Twilight. Daybreak. That would be the time if there were any opposition to the emanations of the artificial sun orbiting Cyrias, the planet this particular story begins on. The tale of a single skirmish, in contrast to a whole war. We could talk about the entire conflict, but all we need to know is the cassas for now.
Five hundred years ago, humanity was enticed by the fantasy of independent space travel. With the idea of individuals making an excursion into the void dashed before any attempts could even be made on that front, droves of people pushed for the possibility of groups, as small as families, to have the option to travel the cosmos. The general public found out eventually that such a thing would never be possible. Humanity yet hoped for a chance to grasp the stars.
That's when they came. Giegamurs, "Eaters of the Dead." Reapers. They offered spacious nirvana to an avaricious and cynical race. Blinded by our own ambition, we We took their offer. The price: the death of two thirds of the human population, dead, overnight. They took the richest, the most capable of being received, of humanity and brought them to Cyrias.
Today, we’ll see a divergence from this tale of desperation. One man has thrown away just about everything he has ever owned all he held dear, to save the people he loves. Not capable of comprehending the nature of his actions, have written it off as a romp. A romp that has left thousands dead. They claim he has gone mad, they call for him in the hopes that he will face his own persecution. But he can’t have that. He has one last thing to do before they can know what it was all about.
A man stood on the a small platform, held in front of a swirling mass made up of waves that appeared to be emanating and absorbing light, facing it and staring right into its heart. He wore a suit, almost completely covered by the graphite like substance that it was made of, notably iridescent and shining in the light of the mass in front of him. His face was shrouded by a tinted visor. His head held atop it a black fedora.
The light given off by the ball of energy showed through his suit, in an x-ray like fashion, revealing the silhouette of the wearer. He was missing his right shin, and left forearm, but the suit replaced them with it's own mass.
A younger man ran onto the platform, stopping behind the suited man. He had His brown hair was done up in a scruffy mullet, lightly coming off to the sides. He wore a dark grey t-shirt, and a pair of almost neon orange baggy shorts. This was all standard issue for stable dwellers... These were all standard pieces of attire for station dwellers, the only piece of personal flair was a turquoise button keeping a pocket on his pants closed. He was barely past the age of 18. He was barely old enough to shave.
"Stop! I won't let you just walk away from the consequences of your actions. You've killed thousands-"
"You have no idea what I've done," the other man said. Seemingly out of nowhere he pulled out a briefcase, turned around, and lay set it on the ground. "If you find the time in the coming perils, I hope you look through the contents of this. Maybe you'll be willing to ‘see it my way,’ like old times."
As he finished speaking, he leaped backwards into the mass, spreading his arms wide as he vanished into the void.
Left there with just the case, the younger man opened it to see what the other was talking about. Inside, he found a letter. It was headed "An Introduction to the End."
The letter went as follows:
"It is with the last bit sincerity this world will afford me that I insist your beliefs that I 'have lost it,' 'started killing for fun,' and have become a 'psychedelic psychopath,' are wrong; any actions you have made under such assumptions have been equally so."
"If your law's lists detailing my 'kills' were accurate, then they would begin, and end, with the name: Tom J. Reeds."
"The problems you face go beyond this reality, as do the 'tragedies' you've seen me commit."
"That is why I'm leaving a record of my actions and all thoughts pertaining to them with you now. Soon, you will see the fruits of my labor, or if I have failed, experience firsthand what I was trying to prevent."
"This isn't like what they did on Earth. They can circumvent the effects of a vindictive crop, guilt will not stop the harvest."
"Hello?" Tom called out into the pitch black scape. He had expected death upon entering that energized ball of darkness and light, not portage. Without even feeling for it, he knew his fedora had fallen off, just a few feet away, and leaving it so for any period of time had drastic consequences and he quickly snatched it up. Upon placing it on his head, a light appeared a couple of yards from the spot his hat had landed.
"I'd like to make a deal with you." a feminine voice said as the light grew in size.
"I came here for death. If you're not offering anything of the sort, I'm not interested."
"Your release can be arranged."
The light stopped it's expanse, and Tom could make out a shape inside it. It was a . . . Horse? No no, a white alicorn with hair reminiscent of the aurora borealis, silly! Having seen stranger beings, the form of the speaker wasn't surprising. He was far more perplexed by not having been taken into death's mantle.
"Who are you?"
"I am Princess Celestia. I, and my sister Luna, reign over the land of Equestria. A world populated by ponies. We have a problem that we failed to prepare for, and having seen your success in-"
"Training the other 5 'heroes' of my race, you want me to speed along the teachings of yours before the exodus."
"Yes. But it is the belief of I and my sister that we can avoid that disaster entirely through the use of a Tyrant's Heart . . ."
Tom paused at hearing that. The “Tyrant’s Heart” was a very important item that could save the lives of millions if used correctly. But acquiring it meant killing an intelligent being. While others may assume that he’d do such a thing on whim, that was just not so. He didn't like being a killer. The moniker Walker especially peeved him. "A man that treats murder like a morning stroll . . ." Not realizing it, Tom had said that last thought out loud. Though only a mumble, Celestia still heard it. Time passed, no hyperbole needed, as I can assure you it was quite a while. Celestia broke the silence.
"You won't be killing any 'living' thing. In fact, I would hardly describe anything you'd be doing as a romp-"
"Everything I do is a romp and nothing will change that."
". . ."
"But I accept the deal all the same."
"There's one condition."
Tom stepped forward, leaning toward the princess, before saying "And that is, that I must become one of your subjects during this excursion, right?"
"Yes." as she ended her reply, her horn started to glow, and then shot off a ray towards the suited man. Seconds later, he was standing on 4 hooves, in the same suit, same fedora (now with 2 small holes that let loose his elongated ears, still suited), and an equine body. His visor had been adjusted such that only covered the top half of his muzzle instead of his entire face, the insignia of Star-Tech (damn them) now adorned his flank instead of his chest, and he was sporting a loose black tail. "That was quick." Tom thought.
"You can still decline at this point. The changes aren't permanent."
"As long as I am given release at the end, I'm in."
"Good. Now that you've been physically acclimated, let's get you mentally prepared . . ."
Celestia had told Tom, in the briefest ways she could come up with, all about the peaceful land of Equestria. The nature of it’s inhabitants. Its general history everything. And then . . .
"Now we can talk about Nightmare Moon's defeat, and the Elements of Harmony-"
"These Elements, are they made up of 6 virtuous concepts?"
"Yes."
"Go on."
Taking a deep breath, Celestia continued.
"1000 years ago, my sister grew jealous of my reign over the day. She believed our subjects didn't like her night as much as the day. She asked for extended night hours and things of the like, and when I refused, her ire turned her into the shadowy beast Nightmare Moon."
"Was Luna a penumbra?"
Beings can be classified within two archetypal groups, penumbras and emanations. This classification does not determine a creatures paradigm in regards to good and bad intentions. Penumbras are rational thinkers. Often their countenance is such that rational actions cannot be completed, like if they're too shy to speak up. Emanations are emotionally minded beings, described as creatures that think with their hearts more often than their heads. Feelings often get the better of them.
"No. I'm a penumbra, she's an emanation."
Tom basked in the irony. The sun was a secluded thinker, and the moon an outgoing sensie. Neither had much of a chance to be with beings of their own ordinance.
"Continue."
"Just 11 months ago she returned. My student, Twilight Sparkle-"
"What kind of name is that!?"
"It IS her name, what's wrong with that?"
There was a small lull in the conversation, during which Tom suppressed his laughter as best he could. After a time, Celestia rolled her eyes and promptly continued the briefing.
"Names aside, I sent her on a mission to find friends."
Tom asked, once again interjecting, "And those friends happened to be the bearers of the elements?"
"I think it would be best if you stopped interrupting."
Another pause. This time, Tom was the one to break the silence.
"Fine."
A few seconds after he said that, a low tone came from Tom's suit. It was unnerving at first, but as the silver pony tensed up it became softer, sweeter. With terse movements, he craned his neck at an angle that looked quite painful, the tone seemed to follow his movements. Moments more of these strange reverberating contortions later, and the princess was met with a pony with a completely different posture than it had exhibited before. The stance didn't last for but a second before he slumped over, with undeniable grace, at Celestia's hooves. Startled by the sudden movement, she stepped back. In a voice alike, but not quite the same as the one used prior to the strange performance Tom had just put on, he said "Sorry about that. Changing one's countenance takes a lot of energy if done in such short time. I can assure you that if it was not for the fact I came here expectant of death I would not have done so with my cockier set of ordinances.
"Yes, yes I would. As I was saying, they were the bearers, and together they defeated Nightmare Moon and freed Luna. Since then, they've been through numerous trials without the aid of the elements. But now . . . Well, as I told you, Luna succumbed to her jealousy and became Nightmare Moon. Something of the sort has happened to me. An impostor, or perhaps another wicked persona, has taken my place and banished me, or at least this part of me, to this place. I cannot directly contact the element bearers. So that's where you come in. You will have to warn them of the danger lying in Canterlot, and train them to combat it."
"If I may interrupt . . ."
"You may."
"Would I be right in believing that this is where the Tyrant's Heart comes in?"
"Yes. If extracted from the impostor appropriately, it can be used to bring me, and anyone lost along the way back to Equestria."
"Ahhhh. Please, continue."
"With your help . . . Oh no!"
"What?"
Celestial pointed a hoof towards Tom's back half. Looking there, he saw the problem. He was slowly disappearing.
"I can't keep you here any longer. I was hoping I could give you the bearers' descriptions, but there's no time!"
She placed a hoof on his shoulder.
"When you awaken in Equestria, you will be in the presence of one of the elements. The element of laughter . . ."
As the rest of his body faded, he said "I'll do my best."
Or, that would be what he said if he didn't pass out mid sentence.
"Ooh! Who are you? You're so shiny! Is that armor? Why do you wear a hat like that if you're in shiny suit of armor? Rarity would say you look atrocious, but I like the clash! Can I wear your hat?"
Tom opened his eyes, and was met with a smile he would not soon forget. A pink pony, with a poofy mane and tail of a just barely darker shade, was lying her snout right right on his visor.
"I'm . . ."
Before saying his name, he remembered his incredulous response to the name of the princess' student. 'Twilight Sparkle,' this time he remembered to NOT think out loud. He decided it would make things easier if he had a name alike the beings of this world. But before making one up, he answered the pony's other questions while he still remembered them.
". . . Wearing armor, it's sort of my thing, maybe later."
As he answered her, he noticed how his voice had grown much deeper, and gravely.
"But what's your name?! I can't introduce you to my friends if you won't give me your name."
"What's your name?"
"I asked first!"
He had a plan. This being's archetype just happened to be one of the more malleable ones. With just the slightest bit of tact, he could make HER name him. The perfect facade is the one you already have. If naming worked the way he thought it did, he'd need a pretty accurate one to pass as a proper equestrian. Lightly masking his voice (he was sure it was strange to the pony, if not frightening), he began the execution of his cunning schema.
"Let's play a game."
"I like games! Sure."
"Can you guess my name?"
"Hmmmmmmmmmm . . ."
". . ."
"Fullmetal Jack!"
"No." he thought, and said. That would imply he was a soldier, suited to kill. Or worse, to maim. Additionally, he knew a Jack, and that was not the kind of colt he'd want to be in the peaceful society the princess had told him about. Actually, who was this mare that knew terminology with such a violent subtext, especially enough to form a pun like that . . . And more importantly, possessing a demeanor so carefree as to make a joke out of such a loaded object?
"Laughter . . ."
"Oh Silver Star, you're so crazy!"
"What?
"I figured out your name, Silver Star! You're all shiny, and your cutie mark has a star in it!"
Silver Star? That would work perfectly. But what did she mean by cutie mark? The only thing with a star on his person was the insignia, which had moved from his chest to his flank . . .
And then the mare turned around, chattering about party supplies, and he saw it. Her 'cutie mark.’
3 balloons, sprinkles of confetti to the left and right of them. But there was something off about it. Like there was more to it. Something was hiding there, underneath the 'cute' exterior was another mark that he was slowly getting a better look at . . .
It was a grey circle, with axle coming out of the middle. 6 smaller circles containing what looked like ammunition for a weapon he knew couldn't have existed in this world until he carried one into it were placed around the axle. He knew what this was. The revolving cylinder of a magnum.
This pony had another side. And she knew how to hide it. Just seconds after entering this world, he’d found a being of his ilk. Another killer.
Someone who’d also committed the unforgivable sin. Murder. But unlike any other act of this nature, it was the first. The first the beings of this world had experienced. It had to have happened thousands, if not millions of years ago.
This pony was a reincarnation of the first killer ponykind had ever birthed.
"Yes! I am Silver Star, sorry for not confirming that while you, uh, planned my party or whatever. Now what's your name!?"
"I'm Pinkie Pie!"
Her voice faltered at the end in just the way Tom, err, Silver Star expected. She was lying. 'Pinkie' went back to her party talk, and Star listened intently to her while looking about the room they were in. Actually, the first thing he noticed was that he hadn't noticed the room at all. Not that it's appearance mattered, because moments after this revelation he found what he was looking for: A picture of Pinkie Pie as a filly. Her hair was straight, oddly, and she was pushing a rock on a well tilled field. Well tilled, but rock filled? Why would someone till a field and THEN remove the rocks from it? It looked like some kind of punishment, given the miserable look on the filly's face. And then, accompanied by several digital and acoustic tones that drew the attention of Pinkie Pie more so than what prompted them, Star screamed "Ah ha!" in the most playful voice he could muster.
"I know your REAL name, miss Pie!"
"Really?" She said as her face lit up with a smile that was so memorable, Star's perception of it contradicted and crushed his previous mental statement exclaiming that he would never forget the face he just forgot in lieu of the one he was now presented with.
"You are . . ."
"Yes . . . ?"
"Blissful Diane Sundae, or, should I say Bluh D. Sundae!"
Her smile was immediately replaced with something almost sad looking, but not quite. Her hair lost its curly nature and became straight. Her cutie mark faded and was replaced with the one seen earlier, which Star had just decided to call a "melancholy mark." As the transformation from Pinkie Pie to Bluh-D. Sundae was completed, a small frown took over her face. A frown, and a well of tears. She plopped down on her rump and looked up to Star.
"I know what it's like."
"No. No you don't. Not if you’d show up, and ruin my facade. Just like that!” said as she brought her hooves together in a glancing clap. “I worked hard to become Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pie is everypony’s friend! Nobody likes Bluh-D . . ."
She continued sobbing quietly.
Star trotted to her side and gave her an awkward hug.
"Would you like to know my real name?"
". . . Sure."
"It’s Tom J. Reeds."
"I knew it!" she exclaimed as she pushed him away and pointed at the colt with at least a small amount of excitement before slumping down and weeping, an integral but hardly notable step up from sobbing. She received, with a more than complacent motion, another hug. If she could see his name, then that confirmed that she was indeed the being he made her out to be. Killers can tell each other apart, and see who they are. This was the second time he’d ever met another killer, and what had happened so far was occurring just as it had then. To get his name, the mare would have to have some understanding of his archetype. Who he was. The only thing he had presented her with was a willingness to tell the truth . . .
"Then you know I wouldn't tell anypony."
Wait, when the hell did I pick up that bit of vernacular . . . ? Star thought for just a second before his thoughts drifted back into a consoling mindset.
She nodded in response.
"Would a story, from one Killer to another, cheer you up?"
"No." despite the negative implications of the response, she perked up as she said it.
"Do any of the others know?"
"Others?"
She wiped away the last of her tears, and Star continued.
"The other ‘heroes’ . . ."
“Heroes?”
She doesn’t know? If that were the case, then he could only go forward by asking her about the elements.
“I was told that I’d be in the presence of an “Element of Harmony,” and I’d need to find the other bearers.”
Bluh-D shot up quickly and stepped away from Star, giving him a confused, angry, look.
"Who told you, and how do you know about the elements?"
"I was brought here by princess Celestia to train them for something. I would know exactly what, but something or other forced her to drop me here earlier than she had intended." Maintaining what the colt now realized was a scowl, Bluh-D raised an eyebrow.
A couple of knocks coming from the door made both of them jump a little.
"Pinkie! Twilight wanted us to get all the girls together at the library for something important! Come on out!"
"Quick, cover my flank." Bluh-D whispered to Star.
"Way ahead of you." he said as he spread body in such a way that whomever came into the room would not be able to see her mark. As more knocks came from the door, Bluh-D called out in her happier, peppy voice from earlier "Come in, Dash!"
The door began to open, revealing a blue pelted, rainbow maned pegasus. She froze, either from seeing Star or her friend's appearance. Probably both.
"Uhhhh . . ."
"Sorry Dash, I don't really feel good tonight. This colt’s here trying to help me get over a sad bump . . ."
Star looked at Bluh-D, giving her an unfortunately unviewable but very disapproving glare. Dash seemed to regain her composure. She leaned forward slightly and put on a stern face.
"We don't have time to fool around, Pinkie!"
"I'm not leaving here without him at my side." she said in the angrier voice, this time.
"Ugh, fine, but when we get there and Twilight doesn't let him in, don't ask me to vouch for him!"
Star and Bluh-D left the room in such a way that Dash wouldn't see the altered mark. He stuck between the two. Luckily, as they left what Star now knew was a bakery and continued to the literal tree-house, the darkness did more than a good enough job of hiding it from any venues the suited colt could not cover.
"So," Star whispered to Bluh-D, "I'm playing as your coltfriend, eh?"
Perhaps my mind was altered too? That would explain these equivalent mannerisms . . .
"I thought you'd like the role."
Looking back into her face, he noticed for the first time that she had blue eyes. Mentally adding that to the list of similarities the two ponies (which he’d started after looking into her to uncover her mark), he found an appropriate reply.
"I'm pretty sure that would be narcissism."
"Oh, are we really so alike that it makes you feel a little perverse?"
“You could say that."
Bluh-D smiled at that. Though she didn't send the look towards him, Star knew whom it was meant for.
They turned a corner and caught sight of the library.
"Quick, once we're through the door, get me in between you and Rainbow, the ponies inside will see my mark if you're the only one covering it." And so they entered, and rushed to get into formation with a less than complacent pegasus.
With Bluh-D's flank effectively flanked by the suited colt and Rainbow Dash, they were in. The only suspicious element left o the pink pony was her hair. But the problem wasn't Bluh-D's appearance, it was Star's.
As they sat down, all eyes were on him. Though he didn't know it at the time, his appearance unknowingly warranted a distended amount of worry in a certain yellow pegasus. Not that the colt would know it was out of the ordinary.
"So, Twilight, you were saying something was wrong with your last couple letters from the princess, right?" said that yellow pegasus, eyeing Star with an aura of fright.
"Yes, thank you Fluttershy," the purple unicorn responded, "but before we talk about that, I want to know what HE's doing here . . ." now pointing a hoof in Star's direction.
"I'm Silver Star."
"That's a nice hat yah got there, Star." the orange pony said. She was wearing a brown stetson herself.
He turned his head towards her and said "Thanks."
"What's wrong with your face?" a white unicorn asked with an accent reminiscent of a long gone culture. A fancy one, at that.
"He's wearing a suit." Bluh-D said before Star could form the words himself. The white mare gave Bluh-D and Star a quizzical look.
"I've never seen a suit that was so . . . shiny, before. Where'd you get it? What's it made of?"
Star pondered the origins of his primary article of clothing, looking down as he did so. And then . . .
"WHO made it?"
He tensed up at that particular question. Never again . . .
"Can we get back on topic? If what you were talking about was so important that you had to interrupt me and Star from, various things, then I think we should get back to it. Immediately." Bluh-D said in her more serious voice. Star really didn’t like the implications of her statement, false or not.
"Yes, again, thanks, but why is he here, Pinkie?" the purple unicorn asked.
"He's with me, and that's all you need to know. For now. Let's get back to the letters."
Twilight gave the pink pony a look that Star couldn't quite make out. He thought it may have been one of surprise, or worry, for the irregular attitude he could only assume Bluh-D now held.
"So . . . They were odd."
"Odd how?" the yellow pegasus asked in a much quieter voice than the one she used when Star entered the library.
"Well, a couple of weeks ago, she asked me to find a couple of books and send them to her. After I got them into the postal service, she sent me a message forbidding me from so much as looking at the books in question. I sent her a letter asking why she would change her mind like that on such short notice, and her reply ignored the question altogether."
A noise, one that seemed to only be heard by Star and the yellow pegasus, arose.
"To be specific, the response asked me to bring all of us together at the old castle we defeated Nightmare Moon in."
Perfect. Confirmation. Star now knew these were in fact the mares he was asked to find, protect, and teach. Now he needed to find a way to get them to trust him. Though he was presently a being of the same form as them, his appearance was still xenologically questionable. And there was no way the suit was coming off any time soon. What was inside would be more than a good enough reason to not trust him.
"So then, we’ll be going too?" said the orange pony.
"Well, Applejack, I think we should have a vote on it-"
"What IS that noise! It sounds downright dreadful . . ."
What Star had previously regarded as a mere change in the ambiance of the room had grown to an easily noticed series of screeches and buzzes. Bluh-D, having moved out of the protective entrenchment made up of Rainbow Dash and Silver Star while no-one was looking, galloped out the front door. The rainbow maned pegasus followed, and shouted "Pinkie, wait!" She managed to catch up to the pink pony, pinning her to the ground. "What's up with you today? First you're with suited coltfriend who came out of nowhere, with whom you look depressed, then you get all serious, and now you're running off to who knows where to do who knows what, and, and . . ."
Dashed panted over her friend. Everyone from the library had now left to see what became of the two ponies, and what was making that noise. Bluh-D pointed a hoof to the scene unfolding behind Rainbow and the others. Everyone turned. A multicolored throng of flies were eating away at the houses and vegetation on one side of the town. Even having not seen such creatures before, Star could tell there was something unnatural about them.
"Are those, Parasprites?" Twilight said with a drained face.
"Yes. But they're . . . Different." Fluttershy stated in a voice that contradicted her name.
"They're . . ."
"Screaming."
"Dash, if you'd not tackled me, I'd already be leading them away!"
"Sorry!" Rainbow said as she let loose the pink pony she had trapped under her. As soon as she was freed, Bluh-D was off to the bakery.
Star, not knowing much About the situation aside from a presumption that the 'Parasprites' were like locusts, decided to trot besides Twilight.
"What are these ‘Parasprites?’" he asked.
"They're insects that eat plants . . . But ever since I accidentally modified their eating habits incorrectly in an attempt to stop them from ruining an important event, they've taken to wood and other building materials . . ."
In the distance, perhaps so far off that the others couldn't see it without a large amount focus that they simply could not muster as they witnessed their town get eaten away by the swarm, Star saw exactly what he hoped he would not see in a situation like his. A resident of a formerly upright home was galloping out into the road, covered head to hoof in parasprites. Moments later, no more than a skeleton remained as a sepulcher for the pony.
"Di-Did they . . ." the purple unicorn stammered.
Star answered by yelling "Everypony, RUN!"
Everyone galloped to the other end of the town. Bluh-D was nowhere to be seen. Star followed the others. Along the way, Star tried to look away from the horrible demise of several more ponies. The mare with the stetson, Applejack, got the group together and brought them down a road to a farm that Star guessed was her own, or at least where she worked.
"Everypony okay?" Applejack asked.
Everyone gave affirmations of their well being. Most were panting heavily and thus gave only simple nods. Rainbow, however, said "I-I'm o-okay . . ." while shaking on the ground in something close to the fetal position.
"Is P-pinkie . . . H-here yet . . ."
"Sorry sugar, nopony saw her on the way here. I'm sure she'll be fine . . ."
"Bu-but, how w-will she-"
Star stomped his front hooves to get the ponies attention.
"I'm going back to find her."
"Woah there, Silver! Ah know yah two might be in a relationship-"
A stare from the colt made the orange mare falter in her speech.
"Uhhhhh . . . Point is, yah cahn't run off into something like that . . . Ah'm sure Pinkie'll get away alright, she . . ."
Before Applejack even had a chance to end that statement with another pause, Star was off. Not at a gallop like the ponies were expecting, but with a trot. As he reached about fifteen paces, he seemed to speed up, but at the same time it looked like he was going at the same speed he started with, and certainly the same autonomous series of trots. He seemed to jump ahead along the path spontaneously, it was as if he crossed the distance within the blink of an eye. An odd melody hung in the air, even after the armored stallion was long out of sight.
As he entered the town once again, Star felt around his torso for his weapon. He hoped that Celestia had not taken it off of him in a not unreasonable bid to keep Equestria's inhabitants from acquiring and utilizing anything designed to kill or maim. To his surprise, his magnum was still holstered in a position analogous to it's original (around his belted hips, under the suit).
But it wasn't the same . . .
The only things that appeared to be relatively unchanged was the revolving component. The rest had been acclimated to better suit a pony, one way or another. It now had a horse shoe grip, and spring loaded barrels that surrounded the rounds. Of the 6, only the topmost barrel would be sprung at one time, and only when it the gun was not being placed on the ground. It was designed to function as both a gun and a shoe.
Feeling awkward with just one raised hoof, he felt around for another gun. His hoof brought back one that couldn't quite recognize with the modifications. It had a black finish, contrasting with the more flashy sterling one his magnum had undergone, and was magazine fed. He assumed it was a Mi, a cheap pistol that he had picked up purely out of the necessity for its increased bank of loaded ammunition (16). It had received the same treatment as his other gun. Now it's magazine was circular, and the barrel slid back into it with each step just as the other gun's did. He didn't know how to fire either of them, but he figured it would come to him once he needed to know.
He continued his trot through the street until he heard a scream that WASN'T part of the ambient parasprite screeches. He advanced towards the noise. Turning a corner, he saw a pegasus flying in a low circle barely evading a small group of parasprites. Leaning back on his hind legs, he fired into the small colorful mass of insects. Everyone of them dropped dead. The pegasus stopped for a moment, just long enough for star to get a good look at it. She was a pegasus mare, grey, with a straight blond mane. She said something that sounded like "Thank you!" but it wasn't loud enough to be heard over the noises that had just sounded across the street. As the mare flew to safety, Star turned to face the unmistakable sounds of gunfire, something he, again, did not expect to hear from anything other than himself in this world.
He should have gotten the hint earlier, when he found his own guns turned into functional analogs. Or earlier still when he saw Bluh-D's melancholy mark. Having not heeded to the foreshadowing in either, he was dumbstruck by the sight of the pink pony he was looking for now equipped with two rifles strapped to her sides, dispatching large numbers of the swarm effectively on her own. The guns were firing at such a high speed, and with so little user interaction that they had to have been automatic. Bluh-D would bite down on the two mechanisms sprouting from the pieces to her face to shoot them. Literally firing from the hip.
Once he got closer to her, and found a decent position, he opened fire on the parasprites. As soon as the two had effectively cleared the immediate area of the beasts, they stopped firing and looked towards each other. Silver Star took off his hat and hooved it to Bluh-D.
"Here. I said you'd have a chance to wear it. This is it."
"Pfft, narcissist." she said while placing it on her head. Locks of hair returned to the poofy state Star had seen when he'd arrived in her room earlier in the night.
It was the next morning. The parasprites had receded. The two gunsponies were looking at an unlit wall in the basement of Sugarcube Corner. One had an expectant, though unseen, face, and the other pony’s expression was stoic, uncaring. Bluh-D caught a swinging chain and yanked it. Several bulbs flickered for a moment before hitting an equalized on/off frequency. As Star's eyes scanned the contents of the recently revealed shelves, his head went spinning. So many weapons, so many differences from the ones he’d seen at home . . . He'd find the time to pour over the details later. He needed to know what Bluh-D knew about the other bearers, and convince her he was working for the princess. She wasn’t going to let him.
"What do you think?"
"It's certainly a veritable collection."
Realizing something was off between this display of firepower he was being presented with and the description of Equestria's history as dictated by Celestia, Star decided to focus on the guns for the time being.
"Where did they come from?"
"They were produced for the last big war Equestria had. All recorded history of it was wiped out. The griffons vied for dominance over the land 170 years ago. Ponies won."
There it was. He was told previously that Equestria was a place with limited knowledge of strife or even general trans-grievance. But that was a lie. Why would the princess mislead him like that?
There was more at play here than he knew. He had a feeling that Celestia genuinely wasn't trying to hurt anyone, but having played the villain himself on several occasions, he knew that didn't necessarily mean she had good intentions.
Star thought about what she had asked him to do.
The Tyrant's Heart, an item "removed from the bosom of an unjust ruler," was used to alter the events incited by said ruler. It let it's holder (or 'habeaea') control these events and effectively change the past. Perhaps the princess had reached the level of cruelty and destruction required to change her heart, so she could use it to create the fair and peaceful Equestria he was assured he'd be saving? It would be a brilliant plan if it weren't for the fact that she'd die in the process of retrieving it, and thus someone else would have to use the heart to the effect she was hoping for.
Theories of regal deceit now fully formed, he continued to gawk at the pieces that lay before him.
"How did you get them?"
"An antique salespony received them one night, and on the next he nearly received a swift death. I intervened, and they fell into my hooves as his thanks."
"Who-"
"Royal guards. Verbal and physical history was almost completely erased too. They’re still looking for this stash as we speak."
Proof to back up his theory. They were covering things up to this day. He didn't know to what extent though aside from denying the physical existence of high speed ballistic weaponry. Bluh-D picked up a piece that resembled a pump action shotgun. Where the stock and trigger would be on an human gun, a lead knob was apparent.
"This is designed for unicorns. It's supposed to be levitated and fired on the go, in close proximity to an enemy. Unicorns can't use them without knowing the exact shape of the hammer. Each one has it's own hammer design, making them 'locked' to specific unicorns on the battlefield. The lead ball prevents any peeping spells from seeing the firing mechanism."
A lot like ID locked weaponry, Star thought. Putting back the shotgun, Bluh-D grabbed hold of something that looked exactly like a light machine gun, aside from the grip . . . which was a laterally placed, hoof sized ring, with a flat trigger facing opposite it's human counterpart.
"Pegasi, being most effective as aerial combatants, have their hooves free most of the time. They use these small rifles to pepper encampments or clusters of enemy troops with lead while the earthbound ponies use the distraction to rush in."
All basic tactics, yes, but she was trying to convey to the colt the application of each weapon, not complex battle strategies.
Suddenly, a squeak was heard by the two ponies. It was followed by a crash, as the yellow pegasus Star had seen the night before tumbled down the stairs into the basement, in between the Silver and Bluh-D. She made another nervous squeak while the two ponies looked down at her.
"I Pinkie Pie swear I won’t tell anyone!" she muttered, just barely audible if not the the room's lack of ambient noises.
"Fluttershy . . . ?” Bluh-D said, with a concerned look.
She made another squeak, closed her eyes, and whimpered, letting her legs cringe and shake above her, expecting only the worst possible punishment for her intrusion.
"How long long have you been listening to us?" Star asked in the least scary voice he could muster.
"S-since ye-yesterday . . ."
"What did you hear?"
"You said . . . That you're . . ."
"That we're what?"
"You're . . . Ka-ka . . . Ki-"
"Spit it out already!" Bluh-D yelled, eliciting an angry (though still unseen) glare from Star.
Fluttershy took a deep breathe, and let it all out . . .
Star gave her an even more angry, yet again unseen, look.
"I think you'd best explain what a 'killer' is to her quickly, before she dies of a heart attack.”
Another squeak. Star looked straight into Flutterrshy's eyes. They had a strange mellowing effect on him.
"We're not killers in that we murder ponies for fun or personal gain, we're called killers because we're the first beings of our respective races to commit the ‘ultimate sin.’"
She said that as if it were a perfectly clear explanation, rearing up and making circular motions with her hooves as she spoke the last part, trying to make it sound spooky instead of downright scary.
Which for Fluttershy, made it seem all the more creepy, what with the mare she used to know looming over her and a stallion she hadn’t even met yet backing her up. Or at least, not stopping her.
“You wanna know who I killed?”
Fluttershy just made a scared squared squeak in response.
“It was four thousand years ago,” Bluh-D started in a more playful voice than the one she had earlier, “my first life. I was the best party planner in all of Equestria, and the princesses were having me set up the Grand Galloping Gala! I had everything done, no detail was spared, but the best part was all the balloons they let me use!”
Bluh-D picked up the pegasus with a foreleg, locking them shoulder to shoulder with one hoof on Fluttershy’s side and the other waving in front of the two mares.
“Balloons! Balloons as far as the eye could see! I couldn’t even count them . . . And then HE showed up . . .” Bluh-D said as if her statement added something other than another layer of confusion and fear to her yellow friend’s scared little thoughts.
“That stupid unicorn, with his stupid horn! He just kept jumping around, popping all of my balloons. It made me so angry! And the princesses showed up, and he started laughing, and they laughed with him!”
Fluttershy was beyond her previous “shaking” state, and was now oscillating so intensely that her back looked like it might actually be hurting the pink pony holding her up.
“The next morning, I followed him back to his home . . . And, and . . .”
She started crying. Fluttershy, now embraced in a tighter grip by the other mare, could be seen weeping as well.
“I regret everything. Sincerely.”
Both of them cried for a few moments. Fluttershy seemed to have calmed down. Or tensed up because the pony she believed to be a serial killer had her in a vice.
She squeaked again.
Bluh-D gave Fluttershy some space, moving from her side to the opposite end of the room. After a few minutes, she spoke up.
"So your real name's Blee-D Pie?"
"Bluh-D Sundae."
"Oh-okay. "
The room was silent again. The killers kept their eyes away from the frightened pegasus, fearing that even so much as a glance could scare her to death at this point.
“Fluttershy, I Pinkie Pie swear . . . oh, right.”
Silence again took the room.
"I know it sounds scary, but killers are usually pretty nice."
Wait, what? thought Star. Where could she have met another kill . . . ohhhhh . . .
"Just look at this stallion over here," Bluh-D waved a hoof in Star's direction, "he just showed up here last night and risked his life to save me and another pony! Would you expect somepony like that to MURDER anypony like you?"
"...No."
The two mares made eye contact. With a smile, Bluh-D winked at Fluttershy. At first she drew back from the sudden movement, but eventually she returned the gesture with a weak smile of her own.
Squeak.
"I-I have a confession to make."
What could possibly lie on the conscience of this shy pegasus, that could be ranked against a revelation as life-changing and strange as the one spoken of but moments ago?
"I could have stopped the parasprite swarm from ever even getting near Ponyville, or at least warned somepony, but after seeing Angel . . . reduced to . . ."
Skeletal remains, whomever Angel had been.
And she wept again. Star decided it would be best if he left Fluttershy in her friend's company (which was frankly a really bad idea considering the pegasus’ belief that she could be gutted by Bluh-D any second now), but as he took to the stairs, she spoke up in a demanding tone.
"Wait!"
Star turned around to see a teary eyed, but otherwise very stern looking pegasus staring him down.
"I want to get rid of them. The entire infestation. I heard their screams. E-every second is just another bit of agony for them. Their extermination would be an act of kindness to them as well as ponykind." Fluttershy said grimly, her determined tone sending a cold shiver down Star’s spine.. and those eyes... They had a glint of calculated ire he'd seen only once before. It was unmistakable. This was the Catalyst.
"If that’s what you want, I have a book that might help.”
Stratting.
Creating solutions out of various chemicals on the go, and putting them to use without hesitation. Star didn't know much about it himself, but he always carried a guide to the practice, written by a human that was arguably the best Stratter to have ever lived.
It wasn't about spending time testing theoretical combinations of elements, that's what lab trials were for. Stratters had to develop the know-how and the guts to follow through with any plan they came up with on a moments notice, no matter how crazy it might get. "Revisions later, success now!" was one of many mottoes mentioned in the guide.
A valid argument could be made that the only reason the writer of the guide was "the best stratter ever" was that every other stratter died before they reached his level of success. Regardless of the dangers of the practice, Fluttershy was hurriedly studying the pages, occasionally stopping to ask Star what certain anatomical equivalents were. It was written for humans, by a human, after all.
"I need a suit to do this, don't I?"
"If you want to live, yes. Do you know anyone who could make one for you?"
"Rarity. She lives and works in the Carousel Boutique. The light blue and purple building with a carousel on top. Let me just . . ."
And at that, the yellow pegasus began drawing something based on a diagram in the book. The designs seemed odd, and they were, but they had some undeniably genius adaptations of the designs displayed in the book. 'Gloves' that fit over the wings, pockets along the sides that held buckets or vials of frit or other chemical products. It may have even been greater than what the book detailed. When she was done, she hooved the sketches to Star.
"Take these to her, she already has my measurements. It'll probably take her no more than a day to get it all done."
"Where will you get a gas-mask though? That's article #1, you know! I don't want to see somepony go through all this trouble just to die when they suck in just a little too much frit." "Bluh-D had a few lying around." she said as she pulled one out and put it on.
"Alright . . ."
There it was. Most of it. The Carousel Boutique had clearly been eaten at by the parapsrites from the night before. Half of its roof was missing. He hoped whomever Rarity was, she had not fallen victim to the swarm. Not because it would have delayed Fluttershy's suit, and the parasprites inevitable destruction at the shy pegasus’ hooves, but because it would be yet another pony she'd feel responsible for the death of. After knocking on the door, a unicorn filly greeted him with a small curtsy.
"Hello sir, I'm Sweetie Belle. If you need some help, my sister's upstairs offering aid to the wounded."
"What kind of aid?"
"Stitches."
Stitches don't do a very good job of fixing up chunks of missing flesh. Certainly not en masse. He shuddered at the probable medical practices being performed just a story above him. Medieval methods, as he could only assume that was the dressmaking pony’s only knowledge of medicine, were often worse than the wounds they were intended to treat.
"Does your sister do this for ponies under less dire circumstances?"
"Nah, but when Nurse Redheart said they didn't have enough room at the hospital, Rarity started taking in the ponies rejected by the doctors."
"Can I speak with her?"
"Sure, just a moment."
Sweetie Belle trotted away, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, a muffled scream sounded from the second floor. Forceful stomps sounded throughout the boutique. The door opened and the white coated and purple maned unicorn Star had seen in the library just over 12 hours ago took it’s place.
"If you don't approve of my methods, you should complain to the clinic down the street-Oh! You're Pinkie's coltfriend, right? Did she make it out alright?"
"She's fine. I know you're busy, but Fluttershy needs something-"
"Fluttershy? Why wouldn't she just come by and ask for it herself?"
"Well, Fluttershy is busy right now. These are some sketches of what she wants."
He passed Rarity the papers.
"Let's see . . ."
She hooved through them. Her face turned from a look of excitement to confusion. "What is this? Why would she ask for something so bland and uninspired. All that rubber . . . And what are these things on the wings? Gloves go on hooves, not wings . . ."
"Please, I can't explain her reasoning. She'd be here to tell you herself, if she wasn't already preoccupied with something at Sugarcube Corner."
"Fine, I'll make this absolutely garish outfit. She better have a good explanation for this when it’s done. But tell me, what is THAT?"
She pointed at the mask adorning the sketched Fluttershy's head.
"It's a gas-mask."
"What could that girl be thinking . . ." Rarity muttered to herself.
Not seeing much reason to peruse the wealth of information Rarity may hold on the other three ponies from the meeting, at least at the expense of Fluttershy’s suit and the ponies receiving ‘help’ upstairs, Star began trotting away.
"Remember, everything has to be airtight!" he called out to the distressed seamstress.
Having given Rarity Fluttershy's instructional sketches, Silver Star had nothing to do for bit. Fluttershy was studying intently in the basement of Sugarcube Corner, and Bluh-D had to work there so he couldn’t talk to her about anything that might, well, upset her customers . . .
Maybe he’d run into one of the ponies from the meeting if he just wandered the town for a bit? He could at least survey the damage done by the swarm while he was at it. Star set about, pacing around the town. Whistling melodies very few might recognize, but many would find comforting if they could. He may have been off key, but his rhythm could not be beat.
A mare with posters draped across her sides approached him. She had a vanilla pelt and a stereo-chrome mane. Indigo and pink.
"Have you seen this unicorn?" she said, craning her neck towards the poster. It had red typography signifying the missing state of a pony named Lyra. Its picture depicted a unicorn, the sight of whom made him stop dead in his tracks. Light green coat, stereo-chrome mane similar to the mare in front of him with a vibrant shade of green accompanied by a white accent. He saw this pony last night. It was during the run to the farm. She had been covered in parasprites from the shoulders down, crawling into the street with what little strength (and muscular tissue) she had left.
"I'm sorry miss, but I haven't seen her."
"Oh, I hope she's okay . . ."
For the first time in a while, he broke out of the walking, err, trotting beat as he moved quickly away from the poster touting mare. Whatever relation she may have had with the unicorn, it had ended last night, with Lyra's life. He felt sick. Sicker than he normally did over death. Which was sick enough to coat the inside of his visor in puke. He did a good job of restraining himself.
As he got back into his rhythmic pace, he tried to avoid looking at any of the ponies on the streets. He didn't want to see their faces. He refused to see anymore heartbreak, for now. Perhaps on a 'hero' it was fine. After all, their tragedies were designated. They were chosen to deal with the more dastardly things life could throw at them because they could handle them, perhaps they’d even grow stronger by surviving the series life shattering ordeals that would manifest in their time. Normal beings rarely had the strength to go into the darkness (or light).
His thoughts drifted to the human child he had taken under his wing for a time. Marie Geladrin [Gel = Hel]. The supreme synesthesiac, people called her. She was thrown into the ranks of Hell's Firing Squad and survived, but she would never be the same. It was her story, surviving the practices of the terrorist syndication time and time again, that inspired him to become a synesthetic soldier.
Despite his best attempts to avoid contact with the pedestreponies, a pegasus had taken to following him. It hovered just a meter above his right shoulder, probably waiting for him to notice its presence. It was the one he'd saved last night before finding Bluh-D. Having looked at her to identify the mare, Star was now compelled to converse with her out of politeness.
"Hello." he began.
"Thanks for saving me last night. I knew it was you, even without the hat."
He had completely forgot that he'd lent his fedora to Bluh-D. He'd have to pick it up from her later.
"I was a goner, there was no way I'd have out-flown those damned insects for much longer. And then you just reared up out of nowhere with that weird music," she posed in midair, enthusiatically pantomiming Star’s actions with her hooves, "and shot all the parasprites dead." Before responding, he noted how she didn't have any qualms about the devices that had been attached to his keratin palms. He hadn’t seen any ‘hoofguns’ among the throng in the basement, so up to now he was curious as to whether or not they had existed in Equestria before he’d arrived.
"I was hoping to ask you about somethings."
"Anything for the stallion that saved my life, especially with such style . . ."
"What's your name?"
The pegasus brought her hoof to the bottom of her muzzle. She pondered over an answer for quite a while, considering the question and all it entailed thoroughly.
"I'm Ditzy Doo, but most ponies call me Derpy. It's a nasty poke at my condition. I’m kinda . . . wall-eyed.”
Star looked into her eyes, having not paid attention to them earlier. Sure enough, one of her eyes was obstinately refusing to look forward at him.
Having gotten onto the subject of sight, he took a brief moment to think about how even though his eyes were now situated on the side of his head, his visor effectively prevented him from experiencing 'prey' vision. Somethings never change.
"That's unfortunate." "Yeah. It's a pretty good way to judge a pony's character though! You should try it, just ask a questionable pony if they know me. If they say something like "don't you mean Derpy," you can guess that they probably aren't very nice!"
He remembered using a similar trick to solve a puzzle a long time ago. This mare, as ditzy as she may be, was pretty clever.
"Hey, uh, why don't we go to Sugarcube Corner and get some muffins, on me!"
That was the place Bluh-D lived and worked. He could talk with this pony and get his hat back all in one go.
"Sure, that sounds great."
"Sorry Ditzy, all the ingredients for the muffin mix were given to BonBon for her "Proper Sustenance in Times of Despair" project." (she’s making a giant cake shaped like Lyra, spoilers) said Bluh-D, who’s hair was now mostly poofy with but a few straight locks here and there. She was wearing the fedora, and a roan colored outfit with orange trimmings. It covered her melancholy mark. Silver felt sorry, having been the one that uncovered the psychological (and now physical) scar.
"Ohhhhh . . ."
"Buuuttt! We do have some eclairs in the fridge. They'll be a little frozen on the inside, so if you'd give me some time to unfreeze 'em a bit, you can have a free Pinkie's dozen!"
Looking towards one of several chalkboards denoting the bakery's varied offerings and daily specials, a Pinkie's dozen was revealed to be "As many as you can eat, with Pinkie Pie in a nearby seat!"
So while Bluh-D patiently waited for the filling to warm up, Ditzy and Star sat down and talked.
"I never got your name."
"It's To-"
Hold it. Gotta use your pony name. What caused that slip up, man? You've gone as far as calling yourself by the false name in thought. By now you should be having an identity crisis of some sort . . .
Oh. Of course. It was an identity crisis. And Tom's mind was dealing with it like it did everything else: regression. There's something about this situation that prompted an emergency excursion to the sanctity of his last remaining sliver of human influence on his (outward) life.
"Uh, Silver Star."
"Are you okay?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
"Yes." he replied, lying unconvincingly.
He had to figure this out quickly. What could it be . . .
The bakery?
No. He'd been in here, talking as a pony, long enough to confirm that there were no problems with this place.
The events leading up to this point? Again, no. He'd been through far worse.
Ditzy Doo?
Maybe. There wasn't anything reminiscent about her features. He'd recorded and shelved that bit about "judging character with her name," and he'd completely forgotten what it reminded him of.
And then it hit him.
Or rather, he hit it as he fell from his seat onto the hardwood floor and yelped something very close to an expletive.
As Ditzy and Bluh-D stepped into his fading vision. He passed out. It was sleep. He needed some.
So here he was, out cold, forced into a slumber by the fatigue he’d failed to notice earlier.
And then the real regression began. Im sorry, did he just have an existential crisis or something above? Feels strongly disjointed and sudden. Yeah.
A familiar scene began to resolve itself from the haze of his vision...
A Somnium Concerto - Celestial musings representative of real events. Musical analogs meant to synchronise the events of two disparate parties, no matter how far apart in thought, mind, and body they may be.
He’d seen several. Been in a couple to, for that matter. He didn’t like this one any more than he had the last.
Arrayed before him, through a curtain-like veil, was an orchestral throng of ponies. The “dream”, or so he termed it, had drawn them in ethereal shades of blue, but by focusing intently on individual beings he could see their true colors, in addition to perceiving their names and the true bent of their spirit. There were a total of sixteen assorted beings in all. Each one playing their own instrument or singing.
Like all narcissistic creatures, he turned his attention to himself first. His ephemeral counterpart was playing a large bass. As a detached element to the scene, it was no surprise to Tom that he was behind all the other members of the orchestra, close to a pony playing a cello.
Looking out to the front row, six ponies at front and center stage. Their forms were more solid, their colors more vivid than that the others. These appeared to be the elements of harmony, the heroes. The living heroes. He was unable to clearly focus on the ones he hadn't spoken with for more than a moment... he either wasn't near enough to them outside this dream or they weren't 'open' enough to him. Either way, they were inaccessible.
Turning to those he could access, he confirmed his beliefs about the jobs, and elements, of the few he had intimate knowledge of. Pinkie Pie was the element of Laughter, the Killer, playing several instruments in her one-pony-band harness. She was chaotically switching from an emanation, then back to a penumbra rapidly. The effect was disorienting. Fluttershy was Kindness, the Catalyst, a singer and beautiful penumbra. Surprisingly, Rarity was opened to him after only the short conversation they had had that morning. She held the element of Generosity, and she was the Mender, raising her seductive voice along with Fluttershy; a penumbra. He was starting to doubt his own suspicions that she may be mistreating the patients that the hospital refused to admit.
Rainbow Dash was enthusiastically playing an electric guitar, while Twilight was playing a synth. Applejack was abusing a viola, to put it lightly. That thing is NOT a fiddle!
Onto ‘the dead.’ The back row. The thankless beings that give up everything to save their own kind, regardless of their inclination to do so. Their role in all of this was yet to be made clear, but they were present all the same.
He started with the one playing the cello.
A grey coated mare, long black mane, a treble clef for her mark. A Penumbra. Octavia.
Going from the middle of the throng to one of the the ends, he began focusing again.
Not surprisingly, the unicorn he saw last night was there. Wearing a mournful expression, was Lyra. An emanation, she was soulfully plucking a lyre with heart-wrenching skill.
Next up was a male unicorn Pokey Pierce, his coat a dark, gray-brown. Silver mane. An oddity, neither an emanation or a penumbra, he fluctuated between the two. He was DJing along side a unicorn mare. There was more there though, another name. Further focus revealed his name was . . . Able? A coincidence, surely. His mark initially appeared to be a pin forced into a balloon, resolved into with a pike. Also a coincidence. Clearly. Moving on.
The mare beside Pierce was DJ PON-3... a stage name... he pushed past it and found her real moniker. Vinyl Scratch. Her spirit was not on the light side of the spectrum. Not an odd occurrence among the band of the dead. Stereo-chrome blue hair. White pelt. Purple sunglasses hiding a pair of deep red eyes.
… Ah, now here was an odd one...
A pony that looked very much like an inverted Fluttershy, playing a ukulele and singing in a much deeper voice than the real Fluttershy could manage.
It was not uncommon for catalysts to become hosts to sentient parasites, called Luci, before they found their calling. In almost all circumstances, the parasite would die due to one or more physical complications in the host before they became ‘heroes.’ Occasionally those parasites would be among ‘the dead.’ In most of those cases, the organism’s body would be left brain-dead. The remains would stay, performing autonomous actions and augmenting the host's body. The death counts as that of the host, preventing the passage of that soul in the event of bodily death.
His team’s Catalyst had ‘died’, and his Luci revived him. At present, it gave him a super natural healing prowess, at the cost of a metabolism that could kill him if he didn’t watch his diet.
Apparently, at least some of that applied to this team’s Catalyst.
It was a penumbra.
Next in line was Soarin'. A lean pegasus colt with a light blue coat. Dark blue mane. Singing. An emanation.
And now Roseluck. Another mare he swore he had seen die. Cream coat and rose colored mane. Playing a glockenspiel. An emanation.
The next was veiled in darkness. No amount of focus would yield its name, nor true bent of character. Its form was that of a pegasus playing a trombone. Perhaps he couldn’t see them because they hadn't died yet?
Then the dam broke . . .
. . .
PRINCESS LUNA?
That was certainly the name presented by this small nightly apparition. Filly. Alicorn. Light blue mane. Indigo coat. Emanation. So that wasn't a joke then. Noncombatant. She appeared to be the conductor, but as one of the dead she was not allowed to take center stage and direct the band just yet. She simply tapped her stick against a musical stand with a bored expression. As he finished observing and mentally cataloging the information he'd collected, he felt the strangest sensation of something trickling down his throat.
It was the feeling of an unhealthy of amount of water; Bluh-D's attempt to wake him up. She managed to pop open the very end of his visor and had filled his helmet cavity full of water. Shooting up from the ground in response to the sudden feeling of the water against his vocal chords, he found that he could not breathe without opening his faceplate entirely and letting out all the water. Turning away from the the two ponies he knew were in the room with him, placed a hoof against a point on his head, and another near his hip. The tinted panel fell from his face, along with all of the water.
After he'd successfully evacuated all the liquid from his lungs, he picked up the visor and reattached it. He breathed heavily for moment, and then brought his head to eye level with the mares behind him. Before he could question and reprimand them, his eyes met with Fluttershy's. Having not realized that the pegasus was there before taking off the plexiglass that protected his visage from stray gunfire and looks, he felt as if he'd just stared into the gates of hell and survived. Especially so, considering which of the room's occupants had seen IT.
Years ago, he was captured while attempting to distill the actions of a coup. They'd outsmarted him. When subdued, a boy named Jack removed his visor with feverish pleasure, and branded a swastika into his forehead. The last time he showed his face, it turned a friend into a dissenter. Banishment from a town of misfits on another occasion. But when shown to the most easily spooked being he'd met in Equestria, it elicited little more than a reflection of the physical agony warranted by it’s application. Not even a hint of worry over it's real meaning was shown.
"That's a weird scar." she said, before returning to studying one of the three books she had open in front of her. One was the the guide he'd given her, now marked up and covered in sticky notes (Hey! That was my last signed copy!), while the other two appeared to be books on the elements and physics of Equestria. He suspected that would be the case. The idea that two universes would have exactly the same physics and elements as another was more ridiculous than his arrival.
"What was that about a scar-Oh! You're finally awake."
Rarity moved her head out from behind the yellow pegasus. She was giving Fluttershy a back massage with her embalmed hooves.
"Did you finish her suit?"
"Of course! It took me a fortnight, but I would never let down a friend in need, even if it is such a GRUESOME need . . ."
"Like sewing alcohol covered gauze into the wounds of ponies you know are going to die? That's pretty gruesome if you ask me." interjected Bluh-D, laughter in her voice at the contradiction.
"Hmmph! I'll have you know I saved at least four ponies today! Some were even brought to such a condition that the hospital took them back instead of shoving them onto my doorstep."
"Because they totally didn't just free up forty rooms with that medical transport to Fillydelphia, right? And your doorstep? So you just admitted that your house is a morgue. Now we have a proper place to host that party for all the dead-"
"Bluh-D!"
A new voice joined the conversation. It was Twilight Sparkle, the purple unicorn. After trotting down the steps into the basement, she punched, or more accurately slapped with her hoof, Bluh-D on the face. Bluh-D seemed to willingly accept the blow.
"Rarity, I ask that you refrain from speaking with Bluh-D until tomorrow afternoon. Unless it's an emergency."
"But she-l, errr, yes. Alright, I guess there’s no need to stoop to her level . . ."
"So you're the leader, then?" Star asked.
Twilight gave him a very, very serious glare. He felt as if a large predator was watching him for the slightest movement, the barest possible chance to strike and bite into his neck. His leader had never resorted to such tactics of intimidation, but he knew how to combat them all the same.
Ignore them.
"So how long have I been out? What have Bluh-D and Fluttershy told you?"
A pleasant look returned to her face, and then she answered him in a much less hostile tone.
“Thirty-eight hours. I asked Bluh-D to keep you asleep until you stopped talking, and had Ditzy write down everything you said. I know about 'Pinkie's lies.' she told me about how you're both ‘shooters.’"
From the corner of his eye, or visor rather, he saw a bruised and frizzy haired Bluh-D winking at him. Replacing “Killers” with “Shooters” was going make convincing the others to listen to him much easier. Now, what was this stuff about him talking?
"Was I saying things in my sleep?" he asked.
"Yes,” Twilight replied, “the names of many recently deceased ponies. We could only confirm that you had knowledge of two before you passed out. And no, we don't know if Luna's alive. There was an explosion in the princess’ castle last night though, and no word has been heard of her since. You told Bluh-D that Celestia sent you. Why?"
He had yet to tell any of them the whole story about how, and why, he was here. Of course, he suspected that the reason supplied by the princess was a lie. At the very least, a half-truth.
“Well . . .”
"Ditzy, write this down."
He told them what the princess told him about Equestria. How it was a peaceful land. Crime was low, and grievances rarely amounted to more than a boastful pony appearing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bluh-D rolled her eyes when he spoke of about how war was a thing unheard of.
“We get it. She gave you a brief history lesson, but what did she bring you here for?” she interrupted, getting a mean look from Twilight in the process.
“Well, she asked me to train the bearers of the elements of harmony. She said that something similar to Nightmare Moon had taken her, and presumably only the elements could dispel it.”
“That sort-of explains the letters, and the books she asked for.” Twilight said. She sighed before continuing.
“What’s this whole training thing about?”
“You, and your five friends, are-”
“Ouch!” yelped Fluttershy as she took to the air, bowling Rarity right over.
“What’s wrong, Fluttershy?”
As she floated back to the ground, her expression changed from one of painful surprise to something more . . . morose?
“It’s just a paper-cut. I’ll get a band-aid, don’t worry. Just . . . carry on.”
“Oh no, please dear, allow me!” Rarity said as she pulled at the pegasus’ hoof.
“Wha-what’s this?”
Having turned over Fluttershy’s hoof to show the cut to everyone else in the room, an orange liquid was seen oozing from the wound. It was very slow, and seemed to stop moving altogether after a few seconds.
Fluttershy gave a dejected shy.
“Ohhhhhhh . . . That’s going to take a while to scrape off . . .”
Star had been holding his breath since he’d seen the off colored blood, in stark contrast to the gaping of the other ponies in the room. He began breathing again after hearing the sad, but clearly not heavily concerned, remark from the injured pony.
He’d seen this before.
Another parallel. Or perhaps this was the first difference between the two. Both catalysts had altered blood, due to the parasites. But his catalyst’s blood was green, and became a vapor when it met the open air. He was shunned for a time, labelled a miasmite, because of the toxicity of this vapor. This catalyst’s blood was the exact opposite. It hardened. How this pony could function with a condition like that, he could only guess, but that didn’t matter.
Fluttershy had to have known about it for a while. Not necessarily the cause, but he could test that. It would make things a lot harder for him in the long term, but he was sure he’d not get a chance to do this in the future . . .
“How did you die?”
“. . .”
“It’s okay, I promise your secret won’t leave this room. Nopony will think lesser of you when it’s over. I just need to know.”
“It was the day I got my cutie mark,” she said while dropping her head below her shoulders, “I fell off a cloud into a mass of butterflies. I told everypony that they had caught me. That was a lie. I hit the ground hard, all my limbs splaying out underneath me. A stick had embedded itself in my skull. As I passed out, I saw a glow that seemed to be coming from the hole in my head. When I woke up, I was fine. Shaken, unbelieving, but fine. As I got up, I struggled as all the hardened veins of blood along my coat cracked and fell away. Two patches persisted, on my flanks. Inside of them were several butterflies, trapped. As if in amber. I thought the whole thing was a hallucination for a long time...”
Everyone except Star remained frozen. Fluttershy got up and trotted to one side of the room where she picked up her suit that Rarity made for her. Without another word, she put it on, and left the basement.
At the front door of the bakery was Rainbow Dash, who had just arrived. She had missed Fluttershy’s grim tale.
“Hey, Fluttershy! There are a ton of squirrels hiding under Applejack’s porch. She asked me to get you over there so we can get them out safely and-”
“Not now Rainbow. I have something I’ve got to do.” She pressed past her stunned Pegasus friend, and trotting away.
Silver Star was the first pony to move. He ran up the stairs and out of the basement, catching up with Fluttershy just as she left the building.
“What are you doing now?” he whispered to her.
“You’ll see.”
Frit: Chemically active products in small (dust-like) quantities. Article #2 is, quote, “A lot of rubber.”
Silver Star and Fluttershy had just reached the end of Everfree forest. They were sitting together. At least Star was. Fluttershy valiantly stood, watching the fire in the distance with a stoic, uncaring face. But her eyes... oh, those eyes, they had something to say. They broke apart her facade the second they were seen. They spoke of the inner turmoil the pegasus faced. Destroying the life of any creature, however beastly or dangerous it may have been, was a subversion. Possibly the most direct subversion to her own interests she had ever undergone. And yet she was never asked to do it. Fluttershy chose to exterminate the parasprites. On her own. She didn’t even want the company of the pony beside her now.
“I want to see your face again.”
Her voice had a profundo tinge to it. It was not an inquiry, it was a command. And he would oblige. But first . . .
“You will, but may I ask why? You saw it before. The scar, even.”
“Just do it.” the tinge from before had grown. And he did. He popped off the faceplate like he had before, however, this time the material of his suit seemed to melt away and receded down his neck. His scar, black mane, and blue eyes had been revealed unto the pegasus once again. Seconds passed, and the metallic substance had now completely encased itself in a small box on the underside of the colt. Numerous bands, some taut and others limp, spanned his body. They covered his torso, his neck, his legs . . .
What was left of them.
He only had two. Right foreleg, left hind. The others were just stubs. He did a remarkable job of balancing on the remaining appendages.
Fluttershy kept her emotionless stare as she scanned his composure. She looked over various weapons, and then stared at his flank. The one that still had a leg attached to it. She pushed through the belts that covered it, looking for his mark.
It was the black silhouette of a cross. An allusion to the very cross that Jesus, whether he existed or not, had been crucified upon. It cast a shadow and within it, instead of a true quarter lattice, was a swastika. Reversed, at least when compared to the one on his forehead. A sign of peace, to the hopeful. But to the majority of his people, it would be interpreted (rightfully, mind you) as a sign of hate and destruction.
But looking into it himself, Star saw that it was not his true mark. He didn’t know much about ‘cutie marks,’ but it was evident to him now that as far as killers were concerned, they were probably different in every incarnation. Like he did to Bluh-D. to find her real name, he focused on himself and a bit of his past.
“I was once an astronaut . . .”
“Wha-what’s happening, Silver?” Fluttershy asked, her face had gone back to the more passionate, emotionally expressive one he had only seen in a couple of stressful situations prior to now. “What’s wrong with your cutie mark!”
“It’s not real. Just hold on a second . . .”
The mark had simply disappeared, with several colors flaring in it’s place for brief moments before losing opacity just like the cross had before them. It was taking a lot more focus to break through and find that first mark, assuming he’d have an equivalent of such a thing, given he would have been a human when it first existed. But he was getting there, just a bit more, a couple more memories should do it . . .
“Remember the star that fell through the surface? That was me. Sorry about your house!”
No, not enough . . .
“Your rose was red from the beginning.”
And that did it. His new, vintage rather, mark had appeared. It was a cornucopia. Weaved of graphite. Filled with persimmons. He had no particular interest in persimmons, but he vaguely remembered a book that had used one as a metaphor for something . . .
Thoughts of the book meshed with those of Marie Geladrin.
And with that, he’d figured it out. The cornucopia’s hold of the persimmons signified how he took in the grotesque and, at the very least, tried to help. Even if it turned them into melancholy warriors. At least they’d be happy. The metallic, or at least iridescent, nature of the weave was referring to his resolve. Well, he hoped that was it . . . If that were not the case, it probably meant he was a hardass. He didn’t like being a hardass.
“What did you do?”
“I shed a lie, and showed you the truth. You’ve seen Bluh-D’s mark, how it was different from what it was before I showed up. She did the same thing, albeit with a bit of encouragement from me.”
“Oh... okay.”
And with that, the pegasus had returned to the adorably timid countenance Star had wished to get the chance to know before.
“Let’s go back to the others. Now that any immediate, knowable threats have been taken care of, it’s time you all got an explanation.”
“One thing before we go . . .”
“What would that be, miss Shy?”
“Well, two things actually . . .”
“Shoot.” he said patiently.
She took a deep breath, stopped (hesitated) for a moment, and then spoke.
“You said you were something else before you were brought here. What were you? And, I, uh... I think pink looks good on you . . .”
That’s right . . . He hadn’t even told them he was a human!
“We’ll talk about that when we get everypony together.”
Wait, wait, PINK?
The group had assembled in the library. Twilight was angry, her eyes bloodshot. She was quick to tell anyone who arrived later than she had expected that she hadn’t slept since the event a few nights ago. Bluh-D was happy. Her hair was had found an equilibrium state, and was now made up completely of frizzy instead of straight or poofy locks. In her poofy locks, Star’s fedora nestled tightly atop her mane. Fluttershy wore a contented look, as if her work had made her feel much better about the situation the ponies were in, and who she was. It was far more likely that the pegasus was simply too tired to contemplate the complex moral decision she had followed through with just hours ago. Rarity was scared. She hadn’t been scared about Bluh-D earlier, but then again, she wasn’t told the truth. Fluttershy’s dispensations had hit her hard. She and Rarity had a bond (which Star could only assume involved many timely visits to the local spa) which was now, at best, strained from the revised pegasus’ history. She sat as far away from the yellow mare as she could.
Rainbow Dash and Applejack were confused by so many things, but mostly by Rarity’s obvious resentment of Fluttershy. They sat together. The only pony who’d yet to have shown any inclinations towards any of the particular jobs that Star believed the group was composed of. Except running. Both of them did that pretty well. Ditzy was present as a scribe. When everyone was seated, or otherwise acclimated to the room, Twilight spoke up.
“We’re here to find out what’s been going on. Recently, or otherwise. And to get a complete introduction from Mr. Silver. We’ll start by going over our origins. Truthfully. That means none of this ‘shooter’ nonsense, Bluh-D. I saw right through that. The only reason I allowed you to continue with that lie was because I knew you were hiding something that could make or break our friendship. So, we’ll start with you. What are you and Silver Star?”
The two mares in the room that had not gotten the chance “to meet Bluh-D” were even more confused by this than by the white pony’s behaviour. They looked around frantically to spot the pony Twilight was addressing. Bluh-D would have laughed, if the atmosphere were a little less serious. Just a little. After 30 seconds of this, she’d had her fun.
“I’M Bluh-D, girls.”
This was met two quizzical looks.
“Me and Silver Star, or should I say Tom, are Killers. BUT! Before you run off screaming or anything, we’re not murders. We’ve just killed someone, a long time ago, and for that we’ve been imbued with special powers and stuff! We regret ever hurting anypony, and we don’t really want to do anything of the sort, ever again.”
Everyone except Fluttershy, Tom, and Bluh-D, and Twilight, stopped whatever they were doing and either gaped or muttered something about how it was all some sort of prank.
“A-ha!”
What?
“In one of those books the princess asked for, it said something about this! The first pony to kill another pony intentionally would be punished with an eternal life, full of suffering. Bluh-D, are you that pony?”
“Yes! Yes I am that pony and I wholeheartedly regret what I did 4000 years ago!”
Equestria should be commended for having existed so long without murder.
“And how can we trust you to never kill again?”
Dammit! Tom thought, this is exactly what he didn’t want this meeting to amount to. Star would have to get their trust now, or else he’d have to watch, alongside their shunned killer, as they rebelled against a tyrant they didn’t even have any idea they were fighting. The only way he could think of in such short notice could possibly end the meeting just like the last, and alienate the two ponies from the group whom he needed to see next.
Twilight was their leader, no doubt, but he didn’t know whether she was like the leader on Cyrias. The fatherless subhuman, Marcelli Alender. Part reaper, infected by a dead luci. Created by the tyrannous party. It was likely such an existence was this purple unicorn before him, but it was within such a small margin that he couldn’t be sure. That bit about having received letters from the princess made it lean towards his theory, and if he knew why Twilight was corresponding with the princess he’d have all he needed to make his claim.
As if she sensed Tom’s thoughts and what he needed, Bluh-D whispered in his ear.
“She’s the princess’ personal student. Her protege.”
Perfect. No, more than perfect. This fell in perfectly with his theories on Celestia’s reason for bringing him here. He could reveal Twilight’s past, gain at least some bit of trust, or at least the attraction incited by incredulity, and make known his ideas about what was going on.
“Twilight!” he yelled.
“You don’t need to shout Tom.”
“Have you ever wondered why you were so lucky as to become the student of a royal figure, nay, a goddess?”
“Yes. And I’ve already found out why, thank you very much. I showed talent, however uncontrolled it may have been, when I attempted to join a school for gifted unicorns in Canterlot. After many years of studying under princess Celestia, I was sent to Ponyville, here, to make friends. It was part of her plan to stop Nightmare Moon when she returned from her 1000 year banishment to the moon. I’m the-”
“Element of ‘the flow!’” Tom said while rearing up on his hind hooves and point towards Twilight!
Everyone in the room looked at Tom with a look of confusion. Twilight was mostly agitated, but was still quite bewildered. The colt who made the loud, and frankly embarrassing, outburst brought himself back onto all 4 hooves and sighed.
“I meant magic, sorry.” Shouldn’t have expected them to know the proper term. Not in a place like this. “Regardless, you’re not a natural born pony. You’ve been genetically altered, such that you’re adept at the arcane. More so than the princess herself, possibly. Your parents are real, and they did birth and raise you, but you were modified after conception. You’re a chimera.”
“What? No, sir! No! I am a natural being and I refuse to listen to any assertions to the contrary!”
“It’s not a bad thi-” Tom started before being tapped on the shoulder by Bluh-D.
She whispered to him “Dash is the chimera, stupid!”
And then Tom felt sick. It didn’t matter how Bluh-D knew there was a chimera, or whom it was. She continued to whisper to him, something along the lines of “just look at her cutie mark,” but he had stopped listening as he stewed in his
“Oh god-I’m sorry!”
And then Bluh-D brought a hoof to her face and slowly
“Let me just start from the beginning. The real beginning. Maybe you’ll trust me when I’m through. I can understand why you wouldn’t.”
“Ditzy, make sure you get all this down. I’m sending it to the princess if he doesn’t give me a good reason to believe him by the end.”
Star took a deep breath. This was going to be a long, long spiel.
“I’m a human. A bipedal creature without wings, or horns. Well, most of us don’t have those. We have hands instead of hooves, you probably have beings here with them so I’ll spare the details on out dexterity. After millions of years of wallowing around in the muck, our kind made it’s first voyage into space. 120 years later, we were contacted by Giegamurs. They offered, to those wicked enough to accept it, a deal that left only a third of us alive. 500 years later, we live on space stations orbiting a planet called Cyrias.”
“You’re either crazy, or you think we’re crazy enough to believe you.”
Ignoring Twilight, he continued.
“4 years ago, I, and 5 other humans, were trapped under the surface of Cyrias. In a place called the labyrinth. It was a place where dreams came true, as hard as it may be to believe. But its nature also spawned stuff of nightmares. It was also the place where “the dead” of humanity appeared. You remember that list of everything I said while I was asleep? Those were your dead. Anyway, they manifested as small creatures that I’d be hard pressed to describe. They were made of something akin to stone, but other than that, utterly indescribable! I, 3 of those humans, and 4 of the dead, broke the surface of Cyrias and converted into a sun that now orbits the planet. In the process, we freed a Giegamur from his ire, in a method quite similar to how you defeated Nightmare Moon. However, we suffered losses in our fight. The dead moved on, starting a quest on another planet similar to Cyrias, and we got ourselves into trouble when we returned to a station. We were split up for about a year, and then got together and were given a book called “The Heroes and the Dead,” which told us about ourselves and what we were supposed to do. Actually, just a second.”
He stuck his hoof into his suit, and pulled out a hefty tome.
“It told us we were the heroes of humankind, that we’d fix the world. Whether that meant our original planet or the one humanity inhabits now, I still do not know. With the help of the Giegamur we saved, and a human we’d only met after finding the book, we fought a corrupt ruler and acquired an important item called ‘The Tyrant’s Heart,’ which could have been used to undo everything the tyrant had done. But we chose not to use it, because it meant we couldn’t continue with our quest and save everything. It’s supposed to be an off switch of sorts. With it, the heroes decide whether they want their species to go beyond subsistence and grow, or idle peacefully forever. Anyway, up until now I’ve been fulfilling my duties as the killer of my group. It was all supposed to end when I tried to die, as the book foretold, but before I could be torn apart by a vortex of energy, Celestia performed a schism and brought me here.”
There was silence for several minutes.
“You’re absolutely nuts.” the purple unicorn stated.
“I believe him . . .” Fluttershy said, limply.
“You’re on trial here too, Fluttershy. Don’t make yourself anymore untrustworthy.”
“Uhhhh . . . Twilight?”
“What is it, Rainbow?”
“I believe him too.”
“What!?”
“Hear me out! I had this weird dream last night, I thought it was some kind of nightmare, but I think it has something to do with this. There were these 3 weird ponies, they were all shiny, but they looked like . . . like Lyra, Roseluck, and, well, the third one looked sorta like Fluttershy. Lyra was . . . She was just a head . . . We talked for a bit, I asked them if they were real, and they said they were. It wasn’t like when you hallucinate and everything you think up tells you what you want to hear . . . I asked them if they knew about what happened the other night . . . They said they knew they were dead . . . And then I woke up.”
“Oh please! Dreams, Dash? You’re going to cite dreams as proof?”
“Ah don’t know ‘bout any of this dream nonsense, but ah know when somepony’s lying, and this Star, here, ain’t!”
“Applejack! You can’t even see his face, he could have been, could now be, snickering at how stupid you two are for believing in his ridiculous story!”
“No, Twilight-”
“No, Dash, I’ve had it. I’m going to send a letter to the princess asking her what’s going on, and I’ll be sending his little story along with it.”
Suddenly, a loud tearing sound could be heard.
“D-d-der-”
“He saved my life! I don’t care how much has changed in the past few days, nopony would save another and then lie to everypony!”
A very good judge of character.
“But-”
“No buts Twilight, he’s telling the truth, and we’re just going to have to believe him if we’re going to make any sense of this.”
Rarity feinted. Twilight stood still. She started crying.
“Fine. Let me see that book.”
“Hello?” Lyra called out. She had awoken in a strange, grey landscape. Everything was dusty, covered in something akin to soot in spread and consistency but not quite the same color. The ground was broken apart, like a series of small tectonic plates. She was near a fault, in a concave formation. She couldn’t see more than 30 feet in any given direction because of the ridges risen all around her. She heard another voice, muffled, but certainly there. Figuring that she wouldn’t be able to hear any other voices from her position in what for all intents and purposes was a ditch, she tried to pull herself up from an awkward sitting position.
In doing so, Lyra felt herself. Her skin was cold and hard, but she couldn’t feel herself on the inside. Only when contact between one part of her body and another was made did she feel her temperature. It was strange. Everything about this was strange. Could it be a dream? No, she’d just woken up from a dream. A nightmare. A very, very lucid nightmare that she’d tell her friends about the moment she figured out where they were, and where she was in relation to them.
Maybe she’d just woken up from the nightmare and unknowingly went back into another, less scary, dream? Regardless, she continued trotting out of her hole, noting the odd ping her hoofsteps made. Maybe this was a dream. She peered over the ridge and saw an expanse of similar depressions. In the distance, a cream coated, red maned earth pony could be seen trotting at the tops of the ridges.
“Roseluck!?”
The other pony perked up after hearing this. It wasn’t a confirmation that it was indeed Roseluck, but at least there was a pony that could hear her in this grey scape. Lyra heard what could have been a response, but the other pony was too far away for it to carry as more simple noise.
The two moved closer and closer towards each other, following what from above looked like an intricate pattern. Their movements brought them closer and closer to a third pony, a pegasus lying unconscious in a depression that lay between the two. As they neared, their voices became clearer to each other. When they’d gotten within 50 meters, their shouts became a viable form of communication, and they could see each other far more clearly than before.
“Is that you, Roseluck?”
“Yes! Where are we!?”
“I don’t know! I just woke up here. I was having the scariest dream . . .”
They unknowingly woke the sleeping pony. She had a neon blue coat, and dark green mane that was long and flowing. She moaned for a few moments, but not loud enough to draw the attention of the two mares closing in on her position.
“What was it about?”
“Parasprites!”
“That’s weird, so was mine . . .”
Parasprites? thought the blue pegasus. What’s a parasprite?
“Did you . . . Did you die, in the dream, perchance?” Lyra asked with a concerned face.
“I think so . . .”
They thought they were dreaming? Ughhhhh . . .I’d hate to be the one to break it to ‘em but . . .
“Hey, who’s that?” Roseluck said as she and Lyra now found only the pegasus’ hole preventing them from congregating.
My name is . . .
I don’t have one . . . Oh! What do I do what do I do!?
My hostess, perfect!
“Yes, it’s me, Fluttershy!”
Lyra thought to herself about how forward the timid pegasus was being. Adding in the odd colors she now sported, an argument formed in her head that this mare was not Fluttershy, at all.
“What’s wrong with your coat and mane, Flutters?” She asked, hoping that it was Fluttershy and she had just gotten dirty or something along those lines.
“Well, um, I don’t know, to be honest . . .”
Her voice cracked.
“You’re not Fluttershy, are you, honey?”
“No, no I’m not . . . I’m such a terrible liar, why do I even try . . .”
Moments later, the plates shifted underneath the three mares. The depression underneath the pegasus deepened until it opened up and sucked her in. The other two ponies followed suit. Everyone screamed as they fell into a far darker place than they had woken up in.
“My . . . My hooves! What happened to my hooves!?” Roseluck screamed as she looked at the missing appendages before her. Her two front legs had broken into small pieces in front of her. They looked like porcelain, or another ceramic material.
This has to be a dream! She thought.
“They’re broken, simple as that.” the unnamed pegasus said.
“But . . . How do . . .”
“You’re made of clay now, that’s how! Now, if you’d kindly get off of me, I can go and find something to help you get your hooves back.”
Roseluck hadn’t even noticed that she was lying upon the blue mare. She quickly rolled off her and tried not to touch the sharped stubs her hooves had become. As she moved, several liquids, the colors red and cream, started to ooze from the vacancy of her legs.
“What . . .”
“Blood. But not really. Try to keep that inside you or you’ll pass out.”
She shifted her appendages so they pointed upwards, the very idea of such movements made Roseluck feel sick. She looked into her broken legs. They were hollow, aside from the liquid welling up inside them.
“I’ll be back with some clay to patch you up. It would do you well to find the unicorn that fell down here with us. Don’t move, obviously . . . Just, holler out her name, tell her you’re here or something like that.” As the blue pegasus got up, she scanned her body for any injuries. She found one.
“Ah dammit, I was REALLY wanted to fly . . . Well, just another bit of encouragement to get us some clay, I guess.”
Roseluck just stared at her, perplexed. She lost two limbs, and the pegasus before her had lost her wings. Neither of them appeared to be in pain. How could the blue mare be so . . . Nonchalant, about everything that was happening.
As she walked away, Roseluck tried to take her mind off the sharp, wet stubs in front of her by looking at her surroundings. She was in the middle of a dirt road, with trees lining the path to her right. On her left, was a stone wall, about twice her height when standing. Both of these prevented passage unto the road from the outside.
A cacophony sounded off from behind the wall. Brown dirt and small shards of green were forced into the air. Several landed near Roseluck.
“L-Lyra . . . ?”
“EY! That’s my talking head, git yer tentacles off it!”
“You’re selling it to me, you dolt. And frankly, it hasn’t been talking much. Where’d you find it?”
“The minefield, of course! I found it screaming on the ground.”
“I’ll give you 20 irids for it.”
“Deal!”
Lyra was confused. She’d been awoken by swift tug on her hair, and a strange feeling in her . . . Neck? It was like that was all that was left of her. The last thing she remembered was waking up in a field, taking a few steps . . . And a loud noise, all around her. But she felt like it was heard throughout her entire body, not just her ears. It was like her body in its entirety was her ears.
“So, I was told you talk. Mind speaking up, just for a moment?”
Lyra opened her eyes. In front of her was a purple mass. Her eyes were going to have to adjust to the light before she could actually see what it was.
“If you can talk, and are therefore a living figment, I might give you a job. If you can’t speak, I’m afraid you’ll just be another ornament. So please, speak up.”
They were talking about me. I’m the “talking head.” She thought.
“I-I’m Lyra.”
“Well hello Lyra, I’m Dokker. Owner of this small shop. Does there happen to be, uh, any more of you lying around anywhere? A head isn’t a very useful assistant, you see.”
It’s a dream. Just play along. He said I was found at “the minefield,” right?
“Yes, I’m sure there’s some of me left back at the minefield.”
“I’m sure there is, missy, but I don’t think anything left there would be very . . . Intact.”
She gulped, however that may work when you don’t have a neck. It was then that she got a good look at the thing that was holding her. It was nautilus with a purple shell, and blue, slimy tentacles. One of which was, at the disgust of both her and whomever had found her, holding her by her mane.
This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever had.
“Excuse me!” A feminine voice called out. Lyra couldn’t see to whom it belonged, but she could swear she’d heard it before.
“Ah, yes. What would you like, dear.” Dokker swiveled on the mass of tentacles propping him up, turning his eye in the direction of the patron. Lyra caught a glimpse of her. It was the same blue pegasus from before, but its wings were broken off.
“Oooh, that looks bad.”
“Oh, these?” She said while craning her head and nudging the sharp stubs that were once wings with her muzzle. “They’re fine for now. Do you happen to have any-” She stopped and stared at Lyra.
“Ah, you’re interested in this, aren’t you.”
“Yes, I happen to know that, uh, head. Her name’s Lyra.”
“Well, tell you what, if you do me a favor she’s yours.”
“Sure.”
The nautilus jumped to the front of the shop, dropping the head onto the floor. Her face was engulfed in several inches of water, but she didn’t feel like she was drowning. It was an unpleasant feeling, of that there was no doubt, but she didn’t feel like the lack of breath was detrimental to her health.
“Find me a nice piece. Something with a decent caliber, if you can. That prawn across the street has been stealing all my customers away with his “moral” policy of not accepting living figments for cash. I’m going to scare him outta town, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll shoot him dead! No-one messes with Dokker’s flow of irids and gets away with it. Hell, you can take this head now, and I’ll give you some clay to help the poor girl to her feet once I get the gun.”
“I can do that.”
What’s a gun? Lyra thought as she was handed, no, tentacled over to the blue pegasus.
“Try to get me the piece by tomorrow night. I heard there were some big-pocketed travellers coming through town soon and I’d hate to see all that money just slip by me.”
“Will do.”
Lyra, what was left of her, was propped against a wall. The blue pegasus was sitting in front of here, expecting the head to say something which she had already prepared an answer for.
“So, um, this is a dream right? I’m pretty sure I was knocked out by the fall. Or I could still be in the same dream with parasprites, or-”
“I’m really sorry about this Lyra, but you’re dead. You and Roseluck have both said that you were killed by parasprites in your dreams. Well, those weren’t dreams. Now, you’re just a soul in a ceramic doll. A doll that’s been reduced to nothing more than a head, might I add. How’d you manage that?”
“I just sorta trotted away from where I landed, and then there was this loud sound . . .”
“You stepped on a mine, honey. They’re these little metal things filled with explosives, and they’re rigged to explode when anyone touches them.”
“Ohhh . . .”
“But don’t worry. With, well, quite a bit of clay you’ll have your body back in no time.”
Lyra, only having a sliver of doubt that she was in a dream, had no choice but to continue under the assumption that this pegasus was telling the truth. What was her name, anyway?
“Who are you?”
“Onassis.”
“That’s a weird name.”
“Lyra’s a pretty weird name too, same goes for Roseluck.”
The mention of the other mare brought concern to Lyra’s face.
“Where is she?”
“Where she fell. She’s injured too, not as extensively. It would be best to get her back to health before we even start on you, considering she can’t move on her own or be carried.”
Lyra was about to speak, but she was cut off by Onassis biting her hair and dragging her across town. She was pleasantly surprised that the experience lacked any painful sensations. She stopped in front of a storefront somewhat similar to the one they had just left. It had a sign near the front that read “I refuse to buy or sell any living or deceased figments, in whole or part!”
A large prawn popped out from behind the chest high counter.
“Hello there! What can I do for you?”
“My friend and I need some clay, badly. I don’t have any money, but I do have some information you might find quite valuable.”
“Well, I don’t see why a trade of such items couldn’t be made . . . I’ll give you 5 buckets of the purest clay I have.”
“Deal.”
The prawn and the pegasus leaned towards each other.
Onassis whispered into what was probably the prawn’s ear-hole.
“The nautilus, Dokker, wants to run you out of town. He’s asking around for a gun. He intends to scare you away, but he’ll make good on his threats if it comes down to it. I suggest you either arm yourself, or call him out on it.”
“Really! That no good scoundrel Dokker? Why, I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
The prawn moved to the back of the store, and pulled out a long black rod.
Is that a gun?
“I’ll run him out! And if he doesn’t oblige . . .”
And with that, he was off. Lyra and Onassis watched him scurry across town. He arrived at Dokker’s store, the two shop-keeps conversed for a moment, and then the prawn fired 3 times at the nautilus before running back to his own building and clambering back inside.
“You two can have all the clay you need, I thank you kindly for tipping me off on that one.”
Onassis carried the many, many buckets of clay she’d been given by the prawn. She held Lyra with her teeth as she had before, but this time she avoided dragging her neck along the ground. Lyra wanted to know some more about what her companion had just done.
“You said you weren’t very good at lying, so what was that there?”
“Thum fings ‘ange hif ‘ime”
“What?”
She let go of Lyra, letting her roll for a moment before placing a hoof down on the head before it left her reach.
“Some things change with time.”
Lyra thought about that for a moment before being scooped up again by the pegasus.
In the distance, a disabled Roseluck could be seen. As the pegasus brought the two friends together, Lyra noticed that she was weeping. Her fore-hooves were shattered, pieces of them scattered around her. When they had gotten within several feet of each other, Onassis lay Lyra down beside Roseluck. They looked at each other. The earth pony’s tears grew in viscosity. The unicorn gave her a goofy smile. She was still under the impression that she’d be waking up to the smell of BonBon’s cooking, and would eventually talk to the ‘real’ Roseluck about this crazy dream. Roseluck responded appropriately, sniffling and shutting her eyes wishing that the head that lay before was just part of her imagination.
“Well, it’s time to fix you up.”
Onassis placed all the buckets on the ground. She picked up one, and poured it’s contents into one of Roseluck’s truncated limbs. She repeated the process, switching between the two hooves. The ceramic material she was made of started to grow at the break points. Onassis stopped and watched as the pony’s appendages reappeared. Roseluck stood up, and, having no words for what had just happened, shook the pegasus’ hoof profusely.
“Don’t put your full wait on them for a bit, they’ve got to dry and until then they’ll be quite fragile. Now, we need to find a place to stay-”
“Wait, aren’t you going to fix me too?” Lyra exclaimed.
“Yes, but I think it would be better if we found somewhere to do it where we couldn’t be disturbed. It’s going to take a while to get your body back. We’ll have to poor some into your neck, wait for that grow out and dry . . . We don’t even have enough clay right now! Personally, I couldn’t say that I’ve been ‘merely a head’ for any period of time, but I’m sure you could hold out just a bit longer . . .”
“Hmmph. Fine.”
She would’ve brought her shoulders down in indignation, but she had none.
It was dark. Very dark. So dark, nothing could be seen until the eyes of the observer had adjusted to the lack of light. It was a big room. The office of a very important individual. A man, barely 19. Sam Geladrin. His skin was a sickly green. He wore no shirt, and had several tubes attached in a method similar to an IV. They were draining fluids from his back into several unseen vats. He was situated between 4 tables, all of equal make and shape. Three of them had items pertaining to his various fields of study, hobbies, and jobs. One held many revised editions of books on chemical and physical theories, most of which were written by himself, and many chemistry tools like a Bunsen burner and a localized barometer. The next had many different contraptions, all created by Sam, designed as small versions of larger components that would improve the lives of all humans some day in the future. The third was covered in reports about an individual referred to only as “Walker.” We’ll get back to that. The last one had a large amount of food strewn across it. The food ranged from morning toast, midday snacks, and evening steaks. If he didn’t eat every so often, more so than a normal human being, then he would die. Just like that.
Another man walked into the room from a door that had been designed so it would not let in any light as passage was made through it. Sam was very picky about lighting. His experiments required even variables as oft overlooked as light be accounted for. The other man happened to be a friend. If he were not, he’d be reprimanded viciously for even possibly disturbing Sam.
“Have you figured out what it all means yet?”
“The stuff in the case? No. That’s going to take a while. I haven’t even started building anything from that yet . . .”
“Building?”
Sam took a sip of tea and then answered.
“Most of the stuff inside was part of a blueprint for a machine. I don’t know exactly what it does, but it’s similar to a psyche-archiving device.”
The other man lowered his head and muttered under his breath “Seeing it his way again, literally.”
“Marcelli, I know you think there’s something to be done about all this, but . . . We can’t bring back the dead, at least not these people. If you really wanted Walker to pay for what he did, then you’d have stopped him when he started over a year ago.”
“I know that. That’s why I want to know more about what he left behind. Tom-”
“Walker.”
“He wasn’t the kind of person who just up and shoots people to death, killer or not . . .”
“Isn’t.”
“What?”
“Isn’t that kind of person. Sarah says she found him in a dream an hour ago. He’s not dead. I called you here because she’s setting up personas for an somnium excursion. She’ll be done within the hour, but she can’t go herself because she has to maintain the dream. It’s just you and me.”
“Alright.”
“One more thing. Jack was spotted.”
Marcelli clenched his fists upon hearing that name.
“Where?” he said in an agitated voice.
“He followed Walker.”
Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from behind Sam.
“Doh!”
Marcelli dashed to the location of the noise while Sam peered over his shoulder. There was a small blue creature on the floor. It had wings, and a polychromatic mane. A pegasus. Upon opening its eyes and spotting the humans staring at it, it gasped for a moment and disappeared. The two men looked into each others eyes for several seconds.
“I forgot to mention where Walker is, didn’t I?”
“Yes, yes you did.”
Twilight and Star were standing over the book. They had partitioned themselves from the other ponies in a room on the second floor.
“What does this say? It’s not in any language I’ve ever seen before . . .”
She had only just opened the tome and was already having a hard time believing it was relevant at all. On the first page was a line written in a language she could not for the life of her understand.
“The dead will fight the darkness, the heroes will fight the light.”
“What does that mean, though?”
“You and your friends will be fighting the tyrant, the light. And the dead, trans-literally ‘lavich,’ will be fighting the darkness.”
Twilight accepted the answer for the time, and continued scanning through the pages. That is, until she hit a point where she couldn’t read further. The book refused to open around halfway.
“You’ve hit the logistics section. Only the heroes and lavich described within can see it. You’ll have to find this world’s copy of the book. For now, just read through the first half. It explains what the heroes are, and what they’re supposed to do.”
She went back to the beginning of the book, and began reading the description of “the leader.”
Leaders unite the other heroes. They have a mastery of the flow, either through natural or artificial means.
The rest of the passage detailed “the leader’s” use of “the flow,” which Twilight didn’t see much use in reading, whether she believed Star or the book’s dispensations. She skimmed until she hit a list at the bottom of the page.
“Denominational Maladies?”
“The most common ‘problems’ that leaders have. There is only one, but it’s one that every leader has. Every hero has it. Most of the dead have it.”
She read, out loud, the only bullet present.
“Synesthesia . . . ?”
“It’s a psychological disorder wherein the afflicted relate senses to others. Most importantly, sound to motion, and motion to sound. Heroes and lavich have a very sophisticated form of it. They only feel, hear, and see the effects of it under special circumstances.”
“Like what?”
“Battle.”
There was a pause at this. Twilight went back to the book. The next page’s heading read “The dreamer.”
Dreamers use their minds to communicate with the dead. Their power has a degree of duality to it, they can also see far off lands, and project themselves to other beings.
The list of ‘problems’ had some substance to it this time. Ignoring the apparently standard entry, synesthesia, she looked at the 3 new ones.
Schizophrenia (misdiagnosed) Overconfidence
Pyrophilia
“I believe that would be miss Rainbow Dash.” Star said, surprising Twilight.
“Why?”
“She said she saw Lyra and Roseluck, two dead ponies, in a dream. That’s what it means by communicating with ‘the dead.’”
Twilight thought about this for a moment. She still believed this colt was insane, or a very desperate liar with a crazy imagination. She hatched a plan, a plan to test this book and it’s heathenish teachings.
“I have a deal for you, Silver Star. If you can prove to me that Dash is “our dreamer,” I’ll believe your story, and this book, without even a second thought on the matter. If you can’t, I’m going to chock up everything that’s happened in the past few days to coincidence. The strange correspondence with Celestia, the parasprites, the disappearance of Luna, the explosion in Canterlot. All of it. I’ll have you arrested, on whatever charge I find suitable-”
“Try genocide.” he interjected.
“What?”
“Genocide. Have me convicted of genocide. If I don’t prove to you that that pegasus is a dreamer, then blame the entire parasprite swarm’s doing on me.”
Twilight eyes twitched.
“Fine. You have a week.”
“I only need a couple of minutes.” he said. He promptly turned around and sauntered to a banister separating him and the purple unicorn from the first floor.
“Rainbow Dash, would you kindly fly up here. Right over my left shoulder, as quick as you can. I’d like to test something and-”
Before he could finish, the rainbow maned pegasus was gunning it. Seconds before she passed over him, Star pulled something out of his suit and held it in her path. It was small, metallic rod, wrapped in a dirty looking grey net. Dash hit it without slowing down, knocking the rod from Star’s hoof. She and the device tumbled and rolled across the floor behind him. Turning around, he saw Twilight sporting a look of abhorrent shock.
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT!?”
“She’ll be fine. A little bruised, but not quite as bad as she would be if I had used any other method. You’ll understand in a moment.”
Twilight just stood in place, gaping at him. This colt had shown up out of nowhere, claimed he was here to protect and teach her friends, and now he’d given one of them a concussion at the very least.
“Twilight?” Rainbow Dash said. Twilight turned to her friend, lying to the left of the unicorn in what could not have been a comfortable position.
“Why did call me up here?”
The voice didn’t come from the body, and nothing about it said it did. The lips hadn’t moved. It was from above her. She looked up and was met with the crimson eyes of Rainbow Dash. They were not completely opaque.
“You, I, what-”
“I knocked her out, but because I did it with this,” he said, grabbing and presenting the rod to the perplexed mare, “She began to dream, to really dream. Specifically, she’s dreaming that she had made it to us, unobstructed. I forced her to create an astral projection.”
“Twilight, what’s he talking about? This is all . . . Woah, woah, is that . . .”
Rainbow’s eyes fell on her own body.
“But I’m . . .”
She looked about her body, feeling herself to confirm presence and tangibility. She dropped to the ground, nonplussed. She circled and prodded her sleeping self, pinching both bodies. Eventually, the body shuddered. The ghostly form disappeared. Dash woke up, rubbing her head as she turned to her friend. Twilight stopped gaping and spoke.
“All right. You win. I believe you. Pinkie’s a reincarnation of a murderer. Fluttershy’s a zombie scientist. Dash is some sort of psychic . . . I don’t even know. But, in this convoluted reality you’ve forced me accept, what am I?”
Star trotted beside Twilight. He laid a hoof on her shoulder and lowered his head.
“You’re their leader.”
Dash woke up, gasping for breath.
“So, what do you think of humans?” said Silver Star.
Rainbow was being trained to use her dreaming powers, with the colt’s help. She asked him earlier in the day if there was any way she could be shown what a human looked like. At the time, Twilight interjected and told her to practice her ‘mystical dreaming mumbo jumbo instead of speaking with Star about trivial matters,’ so she decided to do just that. With the help of the book, Twilight and Star had pronounced her the dreamer. The hero that could peer into faraway places in their sleep. She was glad she’d gotten an equal amount of practice getting to sleep quickly as she did flying.
“Well?”
“Tall. Really tall, and . . .”
Agreeing to work with her powers as requested, she modified her question. Could I see them in a dream? Two birds with one stone. He had her lie down, and fall asleep, while he took out a small metal object. She didn’t know what he did with it, but instead of having a ‘normal’ dream she found herself in a dark room with a green man silently manipulating small objects with his fingered hands. After a few minutes, another man entered and they discussed things she didn’t understand. When they mentioned the name Tom, she realized they were talking about the pony sitting over here presently. What luck, that on Rainbow’s first controlled peak into another universe would give her information so relevant to her situation. Unfortunately, having no real experience with her powers, she mucked up and revealed herself to the humans she had been observing.
“And what?”
“Green. Well, one of them was . . . Star, do you know anyone by the name Marcelli?”
He didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, his voice faltered.
“Yes. But we can talk about that later. You woke up in a panic. What happened?”
“I sorta, uh . . . Appeared over there, somehow . . .”
“Ahhhh. You see, you focused just a little too hard on staying in the dream. Once you’ve started observing an area, you won’t be pulled away if you lose focus.”
“So, like, I can actually appear wherever I dream?!”
“Yes, but it takes a lot mental energy. You may not feel it, but you’re exhausted.”
Seconds later, Rainbow squirmed in response to a splitting headache.
“Yeah, I think I know what you mean.”
Lyra sat, stood, whatever a head does, on a desk at one end of the room while her cohorts slept in beds on the other side. Well, one of them slept. Roseluck had not voiced her opinion over the past day. She was suspicious about everything that they’d seen since this spell had begun, but far more inclined to believe that they were not dreaming. She crept out of her bed and silently trotted across the room and whispered to her friend.
“Psst, Lyra.”
“What is it, Roseluck?”
“I can’t go to sleep . . .”
“Because you already are. Hell, if we’ve been in a dream for this long I’m more than willing to believe there’s some crazy communal thing going on.”
What’s hell? Why in the world would I use a word like that, it feels so vulgar. I’ve never heard it before, so why does it sound so familiar . . . .
“But Lyra, I think we’re really . . . Never-mind, I wanted to talk to you about Onassis.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“Me neither, but I think there’s more to it. I don’t think she’s really a pony.”
“Well duh.”
“How should can we find out what she is, though?”
“You could just ask me about it.”
Lyra and Roseluck immediately announced their startlement, through motion and sound respectively, at the appearance of the third voice. Onassis moved out of her covers and stared at the two mares with a pleasant smile. Roseluck was so frightened by the idea that the pegasus had heard them speaking of their dissent that she just shook in place. Lyra, on the other hand, fully expected her to be listening, and put on a straight face. She hadn’t expected Onassis to interrupt, especially not in such a way and certainly not at that point in the conversation, but it didn’t matter. She’d be getting an answer.
“Great, what are you?”
“A parasite. Was a parasite.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I was a small organism residing in your friend Fluttershy’s brain. One day, she died, and I gave my life in her stead. Years later, I’m chosen to go on this stupid adventure beyond the grave with you and 8 other ponies. You’re dead, your friend is dead, and 6 other ponies you may or may not have ever met, are dead. This isn’t a dream. Deal with it.”
“Wh-what?”
Roseluck, either mellowed out at this point or sufficiently numbed by incredulity, stopped shaking and spoke up.
“Could you say that again, slower this time. I didn’t catch everything . . .”
“Gladly.”
They’d gone out to eat. That’s what Onassis them they’d be doing. No sleep would be had that night, not that they felt like they needed any. After her revelations, they wouldn’t feel like doing so for a while. They were in a ‘pizza’ parlour. Run by an otter. This existence grew even more confounding and whimsical at every step. Lyra had been placed on the table, beside her friend, with the green maned pegasus on the other side. They were still processing what they had been told by Onassis. Roseluck was confused. Lyra took the words from earlier with a grain of salt, but not out of distrust or disbelief. She’d practically come to terms with death, with only the slightest doubt remaining to chide her into believing otherwise.
A pseudo-pony, once a parasite . . . A parasite in a pony, no, my friend, too . . . I don’t care if this is a dream. I can’t just let this pegasus make claims like that and not at least try to investigate them. Even if I wake up in the middle of it, and everything I uncover turns out to be for naught. Even if this is all real, and delving into the truth hurts me and Roseluck more than what happened to me on the minefield . . . I’m going to find out what’s going on.
“Hello, may I take your order?”
An otter, female, in a waitress getup had rolled herself to their table. She was wearing roller-skates. Onassis answered her.
“Yes, a medium pizza please. Half pepperoni, half vegetarian.”
What the hell is a pizza? What the hell is pepperoni? Vegetarian? Is pepperoni . . .
M-meat?
The waitress wrote down the order on a small notepad.
“Will that be all?”
“Yes.”
She rolled to the kitchen, placed the order on a hook, opened, and promptly entered, a door to what was presumably the break room. There weren’t any other patrons. The 3 ponies were their only customers.
“You can ask me whatever you want.”
“Before you two went to bed, why didn’t you start doing the whole regeneration thing?”
“Because you don’t have any blood.”
“What do you mean? I’m made of . . . Clay! I don’t think dolls have blood, fantasy or not.”
Onassis sighed.
“Roseluck, you can attest to this. When your hooves broke, they bled, did they not?”
“Y-yes. Red and white . . .” Roseluck said, shaky from the memory.
“Lyra, as a head, a head with a hole at the bottom especially, you don’t have any blood. You’re hollow, empty. Without blood, you can’t metabolize clay and regrow any of your body.”
Lyra thought about this. It made some sense to her, crazy sense but still sense.
“How do I get blood, then?”
Just then, the waitress reappeared, along with their order. She placed it on the table. Onassis pulled some irids out of her saddlebag by the teeth and placed them in a small tray held by the otter, who rolled away and counted out the coins in her paws. The food itself was odd. Lyra had never seen much like it before. It was like a quiche, but flattened, and missing the layer of dough that would normally cover the contents of the dish. It was sliced, like a pie, into 8 flat cone pieces. The ingredients were proudly presented atop the meal. Almost every one was covered by a layer of thick, white cheese. One half was made up of things reminiscent of a salad, and the other . . .
The pepperoni side, at least the side she hoped was pepperoni, had something she hoped more with all her being was not slices of meat. She was disgusted by the possibility that anypony, no, anyone, would eat another living thing that was not sessile. It was odd, this repulsion. She hadn’t flinched, or produced an analogous motion of such, when the prawn shot Dokker, probably killing him. But when presented with the possibility that someone in her party was omnivorous, she couldn’t restrain herself. Couldn’t banish the thought. Couldn’t keep quiet.
“Is that . . . meat?”
“Yes, and if you want to recover your body anytime soon, you’ll be eating some of it.”
Lyra’s pupils shrunk. She stared at Onassis. Even though it was not a command, it was far more than a simple suggestion. She was being asked to eat meat, nay, required, not out of courtesy but condition. This, she could not take.
“You’re sick.” she muttered.
“What was that Lyra? You’re going to have to speak up.”
The calm demeanor the pegasus carried only served to make the pale green head that was Lyra begin to seethe with anger.
“Onassis, you disgust me. I’m not going to eat meat.”
“Understandable, which is why I’m going to have to make you eat some.”
“Wha-hmmmmpph”
With a few flicks of her hoofs and what remained of her wings, Onassis stuffed a slice of pepperoni pizza into Lyra’s mouth. She tasted it, and was disgusted to find that her taste buds obliged without even a hint of refusal to the meat. She tried for a gag reflex, to force out the doughy, bloody, mass of food, but as soon as it had been tasted it simply ceased to exist. The entire slice was gone after just a moment. Lyra had just consumed the one thing she never thought she’d even have an inclination to try, that she never thought her species would ever be able to stomach, and that was that. No physical qualms. No aftereffects, yet. She looked to her companions. Roseluck was crying into her hooves. Onassis had a smug grin. They stared at each other for a few moments. Lyra donned the most resentful face she could, while Onassis kept up her grin.
“Would you like another slice?”
“No.”
Two men, one sporting green tinted flesh, walked through a well lit hallway. Every so often they’d come upon a door that would automatically open and close for them. Everything had a very sharp, cubic design to it. Zero salient angles to speak of. There were no lights. No torches or bulbs, fluorescent or otherwise. The walls, floor, and ceiling illuminated everything with their own emanations. They reached the end of the hallway. A door, like the others, but manually operated. The green man stepped forward and hit several keys that, due to polarization, could only be seen with clarity when the observer was within a close distance to them. The door opened, and on the other side was a dark room. Not as dark as the one we’d first seen these two in, but much darker than the hall they had just traversed. A woman, age 21, stood up from a desk littered with sketches. She turned around and gave them both a welcoming smile.
“Hello Sam, mister Alender.” She said, in a voice failing to belie her expression.
Marcelli opened his mouth and began to speak, but the green man silenced him with a raise of his hand, and spoke in his stead.
“Hello Sarah. We understand that we’re late, but there was a situation on station 4 that required Marcelli’s immediate attention.”
“It’s alright. Walker hasn’t moved from where I spotted him last night. Have either of you seen Indigo?”
Marcelli had the answer to this.
“No. He’s still in his ‘little Versailles,’ until this afternoon.”
“Well, that’s great. He can join you two then. I’ve already prepared 4 personas. I won’t be going anytime soon, gotta establish the link and all that jazz.”
“Sam didn’t tell me anything about where you found Walker. Could you enlighten me a little. I’d rather not just wake up in a completely different body, different world, and be expected to track down the most dangerous man in existence.”
Sarah walked across the room and picked up multiple drawings. She brought them to the two men. They depicted several colorful houses and landscapes. She went to her desk and went back to sketching, talking as she did.
“He’s in place that the locals call Equestria. I don’t know if that’s the name for the entire planet, or just a nation.”
“Regardless, what are the locals?”
She grabbed several sketches and tossed them to Marcelli and Sam, immediately getting back to the one she was working on before. Only one of them made any moves to catch them, and that was Marcelli. Having succeeded in receiving the paper, he flattened it and scanned it over several times. He was confused by what he saw.
“What are these supposed to be?”
“Ponies.”
“So that’s what that thing was . . .”
His expression went from nonplussed to something alike the face he’d walked in with. He walked beside Sarah and presented to her the sketch he’d been given, now pointing at one particular object on it.
“The one with the hat, is that him?”
“Yes.”
“When can we go?”
“Now.”
And then, a blue object fell to the floor, trailed by a rainbow. This time, Marcelli was prepared, expectant. He dashed across the room, caught it, and immediately stared into it’s eyes. They looked at each other for what felt like minutes, but was really only seconds. Sam and Sarah, far more informed about the other world than the man now holding the pegasus, were not surprised by the appearance of the creature. Well, Sarah was, but she wasn’t startled. Marcelli turned to her.
“Sarah, can you lock the projection?”
“Done.”
“Good.”
He turned his eyes back to the pegasus.
“We’ll be able to speak without any interruptions, then.”
Its face turned pale, whimpers of fear began.
“I promise not to hurt you. I just want to know where you’re from, and who you are. I already know one of those things, so if you’d kindly answer the remaining question . . .”
“Rainbow Dash . . .” she said in a solemn, but compliant, voice.
“Well then, Rainbow Dash, I know you’ve heard at least two conversations between me and my cohorts. Is that all you’ve heard and seen of us?”
She nodded slowly.
“There’s someone in your world wearing a suit. It looks like it’s made of silver, or something of the sort. Somewhere on this suit, is a small insignia. A spiked cane, with a 5 pointed star in the top. He also wears a black hat. Have you seen him?”
“Y-yes. I’ve s-seen somepony like that . . .”
“He’s dangerous, and a lot of dangerous things will be happening around him. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”
“I-I’ll try . . .”
“Are you a spy?”
“No!”
As part of her exclamation, she burst out of Marcelli’s grasp.
“You can go now.”
And with that, whatever prevented the pegasus from ending her projection was removed. She left the humans as soon as it went. Sam paced from one end of the room to the other, scratching his chin. He spoke.
“So, they’re about to hit genesis. This is going to be interesting. Maybe we should just sit back and wait this out. We might mess up something over there. Maybe Walker’s assembling some heroes, he does have the book.”
“I don’t care what part he has in this. We’re confronting Walker. Sarah, begin the dream. Start up the personas. We’re going now.”
“Wait!”
“What?”
“We have to name them first.”
Rainbow Dash had not intended to dream herself into the presence of those scary creatures again. She’d left the company of her friends to get some rest as Star had advised. The pain in her head had rather obstinately remained long after she reached her cloud home. She went into her kitchen, and had a daisy sandwich. Afterwards, she turned to her bed. Cognizance left as she hit the vaporous sheets. And without even trying, Rainbow was back there. Watching the men through the corridor. Learning the green one’s name, Sam. Seeing a new face, Sarah. Hearing their talk of this “Walker” . . .
Then being held, by that strange one with the brown hair. Marcelli. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was something on his back that she just couldn’t quite make out. It shined. Not like it was giving off light, just reflecting it. It didn’t matter though. He told her to steer clear of the suited being, shining and hat-having. But dangerous. That was the message she’d received. Silver Star was a dangerous pony whom she should avoid. Possibly even the one they were trying to find, Walker. She doubted it given her experience with the colt; he didn’t seem like a pony that would kill people. But, the three humans shared this confoundment in their target. Even with these thoughts running through her head, she couldn’t bring herself to condemn him. Sure, he chose a very . . . violent, method when convincing Twilight of his assertions. She still had the bruise from earlier, just above her left eye. But she’d forgiven him, and he was sorry for doing it. But was that just tact? Was he really some sort of psychopath? She pushed all these doubting ideas back, mentally labelling them as ‘auspicious,’ or at least the closest word she knew that had the same meaning.
Before Dash could finish repressing the thoughts, she heard a noise behind her. The twang of a guitar. Normally, the idea that someone had snuck into her home unnoticed would have been the first thing to come to her mind. Instead, she reveled in the calming effects that the sound carried. It warmed her, all throughout, removing a chill she hadn’t even realized was there until it ceased. The headache was gone. A familiar voice said something rather impolite. Rainbow turned around to face the noise, and the following swear.
There, on the other side of the room, was the girl from before. She was sitting on the cloud floor, legs crossed in a way that Rainbow assumed was uncomfortable. It was, of course, entirely normal for a human. Held in her arms, was the guitar Dash expected to see, albeit in the hooves of a pony.
“Well, I guess I can’t really play my song now . . . Doesn’t matter though. You figured out who we were talking about, right?”
Rainbow Dash, perplexed beyond what she’d felt when she’d first seen a human, responded after a couple seconds.
“Ye-n-no. What?”
“Walker. You heard those two talking about him like he was genocidal maniac.”
“Yeah, but . . . What was there to figure out, I mean . . .”
“Obviously, Marcelli, the one that caught and questioned you, told you to avoid him. Silver dude, with the hat?”
“Yes . . .”
Sarah stood up, sliding the guitar around her torso until it held not in her hands but by a strap around her shoulder.
“You and your friends have been speaking with him for the past few days now. I didn’t tell either of them that. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be with him, now especially. Anything we said about him killing, it’s . . . Well, you see, we don’t have any proof he’s killed anyone, you see. I’ll try to explain this as quickly as I can, Sam and Marcelli are expecting me to speak with them in a bit.”
She paced around her side of the room and continued.
“Walker, or as you know him, Silver Star, got himself into a very bad situation. The only way out, was to . . . No, no, too far back. This guy, Jack, he . . . Ugh, just a second.”
She sat down, same crossed legs as when Rainbow had first seen her, and brought a hand to her chin, stroking it in thought.
“Okay, I’ve got it. A year ago, something happened to someone he cared for dearly. A young girl named Marie was captured by a group that called themselves “Hell’s Firing Squad.” She was indoctrinated by their leader, and made one of their highest ranking members. Months later, Walker was captured by the same group, but instead of being converted to their cause, they did something else entirely. When Marie saw him, whatever had her set on working with them was crushed. So they took Walker, and made him an example of what would happen to her if she tried to disobey the squad. He escaped, and attempted to free Marie. But . . . when all was said and done, she decided to kill herself. She didn’t want to live with what she had done. Walker acts like she’s still alive, and for that reason some of us believe he’s delusional. Anyway, after all that, he disappeared for a while. The three of us used to meet and discuss important things, politics and the like, but that all stopped. He came back months later, armed to the teeth. “Killed” thousands . . . But there were never any bodies.”
Rainbow Dash gulped loudly at this.
“Oh, shoot! I don’t have much time left. Uhhhh . . . okay, uhm, how do I . . . Right, Marcelli believes that he killed a ton of people, but me and Sam disagree. For different reasons. What I’m trying to say is, don’t go off and tell your friends he’s a maniac or anything like that. You don’t have any reason to believe he is. Don’t even tell them about this conversation. You could muck up a lot of things if you do. Uh, any questions.”
Dash, thoroughly confounded, shook her head.
“Great, I have to go, seeya!”
And with that, she was gone. The guitar, however, was left in her stead. The blue pegasus stared at it for a moment. Then, she slowly crawled into her bed and pulled the fluffy covers over herself. The headache returned.
