Journal entry #25

Weeks. It’s been weeks. Forgot to write in the journal a few times and lost track of how many days. Nougat is getting worried. Won’t bother trying to explain it to him. Overall, surviving, not thriving.

But therein lies the good news: I’m surviving. Against all odds, I’ve stayed alive for longer than I could have imagined was possible for me. And to think, just a few weeks ago I was a worthless dishwasher. Now I’m a worthless dishwasher who can fend off a horde of demonic monsters. So… that’s something.

I should have kept my mouth shut. I did too much complaining about my life and the universe took it as a challenge. It’s turned the dull, monotonous routine of my life into a terrifying, difficult, and doubly monotonous one. I’m in the exact same position as I was in before only with more running and hiding and screaming and bashing and crying in the corner. Just like before this all started, I’m only existing. I’m only keeping my blood pumping with no apparent purpose or goal. I think that’s the worst part of it. I mean, before I had the option of breaking out of the rut, but now I’m not only stuck in it indefinitely, but also faced with the threat of death. I’ve got no other options.

Why am I still even bitching about it? Like Nougat used to tell me, it does no good to whine about my issues. It’s not even like the squeaky wheel philosophy applies anymore. The monsters aren’t going to stop trying to eat me because I give off more angst than a weepy teenage mare in heat who just got rejected at the prom. Then again, I might be able to make them kill themselves with my unrelenting hopelessness… must investigate...

The law is still breathing down my neck. The guards would have sent me off to the cuckoo’s nest a while ago if it weren’t for the say-so of the princess. Who, by the way, has announced that she’s staying in town for the duration of the foreseeable future. Every day she comes and does something sciency. She asks me questions, she (painfully) takes hair samples, she swabs the inside of my mouth for spit or something. I dunno. It’s like she’s… studying me. Must be why she tells the cops to hold off on arresting me. I’ve seen her around during the daytime, too. It always looks like she’s hammered, the way she meanders around, inspecting every little thing. That’s awful of me to say that. The princess doesn’t get hammered. At least, not where us commoners can see it… must investigate…

Rags peeked around the corner. Just a few yards away was the ghoulish form of a banshee, wandering the streets, searching for him with her unholy cohorts. He slumped against the building and took several deep breaths before reaching into his bag and pulling out a pair of earmuffs.

And… NOW!

He rounded the corner with his foreleg cocked, brick in hoof, and lobbed it at the creature’s head. It struck with a meaty thump and the response was immediate: an unrelenting shriek directed at him that echoed throughout the dark night.

He hated this part. He spun on his hooves and bolted down the alley. The sounds of the hordes were already bearing down on him. He swerved this way and that through many branching alleys, making his trail as convoluted as possible. With the cleaning chemicals smeared over his coat, he wouldn’t even be leaving much of a trail to follow, but better safe than dead. He removed the earmuffs as he continued running, the sounds of the beasts dwindling behind him.

He was now far enough away to begin phase two. He slowed down to a crawl as he neared the end of the alley and creeped stealthily into the street, carefully scanning the environment. When he saw no monsters around, he tore off down the sidewalk.

The sounds of abominations rampaging through the streets a few blocks over should have filled him with terror, but actually calmed him instead. He knew where they were, and knowing this put him at ease, as it told him that so far he was succeeding. He kept a brisk pace, but never ran too fast in case there was an obstacle of some sort ahead. His caution payed off when he heard a low but booming moan. He gasped and skidded to a halt. Frantically looking around, he spotted a trashcan and several large garbage bags off to his side, and dove in. The bags smelled of rot, and he had a good idea of what was in them. The night was sick like that. But even though his nostrils cried for mercy, he kept perfectly still. He wouldn’t dare make even the slightest flinch with it close by.

The heavy thwump of its stomping neared. He could see it through a small opening between the bags. It had the features of a regular pony, but as with everything familiar to Rags, the night mutated them. Its hind legs were bent sickeningly forward while its forelegs were elongated and bent back, giving it a sort of crab-like gait. From its groin up to its headless neck it was split wide open, leaving a gaping hole in its entire midsection. Worst of all, the edges of the giant wound were lined with razor-sharp teeth. The opening acted as a mouth, large enough to swallow a full grow stallion whole.

Rags held his breath as it lumbered past, moaning somberly all the while. He would have preferred to play it safe and lay low in the hiding spot for another hour to ensure that this particular creature was far enough away, but time was of the essence. He would be relatively safe as long as he remained quiet.

He slipped out of the pile of garbage bags and resumed his journey, first at a hurried trot, then a run. He slowed once or twice to check his bearings, but never stopped moving. The sounds of raucous monsters raging about in the distance died down, prompting Rags to quicken his pace.

Not much time left.

He passed block after block until his destination came into view: A house with every window sealed up tightly with layer of planks. As he reached the door, he spun three-hundred and sixty degrees, scanning for threats. Nothing. He reached into his bag and pulled out an air-horn and a roll of duct tape. He then snatched up a potato gun from inside the garbage can by the house. The sound of the monsters had completely gone now, leaving him in silence. Very bad. Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he placed a strip of tape over the button on the horn, bringing forth an incredibly loud, blaring siren. As fast as his hooves would let him, he dropped the horn down the barrel of the potato gun and fired the can of noise off into the blackness of the distance. It sailed over at least two blocks before dropping out of sight.

The roar of evil returned with vigor. With expert quickness, Rags darted into the house, locked the newly installed deadbolts, and barred the door with a long piece of timber laid horizontally across two brackets on either side. He bit down on the handle of a machete and drew it from the umbrella stand by the door. Rags raced down the hallway and dove into the closet, slamming the door behind himself.

In the dark, confined space of the hallway closet, he lit a lamp he had placed within prior and listened. A thundering stampede of howling horrors came down the streets outside. They swarmed all around, some stragglers even clawing over the roof from the sounds of it. He heard the sounds of innocent singing pass outside, like a crowd of children on a field trip. He shivered at the out of place nursery rhymes. A choir… He didn’t know what they were capable of, but something told him he wanted to avoid them more than anything else.

They were all moving in the same direction; Towards the air horn he had shot off into the distance. It took nearly half a minute for them all to pass, but they did eventually. He exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. He was safe. For now.

He stared blankly at the flickering light of the lamp’s flame dancing behind a veil of glass. He wanted to let himself fall into a deep slumber right there, in the comforting warmth of the light. He could even grab a blanket from the top of the closet if he wanted. But he refused. As tempting as it was to let himself drift off, he needed to remain awake in case his cover was blown. There were several defenses that would keep the creatures from breaking in, but only if he were awake to man them. He needed to remain vigilant.

Rags’ eyes drooped dangerously close to the dozing-off point. He would have done just that if a knock hadn’t come to the door and made him nearly piss himself. He grabbed up his machete and threw the closet door open. He was surprised to find that there were no creatures on the other side. Just Nougat sprawled out on the floor, holding his nose.

“And a fine good morning to you too,” Nougat said nasally while keeping his hooves clamped on his snout.

Rags sighed in relief. “Jeez, Nougat, what’s gotten into you? I could have taken your head off!” Rags said, gesturing to the machete he spat out of his mouth.

“Oh yeah, I’m the one at fault here, because camping out in the closet with a machete and a lamp is something that most ponies do and I was clearly a moron for forgetting proper closeted psychopath etiquette,” Nougat snapped as he got up.

“No need to get snippy,” Rags mumbled as he turned out the lamp in the closet.

“And why not? This isn’t the first time you’ve caused me physical pain with your weirdness.”

Rags shrugged and walked down the hall and into the living room. Daylight shone through small spaces on the windows yet to be covered with boards. Which meant that it was time to sleep.

Rags yawned greatly and retired to the couch. He set the alarm by the arm of the sofa to four in the afternoon, giving him roughly seven hours to sleep. Good enough. He was just about to doze off when something prodded him in the arm. He cracked open his eyes to see a disgruntled looking Nougat standing over him. “Yes, Mom?” Rags joked. Nougat was clearly not in the mood.

“You know man, I’m just about done with this. I let you stay in my place, eat my food, board up my house for some friggin’ reason, and it’s because you say you need to, so I let you. Because you’re like a brother to me, man. But it’s time to face the facts. You. Need. Help.” Nougat jutted a hoof at Rags with each syllable.

“Oh, well I’m glad we agree,” Rags said while sitting up. Nougat sighed in relief before a hammer, some nails, and a few wooden planks were shoved into his face. “I could use some help putting up some extra boards in the kitchen,” Rags said.

Nougat stared blankly at the boards before gritting his teeth and throwing the wood to the ground. “That’s not what I meant! I’m saying you need help! Look at yourself, bro! You’re turning my house into a fortress! You’re camping in the closet with a machete! You talk about monsters and demons and all sorts of crazy crap! I wake up in the mornings and find you with all of these weird bruises and cuts! You’ve been going like this for three weeks straight! To be perfectly blunt, you’re a wreck!”

Rags stopped on his way to the kitchen and stood still with his ears perked, never turning to face Nougat. The pegasus continued, softer.

“Bro, I can’t let you keep going on like this. You’re in a bad way.”

Rags stood motionless for a moment longer and shrugged. “You just don’t get it, dude.”

“Don’t get what? What is there to get? Are you talking about this monster thing? Bro, I’d love to believe you, I really would, but there just isn’t anything to go off of. The town guard, the investigator, even the princess, the genius princess, haven’t found anything that points to… whatever these things you say you’re seeing are. At first, I did believe you. I thought it was crazy, I thought you were crazy, but I believed you. We’re like brothers, I know when you’re telling it like it is. But now, after weeks with not one bit of proof, besides stuff that any average pony could create, I still believe you’re seeing these things, but I think they’re… all in your head…,” Nougat said gently.

Rags chuckled. Not a humorous chuckle, but an exasperated laugh of resignation. “So now you’re hopping on the bandwagon, eh? Figures. Just another run of ‘Rags luck’. Everybody, from the demigods governing us to the law enforcement, doesn’t believe me, and now even my best friend is joining them. I guess I can’t blame you. I mean, for the longest time, even I thought I was nuts. But, what can I say? That you just don’t understand? You don’t, and you’re not wrong. There isn’t anyway to prove to anyone but myself that I’m not crazy. But that’s alright… because we don’t need anyone else. I’ve done this all on my own so far, I don’t need you to believe me. I don’t need your help.” Rags still faced away from Nougat.

The pegasus opened his mouth to respond, but never did.

“Besides… the princess hasn’t had me arrested yet. They’ve got a laundry list of things they could put me in the nuthouse for, but they don’t. So there’s a chance. I doubt she’s trying to help me. I doubt that she could. But I don’t need her help. I don’t need any of you. I just need you all to stay out of my business and not keep me down,” Rags said, still facing away.

Nougat stared at his friend for the longest time. His eyes drifted to the floor and he fell into deep thought. A dreadful silence hung over the room. Soon, Nougat broke it. “I’ve got to go to work. If you need me, I’ll be at the bakery, staying as far out of your business as I can.” He trudged to the door, grabbed his apron off the coat rack, and lifted the bar over the frame. He opened the door and stepped outside, but turned before he shut it. “And for the record, I think you do need someone’s help. You’ll never get far in whatever it is you think you’re doing when you push everybody away. After all, who else would let you turn their house into a fortress?” And with that, he shut the door and left.

Rags sat in the same spot for several minutes in dead quiet. He went over that last bit several times in his mind, the words echoing throughout his thoughts. Did he really need anyone else? He’d made it thus far alone… well, as alone as he could be. Speaking of which, Rags felt it was high time he had a little chat with the other.

Hey!

You rang?

Don’t play dumb with me, what the buck was that?

What?

That wasn’t all me! Who said that you could start voicing your opinions without my say so?

Who said that I needed your say so?

Me! The one who owns this body and the brain you live in!

Alright, you slab of meat, let me explain a little somethin’ to ya: you’re not in charge. We played it your way for years, but we’re done with that now. It’s gotten us nowhere. We’ve established this, right? Right. So let me tell you why what we just told that pus was the right move to make.

...I’m listening.

What good has any of them ever done for us? What good has anybody ever done for us? Your parents? Fat lot of buckin’ good they did turning you into the, ahem, successful adult you are today. The princess? That broad is only interested in her own business, and we’re just the means to an end for her. In fact, the moment she gets done with her… pft, whatever it is she’s doing, she’ll have you thrown in a happy house faster than you can say ‘but, Your Majesty!’. And your Nougat friend? All he’s ever done is make you slightly less depressed. But now I’m here to kick your rear in gear! So I let him go. I even told him off all polite-like, just to make you happy! And THIS is the thanks I get for making all the tactically proper decisions. No respect at all, lemme tell ya.

...No. We wouldn’t have been able to make it without others. If the princess was only interested in her own gains, then why wouldn’t she just have me thrown in an asylum right off the bat? If she really thought I was just crazy, and that nothing was wrong here at all, then she wouldn’t have any problem locking me up in a padded room and studying me from a window on a cell door. And what about Nougat? He let us stay here and hold out, didn’t he? We don’t have a place of our own to do that in!

Ah, but therein lies my argument. Who actually deals with the monsters? Us. Who came up with all of the strategies and plans that have kept us alive? Us. Who actually believes us and isn’t just unintentionally providing us with luxuries that we could easily acquire ourselves?... Us. The house? Who cares! We could just take one during the night while they’re all empty! Not getting arrested? All that the princess is doing is saving us effort. We could avoid a cigar-chomping wannabe Holmes and his cronies for ages!

It’s not just that, we need them to keep sane! If nobody, absolutely nobody, cared about us, then we’d completely lose it!

No, YOU would completely lose it. I’m the one telling you that we don’t need them, remember? They’re a liability, even in terms of keeping you in your right mind. But forget it. I’m done trying to explain this stuff to a suicidal twit such as yourself. You’ll figure it out soon. In due time, everything I tell ya will make perfect sense. You just wait.

What are you talking abou-- hello?

Gone. The voice had slithered back into the creases of his mind. It had a nasty habit of disappearing mid-conversation, a habit that irritated Rags beyond belief; particularly when it left without explaining itself.

Rags became aware of his surroundings once more. The morning sunlight still perforated through the window. He rubbed his temples and sluggishly got to his hooves. So far, the morning was going swimmingly. Telling his best friend that he was essentially dead to him, the voice in his head trying to isolate him, what else could go wrong?

He shook his head clear of such depressing thoughts and walked down the hall. He just needed to splash some water in his face and he’d be right as rain. Or at least able to function. He sleepily staggered into the bathroom and flicked the light switch. He could see himself in the mirror now: a shaggy stallion with baggy, bloodshot eyes, a messy mane and tail, scratches and bandages running up and down his legs and body, and a small beard and mustache covering the area around his mouth. He wasn’t even aware that he could grow a beard. Nougat wasn’t kidding when he called him a mess.

Weird as it was, Rags found himself thinking about his appearance. He remembered how he looked before he began staying up every night to fend off creatures. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes before. Of course, that wasn’t the case anymore, clearly. Continuous attack from monsters were liable to sap one of their natural good looks. Rags chuckled at this train of thought. His life in the balance and he’s scrutinizing his looks.

He turned the hot water faucet on the sink and shut his eyes as he splashed the steamy-hot liquid over his face. He relaxed his muscles as the rejuvenating heat seeped into his dry skin. His nostrils twitched as he began to smell something. It was… coppery. He knew the smell… but couldn’t place it. It became more intense within seconds, now overpowering him. Confused and displeased, He popped one curious eye open to look around. When he saw nothing, he let his face drop back to the sink and gasped.

A thick, crimson-colored substance poured out of the faucet head. He brought his hooves his face and saw that they were coated in the warm, sticky liquid. Blood. He began hyperventilating and his heart pounded inside his chest. Then he heard a low, gurgling growl from behind him. His head shot upwards, and in the mirror he saw the reflection of both himself, face covered in red ickor, and that of a black figure behind him, oozing with dark muck, glaring back at him with blazing red eyes. A tar-pony. With a snarl, the figure bared its jagged, broken teeth and lunged at him, mouth wide open for a savage bite. With a howl of terror, Rags whirled around and threw up his hooves in defense, but when he turned to face it, the tar-pony was gone.

Befuddled and startled, he hurriedly scanned the bathroom. His mind raced and panicked, trying to deduce what just happened. A tar-pony? In the day? How did it get in? And the blood... Rags turned to the faucet, finding not a single drop of scarlet anywhere in sight. Paranoid, he stuck his head out the door to see if the beast could still be about. It was just… gone. Not even the sticky tar prints they were prone to leaving wherever they went.

Calming his breathing, he looked at his hooves and found that the blood was gone. He went back to the mirror and his reflection showed that his face was also wiped clean. He stared uncomprehendingly into the eyes of his reflection for the longest time.

A hallucination.

He sighed in relief as he realized what he’d just been through. His nerves were still fairly shot, though, and sweat drenched his coat. It occurred to him that perhaps Nougat was right about his stress buildup. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air, he thought. Gathering supplies from around town would do him good.

As he cleaned himself up, he thought about how real it seemed. He could smell the blood. He could hear the growling so clearly. Was the mind even capable of toying with these senses to such a degree? Surely this was merely a daydream of some sort. A walk around town and in the sun would clear his anxious head. At least he hoped so. The whole thing was both fascinating… and horrifying. His brain, so quickly and convincingly, produced a waking nightmare. He wasn’t even aware that he was in a state capable of fathoming fantasies like that. It was almost as if…

He decided to stop giving it thought. He would chalk it up to too much time spent barricaded inside of the house and move on, lest he come to any conclusions that might send him into an endless spiral of crying and screaming like a filly. That is to say, a more endless one.

As he walked down the street, Rags inspected everything in sight with his paranoid gaze. He should have felt safe in the inviting light of the sun, but an overabundance of caution never killed anyone.

It was only every few days that he had to gather supplies and such. He would have asked Nougat to do it for him, but the stubborn pegasus refused to take part in Rags’ rituals. Not that he blamed Nougat. Some of the items on his list would arouse suspicion in the poor baker. Rags, however, figured that his reputation too far gone to salvage anyway, not that he really had one to begin with. So for him, walking into a blacksmith’s shop and making requests like “Something that is silent and doesn’t cause a whole bunch of screaming or thrashing,” didn’t do any more harm to his status than the tall tales spreading around already did.

“Ok, next I have to get forty gallons of battery acid, a smidge of magnesium and nitroglycerine, a bottle of orphan tears, and a big pile of what the buck was I on when I made this list?” Rags said to himself as he went over his nonsensical list of necessities. Half of it he didn’t even remember writing. “What, was I asleep when I made this thing? Heh… Sleep… if only.” Rags yawned greatly at the prospect. “Whatever. I got what I really needed, lumber, bottled water, so on. So I’m pretty much set.”

Rags set out for home, yawning as shifted the weight of his heavy bags and the planks of lumber strapped to his back into a more comfortable position for the long walk. At least it would be a pleasant one. It was such a delightfully sunny afternoon. The birds sang their songs of late spring, as if saluting the season as it slowly neared its passing. A delicate breeze was just forceful enough to ensure that the day was that perfect balance of cool and warm. The sun’s rays transcended through the partially cloudy sky like heavenly spears, making the world around him feel safe. And with most folk still at work during this time, the streets were relatively empty, making the trip almost tranquil.

It wasn’t often that he stopped to smell the roses, as it were. With his very interesting schedule, appreciating the little things kind of fell off the radar. Perhaps he wouldn’t be having odd visions in his bathroom if he took a moment to let calming atmosphere like this soak in every now and then. It certainly did wonders at taking a load off his mind. Though that didn’t mean his head was entirely void of thought.

He still had those same questions that he’d been carrying with him since day one. Why? How? What to do? But he had long since resolved to save them. He had neither the smarts, the skill, or even the luck to acquire the answers to such admittedly simple yet puzzling things. It killed him inside to know that it was very possible that the clarification he sought could be out of his reach forever. “Why” was such a simple inquiry. All it would take to answer it would be a measly sentence. But for some reason, the circumstances were just right to deny him any hope of getting what he wanted.

Putting energy into asking those questions was, much to his dismay, a waste of time. The universe seemed determined to keep him in the dark. Whether it be his old life of boring routine or this new existence of danger and fear, he was always left staring dumbly into the sky, admiring the stars and endless blue as he walked back to his hovel to start it all over again. This was simply how it was, and no matter how much he hated it, no matter how many times he asked the same question, it was obvious that things weren’t going to swing his way. He was lost in a world he was clearly not accommodated for to start with, and now he’d been plunged even deeper into the pits of the unknown. It maddened him, drove him up the wall, but what could he do?

Rags chuckled. Staring into the sky always seemed to get him thinking. And thinking was something that would make someone in his circumstances unstable.

Hey there, my bosom buddy.

Rags looked to his side with a start. His reflection in the windows on the shops and houses he passed had been hijacked by the voice. It wore a devilish grin, and spoke confidently and smugly as always.

Don’t call me that, it’s weird.

Yeah, I guess it kind of is… ew, now that I think about it, it’s really weird. I don’t like the sound of that at all.

What do you want, anyway?

Look at you, not even givin’ me the common courtesy of small talk. You’re still mad at me, ain’t ya?

I’m always mad at you.

Well sir, that cuts me deep. All I’m trying to do is help.

Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.

Ah shut up, and hear me out. See, I know you think I’m selfish, so I want to show you that having me around is actually a pretty great deal. I want to finally start cultivating that crop I planted when I told you I’d help out. Thus far, all I’ve done is assist in the brutal slaughtering of a couple of demonic spawns. Granted, that’s some pretty heavy stuff and you should be down on your knees thanking me, but I told you I’d help out with your life, not just butchering things.

Its word choice was deliberate, a clear attempt to make Rags feel guilty for the horrible things he’d done to survive. The voice was… funny, that way. It must have been very confident that what it had to say would really sway Rags if it was using such provocative words.

Lemme prove it to you. Just this one time, lemme show ya that I’m here not for my own benefit, but for both our sakes.

Yeah, whatever.

Oh come on, think about it. Have I done anything that has actually brought you any trouble?

You tried to get me to tell the few folks I have in my life that are helping me to leave. How about that?

Yeah, but that didn’t cause any problems, now did it? I tried to make a decision that I thought would help, and you didn’t like my vision. Fair enough. No harm done to either of us, right?

…

Right. And what else have I done? Helped you kill nasties, helped you hold your ground against your pants-wetting childish fears, and I’ve TRIED to get you a smokin’ hot honey to keep your bed warm while you’re gone, but I’m still workin’ on that social anxiety business of yours.

It’s not social anxiety, I don’t like the way you talk about the fairer sex.

And that sense of decency is gonna need to go too.

And you’re not very nice…

So I’m a type-A personality, sue me. But hear me out. I think we got off on the wrong hoof, ya know? So let me make it up to ya by helpin’ you out.

...With what exactly?

Closure.

Closure?

Closure. Finally kissin’ that old life of yours goodbye. You got a couple of loose ends that need tying up, ya know?

Loose ends?

Really only three. Your pal, who I still think we oughta ditch, your place, which we’ll get to first, and your dear, sweet, loveable, teddy bear of a boss. We haven’t officially quit yet. And the old fart hasn’t called us up and told us we’re done either. We’re still employed at the dinner. So I figure you walk in there and really stick it to him. You know, do something to really, really, REALLY get under his skin. What’s he gonna do? Fire ya? HA!

...Closure…

So how ‘bout it, baby? You in?

…

Well?

...You’ve got one shot to prove that you aren’t a parasitic tumor on the last bit of my sanity. You mess up and I’ll get in touch with Princess Luna and have her do that walky-through-the-head-thing of hers and get rid of you for good.

Not to soil our reinvigorated partnership with a bit of chastization, but good luck gettin’ in touch with her. She’s probably got better things to do than scoop out a figment of some poor sap’s imagination.

Whatever. But let’s make this quick. I don’t fancy coming up short on sleep.

Deal. Now, for our first stop…

Rags had always thought of his home as pretty nice. It was fairly spacious, had a decent property value after all the work he’d done on it, and the neighborhood wasn’t half bad. Overall, it was a miracle that one such as himself was able to penetrate the thick aura of bad luck around him long enough to acquire the place at such a low cost. He reminisced on the memory of purchasing the home to try and deduce how he was able to come into possession of it at such a practically miniscule price. Something about several manic depressant ponies in the business of cleaning committing suicide in the attic over the course of its history. Probably wasn’t of any significance, he imagined.

The house was wrapped in plastics and safety tape, with scaffolding surrounding the outside perimeter and stretching into the narrow alleys between the house and those bunched in around it. Lumber and other materials lay around the place and on top of the platforms. But even through all the work that had been done on it over the past few weeks, it still showed a great deal of damage. It looked like the structural equivalent of a cleaned and dressed wound.

Rags found himself pondering the damage dealt to it. The night was very good at cleaning up after itself, and rarely left any trace of its evil. And even if it did, it was always something that would never lead one to believe that it was the work of nocturnal monsters. So why did it make such a stunningly ostentatious display of its presence upon his home?

Here we are! Casa de suck! Home of the suckiest dishwasher ever to suck!

You done?

Not yet, you suck. There, now it’s out of my system.

What are even we doing here?

We’re gonna tear this heap down, baby!

What!?

You heard me!

Why?

Because this home represents the old you. It’s weak, damaged, worthless. It’s a monument to the soulless routine of mere existence you dragged yourself through for the past couple of years. It’s where you wasted a good chunk of the greatest time of your life doing nothing but waiting for lightning to strike. But now, ha ha! Now you’re a new stallion who’s gonna take charge of his life! Fend off the horrors of the night and come out on top with a cold cider in one hoof and a steamin’ piece of tasty lady-flank in the other!

Tasteless as ever, I see…

Not to mention that it’s cathartic. Smashing the crap out of something without the risk of that something smashing you back. What better stress reliever is there? You know, besides the obvious…

I think you need to tug one out and just quit with the weird fixation on getting booty. You need me to oggle a Naughty Mares Monthly to help you out?

Don’t make this weird. Just get in there and start smashing stuff, alright?

Rags mulled it over for a second. He supposed the voice had a point. It would be cathartic, and he supposed he was correct about all of that monument business. And it wasn’t like he could pay for the thing anymore. With all of this structural damage, plus his medical bills what with the attacks and such, his insurance wouldn’t cover it all. And his job didn’t pay enough for refurnishing. Plus there’s the matter of him probably not even having a job anymore. So really, all things considered, there wasn’t really any reason why he couldn’t tear this thing down without any real repercussions. There were far more important things to concern himself with than a few angry bankers getting onto him for his callous financial suicide.

So why not?

He stepped under the safety tape over the front door, what was left of it anyhow, and scanned the interior of the room. It was almost ghostly, in a way. He had so many memories of this place, yet they amounted to absolutely nothing. There were no nostalgic moments, no happy recollections, no times of change where his life was going in a new direction. Just depressing memories of nothing.

Claw marks and cracks raced up and down some walls, but others were in the process of being reworked or had already been changed altogether. A few gargantuan holes still hung open here and there, glowing from the light of the three o’ clock sun. If he remembered properly, the investigator released an official report a few days after the hospital incident in which he stated that this was the result of a few crazed beasts coming into town from the Everfree that had decided to take up residence in his home for the night. Natural beasts. What a crock. Who had ever heard of a silent house-trashing at the claws of a couple of party animals from the Everfree?

Well? Ain’t ya gonna bust somethin’ up?

Rags eyed a large wrench sitting by a nearby pile of wooden boards. Tentatively, he picked it up and hefted it in his hooves.

Go on, break somethin’.

Taking in a breath, he swung the wrench at a sheetrock wall and annihilated it. He marveled at his brute strength, momentarily forgetting how brittle sheetrock was. But it still served to get his adrenaline pumping. With a grunt, he swung again and broke down another section of wall.

Yeah! Break it! Break it all!

Rags had gotten into a groove. He meandered all about the house, breaking support beams and sections of wall, undoing weeks of hard work, and reveling in the satisfaction of acting like a disruptive little teenage punk. Grabbed cans of paint and splashed them all over, turning the house into a hideous modern-art project. For several minutes he indulged himself, letting out weeks-worth of pent up pressure. It was an odd, crude, and juvenile activity, but something about it was just so pleasing.

In the midst of the destruction, as he was swinging his wrench about like a madpony, he caught a glimpse of something. It was only for a fraction of a second, but he could swear that he saw a figure down the hall. He halted the chaos and observed the hallway closely, watching for any movement. Nothing could be seen. It must have just been his imagination. He did have a pretty active one, after all.

He returned to causing mayhem, only to witness a chilling sight. On the wall, in red paint, something was being written as if by an invisible hoof.

“Lost.”

Rags shook his head violently and rubbed his eyes, also giving himself a good slap in the face just to be sure. This proved to be the solution, as the vision was gone when he looked up again. He blinked twice in confusion. Another crazy hallucination? He really had been inside for too long. Perhaps he was in more dire need for a stress-reliever than he’d originally thought. Now slightly agitated that his mind was not cleansed yet, he continued destroying the building. He was determined to un-crazify himself, and he’d do it as giddily as possible.

“Hey! What’s happening in there! Who’s here!?” a burly voice hollered from outside. Rags’ eyes went wide in shock.

Oh crap! We’re busted! Those construction lugs must have just been off on a lunch break or somethin’! Time to haul flank, boy!

Like a child with their hoof caught in a cookie jar, Rags scurried out the back before they came in and spotted him. He snaked in between houses, escaping the scene as quickly as possible. “Look at this mess! It’ll take weeks to fix this up! Who’s the snot-nosed little mother…” The words of the irate construction workers faded as Rags put as much distance between the house and himself as he could.

After two minutes of running, he slipped behind a corner and peeked out behind him. He wasn’t followed. He exhaled and slumped against the building, beginning to giggle to himself. Soon, he broke out into a chuckle, then a hearty laugh. I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun!

What did I say!? I told ya that you’d benefit from this!

I feel… relieved. Like a huge weight just came off me.

That’s the sensation of metamorphosis! You’re going into a process in which you change for the better! You’ve been in the larval stage, and now you’re slowly transforming into a REAL stallion! All we’ve gotta do is hit up one more spot…

Rags smiled deviously. The thought of what he was about to do next was simply far too tantalizing to put off any longer

* * *

Work. It was an aspect of life rooted deeply into his routine, occupying most of his attention. His existence was almost entirely centered around it. But with the recent turn of events, he clearly could no longer spare the hours to clean dishes and swab floors with unholy beasts trying to end him every night.

He hadn’t shown up for work in two weeks, so he was absolutely, positively, undoubtedly fired into oblivion. So he figured that he might as well make it official and tell the boss that he was done. But not just that. He wanted to see if he could go out in style, maybe do something that only a stallion who knows they’re about to get fired would do. He wanted to push all of the boss’ buttons in just the right order to make him explode. What would he do about it? Fire him? Rehire him and fire him again? The odds were most certainly in Rags’ favor. It was time to exact a little bit of petty revenge.

It was a little past four-thirty in the afternoon when he approached the diner. He grinned wickedly, as he was planning on using some choice words in the presence of his superior that would certainly get quite a show out of the old prick. He parted the double doors and strode in with an aura of confidence around him that was practically palpable. The boss was working the counter during what looked to be a particularly taxing rush when he heard the bell ring. When he looked up to see Rags, his eyes widened to shock and a loathsome scowl crept onto his face. The dishwasher’s smug-as-tartarus smile grew immensely in size.

The boss was usually fairly good about keeping the yelling out of the customers’ range of hearing. But this time, he simply couldn’t restrain himself. “You… sorry sack of crap! Where in the wide buckin’ world of Equestria do you get the balls to prance in here like this!? YOU THINK YOU CAN COME IN HERE AND ACT LIKE YOU OWN THE BUCKING PLACE!?”

Rags was pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t even needed to say anything to make the boss lose his cool in front of all of his walking ATMs. This was sure to strike a savage blow against the old bag. The voice was madly giggling all the while.

This is SWEET! I mean look at those customers! They’re horrified! They’re never gonna eat here again! This crotchety old jackoff is gonna go bankrupt! This is better than I could have imagined!

“ALL THIS TIME YOU’VE BEEN GONE, I’VE HAD TO PICK UP YOUR SLACK!”

Rags chuckled lightly at that image.

“WHAT’S SO BUCKIN’ FUNNY!? YOU THINK THIS IS HILARIOUS!? YOU LIKE ACTING LIKE A WORTHLESS LITTLE PUNK!? YOU SELF-ABSORBED LITTLE PIECE OF TRASH!”

Rags could hardly contain his snickering.

“DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH MONEY YOU’VE COST ME!? I DON’T DO PAID VACATIONS, SO YOU’RE LUCKY I’M SO LENIENT AND ALLOWED IT THIS TIME!”

The metaphorical record stopped with a scratch. Paid vacation? This time? Rags’ face fell into confusion. “What do you mean? You’re still paying me? But, I thought I was--”

“FIRED!? YOU SHOULD BE! But I’m not gonna be the one who has to CLEAN THOSE URINALS! So get your bucking uniform on and GO SCRUB THOSE CRAPPERS!!” The boss bellowed in front of all the stunned customers. Rags was utterly flummoxed. He wasn’t fired? How? Why?

The boss stomped out from around the counter after grabbing a mop and shoved it into Rags’ arms. “ARE YOU RETARDED, BOY!? I SAID GO SCRUB EM’!”

What’s going on here? I’m still employed? But we’ve been out for weeks! What the buck is this guy’s problem!?

You know… I think I’m starting to see what’s going on here. I think… he likes pushing you around. It gives him satisfaction to know that he has power over you. He doesn’t need someone to clean this place because he doesn’t want to, he needs someone to clean this place so he can live out his little power fantasy.

Rags was beginning to see it now. His boss, this pathetic excuse of a stallion, was a miserable whelp of a pony who didn’t have anything that made his life worth living. All he had was the ability to make one pony’s life worse, and he would make sure he could keep that, even at the risk of losing all of his customers because of this ridiculous show of abuse.

Rags had gone from excited, to shocked, to furious. All this time, he was just using Rags as a means of making himself feel accomplished. He didn’t care about the measly amounts of money. He just needed someone to reign over. Rags seethed inside, a boiling rage building up within. But on the outside, he was calm and collected, and never broke eye contact with the boss, who never stopped screaming.

“ARE YOU GONNA MOVE OR AM I GONNA HAVE TO MOVE YOU MYSELF!?”

I can see that you’re not very happy with this putz, buddy. Neither am I. This guy, this stupid prick, he is responsible for a good bit of the misery in your life. And this whole little escapade of ours has been about destroying the misery of the past, right? So let me show you what I mean when I say I’m here to make your life better...

“--I’M GONNA COUNT TO THREE, AND I WANT TO SEE YOU SWABBING! ONE!”

Rags looked at the mop in his hoof with a half-lidded gaze.

“TWO!”

He gently hefted it up and down in his hoof.

“THRE--”

The long, wooden handle of the mop struck the boss forcefully in the cheek. He was silent as he spat out a glob of blood and touched the tender bruise on his face. Wide-eyed, he slowly looked back to Rags, who wore a demonic smile and an awful look in his eye.

“I’m gonna make sure you NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGA--”

The boss was cut off by another blow to the face. He stumbled back a little bit, dazed and disoriented. Rags brought the broom handle down on the top of his head, driving him to the floor. He loomed over the boss, a wide, toothy grin stretched over his mouth. But this wasn’t a grin of smug pleasure. This was a grin of sheer sadistic glee.

The boss, blood dribbling down from around his busted lips, stared in disbelief as Rags raised the mop over his head. The dishwasher hit him again. And again. And again. He kept hitting him until the broom handle cracked across the bloodied stallions broken muzzle. Rags picked up the broken piece. It was about the size of a baton, making things even easier. The boss choked on blood and teeth. Rags kept on. He struck blow after blow, blood and saliva spattering across his chest, his unwavering smile present throughout.

“STOP!” A voice said as a pair of hooves wrapped around Rags’ foreleg. He turned, irritated that his groove was thrown off, to see a random, fearful looking stallion who had stepped up to put an end to the assault. The crazed dishwasher panted for a moment, glaring at the random pedestrian. After a little while, Rags’ breathing slowed, and he came back to his senses.

He turned back to his victim and looked over the carnage. The boss was bloodied, battered, bruised, and broken. He had nary a tooth still attached to his gums, and blood poured out of his mangled mouth like a faucet, pooling around the back of his head. His eyes were black and swollen to the point of disabling his vision. His snout was crushed and leaked fluids through the nostrils. Cuts and lacerations covered his head, and his skull was most likely fractured.

Rags dropped the handle and staggered back.

He had nearly just committed murder. In fact, was the boss even still alive?

Ponies began crowding around the beaten stallion, one pushing their way past the mumbling masses and putting a hoof on the victim’s neck. His red-cross cutiemark suggested that he knew what he was doing. “He’s still alive! Somebody call an ambulance!” The medical pony looked to the confounded Rags. “And call the town guard!” Two rather muscular stallions from the crowd slowly began making their way towards Rags with the apparent intention of restraining him. Flustered, Rags sprinted out of the diner before they could grab him.

He ran towards home, mind going a hundred miles a minute.

Hey, pal! Wasn’t that just--

No… Be quiet… Never again…

Rags sat in the closet, hugging himself and facing the corner.

Never again… Never again…

He had no words to describe the fear and regret that clouded his mind. He didn’t feel the energy or the need to dwell on it. He didn’t want to. He wanted it to have just never happened at all. He couldn’t even bring himself to face it. He outright denied his mind access to the memory. Everything about it, especially the way the voice was able to so easily talk him into it, made his skin crawl. He tried to force himself to stop thinking about it. There was no way he could approach it without sending himself into a spiraling bout of madness and guilt.

Then, three knocks on the closet door. Rags cracked it open ever so slightly and ever so slowly, peeking one eye out to see who it was. Nougat. Who else would it be? He almost looked unnerved, like he wanted to be anywhere but around Rags. Who could blame him? “T-The princess is here, R-Rags,” he stammered out before quickly disappearing into his room. His only friend, alienated.

Shivering, he feebly stepped out of the closet and walked down the hall. Coming into the living room, he could see a steely-eyed Princess Twilight and her two escorts, each glaring at him intently, occupying the other end of the room. “Rags,” Twilight said firmly. “Sit down.”

He heeded her command and sat in a chair opposite from her.

“You know I can’t let this come to pass, Rags,” the princess said sternly.

Rags tried to sink down into his chair and disappear.

“As I’m sure you’ve probably deduced by now, I’ve abstained from having you apprehended for the sake of analyzing your situation and the occurrences surrounding it. I didn’t want to trouble you by letting you know of this, but my intentions are fairly obvious. But now that you’ve become a danger to the other subjects of our land, I’m required to take action,” Twilight stated firmly.

Rags felt a massive pit growing in his stomach. He feared the actions the princess was about to take, but what really got to him was the guilt. There was almost a touch of sadness in her voice as she was undoubtedly about to state that he was going to be thrown in the dungeon for life. Perhaps it was the anemic optimist inside of him, but he felt that she was more disappointed than angry. Disappointed that one of her subjects would do such a thing, like a mother discovering that her child has bullied another. This feeling, that a great individual such as herself must have had hope for him, and that he let her down, was soul crushing.

She sighed before speaking. This is it, Rags thought.

“You are free to go.”

Rags’ face was cringed in anticipation and hurt. Upon hearing these words, he cracked an eye open and blinked twice. “Uhm...B-Beg pardon?”

“You will not be arrested,” the princess said.

Rags stared blankly at her for a moment. “Might I… ask why? I mean, I almost… why?”

“In any other circumstance, or even just a few days ago, I would have locked you away. You are unstable, and a hazard to your fellow ponies. I would have you studied by Equestria’s top psychologists in a padded cell with prescribed medication. But...” Twilight gestured for the guards to exit the living room. They hesitated, looking at the princess with unsure gazes. She gave them a quick, affirmative glance over her shoulder, and they begrudgingly left the room, giving the princess and the dishwasher privacy.

“But…?” Rags asked meekly.

Twilight sighed again. “But I believe you.”

If Rags was in the middle of drinking, he most likely would have spat out his beverage. These words echoed through his mind. He’d grown so used to his situation, to being alone in all of his endeavors, that having someone actually believe him and not just tolerate his apparent madness was surreal. “You… believe me? Princess, have you been, uhm, drinking or something?”

“I realize that this must come as a surprise, but yes, I do believe you. You see, Rags, I, like many others, assumed you were a bit touched in the head when you first started ranting and raving about monsters attacking you,” Twilight started.

Rags’ face turned to an expression of deadpan.

“But as I studied you and the town, I became aware of… something,” the princess said, furrowing her brow in thought. “I’m not entirely sure what, as my research has turned up no specific results, but there is no doubt about it: something is amiss. And this something, whatever it may be, I believe to be malevolent in nature.”

“Well I could have told you that!” Rags shouted, but remembered who he was talking to. “Y-Your Majesty.”

“I know you think it’s evil, but I couldn’t take your word for it. I needed to discover this for myself. Point being, I won’t have you arrested because I think this is something that could very well be the cause of a mental condition such as yours,” said Twilight.

“Mental condition? I don’t have a--”

It was the princess’s turn to give a deadpan glare now. It seemed to encompass everything that needed to be said. The dishwasher played it smart, and kept his mouth shut.

“Sorry,” Rags said, trailing circles with his hoof on the arm of his chair.

“Speaking of which, there is something I need to know. Tell me, have you been having any visions?” Twilight asked.

“Visions? You mean, like, hallucinations? Actually, yes. They’ve been pretty small before now, like the average stuff that a sleep deprived pony would see, a shadow moving here, a weird light there, but lately they’ve been getting… bigger,” Rags said.

Twilight rubbed her chin pensively. “I see… anything else?”

Rags thought about it, and figured it was time he shared the truth about the voice with someone. He had lived with it in his skull for too long, and had finally overstepped its bounds. Perhaps now if he were to confide in the princess, she could use some form of magic or contact Luna and remove the parasite for good. “Yes, actually. There's also a--”

Don’t.

“...A, uhm…”

Don’t. Tell. Her.

It was him, the voice. Only, something was off. It wasn’t the jovial and upbeat but horribly rude voice that he’d known for all these weeks. It was a harsh hiss, almost too quiet to hear even within the confounds of his skull. Even with its reticent tone, its words were coated in seething, and almost seemed to hold the promise of something dreadful.

Be. Quiet.

Rags shivered and stuttered, rattled by these cold and ominous words. He hadn’t heard from it since the incident. It had stayed unnervingly quiet since their return home. What was wrong? Whatever it was, Rags suddenly felt urged not to tempt it further. The way it spoke did not invoke good feeling.

“A what?” Twilight asked curiously.

Rags looked at her and tried to think of a way to abort the topic. “Nothing… It’s nothing.”

“Oh... alright then.” The princess appeared incredulous.

Good.

Twilight continued. “As I was saying, this behavior, these hallucinations, I believe they are the result of a force that is demonic in nature. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but from what little I could gather about it, this force is along the same vein as the darkest of black magics, which have maddening effects on ponies. It is possible that this is what is responsible for your state,” Twilight elaborated.

“So, what does this mean for me?” Rags inquired.

“Well for starters, it means that I’m not going to lock you up until the end of days. You have been pushed to this point by this force, so I don’t think it would be right for me to arrest you when you are under such an influence. Not to mention that several witnesses stated that your boss was verbally abusing you and even threatened you, so I could file the matter under self-defense, at a stretch. But don’t think that means this won’t have repercussions after we've got this all sorted out. And should a similar problem arise in the future, I’ll have no choice but to incarcerate you, understand?” Twilight said authoritatively, leering expectantly at Rags.

He opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t feel like spending the breath on the subject. So he simply nodded.

“Good. But it also means that I believe you are telling the truth, and that you are indeed under some form of attack. I would gladly assist you, but my magics have had no effect on the energy that dwells in town. It cannot reveal its true nature, nor can it dispel its presence. Isn’t that why you ran out of the hospital days ago when I put up a ward to protect you?” Twilight asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, those things passed through it with no problem.”

“Hmm…” Twilight droned as she rested her chin on her hoof. “Well at any rate, I wish I could help you, but as I said, my magics are of no use under these circumstances. And there is another problem. My memories at night feel... distorted. Tampered with. I am... unable to determine the cause. It's some form of spell that I have never encountered before."

“But you’re the Element of Magic! I mean, knowing magic backwards and forwards is your thing! How could you not know what kind of spell this is?” Rags said nervously.

“That’s what concerns me. I know of nearly every spell ever crafted, and I know every method of magic practice there is. So for there to be a spell that I don’t know anything about, and that might be working on me at this very instant without my even knowing, is not a very comforting notion. In fact, the tampering began shortly after you first reported your assault, and I was in Canterlot at the time you did so, meaning the spell was instantaneously cast over the entirety of Equestria. Whatever is going on, the force at work here is very, very, very powerful. Maybe even more powerful than me,” Twilight said darkly.

Rags swallowed harshly. Something more powerful than the Element of Magic herself? If one were to tell Rags that there existed something or someone more powerful than Princess Twilight, he would guffaw in their face and tell them they were insane. The princess has disposed of Ursa Minors, faced down massive changeling hordes, defeated deities of madness and chaos, and vanquished Nightmare Moon, the demon to end all demons. She was arguably the most powerful living being in the world, aside from the other princesses.

And even she was disturbed by what was happening...

“This is all well and disturbing and all, but how does it explain a horde of hideous monsters trying to open me like a bag of chips?" Rags inquired, scratching the back of his head.

“I can’t say for certain. If you could, please try to retrieve a sample for me to study from these things. I need some more concrete results in my experiments before I begin jumping to conclu--” Twilight was interrupted by a green ball of flame that flickered into existence right in front of her. It transformed into a scroll bearing the royal seal. “What’s this? A message from Canterlot?” Twilight observed as she opened it and began reading. “I’ve informed Celestia of my important work here in Ponyville, so there shouldn’t be any interrupt… tions… Oh no…” Twilight trailed off as she read, becoming visibly more and more distressed with each line. She had become a bundle of nerves in no time flat, murmuring inconsistent gibberish to herself. Whatever was on the page was terrible.

“Uhm, Your Highness? Is there a problem?” Rags asked obliviously.

“Yes… Yes, there is a huge problem…”

“Might I be clued in on what that is?” Rags asked, voice trembling.

Twilight’s head jerked away from the page and she looked at Rags worriedly.

“I mean… It’s nothing! Nothing at all!” Twilight said hastily, lying badly. “Just, uhm, pay you no mind, hehe, it’s just, uh… a new tax law! Yep, just a new, totally outrageous tax law! Looks like I’m going to have to go to Canterlot and tell that pesky council that their stupid laws won’t work, again!” Twilight laughed nervously.

“Wait, you’re leaving? Right now? But, you’re not even gonna stay and help me out somehow? I mean--”

“Sorrygottagobyebye!” Twilight’s horn began to glow.

“H-Hey! Wait! Can you at least--”

A bright flash filled the room with it’s blinding luminescence. When the spots cleared from his vision, Rags could see that she was gone, leaving only a black burn mark on her chair.

“...Toss a few supplies my way,” Rags finished sadly.

The two guards ran into the room, summoned by the commotion. Their questioning eyes fell on Rags, who merely pointed to the charred chair.

“Ah crap, she teleported! I’ve asked her not to do that before telling us!” one of the guards complained.

“Great, now we’re gonna have to take the train all the way back to Canterlot,” the other groaned. They both turned and exited the house, grumpily grumbling. Rags was left alone in the room, confused, frightened, nostrils filled with the stench of burnt upholstery, and head filled with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure if I even want to know what that was all about,” he said aloud to himself. He looked outside through the window. The sun was very low in the sky now. He looked at the clock: a quarter past six. He moaned in frustration. He’d thrown his schedule completely out of whack with the day's events. He’d be lucky to get a brief power nap before the time came to get ready.

Twilight was running toward the royal chambers before the light from her teleportation had even dissipated within the throne room. In her mind, she shouted over and over, “Please don’t let it be what I think it is! Please don’t let it be true!” Unsuspecting solar guards offered quick bows as the princess passed them on their way to clock out and trade posts with the lunar guards. Several of them bore looks of trepidation, and moved as if under a trance. Those few must have been the officers informed of the circumstances.

She dashed through the halls, hooves clicking loudly against the polished marble floors. She ran so fast that she’d nearly lost her footing on a corner or two. She’d reached the royal chambers and barreled into the room, past the four dumbfounded guards, beholding the sight of the other Element Bearers sitting solemnly inside, tears and winces on their faces. Twilight would have asked them what it was that upset them so, but the answer was clear and very loud.

Through another set of golden doors could be heard the horrific, blood curdling screams of a mare. They were not howls of pain, sorrow, anger, or even fear. They were… something else…. something awful. They were constant, never letting up even for a second. How was there even any breath left for the unyielding shrieks? Sounds of objects breaking and muffled, distressed voices came from within as well. The doors parted partially, and a hooded figure stepped out and immediately but softly closed the doors behind him, muttering some sort of prayer as he did.

“What’s the situation?” Twilight asked the figure nervously.

He looked at her with distraught eyes and appeared as though he had to force himself to speak. “As bad as it could be… There is no reversing what has been done… It is imminent.” He got down on his knees and began praying profusely.

Twilight’s veins turned to ice. She looked to her friends, all either dismal and somber or dreading what was to come with expressions of fright.

She had to think of a solution. She just had to. With the Elements gone, she would need to think up an answer. She had to… failure was absolutely not an option.

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, performing the technique to calm her nerves, just as Cadence had taught her. She cleared her throat before speaking. “High priest.”

The stallion’s attention snapped to her.

“Is it time for me to go inside?”

With a quivering lip, he answered, “Yes, Your Majesty. May the Gods be with you.”

“Be careful, Twi,” Applejack said, consoling a dismayed and unusually glum Pinkie Pie.

Twilight nodded and placed a hoof on the door handle. She would try her hardest, but somehow, she just knew her efforts would be in vain. She pondered what to do. She was… lost. Rarely did she lack the solution to a problem, nor did she usually lack the ability to even figure one out. What she was up against was beyond what most could hope to comprehend. But she knew what it was. She knew what was coming.

Curiously, she found herself thinking about that dishwasher from Ponyville. She had a feeling that, somehow, he was deeply involved in this.

She parted the doors, and stepped inside.

Author's Notes:

Alright, so this is where I'm officially going to become insanely paranoid. Ever get that feeling that you've started out pretty good, got a bit better, and then totally mucked up everything after that point? I'm getting that big time. Hmm... probably just that natural tendency towards self-criticism we all have. Well, here it is, I hope you enjoy!

BTW, the next couple of chapters will come much sooner this time. They're all done, they just need to be edited. They'll see the light of day soon enough.