Author's Notes:

I'm publishing this one about 6 days ahead of schedule. We're at the end of the month anyway, so what's a few days? Also I don't like this chapter, so I don't quite care to give it some kind of special treatment. Just the way it turned out and what it means for the future chapters is... ugh.

This was the point in writing at which I said "ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT! WE'RE TURNING THIS STORY AROUND AND HEADING BACK HOME TO HORROR!"

Everything after this... chapter... is going straight back into a more horror/psychological torture sort of territory.

Blegh.

Let me know what you guys think of this chapter. Did I royally screw up? Did I do something right? Feel free to tell me.

Journal entry #83

I feel funny. Be warned, Journal., I may be coming down with something. Don’t drink after me and try not to touch the appendages that you don’t have to your nonexistent face, because whatever bug I’ve caught is not something I would wish on an enemy.

And by that I mean I totally would. I’ve got a list as long as my leg of individuals I’d wish terrible things on. But I digress.

My skin feels like it’s not attached at all. It’s always… crawling. I’m itchy all over and I can’t sit still for five seconds. I’ve always gotta be moving, doing something. It’s like a combination of all things ominous and vaguely annoying, coming together to make for pure inconvenience during a time of crisis.

Of course, I know what it is… It’s that disease known as “certainty.”

This must be what it feels like to finally know. I can’t believe that I was once afraid of the unknown. What a stupid little colt I was to think that the known would be any less frightening.

What am I saying? Snap out of it. Of course you need to know. Fumbling around in the dark and hoping to find the light switch wasn’t working. In fact, it killed me. At least now I know the general direction of the switch, which will leave me much better off. Although… finally knowing what’s actually out there in the dark… is not exactly comforting.

“Rags?! Rags! Has anybody seen Rags?!” Twilight urgently inquired of the castle staff and the occasional stalwart guard. Most gave unsatisfactory answers, aside from one maid who half-consciously mumbled something about the kitchen as she dusted the air. Much of the staff had displayed similar signs of exhaustion. Twilight herself nearly had a collision more than once with patrolling guards that she couldn’t see through the haze of weariness clouding her senses.

She shouldered her way past several disgruntled chefs who were in the middle of trying to decide how to best cook the trespasser and serve his insolent flank to the princesses. From what she overheard, they were roughly ejected from their place of culinary creation. Twilight burst through the doors into the kitchen and she quickly analyzed what was what and how much ibuprofen would be needed to crush the headache bound to follow shortly after.

“Shhh!” she heard as she entered. “Princess! Good morning!” greeted a disturbingly cheerful Rags. He was busy viciously stirring a pot that he didn’t look at, instead cocking his head to the side in order to stare unblinkingly at Twilight with a massive grin on his face. Pots and pans of all sizes were strewn about, encrusted with oddly-colored substances and moist with various liquids. An overwhelming aroma, some concoction of cleaning chemicals and something rotten dug out of the trash, saturated the air.

“Rags… what are you doing?” Twilight asked.

“Doing?” Rags responded, genuinely curious, as if perplexed why she’d ask.

“Uhm…” Twilight, at a loss, simply put a pin in the questions she had about the situation and elected to get down to business. “So… has Celestia… spoken to you yet?”

“Spoken?”

Twilight sighed heavily. “If she’s going to take this road, I wish she’d just go ahead and get it over with…” she muttered. “Well, if she hasn’t had you for a talk yet, then I’m going to first. Come with me.”

“Come?” Rags asked with raised brow. He turned back to his pot and continued stirring.

Twilight stared for a moment, trying to find the words. “Or… we can talk here. Nothing wrong with the kitchen, I suppose.” She sat on a patch of floor that wasn’t covered in baking soda and cooking oil. “Now, Rags, I’m sure you still have many questions…”

The dishwasher didn’t acknowledge her. Or perhaps that’s what his twitching ear was meant to signify.

“But today… most of them will be answered. Celestia is going to tell you things that you probably won’t understand. Things that you probably… don’t want to hear... but you have to know. You have more right than anybody to know what’s really going on. In fact, it would be a detriment if you didn’t know them.”

“Hey, Your Majesty?” Rags cut in.

“What?”

“Do you know where these schmucks keep the garlic? Prissy bed-wetters aren’t feeling very cooperative. I swear, you barge into their kitchen and start making demands and they act like you’re the jerk. Don’t they know they’re all gonna die unless they give in to my every whim?” Rags complained.

Twilight used the tips of her wings to rub her temples. “You know what? I got out of bed and rushed around, trying to find you and make sure you were okay, and tried to prepare you for what you were going to hear later today, but you seem set on taking the full force of any and all revelations head on. I’m just gonna let Celestia do her thing and you can continue to… what in the world are you doing?”

“Ah-ha! Found it!” Rags declared as he bit the cap off of a small plastic container and poured the contents into his pot. “Not long now…”

The princess let out a long sigh. “Come find me when you feel like not being crazy.” She turned to exit the kitchen, irritated grumbling only absent because she remember her title.

Rags continued stirring for moments after, soon sneaking a glance over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. When it was evident that the princess left his vicinity and he was almost positive that she would have told the cooks to stay out and let him do as he pleased, he released the breath he was holding and adopted an intense frown. “Alright, new rule: when I’m talking to royalty, shut your stupid mouth, alright?”

“What? I’m not saying anything that you don’t already have bumping around in your head. Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking about watching her sleep last night, you sick little putz,” the Other grinned as he leaned against the counter. “I share this body with you, remember? I know what was happening down there while you were checking her out--”

“For the love of all that is decent, can you please become solid so I can punch you?” Rags groaned.

“You mean as solid as you were getting--”

“Ah-la-la-la, can’t hear your nasty pervy crap, la-la-la!”

“Oh real mature, Rags.”.

“I’m not the one talking about dirty garbage in the middle of a crisis,” Rags snapped as he stirred more ferociously than before.

“Whatever, you wanna keep lyin’ to yourself, be my guest.” The Other stretched out the muscles it didn’t have. “I’d ask if you’ve dedicated any amount of thought to my question, but knowing your mind as intimately as I do, I’d imagine you’re too busy chasing trivial pursuits like ‘survival’ and ‘not dying a gruesome death’ and whatnot.”

“As a matter of fact, I did think about it, you big bag of jerk,” Rags huffed.

“What does that even-- whatever, and?”

“And… Uhm… I… still don’t… get it…” the dishwasher meeped.

The Other slapped his forehead. “You’re kidding me with this, right? It’s been two days since I asked and you still don’t get it? Gods, boy, it’s not even like I’m talking about stuff you don’t already know in some way. It’s your effed’ up mind, you know what I mean.”

“Do I though?” Rags replied. “Maybe you know a lot of stuff that I don’t.”

“Lords, tell me you’re not still hooked on this ‘evil spirit planted in your head by the Nightmare’ thing,” the Other said exasperatedly.

“You say it like I’m not completely sure that’s the case,” Rags shot back.

“I say it like that because it is like that. You’ve gotten it in your thick skull that I’m some sort of outside force, a voice for the Nightmare operating in the dark corners of your mind.” The Other stepped over to the refrigerator that hung open. “Let me explain why that’s a load of crap with a little question. Don’t worry your heinously unattractive little head, it’s not as tough as the last one.” The Other reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of soda. He occasionally messed around with imaginary items while he spoke. Rags had since accepted this. “You notice how you haven’t been quite as nuts over the past couple days?” it asked before it popped the cap off the bottle with its teeth and took a sip.

“Yeah, and I know exactly why that is. I’ve been training, and I know exactly how to end this nightmare. I’m sure of myself--” Rags was cut off by the sound of involuntary spitting followed by hearty laughter.

“Seriously?! Maybe I was wrong, you are as crazy as ever if you believe that.” The Other wiped a forearm across its mouth to dry its muzzle.

“What are you talking about? I’ve got the entire city of Canterlot backing me up! Anything I need, I’ve got! I’m not alone here! Not to mention that I’ve got this!” Rags declared as he held up the flask hanging around his neck. He threw his head back and took a big gulp before continuing. “With this stuff, that I have chosen to call ‘liquid courage,’ I’m not even at risk of catching deathitus anymore! Let ‘em do whatever they want to me. Heck, I might even let them take a bite every now and then, just to give them a little taste so they don’t become hopeless. It doesn’t matter, they can’t hurt me! Well… they can, but they can’t kill me, that’s for sure!”

“And that kind of self-delusion is exactly why I expect our demise will come any day now. I’ve got money on tonight. Don’t let me down by staying alive, else I lose twenty bucks to Ego. Little shrimp won’t ever let me live it down…” the Other said with a shake of its head.

“Call it whatever you want, I’m gonna live and you’re gonna get the business end of a shrink’s four-year degree,” Rags assured.

“You know what? You gave me a good laugh, so I’m in a pretty stellar mood. Instead of sitting here and lecturing you about why you’re oh-so wrong and soon to be oh-so dead because of it, I’m just gonna let you see for yourself where this kind of lunacy leads you. As for my question and the answer staring you in the face that you’ve still somehow managed to miss, why don’t you wrap up this little science experiment of yours and go find out what I’m talking about, hmm? I’m sure Celestia has a nice little spot on her bed made just for you, you lucky little rascal.”

“You and I both know those rumors about the princess’s rampant nymphomania are complete and utter garbage,” Rags responded, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“If they are, then we’re both about to be severely disappointed.” The Other offered a wry grin before vanishing with the next blink of Rags’ eyes.

The dishwasher scoffed at the voice and its dirty suggestions. He finished adding ingredients to his project and put a lid on the pot before carefully balancing it on his back and taking it with him towards the door. His plan was to drop it off in his room on the way to the princess’s chambers. He’d need it later.

As he wobbled and stumbled towards the door, he stopped for a moment. He was halted by… he couldn’t really tell. It was a feeling of some sort, a kind of niggling little sensation in the back of his mind. He couldn’t quite place it. But he could vaguely discern what it concerned.

He glanced at the refrigerator, still hanging open as a result of his efforts, undoubtedly having spoiled a number of foodstuffs that someone was going to pester him over ruining. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, except he did notice something. He remembered that there was one lone bottle of cola sitting on one of the shelves, belonging to a chef planning to have it with their lunch, undoubtedly. There was one. Must have fell off during his rummaging, he deduced.

He was snapped out of it by a liquid sensation on his back, followed by one of burning. He quickly discovered that taking his focus off the pot sitting precariously on his back led to its leaning. And leaning meant spilling. And spilling meant no fur wherever his questionable cocktail dripped…

Perhaps, he pondered, he’d overdone it with the bleach…

He stood outside of the sun goddess’s chambers, staring hesitantly at the massive doors in front of him. Every time he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, it only made it that much more noticeable. Twilight’s warnings hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. He knew that what he was about to be told wasn’t going to be something he’d like hearing. But then again, it was to be expected. He pondered if there was even such a thing as good news for one such as himself. There was simply news, and bad news.

No point in delaying, he decided. He struggled against the heavy doors for a moment, which stood unguarded, oddly enough. He slipped inside with a practiced silence and closed the doors behind him mutely. It was dark inside the chambers, something he wouldn’t expect of the quarters of the goddess. The light pouring in through the window caught miscellaneous objects between Rags and the balcony, casting long shadows across the floor. There, past the fine glass, he could see the outline of a tall figure silhouetted against the blazing fire of the early morning sun.

He cleared his throat and straightened up his hopeless appearance to the best of his ability. What do they say? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Except if I didn’t venture here then I wouldn’t gain death. That would be nice. I don’t really feel that adventurous all of the sudden. Don’t really have a choice though, I suppose. I’m still standing here in the dark, stalling this talk, aren’t I? Yeah, nice try, me. Get your scrawny butt out there.

He stood up straight and proceeded to join the princess on the balcony. Celestia didn’t seem to take notice of the new presence at first. She stared wistfully for the longest time at the horizon. Rags almost felt as if she was looking at something that he couldn’t see. Some sort of alicorn sight-magic? Was she gazing into a void that his eyes could not?

He opened and closed his mouth at least three times before choosing to quietly take a seat at her side, but somewhat further back so as not to penetrate her peripheral vision. A minute or two ticked away while he tried to find what it was the princess looked so intently at. At the least, he enjoyed the high mountain breeze that wafted between them.

“Forgive me…”

Rags jumped at the ever-so-slight break in the silence.

Celestia never turned to him as she spoke in a raspy voice. “How are you feeling?”

Rags squirmed a bit, inexplicably feeling bothered by the simple question. “Fine, I suppose?”

“Good…”

Another heavy silence took hold of the air.

“Why did she choose you?”

“Huh? Choose? Who?”

The princess breathed deeply before continuing. “Rags… we’ve been… somewhat dishonest with you.”

The dishwasher offered a befuddled stare.

“Ever since we first caught on to the Nightmare’s return, we’ve been trying to control the situation, to ensure that everyone wins, as it were. So many are at stake, so many lives on the brink of being destroyed. Even if we were to beat this demon back, there’s a high chance that… much will still be lost.” For the first time the princess turned to look at Rags.

“I’m not sure we’re on the same page, Your Majesty.”

“Rags… there is a way to end this right now.”

His only response was a blank stare.

Celestia adopted a look of regret and deep sorrow as she prepared to impart onto him the great secret.

“Rags, in order to free you and our land of the Nightmare’s hold, my sister would have to die.”

Every fiber in the stallion’s being tightened up at this. “What do you mean?”

“Luna would have to be…” Celestia stopped for a second, bracing herself for the words that were about to leave her mouth. “...executed.”

The mere thought of one of the immortals perishing was blasphemous for any to contemplate. No one could imagine the world without the the lunar goddess.The nation seemed livelier, more joyous than ever before after Luna came back. And the world itself seemed enriched. Nature almost appeared to rejoice at the restored balance. Now to think about losing her again, and this time forever, was not a thought Rags, or any other subject in the kingdom, would wish to harbor in their heads.

“Your Majesty, that’s freakin’ horrible! Why would-- I mean, pardon me, Your Highness, but how could that be an option?! Why is that an option?! What could that possibly accomplish?! Who even came up with that?! I mean--” Rags stopped his breathless rant when he noticed the way she sat. Crestfallen, a slight slouch, as if she didn’t care to pay any mind to the details of royal posture. He also took notice of her lifeless mane. Usually it held a certain flowing, ethereal grace, whereas now it hung listlessly, concealing her eyes that Rags knew were beginning to brim with tears.

He then knew what it was that filled the castle and its inhabitants with such sadness. He previously considered what might have been the cause of it, his own imminent demise. But he couldn’t be farther from the truth. Yes, all who knew of the crisis knew that he was in for a nightmare of a time, but what truly upset all in the castle was the very real possibility that they had already lost. The possibility that the princess of the moon was gone no matter if the Nightmare succeeded or failed.

Suddenly, he feared that he had caught onto Celestia’s intentions. “Why would… why would you tell me this? You can’t expect me to…” Rags trailed off.

“It would not be fair of me to leave you in the dark. I suppose… your opinion on the matter would be most important. After all, we have asked you to suffer for us, for a goal that none are sure is even achievable. It is only just to… give you the option.” The princess trembled, either with fear of his choice or anger over it coming to this, he could not tell.

Rags’ breathing became shallow. His mind was blank, hesitant to begin weighing his options.He already knew the fate of the world rested on his shoulders, but he never anticipated a choice with such immediate repercussions to be handed to him. How? How could he be expected to live with himself if he were to give the word and have Luna killed in his place? He was but a speck, insignificant beyond imagination. What kind of trade would that be? A goddess for a cleaner? A leader for a peasant? It would be the picture of selfishness to save his own hide by trading for that of the princess’s.

But… No… That wasn’t right…That wasn’t at all what it boiled down to. He wouldn’t be saving his own hide, he’d be…

Why bet a billion on one?

He’d be saving the lives of every living creature in the world. All he would have to do was say ‘yes’ and he’d end the torture for himself whilst protecting every living being in the world from harm. There would be no chance for him to fail, no gambling on his survival with the lives of everyone else. A simple word, no risking anyone’s life, merely taking one in return for billions. It would mean the loss of a beloved figure, but was that not a worthy trade? Perhaps it would even be what the princess herself would want, to protect her subjects from herself.

It was undoubtedly quickly becoming a more tantalizing decision, much to Rags’ dissatisfied surprise. Before the crisis, no matter what he might have said about the unfairness of life, he’d never wish harm on anyone, especially not the Princess of the Night. Though she might have been used by the Nightmare before, her return to the throne was a blessing. But now? He found himself considering ending the life of one of the immortals. It was impossible for his mind to grasp how it could have come to this. What had the night done to him?

No…

Not the night… it. The Other. It was all coming together. It was exactly what the voice wanted him to do. That question… that infernal question. It was meant to bring him here, designed specifically to entice him into doing the unthinkable… betrayal. It wanted him to be selfish. It wanted him to break under the weight of the choice, and the weight of the consequences. What better way to put the final nail in the coffin that was Rags’ fading sanity? It wanted him to remember himself as a cowardly worm that could not bear to help those in need.

The choice was an easy one, once he had seen through the deception of the voice. “Your Majesty… I’ll keep fighting. I can do it. I’m getting better all the time. And I’m definitely not going to be remembered for years to come as the one who had a princess killed because he couldn’t handle some stupid shadow demon.”

The princess didn’t react for a moment, but soon lifted her head and smiled at Rags through the tears. “Thank you, little one. You don’t know just what this means to me. I knew that I could count on--”

The balcony doors were flung open abruptly. Out strode the regal lavender figure of Princess Twilight. Rags, although shocked, was calmed to know that it was just her. He prepared to greet her when something stopped him. It was the look on her face, one of seething fury just below the calm surface. He followed her half-lidded, subtly angry gaze to Celestia. The dishwasher was made more nervous when he found that the sun goddess returned the look to Twilight.

“You’ve been listening,” Celestia said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“A subtle spell I placed on him earlier today,” Twilight explained, not paying any mind to Rags, who looked over his body as if he’d see the spell stuck to his back like a note. “I was worried about how rude it would be to eavesdrop, but I was far more concerned with what you would or wouldn’t tell him. It seems like I was right to worry.”

“I gave him the option, and he decided to spare my sister.”

“Because that’s all you did. You didn’t tell him what was at risk one way or another.”

“One would think that the risks of both choices would be transparent, young one,” Celestia said with creeping ire in her voice.

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence. You’re completely aware that any right-minded pony in this country would throw down their lives to protect their princesses. Simply stating that he could either continue fighting or kill Luna without sufficiently explaining would obviously result in his choosing to fight,” Twilight snapped back, mirroring Celestia’s tone.

“Uhm… a thousand pardons, Your Highness... er, Highnesses? But… what the buck are you two talking about?” Rags cut in with a meek voice.

“Rags,” Twilight began, not breaking eye-contact with the other alicorn, “Princess Celestia has not spoken completely candidly with you. She seems to have done as I suspected she would and refrained from telling you what the reasoning for this unpleasant solution truly is.”

The dishwasher quietly waited for her to continue. She broke her glare with the other princess and affixed Rags with a firm look.

“Yes, as she said, having Luna… disposed of… could be a possible out for you and the rest of the world. I realize that making such a choice seems impossible for a loyal subject, but such is expected considering you have not been properly informed. So, here it goes. You see, it’s been brought up once or twice among castle staff --who are no longer with the Royal Family,” she said as she leered at Celestia for a split-second, “that having Luna executed might solve the problem of Nightmare Moon. No Luna, no more night-based alicorn magic for the Nightmare to use, no more threat of eternal night and the loss of all life in the world.”

“Well, I kinda got that part, and I already said that I could fi--”

“Let me finish, Rags,” Twilight ordered. “On the other hoof, you could continue to push forward, endure, and possibly come out victorious, leaving us with all princesses accounted for and no cloud of death looming above us. Everybody wins. This may sound like the better route to take, but you must listen closely and consider what I say. Here are the upsides and downsides to each option.”

Twilight took a seat beside Rags and stared out over the balcony at the cloudy horizon. Celestia kept her position and did the same, listening with an ambivalent expression on her face.

“We’ll start with the choice you picked, forging onward. You want to save Luna, yes? You want to save the world? You want to brave the storm and survive the Nightmare’s power so that all is kept safe and we still come out of this with all four princesses? Here is what you need to think about: what if you can’t do that?” Twilight asked sternly. “What if you aren’t able to withstand the evil? What if it takes hold of you? What if… you die tonight?” Rags looked at her with surprise. “Do you know what that would mean, Rags? That’s it. It’s finished. The world and Princess Luna are lost, and billions of souls, pony, zebra, griffon, minotaur, dragon, everyone and everything, will be enslaved by fear and darkness forever. I would not worry so much over your decision to continue if it weren’t for the fact that this has almost been the case twice now. Twice you have nearly met your end, and the Nightmare wasn’t even remotely close to full power yet. Say you miraculously live, you survive until Nightmare Night. Then what?”

Rags worked his mouth for a second before sheepishly answering, “Then… I’d use the artifact to… defeat it.”

“You think it would be that easy? We, my friends and I, were barely able to defeat her with the Elements. If this artifact was nearly as effective, Celestia would never have bothered ordering me to go to Ponyville and make friends in order to power the Elements. She’d simply have used it instead. Besides that, what is there protecting you from Nightmare Moon herself? At full strength, there are a limitless number of ways she might do away with you before you even make it to Luna’s room. It seems to me that once it reaches its full power, you will have already lost. Nightmare Moon is just too much for any one pony, even one such as Celestia or myself, to handle. I mean no offense, but how do you believe you will fare if even we would be unlikely to succeed against her in your place?”

Rags stuttered out some manner of gibberish that could hardly be considered a sound response. She hit upon all of his fears that he attempted to bury. The weakness that he tried so desperately to remove almost seemed to come creeping back on him in this moment. He silenced himself and listened when she started again.

“And now we will examine the other option… executing Luna…”

Rags felt a knot form in his gut as Twilight said those words.

“As I said, the Nightmare has found a perfect host in Luna. An extremely powerful being with exploitable weakness in some small part of her heart. It sneaked in a millenium ago, and rooted itself deeper and deeper in Luna’s festering hatred for a thousand years on the moon. My theory is that it established itself deep enough inside of her that it was not fully exterminated when she was ‘purified’ years ago, and once again found a foothold in her spirit to take control. I tell you this to make the reasoning for the execution clear. We are not simply desperate to dispose of the immediate threat, which is only a possibility, but we are pondering whether or not it would be doing a favor for the world in the long run. Luna… cannot be cleansed. The demon has become a part of her, on some level. Even in the highly unlikely scenario that you were to succeed… what would stop this from happening again? We could prepare, place as many preventative spells on her as we like when we have the opportunity, but the fact remains that it’s still a phenomenal risk. Luna could fall into a dark place, It could come back, bypass the magic somehow, and it would be far more thorough the next time and make sure that there was absolutely nobody that could stop it.”

“So… you’d be doing it… out of paranoia? Fear of what she could do instead of what she would?” Rags asked in an almost pleading tone. “That’s hardly a good reason! I mean, just look at me! I nearly beat another pony to death! Are you going to kill me the second I stop being useful just in case I get to a point where I might have another episode like that? You’re going to end Luna’s life on maybes and possibilities?!” Rags barked, momentarily forgetting his manners.

“Who said we didn’t have precautions set in place in for you, Rags?” Twilight said coldly. A pang of pain shot through Rags’ mind for a quarter of a second, and a thin trickle of blood dripped from his nose. He suspected that it had something to do with these “precautions” the princess spoke of. He shivered nervously and suddenly regretted his belligerence as he quietly wiped away the tiny trace of blood.

Twilight continued. “It never hurts to be careful. If there’s a chance that a certain option saves lives, then it’s always best to at least think about it. But as for your question, no, we would not be ending her life on mere possibilities. It would be mostly for the immediate threat to the world. But I am not trying to spin this to make you pick the latter. I simply want you to think very hard on it. So I’m going to tell you the risks of this option as well. There is a distinct chance that it may not work at all. That we will have killed Luna for nothing and the end will still come. Or maybe you’ll make it after all and the world will come through… but without Luna.”

Twilight sat silent for a moment before proceeding. “I’ve hypothesized that, though the Nightmare has a firm grasp on Luna’s being and will not be coerced into leaving, it will do so of its own accord if the princess was rendered unusable for its malevolent purposes. It’s entirely plausible to think that the Nightmare will simply find a new host, and even if the sleep-spell were to be broken, we’d lose track of it and there would be no telling what it would be capable of without our prevention. But the spell might not even break. It may be sustained by the Nightmare’s mere being by this point. In any one of these scenarios, Luna will have died for nothing and the Nightmare will continue to attempt to destroy the world with no Elements to stop it.”

Upon hearing this, Rags felt as if the choice was obvious. Either he could continue to fight, or they could kill the princess just to have the Nightmare proceed uninhibited and they’d still lose. He was prepared to immediately announce his easy decision before Twilight spoke again.

“Rags, no matter what choice you make, all I ask is that you don’t be hasty in your thinking. You must be honest with yourself. Luna’s demise would not be your fault if you were to decide on that option. In fact, there’s a strong chance we’ve already lost her. She could very well be gone forever, trapped inside of the darkness and never to be let out. But it is up to you, Rags. Whatever you pick, I will go along with. I only want you to do what you feel is right.”

At this, a titanic weight seemed to fall on Rags. He found it difficult to swallow and his coat became moist with perspiration. He wanted to save Luna. Long since had he given up on his own salvation. Doing a favor for the world, keeping the balance with both sisters ruling in their rightful places. But, considering the circumstances he faced, would it truly be doing a favor for the world to keep the Lunar Goddess alive? Was she truly too far gone? Was he truly ready to face the Nightmare?

These questions and more swirled in his mind. Both of the options had equal risks. One could end with his own death, the other with the death of Luna. Though both were equally likely to end in destruction to all. He forced himself to face the facts. As of the present, he was frail, with his fury towards his shortcomings and his desire to be rid of them being the only thing likely to keep him alive. And Luna, in reality, may have indeed been gone. For all they knew, she had died months ago, leaving the Nightmare to pilot her husk.

Several minutes passed in thoughtful silence. Both royals displayed great patience.

Going off of his own desires, his pick was an obvious one. The one where everyone lived happily ever after in the end and he got an island all to himself as a reward for his bravery. But being honest with himself as Twilight instructed made the correct choice so much harder to perceive… though not altogether out of his reach.

He braced himself for an onslaught of self-honesty. He was clumsy. He was prone to panic. He was not the smartest, the bravest, the most practical, the most level-headed, the strongest, the fastest, or even the most pure-hearted. But one thing he had always known about himself, even before he had changed to meet the threat of the night, was that he had one quality to him that saved him from being a waste of breath. All his life, this one quality kept him afloat, supported him more than even his own small number of adoptive family members did.

He had a good work ethic. No job ever went unfinished with Rags.

There was no right answer. Either choice was likely to end in death for everyone, sooner or later. Both options were filled to the brim with factors far out of his dishwashing hooves. But one had something in it that he could control. Himself.

Either he’d roll the dice with an execution that could end up killing him and everyone else, or he could chance a fight that he wasn’t likely to win. But at least the odds of the latter could be increased. All he needed was control. His mind was what made the chance of success in the fight so low. If he was to live, he had to believe he could. Fear could be extinguished. Doubt could be expunged.

All it would require was sheer will. And that was something he was willing to work for.

“Twilight?” Rags croaked. “Would you be mad at me… if I… kept my answer the same?”

Twilight didn’t display any sort of acknowledgement for a moment before breathing a deep, relaxed sigh. Neither relief nor irritation could be detected. “My personal feelings regarding the matter are irrelevant. All that matters is that you are doing what you feel is best.”

“So… that’s a no?”

“No, Rags, I’m not upset with you.”

Rags’ tense muscles slowly released their pent-up energy. “That’s a load off my back then. Trust me when I say that I was being brutally honest with myself like you said. I mean, it’s not like I want to fight the embodiment of evil by myself.”

“I understand.”

“I can train, I can get better. I know I can do it.”

“That’ll be all for today, Rags. If you’d please leave us to some privacy, now,” Twilight said firmly.

Feeling accomplished, Rags heeded her orders and went back inside the chambers and exited through the large golden doors, shutting them behind himself. He felt confident, striding down the hall with determination in his step. He had the will and the means. He even had a plan set up for the coming evening. His unstable mind seemed to be uncharacteristically calm as of late. Perhaps it was the reassurance of beginning to learn how to handle himself.

The next item on the list was training, so he remembered the way to the courtyard and set out down the proper corridor once it came up. Just as he had finished working out the day’s plans in his mind, Twilight’s voice called out to him. That was some really quick ‘private time,’ he thought to himself. He turned to greet her, but saw nobody there.

He arched a brow in confusion before hearing her voice once more. He turned toward both directions in the hallway and still saw no other individuals within speaking distance. “Your Majesty? Is this some kind of invisibility spell or something? Are you using me as a guinea pig? Because if you are, you should really have asked me to sign a waiver or something--”

“Are you contented now?” said Twilight’s voice clearly now.

“Contented with what?” Rags replied to the disembodied speaker.

“I should be asking that of you. You have his answer, you said that you would accept whatever he chose, and you still find fault with me?” came Celestia’s voice suddenly.

Now Rags was more baffled than ever.

“Just know, it’s on your head if he fails and we’re all enslaved. You could have ended this at any time,” argued Twilight’s voice.

“You admitted that each option contained as much risk as the other. Aside from that, you know that I could not be the one to do it. What if it were you in my position and Spike in Luna’s? Would you be able to give the order to have him done away with like some sort of criminal!?” the sun goddess retorted.

There was a brief silence, giving Rags a moment to think. The voices were clear as a bell as if the speakers sat right in front of him. The spell Twilight put over him to listen in on his and Celestia’s conversation? Did it go both ways? Was it... meant to?

“One would think that a royal would be capable of putting emotion aside in a time of crisis--”

“Have I not done just that for over a millennia now? My position has demanded the utmost in practicality of me and I have obliged. I’ve sacrificed much for this nation and I continue to do so even now.”

“Yes, sacrifices such as your entire empire to spare the life of your sister.”

“Little one, you have much to learn about me and my sister. Knowing someone for thousands of years can make you very intimate with the way their mind works. I know that there must be a reason the dishwasher was selected. I have faith in him.”

“Faith!? You’re betting the entire world on faith!? This isn’t a time for wishful thinking! There’s no way to know that he’s capable of doing this until it’s too late!”

“Indeed.”

Then there was silence. Rags listened with bated breath. Then a large thud came from the corridor in which resided the princess’ chambers. Then the sound of walking. The steps came closer until he saw Twilight step into his view at the end of the hallway. She stopped for a moment, turning her head to him. He was far enough down the hall to make her features just barely unreadable.

She turned and proceeded down her own corridor.

Rags knew then. The question of the Other was not meant for him. It was directed at Celestia.

Journal entry #84

Made it another night. Too much to think about. Don’t feel like writing today.

Rags was deep in thought when he received another light, splinter-filled blow to the head. The wooden sword that bounced off his thick skull did nothing to snap him out of his pensive stupor.

“You’re dead again,” Shining Armor droned.

“Huh?” Rags slurred from around the hilt of his own fake blade. The prince’s sword knocked against the dishwasher’s noggin once more, somehow achieving blinding speed without causing any damage.

“Again. You’re dead again.”

“I wasn’t ready!” Rags fired back.

“And before that the sun was in your eyes. And before that you tripped on a rock. This may come as a shock to you, but having been in the military, I’ve heard all of these before. We guards called them ‘excuses.’ The drill sergeant called them ‘fun.’”

“But I wasn’t!”

“Are you ready now?”

Rags took up a combat stance and worked the kink out of his neck, gritting his teeth in preparation for the attack. “I’m re-- OW!” he cried as he was struck again.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

The dishwasher sighed, popped the cap off his bottle of miracle fluid and took a sip. The immediate spike of energy focused his mind. He was thinking too hard into it. He needed to concentrate on his training, take his thoughts away from the squabbles of the princesses. Did it even matter what they thought? Why let himself be concerned, he thought.

Once ready, Shining Armor gave the word and Rags, actually being prepared this time, darted forward and attempted to score a blow on the prince with his wooden weapon.

So Twilight doubted him. So Celestia wouldn’t let him stop fighting even if he wanted to. What difference did it make? He was going to do battle with the demon and the royalty’s attitude towards that fact didn’t have any effect on the outcome. He was used to being treated an insignificant speck. Their approval or disapproval didn’t even factor in. So why did he dwell on it?

The prince’s wooden sword hit Rags on the head yet again after a highly skilled parry. “Try it again,” Shining Armor ordered.

Letting it get to him would be something the old, weak Rags would do. He didn’t need the validation of others. He didn’t need their support or their kindness. He had made it for months without their help.

He pressed the attack against the prince, deflecting his foe’s strikes as best as he could while unleashing his own.

Royalty… what were they good for? Claiming to be doing all they could while hiding facts from him, keeping him in the dark so that he could be a good little dog and follow orders properly. They couldn’t even be upfront with their opinions of him, what other secrets were they keeping? The thought of being kept under their hooves became quite irritating to him.

He lashed out more violently than before at Shining Armor. The prince still managed to keep the dishwasher at bay, but he was now visibly strained by the ferocity of the assault. “Take it easy! We’re only sparring!” he managed to get in between swings.

And what of the prince himself? What was his role in it? Did he know things that Rags didn’t? Did he keep secrets too? He was probably a pawn in the schemes of the princesses, agreeing to train Rags so that he could keep an eye on him or something, analyze him. They didn’t trust him, they thought he was insane, unstable. They didn’t trust him. Shining Armor didn’t trust him…

Rags snarled monstrously as he swung wildly at the prince, who ducked out of the way of the beastly slash that would have caused injury and assumed a true defensive stance. “Hey, what’s wrong with you!?” he spat. Rags then lunged at him, managing to take him down to the ground where the former guard skillfully tossed him off as soon as his back touched the dirt.

Rags was sent tumbling over the prince’s head, but quickly got back to his hooves to face Shining Armor who did the same. He chomped down on the hilt of the fake sword and began his almost predatory approach. The look in his crazed eye spelled death, there was no doubt about it. Before the dishwasher could attack again, his ears began twitching. He blinked rapidly and shook his head back and forth with increasing intensity as if a swarm of bees were attacking him. His nostrils began bleeding and he whimpered softly.

He fell to the ground and thrashed about for a moment. The prince looked on at first in surprise, but then in understanding when he sensed a familiar magical aura was present. Rags’ thrashing subsided and his breathing slowed. He lay there on the ground for a while, the only motion coming from him being his slowly rising and falling stomach.

In a display of stunning speed, Rags bolted to his hooves and quickly looked around. His face was one of fear, and his eyes were much more bloodshot and red than before. He touched a forearm to his nose and was shocked to find a considerable amount of blood stained the area around his mouth. His disturbed gaze fell on Shining Armor as if for the first time. “Where am I!?” he sputtered. “What happened!?”

If the prince was angry, he didn’t show it at all. “That’s enough training for today, Rags. Good news is that you’re not a pushover with a sword.”

Rags sat on the floor in front of his bed, watching the time until his next struggle tick away. A little over five minutes remained. The large pot that he filled with his concoction sat between his legs like a drum. And what music he would make with it. He wanted to fill the air with a cacophony of tortured howls from beasts in agony. It was all that he could think of to improve his mood. It would certainly be a preferable alternative to the annoying sound that assailed his ears in the meantime.

“You oughta cheer up,” the Other said disinterestedly, slumped against the bed on the floor next to Rags. “Remember, it’s all about your frame of mind. Gotta stay positive, or some hippie crap like that.” The dishwasher didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement to his other half. “I thought you woulda been happier, myself. I mean, you answered the question. Ain’t it grand, having one less question scratchin’ at your mind? I know how much you hate them. Questions, that is.”

Rags continued staring at the clock.

The Other pursed its imaginary lips in thought. “Hmm… I understand. I understand what it’s like to feel betrayed. To feel like the only one you could trust, the one you depend on, has turned their back on you. Way I see it, you should be glad. Better to start gettin’ a sense of what the princesses are really like now instead of, oh, I dunno… finding out what they’re all about the day before Nightmare Night.” Again, Rags did not respond. “Seriously, where’s my ‘thank you’? Or are you not at all relieved to know that you don’t really have any friends here? Whoa... Well, I guess when you say it out loud like that, it doesn’t sound too relievin’ at all,” the figment mused.

It yawned and scratched its belly. “You’re a real stimulating conversationalist, you know that?”

The hands on the clock ticked into position. Nine on the dot. Rags let his calm gaze fall upon the door to his room.

“Well, seeing as you aren’t in an especially chatty mood, should we just get right down to business?” the Other asked with a devious, toothy smile. Rags leered at the figment. “I was debating with myself if I should even ask right now. At the moment, you’d probably ignore it out of spite. But I don’t think I’ll get another chance tonight, so, here it goes.”

The Other stood up and stretched as if getting ready to leave the room. It walked towards the door and stopped just before the threshold, then turned to Rags. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

Rags immediately scowled at the insolent imagination. He briefly wondered if a simple look could convey how much contempt one had for another. But seeing as the Other dwelt within his mind, he supposed that it already knew. It sauntered through the door like a ghost with a look so smug that it made him sick.

Afraid of the dark?!

The candles in the chamber blew out as a phantom gust swept across them, leaving Rags swamped in darkness, save for the thin slits of moonlight gleaming in between and underneath the doors in front of him.

Afraid of the dark… is that what you think I am?

A shadow interrupted the pale glow the crept under and between the doors. And then there was a dripping. What sounded like a loose faucet was joined by the almost undetectable, but unarguably present whispers of a breeze. The chamber suddenly dropped several degrees in temperature. Two fiery pits opened before Rags, orange abysses of hate floating at eye-level. They locked with his eyes as if the cover of darkness only made him more easily visible, and they slowly grew in size.

Rags felt strange as he met the abominable gaze. There was a twinge of fear deep down inside, but it was fascinatingly small in comparison to his rancorous ire.

With a loathsome glare, Rags gave a small shove to the pot and tipped it over, allowing the contents to splash out and seep across the floor. A second later, when the liquid had time to reach out, there was a sound like that of a million panes of glass shattering all at once. He almost couldn’t hear the sounds of flesh sizzling and cooking over the screams. With a demeanor of ambivalence, he stood up and felt around inside of his bags for some matches. All the while the hateful thing howled and burned as if engulfed in an invisible flame.

Having found what he needed, Rags lit one of the candles that was put out by the wind, and the room was doused in a faint glow. Just on the borders of the light’s reach, a shadowy figure tossed about on the floor in an oddly-colored puddle, shrouded in steam.

He stood over the squealing pony-like thing and watched it squirm as its flesh dripped off its body. After a bit of thrashing, it turned over to look at him and gave a screech louder than before. The skin it was rapidly losing was a pale grey-blue tint and was stretched over its bony frame as tight as could be. Its muzzle was elongated and housed a mouth densely populated with long, thin teeth, like some manner of eel. Its eyes burned with an unnatural orange light like that of the fires of Tartarus.

Vampire. Called it. Rags swiftly stamped down on its face, earning him a satisfying crunch. Without giving the foul thing a second thought, he stepped over the crumpled body and casually pushed through the door into the moonlit hallway. The sounds of unruly things echoed all around him. They were closing in. And the strangest thing happened.

He felt...different. He was… furious. Words could hardly describe his terrible rage in that moment. If there was another pony around, he would have beat them just because they were close. Yet one wouldn’t know it from looking at him. He seemed - at least from the outside - relaxed. Collected. And he wasn’t blinded by his anger. No, in fact, he could see clear as day.

Down the hall on either end two small bands of tar-ponies charged at him. He looked at them as they approached, and a small smile found its way onto his face. He drank from his miracle flask and unsheathed his sword. All the while he only wondered: What’s wrong with me?