Author's Notes:

Hey, everyone! It's been a while, ain't it?! Hope I didn't disappoint anyone with the wait, and I hope even more that I don't disappoint here.

In case you didn't see it, I made a blog post that said that I'll be releasing chapters on a monthly basis. At the end of every month, a new chapter. It'll be... interesting to see how I handle a schedule like that. I'm betting that I won't be able to manage it. Expect imminent failure.

We're gonna be getting pretty close to the end within a few chapters, so a lot's gonna be happening. Characters returning! Crazy clogging the skull! Whatever else my disturbing little mind can concoct! All that and more, next time (and this time) on the next chapter (and this one) of this thing that you're reading right now (and hopefully continue to do so).

As always, please inform me of any mistakes I might not have been OCD-enough to catch.

Journal entry #82

I’ve said this before, many times, in fact. I’ve said it before, but I don’t think I really meant it. Not really. I said it the first time I went head to head with the night, I said it when I thought I couldn’t win, and I said it when I gave up and tried to kill myself. But this… this is when I say it and not only act on it, but actually believe it too.

I’m done.

I’m done being just a weak dishwasher who fumbles his way through danger. I’m done with just being lucky. I’ve got folks, a lot of folks, more folks than I can imagine, counting on me to make it through this, whether they know it or not. Life has handed me a challenge, a fight that doesn’t just concern my own safety, but the safety of everything and everyone. I can’t be weak anymore, even if that’s who I am. I can’t just take up the flank. This is going to sound cheesy, but I’ve got to make a stand. I need to go against my nature and win this war. Just because I have nothing left to live for doesn’t mean that I can let everyone else’s lives go to waste.

What good does it do, anyway? Cowering in my room, letting my fears run me? Who is that helping? Why have I still been doing that? Why haven’t I come to grips with reality before? Evil is in Equestria, and I’m the only one who can do anything about it. I don’t like it, I don’t think anybody does. I mean, just look at me. I’m an out-of-shape dishwasher who can’t even think to stick a little morphine or something into the gazillion pouches I stuck on myself like a kid dressing up for Nightmare Night. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m not going to do anybody any good acting like a scared little foal who just wet the bed.

I’ve got to get stronger. Not for me, but for lives and hope of everyone. They don’t get the option to fight what destiny hands them, not like I do. I’m going to stick this out. I’m going to win.

Look at me, writing down heroic diatribes like some kind of legendary demi-god. I can talk a big game, but today is when I see if I can deliver some actual results. What’s more, even though I’m talking like I’ve suddenly become the biggest boss on the planet… I’m still scared. And that really pisses me off. Why do I have to be such a worm? Why couldn’t I have been born like other ponies… independent, confident, courageous? They are the ones who deserve to have a chance. Me? I’m still shaking in the knees. I know what I have to do, and I know what will happen if I fail, and with this in mind, I’m still quivering like a baby rabbit under a bush or something? I guess no matter what I do, even if I improve on the outside, I’ll still be the same worthless dishwasher on the inside.

Some things you just can’t change, I suppose.

It’s pretty close to time, I should get ready to go start training with the prince. Maybe spending some time practicing with His Royal Highness will give me the drive I need to get better. Or maybe it will just give me a complex. Seriously, the guy is a tank. And he’s royal. And he’s a trained fighter. And he’s got a hot wife. And I’m sure he’s also really…

Let’s just… cut this entry here, Journal. I’ve already got enough to be depressed about without adding on a side-order of insecurities.

No sleep. Not a wink since his short, accidental nap the night before. But Rags didn’t care. He marched determinedly down the halls of the castle, heading towards destiny. It was the first day of his training with Prince Shining Armor, and he was far too energized and agitated to care about his lack of rest.

He was done. Fed up. Over it. Weakness was responsible for all of his misery. Weakness was why he always found himself in a worse situation than the one he had just barely escaped from. His entire life, fate had dealt him terrible hands and never let up in its torrent of sorrow. But that was just luck. Those were things that were out of his control. He couldn’t help whether he received fortune or misfortune. But whereas a stronger-willed individual would have been able to withstand the pounding of the waves of life, Rags was just a pebble tossed about in them.

He wasn’t able to roll with the punches. The last night only served to highlight that fact. Diminutive, incompetent, inexperienced, submissive. These were the qualities of a stallion doomed to failure in all regards of life including the mere process of living. These were his qualities. The time to change all of that was nigh.

If he was going to make it, he couldn’t be the worm he once was. He needed strength; strength enough to endure what fate decided to heap onto him for a good laugh. That was what this training meant to him. The burial of his old, worthless self, and the birth of a stallion that would be powerful enough to take on whatever the fickle mistress of fate threw in his general direction.

He strode confidently down the corridors, ready to meet Shining Armor at the… at… the…

Crap.

With a sudden reddening of his cheeks, he meekly, sheepishly, cowardly crept over to a nearby maid that was dusting off a set of old armor. He cleared his throat and stuttered, “P-Pardon me, miss, but… you… wouldn’t happen to know where the training… place… is at, would you?”

Now he strode confidently down the corridors, his destination actually known, ready to meet the prince.

The palace courtyard, yet another beautiful feature of the castle that Rags could simply not stop gawking at. The intricate stone carvings, the radiant rays of the sun shining down at a perfect angle, and a strange, serene silence to it all. Sitting under the shade of the only tree in the yard, with his helmet slouching upon his head to cover his eyes, was the prince, Shining Armor. The dishwasher figured he must have taken quite some time getting there. The prince must have decided to rest until his trainee’s arrival.

Rags stood before him and opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated for a moment. He reflected on what it was he was about to do, and what it was most likely going to take from him. What he was about to partake in was a change. A voluntary metamorphosis into one who is entirely dedicated to the art of survival. One would have to be to endure the challenges he was faced with. The title of ‘dishwasher’ seemed so strange to him now, for some odd reason. Was that even his talent anymore? He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned anything. In fact, he seemed to do more mess-making these days.

He shook his head clear. No more dawdling, he ordered to himself. All wasted time just put him that much closer to death. He had to get into the proper mindset in order to really change.

Carefully, as he was interacting with royalty, he cleared his throat and spoke, “Your Majesty? It’s, uh… it’s time for my training? Sire?”

The prince stirred for a moment, seeming to ignore the voice in his ear before springing to life with impressive vigor. “NO SIR, I WAS JUST RESTING MY EYES!” he snapped through his backwards helmet.

Rags simply stared in bewilderment and obfuscated silence. The prince spun his helm around so that he could see out of it once more. He looked around for a moment before settling his eyes on the shrimp of a stallion before him and chuckled. “Sorry, hehe, it was… a bad dream…” he grinned.

“Right… So…” Rags awkwardly droned.

“Your training, yes! I’ve been expecting you. For quite some time, as you can see,” Shining said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry about the wait… Hallways here can get pretty crazy, you know?” Rags explained as he recalled a number of times that hallways had nearly gotten him killed. He was growing to dislike them. Among many, many, many other formerly-mundane things that now presented him with unnatural threats.

“I know how that feels. First time I came here, I got lost for nearly half-a-day. Trust me, you’ll get used to it. Soon enough, you’ll know these halls forward and backward.” The prince adjusted his helmet so that it sat properly upon his head and shifted around a bit in his armor to straighten up his appearance before continuing. “I guess I should introduce myself formally. I’m Prince Shining Armor, but don’t bother with the prince bit, just call me Shining,” he said with a kind smile, extending his hoof.

It took Rags a second to catch on that he was offering to shake hooves. He didn’t expect that sort of greeting from a royal. “Good afternoon, Sire. I’m the Punching Bag of the Universe, Rags. But don’t bother with the morbid and depressing bit, you can just call me Rags,” he chuckled nervously and shook the good-humored prince’s hoof.

“So… how do you feel about it?” Shining asked.

“About what?” Rags replied.

“About dealing with… the ‘problem’?”

“Oh… that. Well, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, Your Majesty, the thought of it all makes me want to jump off one of the castle balconies or go poke a sleeping dragon and just end my life. I’m not confident in my ability to take care of the ‘problem’.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here to help you with. We’re going to get you ready to take on any and all challenges that come your way. Now, to start off, what do you think you need to work on?“ the prince inquired.

Rags took a deep breath, and released a long, slow sigh. “...Everything, Your Majesty.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, there is not a single thing about me that I think is even remotely close to ready to take this thing on. I’m not strong, I’m not fast, if I didn’t have something chasing me I probably couldn’t even run half-a-mile, I’m a terrible strategist, I’m probably no more skilled in fighting than a third-grade bully is, and I bruise like a banana. The only conceivable reason I’m not a pile of mushy, red paste is because somebody up there has a hard on for seeing me in agony. Erm… pardon my Prench, Sire,” Rags finished.

“I see…” Shining said as he rubbed his chin. “It sounds to me like you’ve got a problem that’s bigger than all of those things combined. One that you might be berating yourself over right this instant.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a problem with me that I wasn’t aware of. I’ve got so many that it gets hard to keep track of all the ways I fail,” Rags said dejectedly.

“There it is again. You seem to have a severe, crippling lack of confidence in yourself,” Shining suggested. “If you don’t think that you can get through this, then you won’t. I know from experience that half of the battle is fought inside your head.”

“Well, like you said, that’s what I’m here for, right? By doing this, I’m going to be reassuring myself that I’ll be strong enough to take on anything the cosmic powers throw at me. That’s the only way I’ll make it. I can’t be a pansy anymore. I’m here to get rid of all my… me-ness,” Rags said, gesturing to his whole body. “So I want the royal guard treatment. Put me through guardspony basic training. There was a time when I considered joining the army, so I guess I’ll finally get to see if I have what it takes. I mean, this is me we’re talking about, so probably not, but what’s the harm in trying?”

“In basic training? There’s a lot of harm in trying, the intense kind of harm that you feel every single morning when you wake up, and it will only get worse from there. Are you sure that’s what you want? I’m not asking because I don’t think you can do it; basic turns even the most unsuspecting of colts into hardened soldiers ready for battle. I’m asking because you have a very… tight schedule. You’ll need all the rest and energy you can get. Do you think that you can really spare the effort and time guardspony training takes?” Shining asked with concern.

The prince certainly had a point, Rags thought. He had never known any soldiers, nor had he ever been big on the concept of exercise, but he knew one thing for sure: the kind of training they were talking about was the kind of thing that left one tired and sore to an incredible degree. And the circumstances under which he would be undertaking such physical strain meant that he would have to balance intense training that would leave him drained during the day with fighting for his survival at night. He saw the issue. It was incredibly likely that he could tucker himself out with training before the night came, leaving him sore, weak, and vulnerable in the eventide.

Rags could tell that the prince wasn’t really asking him if the training was what he wanted, he was really more advising against it for the dishwasher’s sake. There wasn’t any question about it, actually. It was nearly a guarantee that if Rags began such training, he would be left far too weak to fight.

“What would you have me do then, Sire? Run a few laps? Do a few squats then call it a day? If I’m going to make it, I’ll need more than just a couple of exercises for an hour or two each day. I need some real combat training!” Rags implored.

“That’s true. If what I’ve heard about how the Nightmare has been attacking you is true, then it’s one against an army. A very big army. But at the same time, if that really is the case, then do you need hardcore training like that? Would it really help that much?”

“Hey, I’ve made it this far, right? And that’s been without any skills, physical advantages, or decent strategies to speak of. So wouldn’t the skills of a soldier improve a situation like mine?” Rags responded.

Shining Armor nodded his head pensively. “That’s true… Alright, if you really want to do it, then I’ll train you like a guardspony. We’ll put you through one day of this and then we can see how you’re holding up after that. Sound good?” he said optimistically.

“Yes, Sir!” Rags declared with a salute.

“Let’s get started. On the ground, I want twenty hoof-ups!” Shining ordered.

Rags did as he was bade and dropped to the ground and began pushing, already huffing and puffing after just four. The prince sat on a nearby stone bench and observed.

“So, Rags, where are you from?” Shining asked to pass the time until his trainee would be done.

“I was--oph… born in Manehatten…huph… but I’ve lived in Ponyville all my life,” Rags said in between breaths.

“Got any family?” the prince asked.

“Uhm… I don’t really know-- grr, eight!-- Your Majesty.”

“Why’s that?”

“Gah… Because… I’m adopted,” Rags grunted, almost saying it under his breath.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Shining started.

“Oh no, Sire… grr-- fourteen!... It’s alright. I was just saying… that I don’t know about any blood-family. I’ve got… my adoptive parents. I’m just-- omph-- not sure they even remember they have a son.”

“Sorry to hear that…” Shining said, fearful that he might have wandered into painful territory for Rags. “How about somebody special, soldier? Someone waiting for you at home?”

“No, Sir… I don’t know if you’ve noticed… but I’m not what you might call a… ‘desirable’ partner. Geeyargg… fifteen!” Rags growled as his arms began to tremble. He could already tell he would be feeling the effects of the exercise on his body in the morning. If he even made it that far. He continued speaking through his labored breathing. “I’ve always been kind of… a nerd… I had braces until I was… seventeen!… And you know how attractive that is…Hrrrr--TWENTY!”

Finally, Rags rolled over onto his back and gulped in air. He lay there in the grass for a good thirty seconds before Shining Armor stood over him. “How did… how did I do, Sire?” Rags wheezed.

“Good job. Now I want twenty more,” Shining Armor said with a grin. Rags groaned before rolling back over onto his belly and tried to get into position. As he struggled to start again and resumed his grunting and snorting, Shining sat back down and continued the conversation. “You know, I used to be a bit of a geek myself, but that didn’t stop me from meeting Cadance. It doesn’t matter who you are or what society labels you as, there’s always someone out there that will accept you for you.”

“So I’ve… heard. But does… anybody actually believe that… before it happens to them?” Rags asked.

“Not really,” the prince chuckled. “But if you don’t want to take my word for it, I could always get Cadance to help you out, if you’re interested.”

“Eh… no thanks… Your Majesty. At least… not right now. I’ve got a… bit of a tight schedule… know what I mean?” Rags huffed. “Plus… I don’t think… that after all this is over… that I’ll be in a very… ‘romantic’ mood for a long while. Fighting… horrors from Tartarus… kinda kills your drive to get… a love life going, you know?”

“Good point. I can see how our current situation might be a bit of a mood killer. I know it has been for me and Cadance…” Shining muttered..

“What was… that?” Rags heaved.

“Oh, uh-- nothing!” The prince waved his hoof dismissively.

“T-Twenty!... Again!” Rags rolled onto his back once again, utterly zapped of all his energy.

“You okay?”

“S-Sorta… N-Not re--... No,” Rags panted. He was embarrassed of his performance. Forty hoof-ups and he was down for the count. His forelegs stung, his lungs burned, sweat dripped off him like rain. He looked and felt as if he had just gotten into a furious battle with a ferocious chimera, but in reality, he had only just completed the first part of what was, for a royal guard, a daily exercise routine. It showed him that his physical condition was even more meager than he anticipated. What’s more, it made abundantly clear to him a discouraging truth.

He was sore and exhausted after such a small workout that would undoubtedly give him minimal results. He would need to do more than what he had just done on a daily basis to achieve any actual progress towards getting him ready. Doing so would tucker him out and leave him in constant pain. This wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that he would most certainly die in such a weak state during the night. An already anemic stallion made even more feeble by the pressure of the daily routines would be easy picking for the beasts and wretches.

If he couldn’t find a way to persevere in the training without leaving himself open at night, he would simply have to stop. He crossed his forelegs over his eyes as he gave the matter thought. He was working out plans and schedules in his head, but none lead to a conclusion in which he could keep training without sacrificing his energy for the nights.

Except for one.

It was a long-shot, and probably something he couldn’t even begin to understand beyond a conceptual level. But it was something that he was actually quite surprised he came up with, considering his aptitude for bone-headed ideas.

“Hey, Sire? Can I be excused for, like, five minutes?” Rags asked. “I gotta grab something.”

“I don’t see why not,” Shining Armor said, leaning back into a more relaxed position.

“Alright, don’t move, I’ll be quick.”

“Ready for more, Your Highness?” Rags asked the sleeping prince enthusiastically.

Shining jumped away with bewildered eyes and a twinge of fear about him. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized who was standing before him and recalled what the reason for him to be there was. “Oh, Rags… it’s just you. You seem…” the prince began as he looked the dishwasher over.

He had lost track of time, having fallen asleep again, but he was sure, judging from the position of the sun, that Rags had only been gone no more than ten minutes. That isn’t enough time for a pony to recover from complete exhaustion, and yet there he was, trotting in place and doing stretches as if he hadn’t done anything straining that day.

“Well come on, Sire! We’ve only got a couple hours before it gets dark!” Rags said cheerfully. “What do you want me to do now? Laps around the castle? Lift some weights? Come on, I’m ready to be a guard! Sorta… Would I actually be a guard if I got guard training? Whatever, I’m ready to go!”

Shining Armor’s mouth hung agape as he beheld the energetic stallion. “How did you… you’re ready to start training again? You looked totally beat a little while ago. You… feeling alright?”

Rags grabbed a water bottle hanging from his neck by a strap and took a quick swig. As he swallowed, he gave a small shiver. “Better than alright, Sire!” He held up the water bottle and gave it a shake. “See this? This is the stuff that brought me back twice now. It repairs you when you’re all busted up, right? And when you train, your muscles and stuff get torn up and get bigger when they heal, yeah? So, with this potion crap, I can work out a bunch, take a couple sips of this, and there you go, a couple day’s worth of muscle healing done in a few seconds after every routine! And it even gives me a little boost of energy, so I won’t get tired! It’s perfect! Now I can get several day’s worth of training done in one go and be all rested up and fine by the time the night comes!”

Shining Armor gawked at the claims Rags was making. He stammered out a response. “W-Wow… that sounds… kind of awesome, actually. What is that stuff, anyway?”

“This potion crap? I dunno. Princess Twilight and her creepy little hoodie-friends have been making a bunch of it. It’s science in a bottle! Or… magic in a bottle? Is science and magic the same thing for us? Eh, I don’t care, it keeps me alive, so it could be dragon piss for all I care. And it kind of tastes like whisky, actually, so dragon piss definitely sounds more welcoming right now, but whatever!” Rags exclaimed. “So come on, Sire! Let’s get going! We’re burning daylight!”

“Well… alright. If you’re ready to, let’s get to it. How about a little cardio to start with?” Shining asked.

Twilight stared glumly off her balcony at the late-afternoon sky. All things considered, it was a beautiful early-summer’s day. And there was hardly anything to be worried about. There were no pressing political matters, no tight royal schedules to maintain, no stuffy nobles pestering her for some greedy reason. It was what should have been one of the most relaxing days she had experience in a long time since becoming a princess. There was absolutely nothing that should have been bothering her.

Except for the painfully, sorrowfully obvious thing that hung over all in creation.

She let her eyes drift down to the two small specks down below running laps around the courtyard. A great sigh escaped her mouth as she scorned herself internally. One of those specks was doomed, as was the rest of the world. If she had only been more diligent, she’d have been able to put a stop to it. But there was nothing standing in the way of it now. Just him.

The chamber doors parted, and in stepped Celestia, who silently sat beside her smaller associate on the balcony. For a long time, they both merely watched the two tiny shapes in the courtyard performing various training exercises, occasionally catching an audible hint of laughter or conversation.

“They seem to be getting along well enough,” Celestia finally said quietly, only hardly managing to break the silence.

“My brother always did have kind of a magnetic personality,” Twilight pointed out. “He’s not one to play the part of the hard-nosed drill sergeant.”

“Hmm…” Celestia hummed thoughtfully. Another long silence took hold. “You seem… troubled, Twilight. Is there something bothering you?”

“It’s the same thing that I imagine is bothering you,” Twilight responded. “Only one pony stands between us and destruction. And nobody, no matter how powerful or clever or determined, can do anything about it. He’s all that we’ve got.” Twilight cast her eyes to the floor of the balcony. “Of course he doesn’t need to be…” she said under her breath.

Celestia inhaled deeply through her nostrils and out through her mouth. “I said it was not a matter up for discussion. You are too young and unknowledgable to be making judgments like--”

“But why?!” Twilight cut in with sudden frustration. “Why won’t you look at what’s happening?! I want to believe in him too, I honestly do, but are you willing to be the one to bear the weight of the consequences? Are you ready to face the possibility that he might… fail?” Twilight asked dejectedly.

“He won’t, Twilight. I’m sure of it,” Celestia stated firmly.

“How can you be so sure?!” Twilight pleaded to know. “There’s too much at risk to be basing your decisions on hunches and instinct! The lives of more than even I can count are at stake! Don’t you think that it would at least be worth consideration--”

“That’s enough, Twilight. My word is final, I said no,” Celestia said coldly.

Twilight looked at the sun goddess with shock and worked her mouth as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. But she second-guessed herself and went ahead and spoke her mind anyway. “I-- I can’t stand for this! You can’t simply rule it out because of your feelings!” Twilight said, her tone accusatory.

“Twilight, I said that was enough--”

“I know it would be hard for you, it would be hard for all of us, but it’s our only other option! What if he dies one of these nights?! The world would end without us even waking up!”

“Twilight!” Celestia barked.

Twilight continued, shivering with adrenaline and worry. “You can’t let your emotions dictate the fate of Equestria! Would you let countless lives die all for one?!”

Celestia’s wing shot upwards and snapped Twilight across the cheek. In silence they both stared at one another, Twilight in disbelief and Celestia in a mix of anger and sadness. Soon, the sun goddess averted her gaze to the sky, attempting to appear stoic, but slowly succumbing to sorrow, beginning with a wash of tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. She bit her trembling lip as she let her head drop and began to sob.

Twilight felt tears of her own brimming as she placed a hoof to her stinging cheek and stifled a cry. She looked up to her mentor and hesitated over moving in to sit beside her, but she eventually did. For a little while, they both sat, side by side, and let the tears flow quietly.

Celestia wiped a wing across her tear-stained cheeks and spoke softly. “We have to believe in him, Twilight... I have to believe in him. I have to…”

“What?!”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“N-No!”

“Yep.”

“It’s not true!”

“You’d better believe it.”

“T-That’s not right!”

“I’d probably say the same thing.”

“How do you… how do you even react to something like that?!”

“Like how you are now, I guess?”

“Ugh… I… I think I’m gonna be sick… or angry… or flattered… or… what do you call all three of those put together?” Shining Armor asked as he rubbed his temples.

“I honestly don’t think that it’s happened to enough folks to warrant a word for it,” Rags said.

“Are you… are you really sure?” the prince begged to know.

“Yeah, I’m totally positive. Every guy in Equestria has a serious hard-on for your wife,” Rags explained in a matter-of-fact way.

“Ugh, that’s just wrong!” Shining said as he shook his head in denial. “W-Why?!”

“Well, not only is she pretty, if you don’t mind me saying, and royalty, which those two put together already makes her irresistible in the eyes of most, but she’s also the Princess of Love. And, to tell the truth, a title like that leaves a lot to the imagination. Uh, just sayin’, you know,” Rags explained sheepishly.

“I can’t believe this…” Shining Armor groaned.

“You seriously haven’t seen any of the guards getting a good rear-view shot of your lady whenever she walks by ‘em? They don’t really even make an effort to hide it,”

“I’ve got half-a-mind to court martial those sorry little…” Shining growled. He looked to Rags incredulously. “And what do you think?”

“Of what? Your wife?” Rags gulped as he thought of an appropriate response. “Well sure, she looks good, great even, b-but I wouldn’t dare ever think about… you know…” he meeped coyly.

Shining kept up his scrutinizing glare for a moment before his expression changed to one of bemusement. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should have known. I couldn’t have been the only one to think she’s the most gorgeous thing in existence. Guess it’s to be expected,” he said with a grin. “Still… I don’t know whether to be confused or ticked.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Rags said. “I mean, have you never picked up an issue of Dirty Mares Monthly? They love having artists interpret what Cadance and the other princesses must look like in ‘action.’”

“That’s disgusting-- wait… how do you kno--”

“How about this weather? This great, subject-changing weather?”

The two stallions shot the breeze as they made their way through the castle, Rags accompanying Shining Armor on his way back to his room. The dishwasher was actually quite surprised at how well they got along, all things considered. Despite the fact that he was his trainer, and despite the social gap between them, one being a prince and the other as far from that class as possible, Rags found that the prince was not at all what he expected. He seemed more like a bigger, stronger, more regal Nougat.

Rags briefly entertained the idea of Nougat becoming jealous. He’d love to see the look on his face when he learned of his budding new friendship. Actually, Rags just wanted to see his face period. Things seemed less tolerable without his oldest, and formerly only, comrade around. But still, he trekked on.

The sun had begun its slow drop out of the sky, though it was still at the apex of the descent, giving Rags plenty of time to ready himself once more. The sunlight pouring in on them from a window at their backs stretched their shadows across the floor, and reflected harshly off of the extravagant, golden chamber doors that opened up ahead of them as they walked. Out of them, most unexpectedly, stepped Celestia, with red eyes and a mane that lacked the flowing grace it once held.

The two stallions stopped before her, the prince offering a bow and yanking the oblivious dishwasher down to the floor when he did not immediately do the same. Celestia nodded to the prince and looked oddly at Rags for a moment. “I trust your training session went well?” she asked.

Shining Armor snapped to attention with practiced military focus.“Yes, Your Highness. Thanks to Twilight’s potion, I believe we will make excellent progress over the coming weeks with his training. I’ll have him turned into a proper warrior in no time.”

Celestia offered, what Rags could plainly tell, was a very forced smile. “That’s wonderful to hear, my prince. You may proceed to your quarters. Have a…” she stopped herself when she realized what she was about to say.

Shining Armor swallowed, sensing her mood, and decided to end the encounter quickly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He turned to Rags and said, “Good luck, soldier.” Not a moment more he lingered. He passed the princess and made for his room.

Rags was left alone with the princess, who continued to stare at him with an emotion in her gaze that he could not quite peg. She spoke in a voice that he would not have believed was hers had he not been facing her. It was far less practiced and graceful than her normal voice, as if she didn’t care for keeping up her facade of elegance in front of Rags. It was a strained, almost husky voice that reeked of exhaustion.

“Young one, I… I wish to speak with you… in private. It is a matter of great importance, and… personal significance. I’ve already conferred with Princess Twilight on the topic, but I thought it only right to include you in the discussion, as you are, after all, the most important pony of us all.”

Rags’ jaw dropped slightly and he stammered for a second after hearing that last part. “W-Well sure thing-- I mean, of course, Princess,” he babbled. “So… like, talk right now, you mean? Or…”

“No, my little one. Later. Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight, you need only to focus on living. I believe… Twilight has a task for you, as well,” said Celestia. She extended a wing towards the chamber. Rags stepped forward to peek inside, finding Twilight perched on the balcony, sitting in the orange glow. “Best of wishes, child,” Celestia said as she turned and departed.

Rags stood in the doorway for a moment collecting himself. Twilight did not appear to be in an especially upbeat mood, so he readied himself for news. It would be bad news, of course. To him, that’s all that news was anymore. He slipped inside and made his way across the meticulously kept but dimly lit room and parted the glass doors to the balcony.

“Princess? You wanted to see me?” he said.

She turned her head slowly and deliberately to glance at him. “Hello, Rags. How did training go?” Twilight asked. Rags did not initially register the question though. He was too focused on her appearance. Her eyes were bloodshot and drooping, her mane was slightly disheveled, and her coat seemed pale and lackluster. Celestia seemed to be in a comparable state. Something told Rags that the Princesses of Equestria were not typically wont to roam the halls in such a homely condition.

“Uhm, fine, Your Majesty. Your brother really knows his stuff… Uh, are you feeling alright, Your Highness? You seem a little…” Rags trailed off, searching for the proper words.

“Discombobulated?” Twilight offered with an almost imperceptible grin.

“Whatever that means, I’m pretty sure it would apply. Is there something bothering you?” Rags asked concernedly.

“Oh… it’s nothing,” the princess obviously lied as she looked off to the horizon. “Me and Celestia had a little argument, that’s all.”

Rags sighed. “Princess… please don’t take this the wrong way, I really don’t mean anything by it, but… can you please stop treating me like a freakin’ kid?”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked flatly.

“I mean, you’ve been keeping stuff from me since you first took an interest in my problem. I’ve walked around this castle for the past two days with everybody giving me weird, cringey looks. Not that I don’t think they’re concerned for me on some level, but I really doubt that they’ve been looking at me like that because they feel sorry for me. There’s something I don’t know. And I’m getting pretty fed up with all this secrecy. Either tell me upfront what the deal is or… OK, I haven’t really worked out an ‘or,’ but you get my point,” Rags said sternly, hoping not to offend.

Twilight sat motionless for a moment, looking out across the land as if Rags wasn’t standing there waiting for an answer to his question. “I don’t suppose there is any purpose in being discreet. You are, after all… our only option,” Twilight said coldly.

Rags gulped at both the princess’s tone and the reminder that he was the only one capable of doing anything.

“You’ll have your answers,” Twilight said, “but not from me. I think that you should hear it from her mouth, then decide whether or not you think it’s an inane, senseless, idiotic…” her venomous words trailed off as she gathered herself. “Celestia will inform you of the situation. The real situation. The real gravity of what is happening here.”

They shared no words for nearly a full minute. Finally Rags spoke, “Are you feeling alright, Your Majesty? You seem a little--”

“Go get ready, Rags. We’re wasting time,” Twilight cut in.

“We?” Rags asked.

“I need you here, tonight. If we can’t…If you are our best bet, I need to collect data that could possibly assist you. Stay here tonight, just for the first few minutes at least, and observe me while I sleep,” Twilight ordered.

The words hadn’t even left her mouth completely when Rags felt a chill of awkward discomfort run up his spine. Twilight glanced at him when she noticed the silence and took note of his expression.

“Rags, focus. There’s nothing weird about it. It’s for science,” she said.

“Uh-huh…” Rags replied as he leered at her. “I bet you say that to all your victims…”

“All of my-- what?! You sick little-- no, no. Not going to get mad. Just… do as I say, okay? I need to start gathering information on how the night-magic works. To start with, I need to know what it is that happens to ponies while they sleep, alright?” Twilight said. “Look, I’m sorry for my tone. I’ve just been having quite a few discussions with Celestia. We don’t see eye-to-eye on the issue, to say the least. But that’s something for later. Right now, this is what I need from you,” she finished.

Rags carefully observed the flustered princess and deliberated on what she asked of him. As uncomfortable as it would be, she was most likely correct in that it was probably in his best interest to collect all the data he could for her. He was so very close to the epicenter, after all. The rules had obviously changed, if the previous evening was any indication. He needed to know what to expect, what his new plan of attack was. He settled on the conclusion that Twilight knew best. And so, he’d do as she asked.

“Alright, but just remember, you asked for this,” Rags said.

“What?”

“You know, you asked for me to watch you sleep. I’m just saying, it’s your problem if I start-- uhm… I was going to make a joke out of that, but I don’t really… I... err…”

“Stop talking.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Searing embers snapped out of the crumbling logs inside of the squirming flames and escaped the hearth for but a moment before vanishing into the air. The heat from the roaring fire brought comfort to Rags. But, more importantly, it gave him light, something he was slowly coming to appreciate more and more as time went on. Before it would all be over, he’d treasure it as if it were intangible gold, he thought.

The final beams of sunlight dwindled fast as the sun was quickly concealing itself below the horizon, leaving only the flickering glow of the fire to illuminate Twilight’s chambers. The Princess of Magic yawned before slurring out what Rags could only assume was supposed to be a coherent order. “Rags… take note… the time is… is… just look at the clock and write down the time…” She yawned again. Rags did as she asked and jotted down the time. 8:45. “Feeling… tired… can’t keep my eyes… open… Unable to fight off the feeling… of… complete…” another yawn, ”exhaustion…”

Rags wrote down whatever he could glean from the princess’s rambling on the notepad she had given him. There wasn’t much in the way of new information so far. It was what they had both come to expect: sudden, crushing exhaustion as the time neared. Not for Rags, of course.

He wasn’t even remotely drowsy, thanks to his marvelous little potion. Though, it was only a solution for his natural drowsiness, and his alone The miracle fluid could do many things, such as repairing all bodily damage and providing energy to keep the drinker awake and on edge, but preventing magically induced sleep was not one of them. This was tested by Twilight, who took a small sip and didn’t feel so much as a buzz like one would get from eating too much candy. The sleep was irresistible, it seemed.

Rags sat by the princess’s bedside, occasionally scribbling down whatever nonsense poured from the weary royal’s mouth for the sake of ‘science.’ It felt like a waste of time to the dishwasher. He was kept from his preparations to monitor the groggy ramblings of a princess who stubbornly resisted sleep for as long as she could? Surely it would come back to bite him, he thought.

He tried to keep his spirits high, tried to stand firm and not let his nature as a weakling get the better of him, but he couldn’t help it. He worried about what the new night would bring. The last gave him several massive injuries and a meeting with the devil herself. What new terrors awaited him tonight?

But he couldn’t let those fears run wild in his mind. That had always been what brought him down, made him weak. When his mind fell prey to his anxious nature, he was left open to attack. No more, he told himself. He was sick of nights like the last one, nights that brought him mental and physical scars because he was too pathetic to stop it from happening. Beginning on this night, he would no longer allow himself to lose control. He was going to be strong, stand tall, remain stalwart. He wouldn’t let himself do anything less. This was the key to survival, both his and the world’s. And he would die before he let himself go back to being a worthless worm who was constantly stomped on... sometimes literally.

Thought it wouldn’t be easy. His instincts, his intrinsic being, would fight to regain control, to make him go back to his old ways of fright and trembling. It would take all that he had to suppress those urges. But he would have to. Regressing meant death.

He reached into one of his stocked saddlebags and pulled out a water bottle. He sloshed around its contents and took a drink, feeling the tingling of the potion at work.

Perhaps what he needed was to stop ferociously pondering the matter. He tended to let his fearful weakness get a hold of him if he let it dig too deeply into things. Thought he’d tried to get himself to stop thinking too much and it was never successful before. Putting an end to that nasty habit would be a great step towards victory.

Twilight yawned once more and began to say something, but soon stopped speaking actual words and mumbled out incomplete syllables, and soon after that stopped making any noise except for the sound of long, steady breathing. Fatigue had finally dealt a finishing blow to the princess and sent her off into slumber.

Now was when Rags started getting uncomfortable. He felt so slimy, watching Her Royal Highness sleep like some sort of stalker, carefully observing every interval of her rising and falling chest as she softly inhaled and exhaled. He shook his head clean of the encroaching dirty thoughts before they could take root and really get to him. He looked at the clock. 8:55. He jotted down the time and what happened to Twilight during that period. He figured it was what she was going to ask of him before she lost it.

A lump caught in his throat as he waited. Steadily he grew more anxious as five minutes ticked past as he waited for whatever it was that would come next. Twilight wasn’t the only one curious about what happened to the ponies afflicted by the sleep.

He kept his eyes on her all the while, sweat beginning to form on his brow. His intense focus was broken by the tolling of the clock upon the wall. 9:00. He held his breath as he watched Twilight carefully. Seconds passed. Tens of seconds. Silence in the room. Nothing but the sound of the crackling hearth. No changes.

A half-minute later and nothing had changed. He spared a moment to perk his ears and listen for anything. Silence, that thing that had proven time and time again that whatever came after was not good. A full minute. Still she lay there, contented and peaceful. Rags wrote what he saw down.

It made no sense. She should have been gone. To Rags’ knowledge, most ponies were whisked away the moment the clock struck nine. But he was educated, learned of the dark ways of this strange time. He knew it was coming. Whatever it was.

Five minutes later and he still waited. Instead of calming as time went on without any incident, Rags grew ever more anxious. Come on, he thought to himself, do something! I know it’s gonna happen, so just do it! Almost as if responding to his mental encouragement, Twilight stopped breathing. Rags froze as he watched and waited. Her face twitched and she cringed. She made a squeaking noise that soon turned into a soft groan. She started lightly tossing and turning, as if struggling with an unseen foe. The dishwasher was paralyzed as he saw it all. Here it comes…

Twilight finally turned to lay on her side, and the odd behaviors stopped as soon as she did. Once again, she started breathing normally. Everything went back to a placid state. Rags released the breath that he held for so long that he nearly passed out. Apparently, it simply wasn’t coming.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to work out a kink as he stepped over to the hearth and rested on his haunches. Holding his hooves up to the fire, he warmed himself up and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the princess, who still slept soundly. He took a deep breath and tried to pacify his shot nerves. Perking his ears again, he listened for any telling sounds before letting his guard drop, and again picked up nothing.

He sighed and let his shoulders drop. For the time being, he was safe, as was the princess. He was no idiot though. He had wised up since the last night. He knew for a fact that in the very near future, something would try to kill him. There were no such things as ‘free passes’ for the nights.

He wondered what mental scar-inducing nightmare he’d run into next. What did the demon have planned? The way things were going so far, it almost seemed as though she was trying to build up and prey upon his false sense of security once more. Was she arrogant enough to try it again? The thought of such cockiness boiled Rags’ blood.

It didn’t matter what the Nightmare decided to spring on him, Rags wasn’t going to lie down and take it like a frightened child. He turned around so that his back faced the fire and he sat up straight, eyes drifting around the room and keeping watch. He turned his head to clamp his teeth down on the hilt of his sword and drew it. There he sat for another ten minutes, eyes shifting about and teeth loosely clenched on his sword.

He tapped a hoof on the floor as he sat there in the firelight. A single droplet of sweat raced down the side of his face. He was pumped full of energy, wide awake, and nervous as could be. ‘Antsy’ would be too tame of a word to describe his state.

He glanced at the clock: 9:15. He then looked down to Twilight, still sleeping like a log. Still there. He knew she’d want what he saw recorded, and so, he decided to make a note of it. He figured it would keep his mind occupied in the meantime, maybe even ease his stress.

Uneasily setting his sword beside himself on the floor, within reach of course, he turned back towards the hearth for better lighting. He pulled out his notepad and pencil and, after tossing a leer in either direction, began writing. The shadow of his pencil danced madly in the glow of the crackling blaze, and he took solace in the scratchings of pencil lead on paper. If anything, the curse had at least brought out his inner writer.

In a heartbeat he let the pencil drop from his mouth and snatched up his blade, facing the direction of a thumping noise he heard. It came from the general direction of Twilight’s bed. Upon closer inspection, nothing appeared out of the norm with the princess. Any other might have written off the noise as Her Highness tossing in bed, but Rags was wiser than that. He didn’t let his attention to the opposite side of the room fade.

As he stood on guard, carefully analyzing every flickering shadow shifting around in the room, the light that cast the shadows vanished. He stiffened as shadows consumed the room when there was suddenly no light to keep them at bay. A cold breeze wafted across his flank. A shocked glance behind him revealed that the fire in the hearth had spontaneously gone out as if a sizable gust blew over it. The smoldering embers were all that was left of the fire that was roaring not but a second ago.

He spun on his hooves, rapidly scanning the room. Without the snapping and crackling of the fire, the silence became quite heavy. What took them so long?

There was a hiss. Rags jolted a bit as he looked to the hearth where it came from. Nothing was there. Except there was. Another short hiss, but still he saw nothing. Two more hisses followed. There was consistency in the time between each hiss, almost as if it was…

Rags hesitantly extended his foreleg into the hearth, over the logs. He felt a drip on his hoof. He didn’t even need to scrutinize the fluid. He knew all too well what it was. Jerking his hoof back, he wiped it off and backed away from the fireplace. Every hair on his body stood on end. No… Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. It’s alright. You can handle this. Remember, no more weakness.

A strange noise came from behind, from Twilight’s bed. It was unlike any noise he’d ever heard before, not even from the nights. It was like an unearthly moan, a sorrowful sound that he could feel within the depths of his very being. There were no words in it, and it was quiet like soft breathing,, but something about it made him want to cry in a blend of fear and sadness. It was the sound of pure torment.

His veins became frigid as he forced himself to turn and face whatever it was. And as he saw it, they froze completely.

Twilight looked as if she were still asleep as she hovered in the air without the use of her wings or magic. She levitated above the bed, rising slowly into the air as if an invisible appendage had grabbed her like a doll. Tremors racked her body and her muscles convulsed as, to Rags’ disbelief, she was becoming transparent. He heard something else, something he couldn’t identify. As the princess viciously shook, it got louder and louder. Crying. The sound of a mare wailing and sobbing. It soon filled the chamber with it’s increasing volume.

Twilight began to unconsciously mumble. “No… No… Please…” The color drained from her coat and mane, making her a shade of pale white. Her spasms ceased and she simply levitated there, still and quiet. Her translucent form seemed to have calmed. But the crying did not cease. It only worsened as her eyelids suddenly parted, exposing two black pits void of all life, sentience, and feeling, ushering a torrent of blood to pour down her cheeks and soak her face.

Rags was paralyzed in mind and body as her ghostly form began moving towards him. His attempts at coaxing his stiff legs into backing away landed him on his flank. Twilight, or whatever it was, showed no signs of slowing as she, it, passed straight through Rags as if he was air and did the same into the wall behind him. Blankly, he stared forward.

The touch of the apparition left him numb, cold, and breathless. He gasped for air like he had just been punched in the stomach. Sweat drenched every square inch of fur on his body. When he could manage, he wobbled to his hooves and composed himself. The obvious question on his mind pertained to the nature of what had just happened, both to Twilight and to himself.

Was that what had been happening to ponies after dark? Rags supposed it would explain their sudden disappearances, though why did it take so long for it to happen to Twilight? Did it vary for each individual?

More importantly, why was he afraid? He had recently dedicated himself to becoming a stronger pony, so why did he lock up? He harshly scolded himself for allowing himself to commit the sin of weakness once again. His blade was at his side, even if it would do no good, and he had plenty of time to react. Were it some other kind of nightly entity, a corporeal kind with teeth and claws, he’d have made for an easy meal.

The words he used to address his crime were of the harshest sort. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let himself regress anymore. Too much was riding on his life. He had an important role to fill, and there could be no more fearful freezes or terrified thoughts or intense urges to flee. Strong, he had to think strong. No, no thinking, he had to just be strong.

He picked up his blade and bit down painfully hard on the hilt. He couldn’t stay in the princess’s chambers. The room was tainted by his fear. They’d find him there. He swiftly crept towards the doors and peeked outside. They weren’t around. He started to make his way outside, but stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at the notepad on the floor.

A wave of cruel remembrance came over Rags. The starved howls echoing through the halls. The rotten smells offending his nostrils. The living darkness that seemed to change the world around him when he least expected. The voiceless voices that sought to undermine him. The crushing sense that he was not alone, yet more alone than anyone had ever been. It was all much, much too familiar.

He rounded every corner carefully, but quickly enough to feel as though he had the mettle to handle whatever he came up against. It was never clear as to whether or not they knew where he was or not, and even more opaque was how they found him and how they missed him. It all seemed dependant on his readiness. They never seemed to come at him when he was actually expecting it, almost as if they could read his mind. Or perhaps they simply possessed excellent timing.

Nevertheless, he stalked through the dark corridors of the castle, always moving, always ready. Every shadow received a deathly stare from the tip of his sword. Every step was measured thoughtfully. He was prepared for battle.

The possibility that he’d get his wish was nigh when he heard a heavy clanking coming into earshot. He took notice of an archway that led into a large chamber with balconies and stairways down to the lower floor. The sound came from within the chamber. He slipped behind cover, an old, decorative set of knight armor, and watched the archway.

It seemed a minute had passed before the one causing the noise marched past his view. Noisily, with a walk that looked as if it were controlled by clockwork, a figure the size of a full-grown, body-building stallion rigidly stepped into Rags’ sight. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was covered from head-to-hoof in the armor of a soldier.

It stopped suddenly and stiffly in the middle of the archway. Its head turned slowly from side to side with a rusty squeal that made Rags think his ears were bleeding. If that wasn’t enough to harm his hearing, the armored thing let out a demonic, nightmarish bray before resuming its clunky patrol.

As it moved out of sight, Rags stole a look from behind the display. He pondered the nature of what he just witnessed. A creature in armor? Were they becoming more intelligent? Had they learned how to adorn themselves in protective equipment? Rags’ dinky weapon wasn’t likely to put a stop to any creatures that were all geared up.

A light tapping drew his eyes to the floor at his hooves. In poor light of the halls, he could make out dark stains on the reflective marble, with more dark stains popping up beside them. Liquid being dripped onto the floor? Rags looked up to see the source was the crevices of the armor he hid behind. Dark streaks of fluid dribbled from between the plates.

A rusty, ear-piercing squeal shredded through the air as Rags looked further up to see the helm of the knight armor turning to his direction, stopping for a brief moment before turning its empty gaze down on him. He stumbled back as it jerked a leg forward and stepped out of its decorative posture and paced towards him.

Sweat poured off Rags like rain. Stay calm, don’t run. It’s time to face these things. Armor or not.

He stamped a hoof down and took up a defensive stance. The creature in armor came to a stunningly sudden stop and froze before him. Rags stared it down, ready to go head-to-head in a bloody brawl. But after what seemed like a long while of trembling with adrenaline and attempting to burn a hole through the thing’s armor, he began wondering if it had perhaps died inside of its suit, for it remained still.

Just when he started thinking about his next move, the armor squealed again as the chest plate began moving on its own. It slid down on the thing’s chest to reveal… not at all something Rags ever thought he would see.

Inside the creature’s armor, there was no creature. Instead, inside of the chest plate was a bed of burning coal, and above it, defying the laws of gravity, was a heart set ablaze with unnatural fire. A heart that still beat as if blood pumped through it.

Rags made a noise that was some sort of cross between a gasp, a feeble squeak, and a panicked exclamation. He nearly fell over himself as he leaped out of the way of a gout of fire that exploded from within the armor like a dragon’s breath.

Rags’ warrior spirit that had been so thirsty for blood a moment ago seemed to have been busy at the time, and the dishwasher scrambled away from the demonic decoration, muttering every curse he could think of while under stress. He was initially fearful, but then angry. Not angry at the armor-creature, he was still quite afraid of that, but angry at himself.

What was that?! I thought it was just a tar-pony or something! Stupid Nightmare and her stupid things that don’t do what you expect them to! Some freakin’ courageous knight I am. Second encounter of the night and like a crappy comedian I did the same routine I’ve done a thousand times before. And to add insult to injury, I choked on my own spit so I couldn’t even scream right. Phenomenal. Just sign me up for the ‘Demon-Slayer of the Year’ award.

Rags’ self-loathing tirade was cut short when something dark flew out from around the corner and came at his head. He managed to duck it, but the hasty maneuver nearly cost him his footing. He righted himself before he fell face-first into the floor and spun around to see his attacker. And for the third time, he locked up with fear.

A head with pin prick, red pupils and nearly entirely decayed skin threateningly hovered toward him, softly exhaling a never-ending breath. Its skull was swathed in a haze of living shadow and pestilence. Rags was frozen, but this time, he was able to think. He screamed inwardly at himself to ready his sword, get out of the way, run, something. Anything, he told himself, would be better than letting this thing do whatever it was going to do to him.

As he feared he would stay paralyzed, a sound that had become part of the norm to him echoed from behind. A sound like that of many screaming voices coming from the same throat, all angry, restless, and hungry. It was enough to shake him from his stillness and make him toss his gaze over his shoulder.

The instant he turned, he was staring into the livid, glowing eyes of one of the abominations that almost appeared to have a personal grudge against him. A particularly large tar-pony snarled as it thundered down the hall toward him. “!hself s’nerdlihc ruoy no tsaef lliw I”

Rags frantically looked back and forth between the two atrocities, each closing in quickly. The sound of a sudden intake of air drew his attention to the head at the last moment, just in time for him to see it swoop at him. His reaction was to drop to the floor, letting it miss him by inches and soar past him. Its momentum was such that it kept going and collided with the oncoming tar-pony.

He shivered under the cover of his forelegs, waiting for his end, and noticed that it had not come. Instead, a horrific gurgling noise and a dreadful screech tortured his ears. Somehow, he felt as if dying would have been preferable to looking. Peeking from under his legs, he felt the urge to vomit as he gawked at the hideous scene.

The evidently indiscriminate head had sunk its teeth into the tar-pony’s chest, eliciting awful cries and forcing it to the floor. It ripped and tore at the rotten flesh, burrowing deeper into the ribcage despite the larger creature’s attempts at clawing it out. As it did, the meat around its bites seemed to melt and drop off. This effect began spreading to the rest of the tar-pony’s body as the skull went further in. What little flesh the tar-pony possessed was oozing off like the slime that coated it, leaving only bone.It eventually stopped twitching and went limp. A dark cloud wafted through its empty eye sockets and slowly covered the rest of what was left of the tar-pony.

Rags decided he had seen enough. While those two were busy, he made his exit.

He scurried into another hall while he had the chance. His mind ran in circles, trying to get a grip on things, trying desperately to dam the relentless river of fear that flooded his being.

Are you kidding me with this?! I seriously just got done telling myself how much monster flank I was going to kick and here I am, running like my tail is on fire! This sucks! I suck! Why can’t I just do this already?!

The clang of empty armor faded into the distance, nothing but echoes by the time Rags moved. He used the time spent not running from pursuing creatures to formulate a plan. Not a plan for the present night, his strategy for that was simply to keep moving. But was that to be his strategy for every night after? Surely there were better alternatives to panicked dashes throughout the castle halls.

They were already beginning to become too numerous. In the span of only two nights, the density and strength of the entities in the castle was up the degree it was at after a week back in town. It was true, the nights were far stronger in Canterlot. A solid plan was a must if he wanted to see the sun rise again.

A distant screech made him flinch. They were gathering. They were hunting.

Maybe the best plan… was no plan at all? Routine was the source of all his woes in the past, routine left room for a trap to be set. Perhaps all he needed was to be random, do whatever he pleased? He needed to power through the fear, to be strong of mind and body. But first, he had to conquer his impulses.

A growl from up ahead forced him to skid to a halt, bunching up a rug under his hooves. A gargling figure shambled from around a corner, unaware of his presence until its peripherals caught a glimpse of him. The tar-pony shrieked and thrust itself down the hall at him.

Rags reflexively took a step back as a lump caught in his throat. No fear, no hesitation, he told himself. He needed to be more than he could be. Running and hiding could no longer be his response. Now was the time when his mettle would be tested, pushed to its limits. Now was when he would either come to find himself capable, or end up being digested in bits and pieces. He put the hoof he stepped back with into its former position and clamped his teeth around the hilt of his sword with as much force as possible.

Rags trembled with residual fear and anticipation. The disgusting creature threw itself at him with jaws wide open. As if in slowed time, he watched it come at him through the air, his response still being debated in his head. Instinct got the better of him. He stepped to the side to try and avoid the attack, but the tar-pony lashed out as it flew past, swatting Rags across the face rather hard with its malformed hoof.

The dishwasher stumbled back and sucked in air around the hilt. Already he could feel a large bruise coloring his cheek and one or two missing teeth. The monster scrambled back to its hooves and circled its prey, snarling all the while. In the blink of an eye, it leaped once more at Rags, the stallion evading more successfully than before.

Rags’ cheek ached, making it difficult to keep a hold of his sword. Do something! Don’t just stand there! You’ve fought these things before, you can do it again!

Almost faster than he could see, or perhaps it was merely the darkness inhibiting his sight, the tar-pony had gotten in Rags’ face and was sinking its teeth into his shoulder. Rags howled in pain, expecting it to draw more of them near. He wrestled on the floor with the thing, punching, kicking, bucking and shoving. But nothing removed the hateful creature’s grip on him. It put all of its fury into the nearly bone-crushing bite, ripping and tearing at Rags’ flesh.

What are you doing!? Get up! Get it off! Get it off now! Get it off, you weak, useless, pathetic little sack of sh--

A devilish laugh rang out in his mind. A slimy, disgusting chortle of malicious intent. It was a mocking guffaw, a laugh that reminded him of those who used to tease him in Elementary. The voice cackled at his misery, at his poor luck, at his very existence. He knew who laughed, and he knew why. It was condescending, and harkened back to the start of the misery when it deceived him, used him.

A fire lit inside of Rags, a blaze that burned faster and brighter with every fiber of muscle shredded by the abomination tearing into his shoulder. Rags’ cry of pain began to turn into one of frustration. He fought harder than before with renewed vitality, pitting all of his might against the savage power of the beast. His head throbbed with arguably the worst pain it had ever weathered. Veins bulged from his neck and the color drained from his face.

Something inside of him ached. Not a physical pain, but one far more damaging. In the span of seconds, his mind exploded with flashes of every failure he’d endured. Not just those he’d suffered during the night, but over a lifetime. He knew that he had finally reached his limit. There was a ceiling that he could not rise above, something that kept him down. The feeling of helplessness was crushing. He felt useless, pitiful, incapable. And it infuriated him. He loathed that feeling. He despised the thought of being doomed to failure in all things. He was disgusted by the notion of being restrained by fate, not allowed to succeed just for once where it mattered.

His incredible pain was drowned out by a wellspring of hatred and rage. Channeling this fury into his muscles, he shoved harder than ever against the monster, sending it, and a sizable slab of flesh torn from his shoulder, hurdling against the wall of the hallway. He sprung to his hooves, nearly tripping when he tried to stand on the damaged leg. The limb was destroyed, he could feel it. Or rather, he couldn’t. Nothing from his damaged shoulder downwards could be felt. But that could wait.

His sword never left his mouth during the creature's attack, and was still firmly clutched between his teeth. He readied himself to defend, but, to his disgust, found that the tar-pony was too busy hungrily gnawing on the meat torn from his shoulder to launch an immediate counter-attack. So Rags took the initiative. Reaching for his flask, that he was thankful for having not been spilled during the panic. He took a swig and cringed as tissue over his shoulder began to stitch and weave itself back together, and the blood supply in his veins was replenished. He could even feel the bruise on his cheek vanish and his teeth being replaced. Weariness left him with the renewing of his health. What a marvelous drink it was, he thought.

With his body reconstructed, he thrust himself at the creature, penetrating its neck with the tip of his blade before it could even register that it had been attacked. It squealed loudly, letting the chewed-up, bloody pulp that was once Rags’ flesh ooze from its maw. The atrocity’s cry was ear-piercing next to Rags’ head, making the pain in his skull worse than ever. The tar-pony began to flail, pounding against the dishwasher’s ribcage with bruising blows, forcing him to pull out his blade and hobble back. The monster clawed at the gushing wound spurting black fluid in its neck, making the damage done worse in its panic.

Severely perturbed at having the wind knocked out of him, a new rush of adrenaline and anger shot through Rags. Without a second’s thought, he dove at the beast once again, throwing a wild, powerful slash without any control or aim. The tar-pony’s cries intensified when its leg was lopped clean off. Black, rotten-smelling ooze splashed Rags’ face, getting in his eyes and burning them. Pushed further by the new irritation, Rags lashed out again and again almost blindly, scoring brutal cut after brutal cut, but missing one or two.

The abomination fell back onto the floor, its voices quiet and its body contorting and twitching. But the dishwasher was nowhere near done. He continued hacking at the creature, eviscerating its flesh. When his lungs were worn and he could no longer slash or stab anymore, he switched gears and began stomping on it with all of his strength. He broke its remaining legs, snapped bones in its ribcage, crushed its muzzle, and cracked open its skull, allowing its black-grey contents to come pouring out. When his lungs cried for air and he could no longer keep it up, Rags fell away from the mangled corpse and sat on his haunches, gulping air.

He looked down at his body; a coat soaked with sweat, blood and tar. He cast a look back to see that even his tail was in unruly condition, all matted and covered in many of the same fluids his coat was. He would have felt displeased if it wasn’t for what he had just accomplished. He glanced at his work, a grin slowly stretching across his face as he did. The tar-pony looked like it was beset by an axe-wielding maniac. A maimed, twisted, broken body laying in an expanding pool of unknown fluids.

He did that. He did that. He stood up and loomed over the creature’s body with a smirk on his face.I can do it. I can do it. He kicked the monster in its broken face, earning him a fresh coating of black sludge. I just took him apart like I was the crazy beast. What am I saying? I am a crazy beast! I’m not going to let fear run me anymore. Unnatural roars drew his attention to the end of the hallway, where three new tar-ponies charged at him. It’s these things that are going to be afraid now!

Rags bit down on the hilt of his sword and readied himself, scowling at the monsters. The first of the three jumped at him, but he swiftly moved to the side and slashed its head clean off, watching its body tumble to the floor and its head rolling like a ball. Rags marveled at his own speed, turning back to the other two creatures to find that they weren’t going to wait around for him to stop gawking. One of the two swung its hoof at him and caught him in same cheek as before, eliciting a pained grunt. Before he could even spit out the blobs of blood and several broken teeth, the beast pounced on him.

He yelped into the hilt of his sword as he fell towards the floor, the tar-pony’s grip on his throat as tight as a noose. He thought he was in for a world of hurt when his back hit the floor, but instead he was treated to a loud scream and foul-smelling fluids dripping on his face. He popped an eye open to see the creature’s limp body propped up on the blade of his sword lodged deep into its chest. Evidently, he fell with his head instinctively turned away, angling his weapon for the monster to fall on it.

With a growl, he shoved the tar-pony off himself and hopped to his hooves, gazing into the hateful eyes of the third abomination, which was charging at him with a sword clasped between its crooked teeth. A strange anomaly, one of the occasional, uncommon beasts that use a weapon. It ferociously swung at his head, Rags only a half-second from death as he ducked. Without missing a beat, it swung again, and again Rags moved out of the way, though he could have sworn he didn’t react fast enough. It pulled back for an overhead strike and Rags gritted his teeth, backed out of the beast's range, and took his chance.

He threw his head violently and released his bite at the same time, flinging the sword out of his mouth. The blade sliced open the creature’s muzzle and pierced the back of its throat. It gargled and stumbled about for a second or two before crumpling to the floor in an oozy heap.

Rags sucked in air in giant quantities, letting his eyes wander over it all, the shredded bodies running with dark blood and tar. There was a rush inside of him. Feelings of elation overcame him, and he broke out into a fit of laughs. That’s it. That’s all I needed.

More were coming. He drank again from the potion and felt the rush of heat in his veins. Now I know. There’s nothing that should hold me back. The day I start being afraid again, when I fall back into weakness, is the day that I die. He took another swallow of the potion. His new wounds were already healed from the last drink. All he wanted was the energy to keep him on his high of self-discovery.

The monsters charged down the hall in a rampaging herd. He tugged his blade free of the skull it was lodged within and ran. He didn’t run out of fear. He ran out of plain common sense. He was a new stallion, a changed pony. Now began the time when he would take life by the horns and make things go his way for once. But completing one’s metamorphosis was still no good reason to toss oneself at a wall of ferocious beasts.