like a dam. “Can I help it? You looked like you were trying to force a fart.”

Twilight’s lips shift from nonplussed to disbelief at her mentor’s juvenile sense of humor. A snort ripples from her nostrils.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sypha says, waving a hand. “I—my husband and I used to travel with this one guy, a sailor. You know sailors, they gotta have this… very colorful sense of humor. He rubbed off on us both.” She wipes her nose, another giggle escaping her. “He used to wonder what a unicorn sounded like when it… uh, when they would fart, so…”

Twilight waves a hoof. “I was trying to focus on making an exit out of here.”

Sypha points behind Twilight. “You mean like that one?”

With a jerk of her head, Twilight finds that one of the stained-glass windows has a giant door surrounded by clouds emblazoned on it, cherubic pegasi blowing trumpets on either side of the door, the bright green word “EXIT” sitting right above it. The pause that follows this discovery is long and palpable. Another fit of giggles strikes Sypha.

“You put that there, didn’t you?” Twilight asks dryly.

Sypha shrugs. “Maybe.”

I really have to learn to stop asking her questions, Twilight thinks, shaking her head with a sigh.

Both sorceress and unicorn walk up to the Exit, its sparkling luminescence falling upon them like a prismatic spotlight, coloring them in spots of red, white, gold, blue, green. Finally, Twilight stands before the Exit, and after a pause—and at a loss for what else she should do—she gives it a knock. Once, twice, three times her hoof timidly bats upon the door.

Silence and time, both in abundance, stumble by. They wait and wait, until finally, Twilight gives Sypha an aside glare. This time, Sypha shares it: reading everything Twilight intends to say just by her glare. “That’s no attitude to take with your mentor,” she warns.

“I mean no disrespect,” Twilight says after releasing a tired sigh, “but in the hour I’ve known you, you’ve spoken to me indifferently the first ten minutes, tried to kill me in the next thirty, and have been playing prank after prank on me in the remaining twenty. I would like an answer that is concrete, if anything. That’s all I ask of you.”

Sypha sniffs, turning her royal blue eyes back forward back to the Exit. “You want an answer?” she asks. “Eyes slideways, kid. It’s about to show up.”

Twilight pops an eyebrow, suddenly pulling her attention to the Exit as she hears something rattling on the other end.

The rattling grows louder.

It’s coupled with a deep growl.

Behind the door comes a slithering, shuddering noise.

Something—something dark—grips Twilight suddenly. It stabs her unexpectedly, pumping its venom right into her heart and brain, filling her to the brim with senseless panic. Sweat begins to jewel on her forehead as she slowly backs away, heavy breaths rasping from her open jaw. A hand slaps forward, gripping her by the mane and jerking her to a halt before she can escape whatever is on the other side of the door.

“Wait,” Sypha says.

There’s no impish twinkle in her eyes. No Cheshire grin touches her lips. Her face is the same sculpture of impatience and austerity it was when they first met an hour ago. Slowly, they both look to the Exit as the sounds grow louder. Then the doors buckle forward with a slam that makes Twilight flinch.

Silence.

Another slam.

Then another. And another. And another.

Each time, the Exit’s doors bend and squeal and break little by little. Twilight’s heart jumps to her mouth, her breathing catching and growing thick and hoarse as she fills with primal terror. The things in the dark—the things that hunt her under the shadows—the things she could do and become if nopony were watching—all the terrible, blackened thoughts that race through her mind occasionally—all the deadly mistakes she has made, can make, and will make—everything horrible she could possibly experience splash into her face at once the moment the Exit breaks open and all those horrible things escape.

Screaming.

Weeping.

Blackness.

Twilight turns and takes flight, her mane torn by Sypha’s clandestine grip, her hooves pounding the ground, rocketing her forth across the stained-glass hallway towards the hole Sypha had made. Behind her, those sounds grow warped and piercing, and give relentless chase. Twilight bounds from the hole, and into a watery depth.

What memory is this? Twilight’s mind races with what it could even be, but it falls behind the more important matter of self-preservation. She glances beneath her, where the hole remains unfilled by the water.

It is instead filled by a screaming, squirming blackness, with wet, glittery lights looking up. The thousands of such lights blink out of sync with each other, suddenly focusing on her the moment they realize she’s looking at it. Black tentacles reach out of the massive thing, slamming squealing, sobbing suckers onto the floor of this body of water, and force itself up and out and after her.

Twilight kicks her legs quickly as she looks up to the shimmering whiteness above. Safety. Upwards she swims, away from the blackness below as the small amount of air caged in her lungs begins to burn.

She breaks the surface of the water with a loud crash, diamonds of water shimmering as they are tossed out of her way. She quickly inhales the cool, beautiful oxygen, her eyes wide and seeing nothing but dark around her. She races for the edge of the pool.

Twilight notes that she is in a cave of some kind—and the memories come back, whispers between herself and Pinkie Pie. She remembers: this is the cavern that housed the Mirror Pool Pinkie had used to clone herself a month ago.

She crawls out of the pool, flopping inelegantly onto the ice-cold stone floor much like the ancestor of land animals must have done millions of years before. There’s a desire inside her to draw as many breaths as she can, but the need for survival far outweighs it. She pulls herself along on legs worn into gelatin from her difficult and unexpected swim, her eyes wide and her mouth grumbling for sweet, sweet air as her mane and tail, both grown heavy with wetness, respectively cling to her face and drag behind her.

Shouts and squeals and hateful screams burst from the pool behind her, the blackness just pouring out. Twilight chances a glance at it, perhaps out of some kind of morbid curiosity, and beholds the blackness suddenly begin to change shape.

It isn’t like a slimy thing being molded by the unseen hands of a clay-sculptor. It appears more to Twilight that it’s like millions of mechanical implements simply dropping into place, connecting one to another, circuits humming to life and oil greasing the parts and steam hissing from pipes as the coal inside its belly burns. The shape it takes drives the machine imagery home, though combined with the image of a twisted, divine creature.

Six long, verminous legs descend, each knee possessing a face that holds perverted leers and hanging tongues and squinting eyes. Its front legs end with the upper part of unicorns, their faces melted into an unrecognizable expression and their forelegs forming the creature’s fingers. The other four legs end in the hind parts of ponies, their hind legs forming toes and their tails sweeping the ground with every step.

Its body is saurian, with the dimensions of a dragon: the spine and the long, long tail are decorated with what could only be unicorn horns, the tail ending with a familiar-looking head, its dark mane hanging like a flag while the horn shimmers with a fire as black as forever. Its body is carried from the pool with four angelic wings, almost like an alicorn.

Like the main body, its neck is built in sections, the marble colors and gold trimming making it look like a fantastic treasure. The neck however, ends with the most horrific sight Twilight has seen, a form that registers in her mind as incomprehensible.

It has but one head, yet three faces share it (not unlike a Tatzlwurm’s), meeting together in the center as if their lips have locked into a three-way kiss they cannot break from. All six eyes—two to each face—glow with a black light, all six nostrils flaring, all three horns shimmering the same black fire as the head on the creature’s tail. Forming the top of its head was a chest that led up to the neck and head of another unicorn, this one just as pale-white, with the same gold trimmings, same black eyes and black fire and dark mane, but looking far more mighty and menacing. Its horn must be longer than Sypha Belnades is tall. Five crowns adorn its horn, sparkling with treasures.

The head’s faces all open their singular mouth and let loose a scream that could rupture hearts. The inside of its mouth is a cavern that goes on and on eternally, filled with a frightful orgy of tongues of various lengths.

Twilight suddenly regains the energy she lost in her swim and before she is even aware of what she is doing, she is running up the spiraling ramp up to the entrance of the Mirror Pool’s cavern, running on all four cylinders, her legs pumping like pistons as she speeds along.

The entire cavern shakes as the creature gives chase, its shuddering, screaming parts carrying it an alarming distance with each step. There is something… nostalgic about this creature. As if she were aware of its existence long before, and had forgotten about it until this encounter. A nightmare that, in her childhood, had chased her from her dreams screaming into the waking world, then forgotten about upon the morning?

Whatever it is, its crooked legs carry it up the walls of the cavern, all its faces with all their legion eyes focusing on her. Its head flowers open again, slightly, several of its black tongues sweeping along the edge of the mouth as a low gurgle escapes it.

Am I supposed to FIGHT this thing?! Twilight thinks to herself. Is this my test?

Twilight screeches to a halt, the entire cavern still shaking under each thunderous footstep of the creature. She turns as her horn begins to glow, and sees it crawling up the wall like a giant, divinely warped lizard. A magenta bolt sings from the tip of Twilight’s horn to the unicorn-head of the creature.

The creature remains undaunted, its pearly flesh devouring the bolt as if it had anticipated it in advance. The strangest aspect, however, is that Twilight feels a horrible burning sensation on her head—right where the bolt would have struck the beast—and it robs her of her senses for one second, knocking her to the ground.

The tremors in the cavern shake her back awake. Her eyes snap open as her lungs sharply inflate with the cold, wet air around her. Something primal grabs her legs, charges them up, and with more energy than she thought she had, Twilight powers off to the hole at the top of this sloping path.

Twilight is nearly deafened its awful steps behind her, the impact from each “hoof” shaking the entire cavern.

She sees the tiny hole that leads to the surface.

They become louder. Closer.

The hole draws closer under the sound of her rasping breaths.

Jaws powered by three heads clap shut just at the tip of her tail as Twilight leaps through the hole. She claws her way through this tight tunnel—going up—going down—spiraling left—turning right—up again—until finally, she pops out of the large hole above.

Her lungs are on fire, her throat shaking with the effort to force air in and out. She glances about quickly, expecting the familiar greens and humidity of the Everfree Forest, but skips a breath when she sees nothing but the cold dirt and sparkling jewels and columns and basic masonry of the Diamond Dogs mine, where Rarity had been kept as their prisoner a few years ago. Just ahead are the sounds of the battle she and her friends had waged with the Diamond Dogs.

A sound shudders from inside the hole she’d crawled out of. Tremors crawl across the ground. It comes!

Twilight takes off, not really knowing where she would go. Ironically, though this place is part of her memories, she doesn’t recall much of the layout. Her hooves smack against the dirt and rock beneath her as she runs towards the sound of her memory ahead.

She can hear it belch forth from the hole. It must assume that black mass form when it’s confronted with terrain it can’t fit through or cross one way or another. The ominous gurgling becomes louder, the screams and the squeals taking shape.

Columns and stalactites rush by Twilight almost eternally, as if this hall were simply growing another twelve feet with every step she took. Suddenly, there was another figure running alongside her, vanishing behind the columns and the stalactites as a shadow. As it gets closer, Twilight can make out the intense royal blue eyes, the masculine strides of a feminine body, the flowing ice-blue robes and golden hair.

“Follow me,” says Sypha as she races by.

Twilight obeys.

They navigate this labyrinth with surprising ease, with the gurgling screams just behind them. A glance behind them reveals the awful creature again, its unicorn-hands reaching forth and yanking it forward with an alien gate and unreal speed.

“Hey,” Sypha says almost breathlessly.

“What?” Twilight asks, hoping for an explanation to all this madness. Behind them, the creature snarls, readying for a pounce.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” she continues as they approach a light at the end of the tunnel. “It looks like we’re gonna have to juuuuump!”

An arm reaches around Twilight’s neck and hoists her up and off the ground, followed by a leap out the hole and a scream erupting from Twilight’s mouth. The new world outside the hole is an everchanging image: sky, land, sky, land… a few seconds into their fall reveals to Twilight that they are tumbling through the skies over Equestria. Nearby, a burst air balloon and its basket are frozen midair. There are screams of fear all around her, quieted only because they’re memories from that unfortunate incident at the Wonderbolts Academy.

Another group of screams join them. Twilight looks up to find the monster has taken flight, its beating wings carrying its divine patchwork body through the sky. Its face flowers open, all eyes trained on Twilight, its tongues extending wildly in anticipation of the taste of her flesh.

Both of Sypha’s arms wrap around Twilight. The warmth of her body pressed against Twilight feels motherly, warm and welcome. “Twilight,” she says. “Do your teleporting thing.”

“Wh-What?”

“Hell!” Sypha spits, suddenly impatient. “Think of the happiest place you can think of, then teleport there!”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of th—”

“Twilight—Twilight, honey, dearest, we are going to die if you don’t—”

But as Sypha speaks, Twilight focuses her energy on what, to her, is the happiest place in Equestria (not a difficult decision), and before she can finish her sentence, before the creature can close its menacing maw around them, they disappear in a pop of magenta light.

Successor of Fate, pt III

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The moment she sees the corpse, Actrise curses under her breath.

She pulls off her hat, holding it close to her chest as she draws nearer. The three other witches in the room—silent and beautiful Francesca, normally boisterous blonde Gloria, and Elisha from before—part before her as she kneels beside her fallen servant.

Dorothy’s whole body had been shrunk and dehydrated, now resembling a large, weirdly-shaped rotten vegetable more than a human being. Wisps of grayed hair struggle to cling onto what remains of the head. Her mouth gapes wide in a silent scream, her remaining four teeth sticking niggardly inside a mouth dark as forever.

But it’s the limbs that make this sight even more disturbing: how the rotten flesh goes from brownish-green to purple at the broken joints, how it looks like Dorothy has more elbows and knees than she does fingers and toes.

She’d been laid out on the examining table with the utmost respect, but it all still looks so damning. The lights from the candles spit their yellows and reds, coloring Dorothy with a syrupy orange, emphasizing the dark pits of her eyes and mouth. The stench emitted from the corpse could stain one’s teeth.

There’s a silence in the room, clinging to the dreadful atmosphere with claws that gradually dig too deep. Finally, Gloria clears her throat. “We, uh… found her like this in the alley she was patrolling,” she explains. “The other creatures who were supposed to be patrolling along with her were missing also.”

Actrise sighs as she puts her hat back on and stands up without turning to face her subordinates. “Do any of you know how old Dorothy was?” she asks.

The three witches look at each other. “N-Not really,” Elisha squeaks.

“She had reached the age where she’d be dead were she any normal human,” Actrise answers. “The only thing holding her body and youth together was her magic.”

Finally, she turns around, and there’s a menacing glint in her eyes as her pretty lips part into an ugly scowl. “Had she been attacked by a vampire hunter, her corpse would not be this shriveled or ancient-looking.”

Her eyes drift from her living servants to her dead one. She runs a finger along Dorothy’s arm, tracing where the bones are broken. “Nothing attacked her physically, as there are no cuts or open wounds. And we can surmise these ponies don’t have the ability to just steal magic on this scale…”

Another uncomfortable pause slinks into the room as Actrise grips tight to her staff, drumming fingers across its head as she thinks deeply. Her red eyes twitch rapidly, as if she’s reading words only she can see. The silence doesn’t disturb her three servants as much as the idea that Actrise may have no clue how to handle this new threat.

Finally, Gloria coughs. “So, er, what… what are your orders, Mother?”

Actrise’s eyes stop twitching, snapping their attention on Gloria. Slowly now, she drums the top of her staff one last time before taking a deep breath and taking a few steps forward. “Normally,” she explains, “if it’s a threat to us witches, Death would allow me the privilege to handle it… but…”

She stops. “If my servant is a shrunken husk and the other demons missing without a trace, this can only mean that whatever’s doing this is a much larger threat than we think. It is a threat not just to us witches, but to all Dracula’s children…”

Actrise turns. Walks to Francesca. With an almost mischievous whimsy, Actrise claps a hand on Francesca’s shoulder, causing her to jump, her dark curls wobbling as she blinks her equally dark eyes in surprise. “I must congratulate you, Francesca, on your recent promotion,” Actrise chirps.

“…‘P-Promotion’?” Francesca asks shyly. Elisha and Gloria share puzzled looks.

“A promotion, indeed!” Actrise says with a smile. “You must deliver news of this development to Death—and posthaste!”

Sounds stumble from Francesca’s mouth as, with Actrise’s hand at the small of her back, she is whisked to the door. “I’ll expect you back at my quarters telling me you’ve informed Death within the next two hours, good luck, au revoir!” Actrise says quickly as she pushes Francesca out into the hall.

Francesca turns just as her bumbling tongue begins to form a protest—but the slam from the door silences her. Nervously, she sucks on her bottom lip just before she vanishes in a beam of light, as all witches do when they teleport.

Returning her attention to the inside of the room, Actrise takes a deep breath before walking across the room, her black dress waving like a shadow against a moonlit wall. She stops before the table where Dorothy rests. Elisha and Gloria think to open their mouths or ask questions, but are stopped by a deep growl.

The table is flung aside with an awesome and terrifying force. Dorothy takes flight from the table as Actrise’s growl becomes a shout, her ruined limbs flailing helplessly—the way her arm jerks about midair resembles an awkward wave goodbye—and everything she ever was clatters and breaks on the floor. Dorothy becomes a pile as Actrise screams and screams and screams.

“Merde!” she shouts as she throws her hat to the floor. “Merde, merde, merde! Why is all this happening at once?! Twilight Sparkle, Death’s threat, now THIS?!” Her chest heaves as she leans forward, her head drooping as she leans on the nearby wall. Elisha and Gloria exchange concerned glances.

The two hear a quiet knocking, bringing them both back to Actrise, who taps her knuckles on the wall in contemplation. There’s a look of calm on her face: faraway eyes, pursed lips, steeled chin. “Death will be displeased by this news,” she guesses, her voice a murmur. “But since I am busy with my own task, he’ll have to figure out the solution himself…”

“May I ask what are we to do?” Gloria dares to ask.

“This doesn’t concern us,” Actrise says brusquely as she weaves across the room to the door. “We’ll just let Death handle it. In the meantime, until this threat is vanquished, I advise you all to be careful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other designs to attend to.”

The door closes with a bang. The two witches glance at each other, then to the corpse.

Everything is—or, more exactly, was—as she remembered. The tapestry is torn and ancient. The bricks in the walls are dressed with moss and filth. The air is dusty and cold, the night outside just as ominous as it is these days. The strange altar and its devices sit alone, once beautiful in ages past but left for generations to rot. And the scene that plays out, as Twilight and Sypha appear, is just as she remembers.

The fight against Nightmare Moon is fierce and noisome, but only gets better once Twilight’s friends arrive. Her heart swells as she hears their voices, becoming comforted finally in this strange and familiar place. It crossed her mind occasionally before, but now it sticks to her like a magnet: she misses the simplicity of the way things were before all this.

Sypha watches as Twilight draws a hoof across her face. Something wet twinkles as it rolls off that same hoof. In a strange moment of sympathy, Sypha reaches out a hand and rests it on the back of Twilight’s head. Long after the memory plays out—after Nightmare Moon is vanquished with the awesome power of friendship and leaves a terrified Luna behind, after Princess Celestia appears before them, after everything is said and done—as everything grows silent, these two visitors remain, as if specters lingering in the quiet scene of death.

Finally, Twilight glances at Sypha. “What,” she asks before the dust chokes her voice and she begins again. “What was that… thing?”

Sypha folds her arms, once again forming a curtain of introversion around her body. “You already know what it is, Twilight,” she answers, softly.

They share the silence, letting realization slowly sink its hooked talons into Twilight’s constantly wheeling mind. How harming it only harmed her instead. The pristine, deceptive beauty of the creature’s angelic form. The amorphous, tenebrous shape of its demonic form. Order, as governed by chaos. Beauty, as governed by filth. Courage, as governed by hatred…

“…It’s…” Twilight gulps as tears threaten her eyes again. “…It’s me… isn’t it? What I am on the inside.”

Sypha answers with a smile. “Hey, don’t take that tone!” she says almost cheerfully. “That kind of thing is part of everyone. Hell, you should have seen Charlotte’s!”

“…You keep saying that word,” Twilight notes curiously.

“Which word?”

“Hell. What does it mean? Is it a homo sapien thing?”

The short pause that follows Twilight’s inquisition makes both feel uncomfortable. Sypha sucks at her bottom lip, glancing away momentarily before she formulates an answer. “Hell is…” She sighs. “Hell is a place. In many human religions, Hell is a place where the wicked are sent to be punished eternally. Some say they are drowned in a lake of fire. Others have even less pleasant revelations, such as punishments unique to each sinner.”

Sypha rolls her head back as if to look at the ceiling. “But I don’t believe any of that. You want my snide, cynical opinion? Hell is a place we build. Our mistakes are its cement, our sins its bricks, our selfishness and despair its bars. It’s our own prison.”

She lowers her head slowly, her intense royal blues scrutinizing Twilight invasively. Sypha glances at one of the windows, then back to Twilight. She cocks her head at the window. Twilight stiffens as she reads Sypha’s wordless command, and against her better judgment trots over to the window.

Hesitantly, Twilight looks out the window. She gasps suddenly as her stomach drops like a bomb, the horror before her just as real now as it was when it first happened. Her eyes grow moist, warping the wide, open eyes—and the silently screaming mouths—and the pile of small, innocent bodies—and—and—

…and…

Twilight weeps into her hoof, her back shuddering with each sob. Tears stream around clenched teeth, a small, hissing whimper escaping her.

It’s a good number of minutes before Twilight clears her tears enough to see properly, and as her vision drops back into place, she’s no longer looking into the hospital’s boiler room, she’s inside it. Had she moved of her own accord? Is there something she wants to see? Something this place wants her to see?

She looks around for Sypha, who is suddenly nowhere in sight—and upon closer inspection, the darkness surrounding the bodies and the machines and the cold floor and the crate used as a table and the strange bottles littering it… the darkness swallows everything else but the crowning image of Twilight’s failure.

But over there. A door. Twilight charges for it, slamming it aside with a shove from a wave of magenta magic. Inside this door…

…is the boiler room, intact with the silently screaming pile of bodies. Their sobbing cries grow louder, more intense.

Inside that door, the same. The sobbing is louder still.

Through this door, more. The sobbing has grown into a sound closer to screams. It’s crashing all around her like waves, pulling her legs into a twist that halts her from escaping—not that escape is even an option anymore.

As her breathing becomes a raspy mess, a flicker of light dances from behind Twilight’s eyes and she blinks. Reopening her eyes changes the pile. One is a cyan pegasus, her mane many colors. Another is pink, with a mane and tail like cotton candy. The blonde mane of another foal drapes over an orange body. The pearl-white body underneath them has a mane as violet as fresh grapes. Another foal’s long pink mane forms an ominous pool under her butter-yellow body. This one, a colt, pure heroic white and comforting blue mane and tail. That one, another filly, pink with hair the color of the ocean at sunset.

And they all scream.

They all blame her.

She can’t save them.

Save them.

Help them…

No windows. No escape. A prison.

A prison.

Twilight’s lungs squeeze and unsqueeze, air bursting in and out in rapid bursts, the coldness in the room suffocating her, crushing her. The wide eyes gaze at her accusingly. The open mouths all scream her name, asking her why she did this to them. Why she would neglect them. Why she let this happen.

“It’s—I’m sorry!” she shrieks, her voice a wobbling mewl. “I’m so, so sorry, I… I…!”

But nothing else exits her mouth, her breath instead whistling out of her nostrils as she backs away, falling to her rump to the cold floor. Their screams are silent and deafening, their anger and sorrow things only she can hear. She flops over onto her side, her legs locking up as she assumes a fetal position, helpless against her own Hell.

Years pass. Years and years and years. A millennium. Thousands become nothing. Everything chokes her. Nothing matters anymore.

Then there’s a voice, suddenly. It’s small, afraid. It draws Twilight. She slowly raises her head as a conversation creeps into the room.

“Where… am I? Where’s Momma???”

It’s answered by another voice. Deceptively sweet. Queenly alto. French accent.

“It’s a special place. No need to fear. Simply keep quiet and have some pudding.”

“Where’s Momma? There were monsters… I… I w-want my momma…” Sniffling.

“No need to cry, child. Come, now, dry your tears. It’s going to be all right.”

More sniffling for several seconds. Twilight listens. Is this seriously a memory? But she wasn’t here when the foals were murdered…

“Come now,” continues the alto. “You must be hungry. Eat this pudding. You’ll feel better.”

More sniffling from the other voice, followed by the sounds of eating.

“Th-Thank you. Lady?”

“Yes?”

“Are you an angel? You look like one.”

“Then I suppose I must be one.”

Silence. More eating.

“Lady? Where’s my momma? Is she okay?”

A giggle from the alto. “Your mother is fine. You’ll be joining her shortly.”

The creeping sense of dread that had been building this whole conversation erupts with sudden shrieks and screams. “Momma!” cries the young voice. “Momma, Momma, no! No! No, please! Please, don’t!”

The screams reach nightmarish levels, fluctuating spastically, warbling and becoming throaty. The fear projected is palpable, plucking at Twilight’s spine with demented fingers. The screaming is suddenly silenced, stifled behind a gag of some kind.

“Shh-shh-shh-sh-sh,” hushes the alto. “Shh, little one, shh.”

As the sounds of struggle and smothered screaming continue, the alto suddenly begins to sing. The words are all in French, a language Twilight, perhaps unwisely, never learned to speak very well. But she recognizes a few of the words… the song sounds soft, speaking of puppies running along meadows and birds singing as the sun sets and how everything will be better tomorrow.

The smothered screaming bubbles down, become quieter and quieter, until finally it is silenced by a sound that stands between choking and vomiting. Near the end of the alto’s song, it becomes more gasping and monstrous, gurgling more and more before finally growing silent.

The alto finishes her lullaby. The murky light that illuminates the machines, the crate, the bottles, the bodies—it too grows silenced, the darkness drawing itself over the scene like a curtain. The wide, accusing eyes of the foals grow greyer under the growing shadows. Their mouths hang slack, gradually filling with the inky nothingness.

“Little one? … Little one?

“…Fascinating.”

Upon that last word, dispensed in a chilling whisper, everything goes black completely, as if the scene itself is suddenly unplugged from sight. Twilight, still curled, still sobbing, rocks herself gently, hoping beyond hope this is all a dream, that she’ll wake up in her warm bed, that the Castle isn’t there, that everything is all right…

Five fingers suddenly, slowly draw across her neck, up to her head, where a palm suddenly rests. “Hey,” says Sypha. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s over. Wake up.”

Twilight pries her eyes open reluctantly. The world around her is warped, bulging shapes that gradually wash and melt into the familiar sight of her library. Unfortunately, it’s apparently after Dirt Nap destroyed it: sunlight spills in from the lack of ceiling, piles of debris and destroyed books in the corners, the walls ashen and annihilated.

Kneeling next to her is Sypha, whose face is shadowed by her hood. The only thing Twilight can make out from where she lies on the floor is a set of pink lips, their corners folded down in a concerned, almost maternal pensiveness.

“Was that…?”

“Hell. Yes, that was Hell.” Sypha sighs, her hand gently stroking Twilight. “I really wish you didn’t have to learn that lesson so soon, but it was necessary to break you in.”

Twilight stands up, suddenly feeling this electricity in her spine. “Break me in?!” she shouts. “Break me in?! Excuse me?! My brother was bitten by a bat and got sick because of it! My friends’ livelihoods have been all but destroyed and their families traumatized! My hometown has been reduced to rubble, and my library—my own house—is—is—this! Look around you! Break me in?! I’ve broken in enough! Haven’t I earned any credit for the things I’ve been put through?!”

“You broke down sobbing because you were faced with the memory of your most haunting failure,” Sypha says sharply. “You were reminded that as much magic as you’ve learned, and are capable of learning, you can’t save everyone. You were reminded of the very real danger everyone you treasure is in, and because you couldn’t stand the thought of your loved ones getting hurt, you broke.”

Silence.

“It isn’t a weakness, you know,” Sypha continues, shaking her head. “I fully expected you to react like that. You’re just like I was when I was your age. Just seeing things in black and white, good guys do good and bad guys do bad, and everybody gets what they deserve based on how they act. But it’s not like that. It’s not like that at all.”

“...What are you saying, Sypha?” Twilight asks, her ears drooping.

“The Evil in your heart that chased you earlier,” Sypha reminds her. “That will have to be your tool.”

Somehow, the color drains from the pelt on Twilight’s face. “What?”

“I mean, sometimes, to protect the ones you love, you’re going to have to give your enemies a very good reason not to cross you. You’ll have to show those big, bad monsters you’re not afraid of them, and to do that, you have to be something they fear.”

“So… I need to be something worse than they are?”

Sypha sits down on the floor. The way she does so is odd: her legs criss-crossing in front of her as she rests a hand on either knee. She releases a sigh. “Not necessarily. This kind of hideousness resides in the hearts of all living creatures aware of right and wrong. These bastard beasts that hide in our heads and lurk in our hearts aren’t us... merely, they are part of us. You just have to know how and when to be the monster.”

Twilight looks up and meets Sypha’s intense royal blue eyes. “There is no such thing as being pure of heart,” Sypha continues. “If you’re totally absorbed by that thought, the realization that you can become just as evil as the monsters you fight can crush you. You need to be at peace with your evils. You need to accept that the are part of who you are. You need to use them before they start to use you.”

There’s another long silence. Twilight, now casting her eyes away from her new mentor, gulps as she formulates her next sentence. “But I don’t understand. How can the heroes be evil?”

“Quite easily, if they’re careless.”

It’s the sadness in Sypha’s voice that catches Twilight off-guard.

“You’ve made your mistakes in the past, Twilight. I don’t doubt that. And I don’t doubt they’ve damaged your friendships, even if only slightly. But the world you live in now is no longer the world you grew up in. It will never be so, ever again. You must now adapt. You must learn not to make the kinds of mistakes that ruin champions and topple kingdoms. Sometimes, to do the right thing, you have to be the bad guy.”

The two sit in the destroyed Library for a moment or so, silent. Twilight leans against the wall, the tiredness evident in her eyes. Everything inside her aches. “You know,” she says, “I thought all I needed was my friends, maybe some stronger magic. But this is just… I dunno. It’s a lot for me to take in.”

“Trust me on this,” Sypha says, putting her hand over Twilight’s hoof tenderly and giving it a squeeze. “If they’re your friends, and if you’re all as close as you imply, they’ll understand. You have to do what you have to do.”

Twilight looks down at Sypha’s hand. Curiously, it never crossed her mind before, but the idea of a hand, however grotesque, is novel. Like a branch of tiny pony legs with tiny, pillow-soft hooves at the tips. Strange to observe, but altogether inviting to the touch. She looks to Sypha and smiles. “Thanks.”

Sypha nods.

There’s small chatter in the room with them. Spike and Twilight. When did this happen?

Twilight inhales a small gasp and remembers fully this unfolding scene. She hears her own voice snapping at Spike the moment he asks about…

…the moment he asks about what she found in the boiler room.

Unwittingly, Spike had reintroduced her to Hell.

The snapping jolt Twilight had given Spike spiraled into a furious lecture. Slowly, Twilight remembers how Spike curled almost defensively away from her as she grew angrier. The fear in his young eyes that moment…

She hears Spike mumble something—even now not remembering what his rebuttal was—and the shuffling of his little claws, and the silence that follows, and the chanting of the magic words, and the whining sound the Blank Book made as it drew Twilight inside its pages.

Twilight deflates with a sigh. Not one of her proudest achievements.

“Hey, don’t worry about that either,” Sypha warns. “Every mother scolds her children at some point.”

The way Twilight’s face contorts clownishly could amuse even the most stone-faced man. “Wha—! I-I’m not his—he’s not my son!”

Sypha retorts with nothing more than a knowing smile.

“…But… But I still think I should go back to him,” Twilight adds. “I-I’m getting kind of antsy about leaving my friends alone for too long, to tell the truth.”

Sypha nods. “Understandable. I don’t want to overwhelm you in our first session anyways.”

Twilight’s lips pull to one side, unamused. Attacking her outright? Siccing her own inner evils on her? Throwing her into Hell? Yeah, sure, let’s not overwhelm the poor girl on her first lesson. Let’s go easy on her. In either case, Twilight wisely elects not to voice those thoughts. “So,” she says instead, “uh, how do I go home?”

Sypha stands up from where she sits, her knees suddenly popping during this action. She points to a nearby table, upon which lies the Blank Book itself. “You can leave this place the same way you got in here.”

Twilight stares at it, almost stupidly. Something tumbles from her lips, though if it’s a question it dies on the way out. The meta level of this revelation is staggering. Somehow, she shakes herself out of her daze. “A-All right. But I can just jump right back in anytime, right?”

Sypha nods. “Sure. And while you go do what you do best…”

Sypha leans against a wall. She makes a shape with her thumbs and index fingers, shaping them into a pair of o’s before pressing all four fingers together. Pulling them apart reveals a long, brown object that begins as a thin line, then fattens into a cigar the further away from each other her fingers get.

Sypha puts the cigar into her mouth with one hand, and with the other, she snaps her fingers. A flame dances on her thumb as she brings it up to the end of the cigar and begins to puff. As she releases a plume of smoke from her mouth, Sypha smiles at Twilight, her eyebrows rising and lowering at a mischievous pace as she keeps the cigar positioned between her teeth. Even though she stands a good seven feet away, Twilight can smell the “old raisins” scent of the smoke.

“…I’ll just kick back and enjoy the scenery. Maybe I’ll learn something about your world.”

There’s a million things wrong with this picture—indeed, with this entire situation—that Twilight could name, but wisely doesn’t. The exit to this mad wonderland is right there, pointed out to her, and by Celestia, she’s going to take it.

“Be careful with that lightning hammer spell,” Sypha says as Twilight trots over to the Blank Book, another cloud of cigar smoke billowing from her mouth.

The high-pitched sound the Blank Book makes as Twilight opens it and is sucked in, to her, is the sound of freedom.

Intermission ~ Stalker

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The fog twirls whimsically around Eagle Eye’s fetlocks as he carefully trots along, his ears twitching as they listen for danger. Though the fog is thick, it does nothing to blind him—he could see through mud if he needed to. Lost Canterlot may appear as though dead, but it is alive with sounds. Over there, the howling of wolves. Farther away, a murder of crows cackling. Still farther, a distant, pleading scream that ends just as suddenly as it began.

The cold around him slowly pulls ropes of running mucous from his nostrils. He glances aside and notices that Shaky lives up to his childhood nickname; the way his body jitters and spasms under this oppressive cold reminds Eagle Eye of a puppy he’d seen running through the winter rain long ago.

“What are we gonna do?” Shaky asks quietly.

It’s strange to Eagle Eye how that question had in fact been infecting his doubtful mind, yet he never granted it voice. He looks about, his lips suckling pensively as he scans the street and its dusty buildings and their broken windows and the rats that dwell inside. One glances up as if it can tell, even from this sixty feet of distance, that someone is watching it.

“We can’t go back, obviously,” Shaky continues as the two slowly trot along. “And I’m not sure it’s possible to leave. Dracula’s creatures are sneaky.”

“Then we’ll just have to be sneakier, love,” Eagle Eye says, not sarcastically, stepping over some fallen, rotting fruit.

“Sneakier?” Shaky growls. “Malphas can think and see through his crows. He’s literally their eyes in the skies. And don’t even get me started on that… that puppet thing, w-with the dolls! How do you get any sneakier than that?!” His shivering becomes much more violent.

“Wind Walker,” Eagle Eye says, using Shaky’s birth name in a tone that sounds parental, “you need to stop treating this situation like it’s a game we can’t win. We bloody well can leave this place, we just gotta be—be smart about it, like.”

Shaky rubs a hoof against his black mane, letting its curls bob and bounce and droop as he blows a tired sigh from his mouth. “Okay then,” he says after a brief pause. “What do we do?”

“You’re the one with the wings, remember?”

“Eyes in the skies, remember?”

“Who you think you talkin’ to, mate? I got eyes, too. And I’ll bet me balls mine are better than Malphas’ li’l vermin soldiers.” Eagle Eye sniffs, drawing one hoof across his muzzle to remove the sticky mucous, his eyes darting about, alert. “Here’s what we oughta do, so listen carefully.

“We ain’t takin’ the sky, I'll admit you’re right about that. Too dang’rous. We also can’t just walk through the main gates, that’s such an obvious solution Dracula’s captains have likely booby-trapped it already. No, what we need to do—if we ain’t goin’ over the fence, or even through the fence, we, love… are goin’ under it.”

Shaky’s eyes grow distant a moment. “Under it?” he echoes. “What, like... through the sewers?”

Eagle Eye nods, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face, proud that a mind as grand as his could think of such a great solution.

“What makes you think Dracula’s minions haven’t already taken up house there?”

“Ever see any of ’em pop up from the sewer lines?”

“No.”

“From the gutter drains?”

“No.”

“Then if they’re under there, there prolly ain’t too many of ’em runnin’ around.”

Shaky looks about, still shivering from the cold. “I… I-I dunno,” he says slowly. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about Canterlot’s sewers…”

Eagle Eye rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, we all have, Shaky. How they’re built over the old catacombs, and built next to the abandoned crystal mines where strange moans are heard—”

“—a-and how they lead to an underground city for those scary bat-ponies—”

“—and how the long-dead spirits of Canterlot nobles murdered by their own servants haunt it—”

Here, his fear approaching a sudden and unexpected climax, Shaky curls himself into a ball, still shuddering, this time from terror. “—a-and the r-r-rats!” he squeaks.

Eagle Eye pauses, the confident, cocksure look in his eyes suddenly wavering. “…The rats?”

Shaky’s wings close over his face like curtains. “The rats! In the poorer areas of Canterlot, the rats would sometimes pour out from the sewers like an invading force, like it was planned; and they’d—they’d—oh!—the things they’d do! They’d eat through walls just to break into nurseries and foal’s bedrooms and they’d bite the foals and tear them apart and—and—” The rest of Shaky’s rambling horror story stumbles into an unlistenable jargon of half-words and sobs.

Eagle Eye remembers that Shaky mentioned once or twice about his colthood, how he’d grown up in the older, poorer sections of Canterlot. The places of this great, mountain-carved capital you won't find on any grand tour or travel brochures. Places where the buildings sagged and the windows cried and the roads groaned and there are certainly large rats. These must have been tales Shaky had been told by cruel older siblings or his even-crueler parents as a means of manipulating him into obedience.

He has half a mind to tell Shaky if he thinks the rats in Canterlot are terrifying, he should see some of the rats he’d encountered back in Trottingham. Horrible, nasty little creatures they were! Bodies the size of a small foal. Faces like starved perversions of black skulls. Tails like writhing, foot-long earthworms.

But it was the sounds they made that scared Eagle Eye the most: the shrieks and squeals and squalls that reminded him of the terrified cries of an infant separated from its mother for too long; the horrible, invasive scratching of their clawed toes as they swarmed and schemed behind a wall. Always, it was the sounds—the sounds that warned of their presence—warned they were coming—warned they would be here any second if no action were taken.

Eagle Eye swallows a lump in his throat before he slaps Shaky’s wings out of his face. “Quit doin’ that, Shaky,” he warns, “yer gonna give us away, ya keep bawlin’ like that.”

Shaky’s breathing is coaxed slowly from small convulsions to something more regular, if still a little, well… shaky. “You’re sure we gotta use the sewers? Why can’t we just use the river?”

“You mean that big territorial marker Dracula’s goons’re usin’?” Eagle Eye smiles impishly. “Where there’s a buncha snipers waitin’ ta pop off any poor sod who wanders too close? Or maybe you wanna see what bein’ lunch fer those fish-things is like? Trust me, mate; the sewers is the best way out.”

Shaky gulps. Glances around nervously. “I-I dunno...”

“It’s the hardest option, I agree,” Eagle Eye states gravely as he helps Shaky up. “But only ’coz the easier ones are obviously traps. Don’t worry, mate—we’ll make it outta here yet. We just gotta be smart, plan our moves.”

Shaky stands on his legs, forcing them from their gelatin state into something more solid. Finally, he says, “So, what, we just… find a ponyhole cover and…”

“Hm, nah,” Eagle Eye sniffs as he begins their trek once again. “This is where our keen sights are gonna come in handy, love. See that squat, grayish buildin’ out there?”

Shaky squints as he leans forward, gazing into the direction Eagle Eye points. “…The one with the rounded roof?”

“That’s the one. It’s the sanitation standards building. Worked there fer a bit before I decided to join the Guard.”

“We go in through there?”

“Yup,” Eagle Eye says, histrionically emphasizing the puh sound so that it sounds like a bubble bursting. “They got a map’a the ole’ sewers anyway. And you got me word—the sewers don’t go anywhere near no catacombs or crystal mines or hidden cities fulla uglies or anything’a the sort down there. Just keep your eyes peeled, love, and we’ll be keen.”

His reassuring words are delivered with the breathless tone of recklessness, and do nothing to alleviate Shaky’s infected imagination, where catacombs and bat-ponies and rats and other horrors dance and eddy and shriek.

After getting into the drainage station—a simple task if you know how to pick locks—Eagle Eye had been quick in locating the map and other equipment they’d need to navigate the labyrinthine intestines of Canterlot Mountain. Small lights (which, upon Shaky’s own suggestion, they may need to not use as much so as to not attract too much attention), thick boots for wading through unpleasant sludge, and gasmasks for breathing.

Even with the gasmasks, the odor in the sewers is overpowering, to the point where Shaky is certain that without the mask he might vomit. There’s also a stuffiness in the air, cloying and choking and forcing beads of sweat to pop from their coats. If a color were to decorate these bricks and pipes, it would be the color of age and waste. Then there’s the sound of tiny things scuttling and worming and writhing…

It is also perilously dark.

The light Shaky attached to his helmet blinks on with a quiet pop, and before him is illuminated the awful scene of excrement and refuse burbling through the lower part of the circular ground, roaches shivering as they escape the sudden light.

He gulps.

Something crunches beside him. Shaky’s eyes dart sideways and catch Eagle Eye taking the first few brave steps into their escape plan. He turns his head, and nods. “What you waitin’ for, mate?” he whispers to Shaky, his voice muffled by the gasmask. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Uneasily, Shaky follows. There’s more to this place than the shadows and the stench and the roaches. Something hideous touches upon Shaky’s soul, pinching it between its spindly fingers, squeezing it gradually, building and building and building in its pressure until Shaky is certain that the sweat on his brow is no longer merely because of the still, stifling humidity. There are moments when this feeling subsides, or even just cuts out entirely. Those are the moments that worry Shaky the most.

They’re sneaking quietly through the winding guts of Canterlot, the only lights emanating from their helmets. Not so much as another word is shared between the two ponies for a palpable length of time. The lights on their helmets illuminate this, illuminate that, illuminate the map—then after the previously agreed-upon five minutes, the lights are shut off. The two sit down. Listen for danger. Nothing is heard but the hairy legs of a million roaches and the distant, yet still mortifying, squeal of rats. Once or twice, Shaky gasps as he feels the tiny brushes of roach legs suddenly crawling across his leg, like little hairy olives, and swats at them with his tail. When one minute passes, their escape continues.

That hideous feeling returns to Shaky, pinching him and holding him, this time applying so much pressure as to make him whimper.

“What is it, Shakes?” Eagle Eye whispers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“C-c-can’t you f-feel it?” Shaky asks, his voice cracking as he glances about. The light from his helmet darts about spastically, the illumination bouncing from ground to ceiling, coloring every brick and splashing every roach. “I swear, I f-f-feel something terrible.”

“Shakes, listen, love, we’re almost outta here. We just go this way and we’ll be fine.”

They go “this way” in the same fashion they’d done up to this point, walking then stopping. After minutes of this, that pinching feeling—which this time refuses absolutely to leave Shaky—jabs him. He lets out a terrified squeal, minute in its volume, but enough to erupt Eagle Eye into issuing a “Shhh!”

“Would you stop that?!” he hisses.

“Something’s near,” Shaky babbles in fear, once again glancing everywhere around them. “Can’t you hear it breathing?!”

“Besides you ’n me, ain’t nopony here,” Eagle Eye says, placing a reassuring hoof on his comrade’s shoulder. He brings up the map again. “Now. If we just go down the hall to th’ right, we’ll approach the last gate that’ll lead us up to the surface of Canterlot mountain, right outside the city. We’re almost there.”

Shaky looks in the direction Eagle Eye indicates. He squints. “What hall?” he asks.

Eagle Eye turns his head sharply. As Shaky says, there’s no hall. There isn’t even any indication there ever was a hall. There’s a scummy-looking brick wall lined with pipes and pipe-reading devices, but no hall. The scum built up on the wall spins yarns on how the wall has been here for generations.

He returns to his map. “Tha-That can’t be right,” Eagle Eye murmurs. “I’ve been through here a billion times before. There was a hall here, I’m sure of it.” He looks up and in a different direction. “Let’s just keep going down this path. We’re bound to find it, you’ll see.”

They continue in this direction.

Hours pass.

No hall.

All the while, that awful feeling is tearing at Shaky. His vision clouds with tears. Maybe it’s the fact he and Eagle Eye had been working tirelessly—from hunting the Wharg, to capturing the Wharg, to bringing it in, to guarding Shatterstorm, to nearly getting killed by the Wharg, to escaping the entirety of Rose Blade’s funhouse of horrors, to all the guilt each of these actions carry—but his delirium finally reaches its boiling point. Shaky collapses entirely, blubbering and sobbing into his curled forelegs like a terrified infant. “It’s here,” he babbles, “it’s here, it’s here.”

At his own wit’s end, Eagle Eye brings a hoof down on Shaky. The pop his hoof makes against Shaky’s gasmasked face rings loudly against the darkness. “Stop it!” he hissed. “You’re freakin’ me out!”

But Shaky can’t uncurl from his current position, simply continuing to blubber helplessly. Eagle Eye groans impatiently as he looks up,

just in time

to see the shadow

and the burning red eyes

looking back at him hungrily from the darkness.

Before it flickers and dies, Eagle Eye’s light captures, like a final snapshot, is a pasty-white thing, a face that looks as though it is melting. Jagged teeth, yellowed and browned by its unfortunate meals, crown a mouth that twitches into an unrecognizable, dangerous shape. The long, scraggly blue hair may have been quite handsome at some point, but the days of wandering in darkness and filth had already done a number on it.

The eyes—the red, bulging things with the silent black slices that count for pupils—hang in the darkness, clearly visible. They glow, their ugly shapes like a pair of bloodsoaked, breathing vaginas, accompanied by hoarse and perverted suckling sounds that might pass for breathing.

Then they vanish.

The perverted suckling continues.

It’s over there.

And it’s over there.

And now, after a sudden pause, it’s right on Eagle Eye’s neck.

The breath that falls on his shoulders is unbearably cold. The suckling sound draws closer and closer as the breath flows harder and colder. Eagle Eye’s mind is screaming for him to run—but the cold—the death-cold breath—no—no—Divine Sisters—no—not like this—no…

Suddenly an awful squall interrupts this horror. Eagle Eye opens his eyes—not realizing he’d closed them before—and finds light is cast upon them. He sees his own shadow on the wall, with another, far more twisted and cruel black shape looming over it. The cold breath dissipates with a snakelike hiss that boils into a deep, animalistic growl.

Shaky had turned his light back on, shining it upon Eagle Eye, unaware of his mistake. The consequences happen immediately: Eagle Eye is knocked aside, and the jagged teeth leap at Shaiky with the rest of this creature following suit, puncturing into flesh and pulling with the might of a thousand lions. Shaky’s sudden squall ends with a wet gurgle as blood paints the ancient colors of Canterlot’s sewers.

As the lights fade from Shaky’s eyes, Eagle Eye can see the light from his helmet filling in properly the awful creature’s face for one brief second before it digs back into its meal. Eagle Eye cowers as he watches the Captain devour Shaky, whose legs twitch and wings flutter weakly as the Captain’s ugly growls become greedy gulps and slurps.

Blood flies everywhere. The light from Shaky’s helmet works the place like a light show, jerking this way and that as more of the blood and bone and something green and sloppy fly and paint the walls and the Captain tears and eats and tears and eats without stopping.

The Captain is eating Shaky.

The registration of this thought breaks Eagle Eye from his stupor. Frozen legs melt into muscles that carry him from this terrible spectacle at a desperate speed, a whine shivering from his mouth as he forsakes the map, made useless for reasons unfathomable, and simply runs down the passageways of the sewers in the hope that he can find an exit.

His eyes adjust to the dark quickly, the same way they always do. Walls of bricks and pipes dart by him. Rivers of waste sit and idle and stink. Roaches and rats—thankfully, not the giant ones spoken about earlier—clear from his path as he runs and runs and runs hopelessly.

He goes down this passage. That passage. He runs by a shadowy entrance to yet another passageway, and upon running by it, catches a glimpse of something even more terrible.

His nostrils are first attacked by the smell of rot and death and ancient generations. The darkness in that hall parts like a curtain, revealing piles of bodies wrapped in cloth made filthy from years of neglect. They sit in windows carved out of the walls, their jewelry and bony arms dangling from the ends, as if there was no more room for them here.

And there, pruning the bodies of their heads and collecting them in a bag, is a figure. Her mane, from behind, looks almost like the petals of a gold flower—an image completed by the deep green of her elaborate, elegant dress. Another skull lands in her bag with a thump as she turns her head, revealing the side of her face.

And the fangs in her mouth.

And the same red eyes Eagle Eye had seen only moments before.

He turns and runs and runs and runs.

In moments, Eagle Eye realizes he is looking down the sewer hole he just crawled out of, his chest heaving with labored breathing, his stomach spinning like a wheel. He feels his mind might be missing some pieces: all he remembers is a pair of red eyes and Shaky screaming and a smiling, pretty face with fangs…

…Shaky. His blood splattered the walls. Eagle Eye looks at his reflection in a nearby window to see that, yes, some of it got on him as well.

He tries brushing the blood off as his face suddenly grows hot. He removes the gasmask and the light-helmet, letting them clatter to the floor inelegantly.

Shaky.

Eagle Eye’s face burns as mucous rolls out of his nostrils and tears pool around his eyes. Before he can stop it, a sob squeezes its way out of him.

He looks behind himself, peering at that ponyhole, that hole that leads to an oblivion of a sewer—a spiraling, neverending tomb. His bottom lip trembles as he trots slowly over to the ponyhole cover and, with a heavy movement, slides it back over the hole until it falls in and stops with a click. Some part of Eagle Eye scolds him for not acting faster, but really, what does it matter anymore?

Can’t leave by flying over the gates.

Can’t leave by passing through the gates.

Can’t leave by sneaking under the gates.

Can’t leave. Can’t leave, ever.

Another sob shoots out of Eagle Eye, this one long and wheezing and pulling his stomach into knots. His legs lock up, and he falls onto his side, curling up as the sobbing continues. The world around him spins, becoming washed-out, runny kaleidoscopes and empty sounds drowned out by a whining buzz in his head. The tears flow, his body spasming as if getting squeezed by invisible giant hands. This is the world. This is the world, and it squeezes him and crushes him and it destroys him.

A sound pierces the ringing in his ears, drawing nearer and nearer. The trotting of hooves.

He raises his head slowly. His vision still blurred from the tears, Eagle Eye quickly wipes the tears away to see a figure melting into his sight. Its hooves carry a large and misshapen head through the parting tendrils of fog. Even though Eagle Eye’s namesakes can see this figure through the fog—and the Castle as it looms ominously behind him—the figure’s head is lowered, the hood covering it casting it in a frank shadow that blanks out any facial features, aside from what looks like a red mouth and white whiskers.

The figure stops just before him.

Eagle Eye pulls himself out of his fetal position, looking up into this strange pony. They stare at each other for a moment, as if neither are certain the other is real. He’s so close, Eagle Eye can hear him breathing—it’s a raspy sound as if he’s inhaling through an old trumpet. Wisps of cold air roll from his nostrils like cigar smoke.

“…Wh-Who… what’re you?” Eagle Eye asks, not sure if anything means anything anymore.

“I assure you, I am real,” it says in a thin voice. It’s barely audible, even from where Eagle Eye sits.

The eerie presence of this stranger is too well-timed, too convenient to be anything but the end of Eagle Eye’s life. He gulps. He’d heard stories about the Pale Horse, and how it would appear before a pony just a few moments before his death to carry his spirit away to the Hereafter. So gentle an end would be preferable.

“Are you, erm… a-are you the Pale Horse?”

“Am I pale?” it asks, another wisp of cold air billowing from his lips. The turn up in a smile that reveals predatory fangs…

Fangs…

Eagle Eye stands up suddenly, taking a step back as he does so. “Y-You’re one of them, a-aren’t you?!” he gasps. “O-One of those things from the sewer!”

At this, the figure laughs. It’s a startling sound, like something gasping as it dies. “I am not one of them. I am not from the Castle, though indeed my interests do lie there.”

“What do you mean?”

The stranger turns its head to look at the Castle. “Can you not feel the weight of its dark presence, little pony? Can you not taste of its promising flavors? Smell its perfumes? Hear its laughter? This Castle is more than a mere… place.”

Eagle Eye gulps. This whole situation is getting so wrong, so fast…

The stranger slowly turns its face around, looking wistfully to the grayed outline of the Castle. It holds its head up high enough that Eagle Eye can see its face more clearly. Burned red, haggard with hills and valleys that formed cheekbones, shaggy white mane. Wet white lights sparkle menacingly from the deep, dark pits where eyes should be. The almost-casual smile this stranger had is gone now, merely a line of thin lips. It holds its gaze for too long.

“I am not ready to visit it yet,” he admits.

He takes a single step forward.

Eagle Eye takes another step back. “H-Hey, listen, I—”

“This is where you come in, little pony,” he continues, taking another step forward. His head moves awkwardly, until Eagle Eye finally makes the connection that the upper part of the stranger is not a bizarrely-shaped head or neck, but really an upper torso. Arms extend, one with a finger pointing right at him. “You shall aid me.”

Eagle Eye blinks. Gulps. He doesn’t realize until he blinks how dry his wide eyes are becoming. “What, what do you want me to do?”

The stranger stands before him for several seconds. Their gazes do not disconnect. Their faces do not change. It has the gravity of an Appleoosan standoff.

Suddenly, the stranger’s mouth springs open in a way that reminds Eagle Eye of how anacondas open their jaws before swallowing their prey. Before Eagle Eye can escape this situation, a single screaming beam of light suddenly shoots from the stranger’s mouth and pierces his face.

His vision—his beautiful, beautiful vision—is robbed from him, crystal-clear images breaking then melting then exploding into glints of colors. He has no legs, merely dull things twitching from miles away. No face besides the vague thing decorating his head. No heart that beats, no mouth that speaks, no nostril for smell. No identity. He falls to the ground, reduced to nothing.

But he still has hearing. The stranger was grateful enough for Eagle Eye’s unoffered “help” to leave that.

The blurry black and red thing in front of him yawns and stretches, like a lion after a successful hunt. “I missed the taste of pony magic,” he says in a tone that sounds almost like gentle cooing. If the stranger makes any movement between its words, it’s just shuddering afterimages to the now near-blind Eagle Eye.

“These fiends that crawl over Canterlot now are mere appetizers,” he continues. “Barely filling. Almost not even worth the effort. But if there is you, little pony, then there must be more. You have filled me with the strength to expand my hunt. For that, you have my sincerest gratitude.”

The stranger melts away. The sound of hooves against cobblestone grow fainter and fainter. Those sounds are suddenly soaked with a new one. Tiny paws skittering along, pulling fat hairy bodies with hairless tails. Curious squeaks. Gathering. Many. All of them large creatures.

The teeth that dig into him tug from miles away, pulling the meat off him. Eagle Eye lacks even the energy to formulate fear. He glances up for some reason. The shuddering, blurry black thing he looks at looks like its laughing to itself. It continues to crow in self-satisfaction as Eagle Eye’s prized eyes are pulled from their sockets and rent and torn into pulp by vermin’s teeth.

Darkness.

Eagle Eye sees the Hereafter

All it is... is darkness…

Author's Notes:

Firstly, I have to begin this author note with an apology.

There was going to be a much more proper conclusion to the last arc, but I wanted to get back to Canterlot as soon as possible and the scenes for the last Twilight chapter weren't all that important or interesting anyway. Maybe one day I'll talk about what the scenes were, but for now, just take my word that this story is much smoother without them.

Besides, I wanted to finally show y'all Shining Armor's new habits and even give some closure on what exactly attacked Actrice's subordinate, Dorothy. Plus, another OC villain, for whatever she's worth. Yes, she has something to do with Shining Armor, and yes, she'll become more important later on. (And no, I don't know what she was doing collecting skulls, and frankly I don't care to know.)

Now, before I get comments saying what a bunch of dumbasses Eagle Eye and Shaky are: yes. Yes, they are. They're not leaders or strategists, they're dumb thugs and cowards who think they're bigger and smarter than they really are. Why else would they have stuck with Rose Blade long after it was clear he was bonkers?

And finally, I introduce you, my readers, to one of my many greatest fears.

Fucking RATS.

I don't freak out at roaches or spiders or even snakes, but for some reason, rats set me off. Especially big ones. I blame webcomics, personally: have you ever read Jack or Tales of the Questor? The main villain in Jack was a giant rat that raped the damned in Hell, while Questor introduced me to the concept of a "Rat King"... which I discovered is actually a real thing. I don't sleep well these days...

Maybe I'll introduce some of my other personal fears to you. Until then, sweet dreams. ^_^

Equestrylvania

by Brony_Fife

Prologue ~ Message of Darkness

Bloody Tears, Part I

Bloody Tears, Part II

Monster Dance, Part I

Monster Dance, Part II

Intermission: Out of Time

Monster Dance, Part III

Silence of the Daylight, Part I

Silence of the Daylight, Part II

Silence of the Daylight, Part III

Demon Seed, Part I

Demon Seed, Part II

Demon Seed, Part III

Demon Seed, Part IV

Intermission ~ A Requiem

Original Sin, Part I

Original Sin, Part II

Original Sin, Part III

Original Sin, Part IV

Original Sin, Part V

Intermission ~ Awake

The Wolf Revealed, Part I

The Wolf Revealed, Part II

The Wolf Revealed, Part III

Intermission ~ Reincarnated Soul

The Wolf Revealed, Part IV

The Wolf Revealed, Part V

The Wolf Revealed, Part VI

Successor of Fate, Part I

Successor of Fate, Part II

Successor of Fate, pt III

Intermission ~ Stalker