Journal entry #81

Hello there, you little collection of despaired and disturbed thoughts. I guess I’m not done writing in you after all. Twilight somehow found out about the journal I’d been writing in and apparently sent her fastest messenger to retrieve it right away. I’ll have to ask that guy how Nougat was holding up when he got there. Poor little idiot… I can only imagine his face when he woke up to a big buckin’ hole in the front of his house and the rest of the place in shambles. I wonder what he’s going to do now. Does he have anyone to stay with? I haven’t seen his parents around for a long time...

Anyway, she got me my journal back. Caught her rummaging through the pages while she was waiting for me in my room. Apparently she finds great scientific value in reading the inane ramblings of someone who isn’t all there in the head. Oh well, there isn’t anything there that I’m embarrassed of and that’s a total lie. Why kid myself, I was mortified.

You know, I just realized that I called this whole mess ‘an adventure’. Kind of a weird way of putting it. An adventure… I’ve always heard others talk about their own little adventures. Getting lost in the Everfree, bandits robbing the train they were taking out west, drunken excursions and alcohol fueled shenanigans in Las Pegasus. There was a time when I wondered if I would ever have my own little journey. Something that would make for an interesting story to tell over a couple of drinks. I always wanted something exciting and interesting to happen to me. Now, in light of all the crap that’s happened, I take it back. I’d like to go back to being boring again, because this ‘adventure’ of mine wasn’t worth it. I guess this kind of stands as a testament to that old saying.

“You never know how good you have it until it’s gone.”

Truer words have never been spoken. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss my dishes.

Anyway, not too much longer until that oh-so-fun time comes again. My first night in Canterlot and how’s it going to be spent? Not relaxing in a five-star hotel room, not out at some fancy club with DJ-PON3 wubbing it up, not even culturing myself at theater, listening to the famous Octavia work her musical magic. Nope, it’s all unspeakable nightmares trying to tear out my intestines and fornicate with my still-beating heart. I think this is going to be a real pain in my everything. I don’t know this place at all like I do Ponyville. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, I am in a castle, how much more secure can you get?

Not that security has stopped those things before… But hey, it’s all about peace of mind, right? I’m feeling pretty confident about this. I’ve got a big castle with big castle resources and big castle weapons and big castle… uh… It’s a big castle.

Alright then, journal. Not too long now. I should start getting ready. My first night here in Canterlot. Let’s see how this goes. If you don’t hear back from me, which you won’t because you’re an inanimate object and I have no idea why I’m personifying you, then you’ll know it’s because I’ve been skinned alive and turned into a coat for Nightmare Moon.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention… It’s Nightmare Moon. She wants to kill me. Isn’t that lovely? So now all I’ve got to worry about is the Monarch of Evil, who has the power to destroy the world, wanting me dead. Oh journal, how I do so hate my life. Let me count the ways...

Rags awoke to the feeling of being suspended off the ground. He lifted his head up to see a mare with a red cross for a mark and nurse’s uniform supporting the weight of stretcher on her back, presumably with a colleague doing the same behind him. He was being transported down a corridor towards a set of large, heavy doors.

As they arrived in front of them, the two medical personnel nodded to the guards, who returned the gesture. Rags shifted a bit, making sure everything felt alright. “Alright, I think I’m good, I can take it from here,” Rags told the medical help as he began to crawl off the stretcher. He was beaten to the punch when the nurses abruptly overturned the gurney, dropping him onto his face and causing him to emit a strange grunting noise. Without a word, they took their leave and trotted back down the hall they came from.

The dishwasher glared at the doors from his humiliating position on the floor. “Bedside manners? What are those? Is that when you drop your patient on his face?” he mumbled bitterly.

After Rags pitifully got to his hooves and brushed himself off, the guards parted the doors for him and motioned for him to enter. Feeling uncomfortable in their presence, he slipped inside and the doors shut behind him. Rags sighed from exhaustion, mostly of the mental variety. He ran a hoof through his mane as he inspected the quarters he’d been brought to. A windowless room much smaller than the one he awoke in, with far fewer sumptuous ornamentations as well. Regardless, the dorm still maintained the stately style the rest of the castle was abundant in.

“You’ve got impressive penmanship.”

Rags yelped and impulsively assumed a faux karate stance as he faced the voice in the corner of the room. Twilight idly flipped through the pages of a worn book with her magic, a meditative look on her face. “Though you could stand to take better care of your things,” she droned as she attempted to decipher words that were made illegible by a large tear on one of the pages.

Rags’ face reddened as he recognized the weathered amalgamation of paper as his journal. He wasn’t one to put great concern into what others thought of him, typically, but he was immediately made nervous by the idea of the princess scrutinizing his written thoughts. There were a number of items contained within that she might have thought were… questionable.

She shut the book and levitated it across the room and into his fumbling grasp. “I want you to keep writing in it,” she ordered as she stood up from her sitting position under the candle on the wall.

“Uh, sure… Why?” Rags asked with his usual confusion.

“It’s therapeutic for you and it provides insight into your condition for me,” Twilight said, a miniscule degree of ire in her voice as if there was a double entendre in her meaning of ‘insight’. Rags wondered if she had read one of the more… colorful passages.

“Right…” the dishwasher awkwardly started. “So, were you just here to give me my journal back?”

“That, and converse with you over your plans.”

“Plans?” Rags blanked.

“Your plans of survival. You know, for the coming night? Nightmare Moon? Monsters? Any of this seem familiar?” Twilight deadpanned.

“No need to get snarky…” Rags grumbled.

“So, how do you wish to proceed?” she asked, curiosity transparent in her demeanor. She was genuinely interested in learning of the masterful strategies that the tactical-minded Rags had employed in order to keep himself alive.

Rags mulled it over for a moment, crossing his forelegs as he thought. “Well, typically, I try not to die.”

“That… That’s it?” Twilight asked in disappointment.

“Sadly, yeah, it kind of is. I holed up in Nougat’s house and tried not to think about how much my inevitable death would hurt. That was the extent of my strategic skill. I have no idea what I’m going to do here. I don’t know anything about Canterlot or this castle. This is new territory for me, figuratively and literally. Do you have any ideas? I mean, if I’m supposed to save everything, then maybe you should be the one to take the helm, you know? Besides, you’re some kind of genius, right? You’d know better than anyone what we should do.”

Twilight nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate that you’d entrust me with the planning, but I’m afraid I just don’t have enough information on the behavior of the creatures or the magic that summons them to form any decent strategies. You’re the closest we have to an expert here.”

“Oh stellar, that’s just stellar…” Rags rubbed his eyes with his hooves to expel the exhaustion from them. He and Twilight sat in silence for the next several seconds, their minds toiling away. He recalled his means of survival from Ponyville, remembering how unbelievably lucky he was to have lived through such impractical methods. The sort of harebrained lunacy he tried back in town was certainly not going to fly in Canterlot. The stakes were being raised. He was up against greater odds than before. Winging it was sure to result in his untimely and gruesome departure from life… his second one, anyway.

“Well let me ask you this: what did you do that was most successful? What gave you the best results?” Twilight inquired.

“Well, like I said, barricading myself inside that house was how I spent the majority of my time. Running through the streets like a headless chicken was not, and probably still isn’t, the best course of action.” Certain memories flashed through Rags’ mind, most prominently the third night of the phenomenon, which started with him running like a madpony around town and ended with him nearly meeting his end inside of a burning barn after a brutal beating. He shivered at this. He’d sooner slit his own throat than bumble about like that again.

“I see. Then fortifying is the way to go. Although, judging from your writings, you had developed certain… unhealthy tendencies after too much time spent inside.” Twilight cringed as she spoke these words.

“Unhealthy tendencies? What do you mean…” Rags trailed off as he looked into her worried eyes. He knew what she was referring to. “Hey, that was… that, uhm… I, ugh… I needed the extra push, you know?” he stammered nervously, sweat forming on his brow.

Twilight shook her head at him. “No, Rags. You didn’t. Not like that, anyway. Don’t you know how illegal that is? I’ve already got the Ponyville law-enforcement in an uproar over pardoning you after your episode with your boss. You don’t need anything else on your already spotty record. But besides that, do you have any idea how much worse off you were because of that? Do you know how much worse that probably made your situation?”

Rags’ head fell crestfallen, guilt obviously overrunning him.

Twilight’s eyes filled with pity for the creature before her. She could only imagine what forced him to sink to a state in which he was willing to abuse such substances. “Well, you don’t need to worry about that anymore. The potions that restored you cleared your system. You should be clean now.”

Rags cleared his throat and refrained from making eye contact. “Yeah… okay. I’ll, uh… I'll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t. For your own sake,” Twilight said apologetically. “Anyway… let’s get back to the topic of fortifying. Too much time spent cooped up like that is something we would do well to avoid. Maybe we could dedicate a number of rooms to your efforts, create several locations in which you can transfer between after each night. It would help you feel less constrained, more flexible. Your confidence would benefit from having a several defensible locations to work with.”

Rags finally mustered the courage to look Twilight in the eyes again. “Sure, sure… we could try that.”

Twilight smiled a comforting smile. “Good. We’ll begin work immediately. For now, let’s just see how it works tonight.”

Rags began to relax once more, getting back into the preparation mindset. “Now that we’ve got that sorted out, let’s talk supplies, hm?”

The princess nodded in affirmation. In a flash, a piece of parchment and a quill materialized before Twilight. “Alright, so what do you need? Remember, we can get you anything you want.”

Rags touched a hoof to the beard that he only just became aware of again. He considered what all he could use. Although, the better question, he pondered with an inward grin, was what couldn’t he use. The unlimited resources of Canterlot were backing him in his quest. He could have anything he deemed necessary. The notion of no longer having to jury-rig his own clunky, unwieldy, ineffectual contraptions and defenses was invigorating. The only obstacle in crafting his plans of attack now were the parameters set by his own neurotic imagination. He worked the kinks out of his neck, eliciting cracks as he lessened the pressure on his vertebrae, and put his mind to work.

“Well then, let’s get to it.”

“--And as many buckets of oil as you can get. I’ll be doing some tinkering over the next couple days,” Rags finished.

Twilight’s magical hold worked the quill as fast as her mind would permit, madly scribbling logistical jottings and marginalia onto her list. Once finished, she furled the scroll and sent both it and her writing tool into the void. “I’m sending this to my personal assistant. He will ensure that everything on this list is acquired and sent here within the hour.”

“Even the hoagie?” Rags asked with childish hope glistening in his eyes.

Twilight sighed, “Yes, even the hoagie. How could anyone eat a three-foot long sandwich with nothing but chocolate and cheese on it?” Her face contorted with mild disgust.

“You said anything,” Rags smugly reminded.

The princess grinned and shook her head. “It’s getting late. I’d say you have another four or so hours to prepare. The items you requested will be ready in two at the most. Is that alright?”

Rags tapped his chin with his hoof. “Uhh… Yeah, that should give me enough time. The fact that I don’t have to put anything together myself really helps. I’ve just gotta put it to use.”

Twilight nodded. “Remember, being this close to the Nightmare could very well make things significantly more difficult. The dark energies are far more potent here. You’ll need to exercise greater caution than before.”

“About that, if being closer to the Nightmare is more dangerous, then why did you bring me here six months before I could actually do anything to it?” Rags asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s a good question. You see, during my studies back in Ponyville, I discovered that the Nightmare’s influence was steadily growing, its powers accumulating on your location. The longer you fought, the more energy converged on you. Eventually, it wouldn’t have mattered where you were, you would have been subjected to the full strength of the demon. By bringing you here, we have given you a number of advantages. For one, the magic is not as prominent here as it was back in town by the time we discovered what was happening and came for you. But it won’t take long for her to reacquire you. Second, you have an entire castle full of soldiers, servants, and master craftsmen ready to assist you in any way possible. Third, there are a number of skills you must be taught if you are to stand a chance, which is where my brother comes in. He will help you to better yourself.”

Rags let all of what the princess said be processed in his mind, speaking once he felt satisfied with her answers. “I guess that settles that question. Doesn’t make me feel any better, though. Are you sure this is the only way to handle this? I mean, I’m not exactly a reasonable candidate for the title of ‘World Saver’. I’m flattered that you’re willing to entrust me with the… safety of… all in creation…” Rags swallowed, the weight behind those words leaving a pit in his stomach.

Twilight appeared dejected. “Trust me, Rags, if there were any other way…” She paused for a second to cast a glance over her shoulder at the door. “Your training with Shining will begin tomorrow. Tonight, I need you to focus. Focus on how things work here, see if anything has changed. Utilize the lull in the Nightmare’s magic and treat this night as a sort of experiment to gauge the danger. I’m running off of speculation and conjecture, so I need you to determine what effects are in place.”

Rags massaged his face as the dread was already beginning to brim within him. Something deep in his soul told him that he wasn’t going to be too happy with the findings of this little ‘experiment’.

Twilight exhaled a large guff. “...Today has certainly been interesting, hasn’t it?” she asked with a light chuckle.

“I suppose that’s the nice, non-vulgar, non-freaked out way of saying it,” Rags replied with a small laugh to match.

They both sniggered a bit before going quiet. They sat in silence for a short time, gazes cast towards the floor, each ruminating on individual matters. Rags looked up to the closest candle, staring wistfully into the dancing flames. Twilight stretched her wings and turned towards the doors, stopping as she placed a hoof on the barrier. “I’ll leave you to rest for now,” she said somberly, breaking the silence.

“Okay…” Rags kept his eyes on the candle fire.

With that, the princess departed, leaving Rags alone in the chamber. He continued watching the tiny fire of the candle delicately twist and jolt about. It was oddly comforting to him, just staring into the flickering light of the small blaze. It was just such a simple task. He longed for simple. He wanted simple back. He grew tired of the madness that seeped into his life and cluttered his mind.

He could still scarcely believe it. He was supposed to save the world, to stand alone against a monster of incomprehensible cosmic power. And he just accepted it. He just said “Okay” and went along with the insanity. It invoked a question: had he truly come that far? Had he transformed into the sort of brave hero that could handle the mission presented to him? Or had he merely become that numb to the horror? Had he grown so accustomed to death and destruction that being told the balance rested on his shoulders was just another item on the list? The latter possibility sent shivers down his spine. To think that who he used to be had died long ago, replaced by a shell running on instinct, terrified him.

There was a thump. The sound of something throwing its weight around came from behind the door of the chamber’s bathroom. Rags would have felt fear, but two things in his mind kept him calm. For one, he had experienced such deception from his own consciousness before. He knew there wasn’t actually anything in there. Second, he knew that if there was anything in there, it could only be… Rags figured it was time for a little talk.

Steadily standing, brow furrowed in anger, he cantered to the bathroom and entered hastily. He looked about, searching. Nothing in the luxurious bath seemed out of the norm, aside from the fact that the mirror showed the reflection of dishwasher that clearly did not belong in such lavish environs.

Scowling at the reflection, he stepped over to the mirror, glaring hatefully into his own eyes. For a solid minute he waited, ire slowly arising inside of him like bread in the oven. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t keep your mouth shut before, and now you decide to keep quiet? What? You scared? Is that it?”

Without warning, the mirror shattered, dozens of large fissures etching across the reflective surface. As if being observed through a kaleidoscope, he appeared.

That how you wanna play this? Is that seriously how you want this to go down? Boy, you’re buckin’ mental if you think you’re going to talk to me like that.

“Why shouldn’t I talk to you like that? What are you going to do, huh? I know what you are, I know what you’ve been doing. And now, I know how to get rid of you.”

Really? You think it’s that easy? You think any of those little ‘facts’ you ‘know’ about me are even true?

“It seems like the truth to me. You’re not real. You’re not me. You’re just some cloud of demon mojo clogging up my head.”

The reflection looked at Rags for a moment, pure loathing in its eyes, before a low, ominous chortle began emanating from its throat.

If I may make a suggestion? Just go ahead and slit your throat right now, because I can promise you, its going to be far less painful than getting yourself killed by that Nightmare thing, which is what’s going to happen if that’s the kind of brainpower you’re going into the fray with.

“Yeah, whatever, go ahead, make your stupid jokes--”

Not a joke, amigo. I’m serious. You’re a moron. You think I’m just a conjuration? Some cheap smoke n’ mirrors act put on by a cosmic parasite attached to the soul of a pretty little princess? You couldn’t be further off, mate.

‘Is that so? Then please explain to me how you’re not just another abomination summoned by Nightmare Moon to screw with me. After all, if the shoe fits, right? It makes perfect sense. All you’ve done is kept me down, torn me apart. You’re not some broken-off piece of my psyche, you’re a tumor! You’re a tumor that only exists to leech off my brain and get me killed!”

That’s just like you, Rags. Always looking for the easy way out. Instead of owning up to the problem, you blame it on others. Instead of just accepting the fact that I am a part of you, you blame my existence on some two-bit demon’s scheme for world domination. I guess I can’t fault you for it. After all, nobody, not even the most inward-looking of ponies, wants to face their problems. How could I expect a worthless little roach such as yourself to do it?

“What are you ta--”

Let me give you the skinny of it, Rags. I. Hate. You. I hate you more than you’ll ever know. I hate everything about you, I hate everyone you know, I hate the air you breath, I hate the thought of you even being able to draw breath, I hate myself for being connected to you. Your life is nothing but a burden on me. Do you understand that? Can you even begin to comprehend how much I loath you? No… of course you can’t. These next few months are going to see all that hate blossom. We’re coming to the end, Rags. The train is pulling into the station. Who walks off that train… well, that’s the million dollar question.

Rags had no response for the Other. He knew he was right. There was an end coming… an end to it all. An end to the attacks, an end to the fear, and an end to their “relationship”.

In the meantime, how about we play a little game? Over the next couple weeks, I’m going to ask you some questions. They’re really simple questions, and all you gotta do is answer em’. Easy, huh? A foal could do it. Let’s start now. First question: why bet a billion on one?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Answer ain’t comin’ to you? That’s okay, just take your time. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.

The Other snickered in a knowing, malicious way before vanishing from the mirror, along with the damage done. In the blink of an eye, the mirror was back to normal, as was Rags’ reflection.

Rags inhaled deeply, trying his hardest to keep his impatience from manifesting via a rabid outburst. The parasite wasn’t real, it simply couldn’t be. It had grown too much. It knew too much. It had to have a connection with the Nightmare. Rags couldn’t imagine how such a complex figure could operate within the confounds of his own mind without letting him in on its plans. The only reasonable explanation was that it was a separate entity altogether.

Its words weighed heavy on him. Rags could not stop replaying the phrase in his head; We’re coming to an end. That much was true. The end of the long, arduous road was within sight. But he had nary a clue of what to expect there, and it frightened him. All he was sure of that whatever was in store for him was big, unpleasant, and possibly quite deadly.

He heard a knock on the chamber door. He quickly collected himself and exited the bathroom. Cracking the doors, he poked his head out to see a mare in a rather revealing maid outfit with snobbish look of disgust on her face as she presented a platter occupied by a gargantuan, steaming sandwich overflowing with various varieties of cheese and chocolate. As Rags remembered his silly request, the anxiety left his expression and he smiled at his impulsive stupidity.

Taking the platter from the servant, who did not even linger long enough to receive a ‘thank you’, Rags scurried inside and plopped onto his back on the bed, hoagie resting on his chest. He thought about how much of a slob he must have looked like, how disgusting he surely would have seemed to the outside observer. He grinned even more as he considered it.

He was terrified, shaken to the core by the events and truths of the day. He doubted he’d ever get any decent sleep again, for he’d be plagued with nightmares until the end of his days. Worse yet, the dangerous night was only hours away.

Though, he figured, as fearful as he was, perhaps taking a moment to relax and enjoy the little things would help keep him sane. Letting himself go every now and then would be good stress relief, he assured himself. With that in mind, he bit into the glutinous combination of bread and unhealthy sauces, howling in pain when the melting cheese singed his tongue.

“Now remember, Rags, expect the unexpected.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t let your guard down.”

“Absolutely.”

“Use your better judgement. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

The sun threw bright orange rays through the large, stained-glass windows in the hall. The golden-colored silk hems of the regal red rugs covering the floors glistened in the dying light, and the reflective plates of the decorative suits of old knight armor gleamed brightly. Two elongated shadows stretched across the floor and onto the walls adjacent to the glass. One was that of an alicorn, and the other of a stallion bobbing up and down.

Rags determinedly trotted in place in the corridor outside of his chamber, Twilight running through plans and giving pep talks while she still could. “Keep your wits about you. Remember, peace of mind is key for success,” Twilight instructed.

Rags ceased his jogging and began doing limb stretches. “Got it.”

“And keep yourself focused. Letting your mind wander might end badly for you,” the princess warned.

“Indeed.” Rags sat on his haunches and let his muscles relax. working the kinks out of his neck as he was apparently finished getting his blood pumping. “Anything else before I do this?”

Twilight topped her chin with her hoof for a second. “Yes. Whatever you do, don’t die.”

“Take all the fun out of it, why don’t you?” Rags nervously joked, lump caught in his throat.

Twilight cast a glance out of one of the large windows. The sun was quickly setting. She loosed a wide yawn as her eyes drooped a bit. “Not long now…”

“What? Until the sleep thing? Hey, you’re the experimental sort, right?” Rags asked.

Twilight leered at him incredulously. “What are you getting at…?”

“Have you tried setting up a camera on a timer and getting pictures when the sleep happens? Running some tests on it and stuff?” Rags asked, oblivious to her tone.

The princess sighed her relief before answering. “As a matter of fact, I have. Inconclusive. The pictures never come out right. They always depict something that I know for a fact was not going on in front of the camera.”

“Like?”

“Like me and Princess Celestia having tea at four A.M., or Shining armor and Cadance sitting in front of the fireplace, the fireplace behind the camera I set up,” Twilight explained.

“That’s… sufficiently creepy,” Rags stated with hair standing on end.

“One of these nights, I’m going to have to get you to stay in my room while I sleep and report what happens to me.” Twilight yawned deeply again, head bobbing only once.

“That totally won’t be awkward at all…” Rags grumbled. He took a moment to stare out the window at his last half-hour of sunlight. As the orange glow waned over the horizon, he could see from his position inside of the towering mountain palace a long, dark shadow racing to cover the parts of the land now deprived of light. It was like a curtain of death slowly descending upon him. He considered the possibility of the nightmarish beasts already beginning to spawn within the shadow. Did they only require the absence of sunlight to be summoned, he wondered?

Curious, he decided to ask Twilight of the matter. He opened his mouth to say something, but as he turned to her, he found her sitting perfectly upright, but asleep. Rags found himself amazed by her posture even when out cold. She must have really hit those how-to princess books. I take it she practiced real hard on the poise section.

The dishwasher debated with himself on whether or not to awaken her. After all, it obviously wasn’t time yet, as she was still present and not taken as all who sleep at night were. For a few seconds he awkwardly shifted on his hooves, wondering what he should do. Finally he decided to just wake her up. He wanted the company of another pony for as long as he could get it.

He reached for her head, intending to shake her awake, but thought better of it and pulled back. Touching a royal on the head was probably breaking some law. Instead, he stomped on the floor in front of her. Her head snapped upwards as she awoke with a yelp. She sat quiet for an instant, staring out into space. Soon, though, she began to sniffle and wipe her foreleg across her eyes.

Rags sat frozen, terrified that he might have somehow upset the princess. Scenarios in which he was beheaded for his heinous crimes against the crown and his head rolled down the steps of the castle raced through his synapses. After a moment of suspense on Rags’ part, the princess had finished her silent sobbing.

Twilight spoke softly, seemingly to no one in particular. “That was… awful…” She sniffed again and looked to Rags, looking into his face with equal parts fear and sorrow.

“Did… Did I do something, princess? Something… decapitation worthy?” Rags asked gently, massaging his neck and thinking about how much he liked it being attached to his shoulders.

“...No… just a… bad dream, is all…” She wiped her eyes with her wings and composed herself. “Rags… whatever happens… you need to kill the Nightmare…”

The dishwasher tensed up. The princess was so cold in her demeanor, so earnest. Rags was fairly intimidated by this.

Twilight turned and began slowly making her way down the corridor without another word. “W-Where are you going?” Rags asked uneasily.

“To bed. I’ve already tried to counter the sleep. Nothing works. Every method I could possibly think of has been exhausted. There is no fighting it for us, Rags. And if I’m going to be put into a coma that I can’t prevent, I might as well be in my own bed.” The resignation in Twilight’s voice disheartened Rags. Seeing one so great as the princess being brought down so low by the demon’s magic was enough to demoralize even the most stalwart of warriors.

“It’s almost time, Rags. Get ready. Good night… and good luck…” The princess stumbled down the hallway, doing her best at hauling her half-asleep body to her chambers. “Oh, and whatever you do,” she said as she looked back over her shoulder, “don’t go near Luna’s room.” Twilight disappeared out of sight around a corner soon after.

Rags was left alone with the ebbing glow of the sun. He presumed he had about fifteen minutes left before the beginning of his first Canterlot night. He sighed a long shaky sigh. It was one of fear with a hint of understanding. He knew he had to do it. He just didn’t have to like it.

He slipped back inside of his room, a slight tremble in his step. He walked over to the bed and took up the standard-issue sword he’d been given by the royal guards in his teeth. He gave it a few practice swings to make sure he was at least competent enough with the weapon to use it effectively. He imagined if he could see himself from an outside point of view, he’d look about as skillful as a foal pretending to be a pirate. It was strange, but he found himself actually anticipating his training with Prince Shining Armor. He could use some genuine fighting skills, or some form of technique that would not get him killed, anyway.

Desiring to conserve his energy, he stopped practicing and reached for the rest of the gear resting on his bed. A sheath for the sword, pouches and pockets for miscellaneous items, and saddlebags for the larger items. After he’d finished strapping the leather equipment on and slid his blade into its sheath, he stepped into the bathroom and looked himself over in the mirror, chuckling as he got a good look. Wearing the military-grade apparatus, he almost looked like the sort that could handle himself.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

His grin faded as the novel sight of himself in the mirror was overshadowed by his worry. There was nothing more to do now other than wait. Exiting the bathroom, he loaded his pouches and bags, then moved to the door to let the newly installed bar fall into place in its braces and block the barrier.

He observed the clock hanging above the doorway.

8:55

It was finally time.

Rags stared unblinking at the door. He refused to take his eyes off of it. He blinked each eye individually one after the other so that he wouldn’t have to sever eye-contact with it for even a microsecond. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He was in Canterlot, near the very source of all evil itself. There was no telling what would happen.

Little did Rags know that one of those things that could have happened was nothing.

He had been scrutinizing the door for over two hours without any sign of trouble. There was no trace of any sort of supernatural activity. Not even the sounds of creatures rampaging about or awaiting outside of the walls of safety were present. It was dead quiet. This put Rags on the very edge of the edge. Silence was never good for him. It usually meant that they were already upon him. Though, perhaps, it had something to do with what Twilight said earlier.

Rags remembered what she told him about it taking a small amount of time for the Nightmare to find him again. He made a mental note to ask later for some clarification on how exactly the Nightmare “saw” him. He figured that was probably what was happening. The demon merely had yet to locate him and sic its wretches on his diminutive carcass. he preferred to keep it that way for as long as he could. He didn’t wish to make even the slightest noise or move a single muscle, lest he accidentally did something that drew attention to himself. He didn’t know what it was that would draw attention, but better not to test his luck, he decided.

His muscles felt like springs that were coiled too tight. He was more tense than ever. He should have been basking in his wondrous fortune, but he knew better. He knew how the night liked to operate. He was positive that if he let his guard down even for a second, they’d be on him. They would find him. They always had. They always did. They always would.

He stared at the door for another half-hour, listening like a fox for its quarry under the snow. Still nothing. In such crushing quiet, the drop of a pin would sound like the thunderous report of a cannon. He almost felt tempted to sneak the tiniest of peeks outside. Though he sat stock still, his curiosity bounded about. What was taking them so long? Were they already there? Would they brutally rip his head from his body the moment he sneaked a look?

His coat had long since been completely drenched by a torrent of sweat. The leather he wore was made soggy and odd-smelling from the downpour of bodily fluids. His heart beat and shivering breaths were the only audible sounds, and they seemed to Rags as loud as a booming earthquake and raging hurricane. His eyes had become bloodshot and red from the pressure he put them under.

If the monsters didn’t kill him, he would surely suffer some manner of catastrophic bodily shutdown inspired by the tense situation. On one hand he desperately wanted to know what was happening. On the other hand, he pondered the terrible possibility of what could happen if he were wrong and they really were out there.

The latter won out, and he decided to remain in place for a little while longer.

Rags awoke with a start, somehow realizing he was asleep and panicking as he corrected the problem. His spastic eyes darted around, looking hard into every corner, shadow, and space. His heartbeat slowed slightly from its breakneck pace when he discovered that he was alone. He looked down to find that he was still sitting, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting. He harshly scolded himself for nodding off and jeopardizing his safety.

He spared a glance at the clock to deduce how long he had been out of commission. When he noticed the position of the hands, rubbing his eyes to ensure he wasn’t still impaired by sleepiness and reading it wrong.

3:00 A.M.

It was still nighttime. He had been asleep during nighttime for at least four hours. His pulse raced back up as he frantically checked to see if he was alone once more. How could he be so careless? To allow himself to fall asleep during the hours of danger was worse than stupid. A string of gruesome curses passed through his mind has he brutally scolded himself.

Though now, not only had his worry increased, but so did his curiosity. Why haven’t they attacked? It’s three in the morning and I’ve been asleep for hours! They should have been skinning me alive and slow-roasting me over a fire by now! It was true. They were still not present. He swiveled his ears about, honing his hearing and listening for them to affirm his suspicions. Sure enough, nothing. Not a peep. Not a single audible sound whatsoever.

This was not the night he knew. The night he knew was cruel, vicious, unrecognizable, unyielding, but most of all, unrelenting. It never allowed him a moment of peace. He was always at risk at night. Every second was a slog for survival.

This was not.

This was calm. So calm, that it was unsettling to Rags. He hadn’t experienced such tranquility during the night since before it all happened, since when both the days and nights were normal. The thought of being so close to the epicenter of the horrors he’d experienced and not even so much as hearing a single hoofstep outside was beyond disturbing. It almost petrified Rags. What was going on? Where were they at? What could possibly be the reason behind such serenity?

He could withstand the abuse no longer. He needed to see what was going on. He had to know why the Nightmare had stayed its hoof and withheld its abominations. There had to be some sort of explanation. It was stupid, probably a decision that would leave him a crumpled heap just like back in Ponyville. But he had to do it.

Mustering his reserves, he steadily got to his hoofs. Taking incremental steps, he slithered as quietly as he could to the door. He raised the bar slowly and deliberately, holding on to it for dear life lest it slam back down and attract the attention of any nearby creatures. With the speed of an old tortoise and the delicacy of one creeping around a sleeping giant, he creaked open the chamber door, letting in a flood of dull moonlight. He snaked his head through the barely parted doors, pulse throbbing in his ears as he held his breath. When he saw nothing in the immediate vicinity on the left side of the hall, he poked his head through a bit more and looked toward the right side in the same careful fashion.

He discovered that there were no beasts close by. He felt relieved enough to let himself begin taking puny breaths again, but not full breaths. He wasn’t out of the fire yet. He gulped down the lump in his throat as he took a step outside the threshold. He eased outward, attempting to get a better view in as safe a way as possible. When he had gotten far enough out, he looked down the rest of the incredibly long corridor, first to the left side, then to the right. No threats in sight.

Finally, he allowed himself to take full breaths again. He felt safe enough to step completely out into the hallway, though never letting his watchful eyes slack off. He once more looked down towards each end of the lengthy passage. Still no monsters. Now he was more inquisitive than ever. There truly weren’t any wretches about? Why?

The window in the edge of his vision caught his attention. Investigative, he chanced a look outside to see if he could spot anything. The vast expanse of land below that had seemed so beautiful and full of possibility during the day was now an ominous, dark plane of shadow. The moonlight brightly shined above it all, casting a decidedly ghostly glow over the world. While he never saw any monsters or ghouls, he had a sneaking suspicion that they were out there, searching. Ransacking the land in an effort to find their prey. Which made him question why they weren’t upon him already. They always “knew” where he was before, what changed?

With a new wave of curiosity washing over him, and nothing that threatened him around, he made another decision that he was even more unsure about than the last: to stroll through a few other parts of the castle to deduce what was happening.

A mix of wonder and terror brewing within, he began walking.

The humongous halls of the castle provoked confused feelings in Rags. They were imposing in their height, unnerving in the distance that they stretched on for, and haunting in their spacious nature. At the same time, there was a sense of beauty underlying it all. The castle was like nothing he’d ever seen before, like an otherworldly realm. The halls were doused in the dull, silver shine of the moonlight cascading through the windows, illuminating wayward dust that gently danced and weaved through the air. The air was cool and dried his sweat-drenched coat, eliminating his discomfort.

Though the silence was the most deafening he’d ever heard, there was no evident threat that he needed to be worried over. There were still no sounds that would suggest there were creatures about. In fact, there weren’t any sounds that would point to the presence of any living being whatsoever. During his quiet travels through the cavernous corridors, a strange thought popped into his head.

Was it possible that he was currently, until sunrise at least, the last pony in the world? Or maybe even, until any monsters appeared to say otherwise, the last living being in the world? After all, Twilight did say that the Nightmare’s spell had encompassed the world. And without any beasts present, which there certainly would have been by this point were they to show up at all, he could have been the last lifeform in all of Equestira.

The idea evoked conflicted feelings in him. It brought a sense of dread, of fear over what all such a thing implied. Then again, there was a sense of serenity to it. The only creature alive… It almost sounded calming. The surrealism of it was overpowering, giving Rags butterflies in his stomach.

He shook his head clear of such ludicrous proposals. The last living being in the world? Such a phrase was begging for the gods of irony to destroy both it and its creator, Rags thought. It was best he didn’t tempt fate into proving him wrong.

He took notice of something large and black in his peripheral vision. Putting the object directly into his sight provided him with its identity; a giant set of fancy doors. They seemed far larger and twice as gaudy as any of the other doors he passed, begging the question of what they held behind them.

Rags saw no harm in taking a look inside. After all, he’d spent most of the night in total peace, the only stress put on him by his own paranoid mind. He’d managed to sleep for hours without any evil entities taking advantage of it. As far as he could tell, he was alone. With that in mind, he strolled up to the doors -- with no small amount of caution, of course -- and grasped one of the large, golden handles.

After a few tugs he discovered that they weren’t going to be moved with a casual pull. He joined his two front hooves together on the handle, dug his back hooves into the floor, and pulled with a hefty force, slowly prying the heavy barrier open with an unpleasantly loud creak. He stopped when there was a large enough gap for him to work with. He panted and sputtered as quietly as he could, glancing to either side of the hallway to see if the noise had attracted any unruly visitors.

With no foes in sight, he sighed in relief. He felt a small amount of scorn for the accursed door and its perplexingly alluring quality. He hoped that whatever lay behind it was worth the unnecessary risk he took. Although he could not quite figure out why he felt the urge to peek inside. Something about the door was just so… fascinating.

He squeezed his head through the crack, ready to put the inquiry to rest and move on. But what he found inside was not something he would simply be able to brush off.

Past the doors, the doors located in a random hallway a decent distance from the center of the castle, was the throne room. Rags rubbed his eyes and looked again at the oddity before him. His retinas did not deceive him, he was most definitely standing at the threshold of a random door looking into the throne room as if he were entering properly.

Rags was not a resident of the castle, and as such knew next to nothing of the layout of the palace, but he was fairly certain that what he was looking at was not quite right. The location, the direction it faced, the peculiar door -- none of it added up.

Dumbfounded, he wriggled the rest of his body past the door and tread on the magnificent carpet, dark violet in the dim light, stretching up towards the thrones of the goddesses. His eyes wandered about the room, searching it up and down. As he trekked along, he couldn’t help but be stricken once again by the glory of the palace. Perhaps he suffered from culture shock, as he could not help but be floored time and time again by the grandiose nature of the castle.

The expansive throne room was dark, dimly lit by the pale light of the moon drifting in through the stained-glass windows that cast colorful projections of the stories they told unto the floor. Rags recognized some of the tales depicted in the glass murals. Some told of legendary figures such as the great Starswirl the Bearded, others portrayed terrible travesties like the chaotic reign of Discord. Heroes, tyrannical lords, victorious armies and uniting kingdoms, all of it captured within the complex designs and displayed for all to see to remind everyone of what had transpired long ago and what laid the foundation for the land they lived in.

As he neared the thrones, he saw some of the most recent additions to the collection: the exploits of the Elements of Harmony. He saw them all, the defeat of King Sombra, the coronation of Princess Twilight, and finally, the one that sent a chill running up his spine, the defeat of Nightmare Moon.

Rags felt uneasy looking into the window that told her story. Taking in the image filled him with dread, fear, and despair. He found that he couldn’t look away despite these awful feelings. Something about the image compelled him to keep staring. It was as if it emanated some sort of force. It pulsed with unspeakable energy. He could not begin to understand what he was looking at, but he understood that he didn’t like it. Tearing himself away from the awful window, he began trotting back the way he came. He decided that there was no need to linger in the throne room. He wasn’t even sure of why he entered to begin with.

He looked down at his hooves as he traversed the chamber, attempting to expel the rancid emotions from his mind. An explosive boom that reverberated and echoed throughout the great hall snapped him out of his trance. The door he came in through had slammed shut.

Immediately, his body switched gears, turning him from a gawking sightseer into a panicked survivor on the edge. His heart rate skipped several beats and went berserk as his mind began to comprehend what had just occurred. Oh crap. Rendered numb by the panic brought on by the sudden situation, all he could do until his mind rebooted was back up and put as much distance as he could between him and the door.

When his thoughts returned, he spun on his hooves and searched for an alternate way out. He found himself hyperventilating as there were no side doors or back doors he could exit through. Head on a swivel, he noticed that something had changed in the chamber. The light cast through the stained-glass windows onto the floor was no longer composed of soothing blues, pinks and purples, but sickly greens and harsh reds. His eyes bulged in fear as he followed the shafts of newly-colored light back to the source.

The windows that had once held images of the legends of myths of old now depicted horrid atrocities. Plague-ridden bodies, corpses strung up by the neck, unfortunates being ripped limb from limb and devoured by wretches and beasts. All of the terrible acts shown in the windows were being committed upon one stallion; one that bore an uncanny resemblance to Rags.

A slithering, snake-like voice unleashed a great cackle that seemed to come from all directions at once. Every hair on Rags’ body stiffened as he instinctively unsheathed his sword and stood ready. He did his best to suck in air through the teeth that clenched tightly around the hilt of his blade as he wildly searched the room for the one who evidently found his terror amusing. His muscles tensed so greatly that he practically paralyzed himself when the voice stopped laughing and spoke.

“Well hello there, little one. How are you on this fine evening?”

Rags’ skin crawled as the voice spoke to him. It was calm and smooth, but dripped with malice and ill intention. He knew who the speaker was. It was abundantly obvious.

In that moment, he promised himself that if he was alive in the morning, he would treasure every glimmer of sunlight as if it were precious gold.

“What’s wrong, child? Why won’t you speak to me?”

Rags worked his mouth, having no clue on how to approach the situation. He was in the presence of one of the most powerful and heinous entities in Equestria’s history. He would have to calculate every move he made with the utmost precision and care. With his mouth becoming parched, he hesitantly responded. “S-So y-you’re… Nightmare Moon?”

The voice chortled at his trepidation. “I see my reputation precedes me. I don’t believe you’ve given me your name?”

Rags swallowed hard enough to make his throat sore. “You… don’t know who I am?”

“I’m afraid not. Despite what you may think, I have not infiltrated your thoughts. Well, not directly. In fact, I don’t even know what you look like. I’m simply too famished to will such knowledge into my possession. And although I’m sure that those things will soon be corrected, it still means that I have yet to learn anything of you. So perhaps you might enlighten me to the identity of the one who has been sent to slay me?”

Rags felt a twinge of fear as she hissed those last words at him. Thinking quickly, he attempted to defuse her ire before it blossomed into something more dangerous. “W-What!? Slay you!? No, no, no, I wasn’t-- I-- I haven’t been-- nobody-- no one said anything about killing anybody! I, erm, just… am here to clean the dishes! That’s right! I’m the castle’s new dishwasher!”

Rags felt comfortable in the lie he crafted, feeling it was sure to avoid any possible rage from the demon, but upon hearing the boisterous guffaw of the awful voice, he found that it might have backfired on him.

“A dishwasher!? A feeble dishwasher!? That is who has been exempt from my magic!? That is all that stands between me and total control?! HAHAHA! ‘Tis comical! Thou must speak in jest!”

Rags wouldn’t have put it past himself to release the contents of his bowels in this moment.

“Oh, you poor little soul, I almost feel pity for you. I could hardly imagine the unbridled terror a peon like you must be experiencing in the face of such greatness. Maybe if you were to come to my chambers and grovel at the hooves of your beloved princess’s sickly form, I might consider making your demise somewhat less torturous than it will be.”

“Well. uh… t-thank you for the offer, but I’m pretty shy, so, uh, I don’t think I’ll be joining you in your room.”

“Ah, why not, little one? I promise not to bite.”

Rags shivered, unnerved by her tone that did not match her intentions.

“Come now, do not be coy. We simply must be properly acquainted. As it stands, all I know of you is your breath.”

“My… breath?” Rags squeaked breathlessly.

“Yes… I caught your scent during my little stroll this afternoon. Though, I sadly did not manage to glimpse your face in all of the excitement. Oh… what a sweet smell it was. The confusion, the uncertainty, the fear. How I crave more of it. I wish to behold your form. Sadly, I am unable to see through my will, as of yet. Even to merely speak to you I needed to craft an illusion in which to focus my energies and finally exchange words with you.”

Rags’ heart nearly stopped when he realized what she meant. The throne room, that was so severely out of place and instilled him with such wrong feelings, was a trap. A conjuration by the evil deity. He cursed himself for not trusting his instincts, for allowing himself to be completely enveloped in a false sense of security. He knew better. And so did she. She was clever, lulling him into a state of serenity and exploiting his curiosity. He was duped, plain and simple. And he would pay for it.

“Fear not, cleaner. For soon, my strength will return to me, and there will be nothing keeping me from you. Until then, it seems as though we will have to meet on a more… personal basis.”

Rags remembered what Twilight said. Stay away from Luna’s room. He was beginning to get a sense of what would happen if he were to pay her a ‘visit.’ She seemed very determined to get close to him. He knew that he would have to avoid an event like that at all costs. “I’m going to have to decline, Your Malevolence,” Rags meeped with a very fake politeness. “I’ve got, uhm… things to do, and… stuff to clean, so… I think I’ll just be on my way--”

“I insist. Come to me, little one.”

Rags heard an unlocking sound and turned to see the door he came through had opened. Slowly, the doors creaked apart, revealing a room radiating with a hellish red luminescence. From the distance at which he stood from it, he could barely make out what appeared to be an empty bed within. Rags’ trembling was now greater than ever, and his eyes widened in fright. He shook his head vigorously, mumbling out incoherent syllables as he began backing away.

“Come to me…”

Something shifted and moved around the frame of the door. An inky blackness oozed forth from around the threshold. It was as if the shadows themselves had come to life. They expanded and reached, spreading like a rash across the walls and floors in his direction. Rags backpedaled at a greater pace, teeth gnashed in horror. Vine-like shapes sprouted from the amorphous conglomerate of two-dimensional blackness. Like whips, they lashed out with great speed at him.

“COME TO ME!”

Rags fell backwards and howled as the tendrils were almost instantaneously upon him. But before they could get a hold of him, A split-second flash of light filled the fake throne room, and the disembodied voice roared in agony. The shadows dispersed and the door ahead of him slammed shut.

“AHHH! WHORE!” The voice bellowed furiously as the room began to tremble thunderously.

Rags was consumed by confusion, baffled and frightened, unknowing of what action to take next. Sections of the ceiling began to give way and crumble, coming down around Rags, who stood paralyzed with shock.

A blinding light flared to life in his peripheral vision, forcing him to wince away and cover his eyes. When the intensity ebbed, he could make out a door in the place where the thrones once were, shimmering white light poking through under and around the door.

He stared awestruck at the warm, inviting glow, coming to his senses when a large chunk of stone crashed beside him. All of his instincts screamed at him to simply escape, and seeing no other alternative than the two doors, he picked the one that had not tried to drag him into an evil place.

Seeing that a large slab of the ceiling was preparing to detach right above his head, Rags decided that it was time for action. He shoved off from his position just in time to avoid being crushed. The boom of several tons of material colliding with the floor behind him gave him more motivation than he needed to exit the unstable chamber. Swerving left and right, he dodged descending rubble to the best of his abilities, trying to do split-second predictions on the falling debris.

As he neared the door, seconds away from salvation, the Nightmare screeched in rage. “NOOO!”

Every window in the throne room erupted into a cloud of broken shards that began to swirl around. One by one, the broken glass was unnaturally thrown at Rags, the spear-like pieces intended to impale him. Rags pumped his legs even harder, sprinting with all of his might as several of the projectiles nearly struck bull's-eye, just barely making glancing hits. He could feel warmth trickling down his body already.

The door began to part on its own as Rags neared. With but a few steps to go, he hurled himself at the exit in a fit of desperation. Time seemed to slow as he soared through the air. The roof had completely given way a few paces before he jumped, leaving only a few feet of space between Rags and a crushing death. For a fraction of an instant, as he raced the rubble to his safety, he thought he saw someone standing beside the door, as if waiting for him.

All at once, Rags landed on a rug in a dark hallway beyond the door as a horrific, stabbing pain shot through his leg and the concussive wave from the great impact of falling stone forcefully sealing the threshold washed over him.

The dust settled around him as he found himself completely out of breath, coughing and gagging in an attempt to amend the problem. His sight soon returned to him, as did his breath. Disoriented and befuddled, he tried standing up to ready himself for any more danger only to find one of his legs was numb and unresponsive. He cringed as he pondered what that could have meant.

He was forced to fight himself over whether or not to spare a look at his hind leg, fearful of what he might discover. When he worked up enough courage, he glanced back, sucking in air through his teeth as he saw it.’

His left hind leg had been run through with a long, stained-glass shard. Strangely, he could hardly feel it. He figured he was still too shot full of adrenaline, and that the pain would catch up with him in a minute. It made him sick to look at it.

For a moment, he wanted to break down and cry. He was wounded and the Nightmare was angry. There wasn’t any way for him to make it at this point. Within minutes, her creatures would be upon him. But just as his mind began to race with all the possible ways they could kill him, he took notice of a window at the end of the hall ahead of him. Beyond it was something that caught his attention: the twilight forming on the horizon. Suddenly, he recalled the time.

He was hardly two and a half hours from daybreak by the time he began exploring the dark castle. He couldn’t remember how long he’d spent roaming. In fact, he couldn’t remember what he was doing before he stumbled into the trap. He remembered walking the halls, but why? What had gotten into him? His mind was hazy, unable to think straight. Rags decided it was the blood loss getting to him. The shard was lodged in a way that prevented open bleeding, but that didn’t stop his veins from trying.

Whatever had happened, the most important thing was that the sun was close to rising. Or at least, what he thought was the sun? The workings of the magic were over his head. Perhaps he could ask the princess to explain further, but for the time being, he only needed to focus on the fact that the sun, or whatever it was, was coming up soon.

He forced himself to stand, his hind leg hindering his efforts. Settling for a limp, he shambled forward, meaning to put distance between himself and whatever was behind him. As he neared the end of the corridor, almost ready to turn the corner and try and find his way back to his reinforced room, he felt the floors shake.

A rumbling sound arose from behind him. Apprehensively, he turned to see the rubble sealing the door shifting. For a few tense moments, he watched in fear, not knowing what to do. One of his legs was useless, he wouldn’t be able to escape. Soon, it seemed he wouldn’t need to. The shaking stopped and the stone came to rest, no threats apparent.

Never letting the breath caught in his throat out, he quietly hobbled around the corner, keeping an eye on the debris as he did. Once he rounded, he put all the strength remaining within him into limping as quickly as he could away. After a solid two minutes of faltering, his gimpy leg regained feeling, and did not hesitate in letting him know that he needed medical attention.

Clenching his teeth in a vain effort at fighting off the excruciating pain, he tried to think of a way to handle the problem. Okay… ow… let’s think for a second. Where would a big, fancy castle keep its medicine? They would only have the best of the best--AHH!... For the princesses. So… that really stings--THAT really stings… where do they keep it?

Rags stopped in the middle of an intersection of hallways, blood pouring more freely from around the glass now and staining the priceless rug with red splotches. His head felt light and the outer edge of his vision was beginning to become blurry. He turned to each hall, not quite sure of what he was looking for. A big red cross painted on a door? He wasn’t sure of what he was expecting. Even if it were that obvious, he wouldn’t find it in the foreign, labyrinthinian layout of the castle. The worst of it was that the situation could have easily been diverted if he had only used his head and packed some first-aid supplies into one of his many pouches.

He wobbled a bit from the dizziness and struggled to stay upright. A thought crept into his consciousness. A terrible thought that shook him to the core. He felt like letting himself collapse right then and there out of a mixture of anger, despair, and awful realization.

This, the maze-like halls that he lost himself in, the painful wounds hindering him, not knowing what he was supposed to do or look for---it was an identical situation to the one in the hospital he had experienced all those months ago, just a few days after the first night. That was the time when he truly grasped the magnitude of his predicament, when he entered this new stage of life. That was when he was no longer himself. That was the beginning of his near-demise

He spared a look back at his grotesque injury. It seemed as though that old saying was true: history repeats itself. How long until the loop was completed? How long until everything came full-circle? He tried to sit down to rest, but was denied by an atrocious twang of agony offered by his crippled leg.

He put together a narrative of how the following several months would play out in his head: first he would experience pure terror, which would put him in the survival mindset. Then he would establish a routine, one that he would get stuck in for what seemed like an eternity. In the monotony and fear, his mind would begin to wander and he would lose sight of his goal. He would fall into despondency, and soon after, insanity. Finally, at the height of his anguish, the evil would easily deliver the killing blow, putting an end to his misery.

It was only a matter of time until the pattern repeated, only this time, he would know what stood to be lost; everything. Not just his own pathetic life, but the lives of all souls. All in creation was at risk, and his inevitable failure would lead to total annihilation. The Nightmare would win, eternal night would blanket the world, evil would rule.

He sighed dejectedly as he stood in the lonely hallway, already beginning to ponder his purpose. What was he going to do? This was the end of the line. His last stop in life would be Canterlot. The vicious cycle would repeat, only the second time would end in a more permanent fashion. He would do nobody any good. The world would soon meet its end because it was forced to depend on him.

His brow furrowed as he considered it. The world depended on him… the world. All in existence was at risk, and it would all be destroyed because of his moping? It hardly seemed fair for the decision of whether or not everyone who lived in the land would die to be dependent on his actions. Who was he to fight for everybody? He was weak, in more ways than just physically. How could he accomplish such a task?

He sensed a presence, feeling as though he were being watched. He scrutinized the shadows around him, the shadows that drowned the halls, the ceilings, and every corner. It was almost as if they were moving, but he couldn’t focus on them, like they were hiding in his blind-spots.

What was he fighting for? Even if he had a chance, what awaited him after success? The life he knew was long gone, and any semblance of normalcy that he could assume after all was said and done would still be tainted by his recollection of what he had been through. Nothing good waited for him on the other side of the dark journey. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for him.

He couldn’t handle what life had thrown at him. He was too weak and he let it destroy any hope he had. He asked himself why he even said yes to the princess and instilled them all with false hopes. They believed he would succeed, that he would save them all… He had given them a light at the end of the tunnel.

The shadows crept off the walls and whispered, threatening and berating him. They crawled around him, decrying his weakness, his uselessness, his fear. A explosive smashing sound resonated from somewhere in the dark halls around him, followed shortly after by earth-shaking stomping. He spun around, looking in all directions, sweating profusely. Something large was coming.

His mind held firmly onto the notion. He gave them hope… Hope that he himself didn’t possess. Even for the whole of the nation, the general population that still had no idea what was in store for the land, he was their hope, in a way. The dark hole forming in his heart ceased its expansion. Maybe… it was meant to be? Maybe this was his intended purpose all along? He had nothing, had never achieved anything, had never made anything of himself. Perhaps this madness was what was intended to fill that void? To act as his purpose. He was hopeless, but why should that mean everyone else should have been deprived of hope as well?

He felt warm inside, like a spark had started a tiny fire in his soul. It was all true, he told himself. He had nothing, no goals, no purpose, no future. But maybe this was his chance to change all that. He had been given an opportunity to truly give purpose to his life. To ensure that everyone else was given the chances that he squandered, that they all had a future.

He had to carry on.

The stomping drew closer and closer, Rags’ eyes frantically keeping a look out for the incoming threat. He swerved around, unable to pinpoint the noise. The vibrating steps ceased finally as they were upon him, leaving him in sudden, deafening silence. His ears perked as he listened intensely for anything. To the extent of his awareness, he was alone. No one and nothing around except for him and his long shadow cast by the moonlight shining down through the windows at the end of one of the halls. His shadow… that seemed to be experiencing exponential growth… and sprouting a pair of horns...

Eyes widening in revelation, he turned around to find an old associate had returned. Standing at the end of the corridor, its massive form silhouetted by the moon, was the titanic, minotaur abomination that had effectively murdered him the night before.

The hooded beast made not a single sound as it reached over its shoulder to grasp the hilt of its massive black axe. It unsheathed the blood-spattered weapon and let its blade drop to the floor with a resounding thud. It lurched forward, axe dragging on the floor behind it, creating a terrible scraping sound. It looked as if it could hardly support its own weight.

Rags grunted as he unstuck himself from his fear-induced paralysis and attempted to turn and run. He cried out and fell onto his face as a cracking sound in his leg accompanied a shot of anguish. He desperately tried to claw forth as fast as he could, finding that he just couldn’t bring himself to give in anymore. The thoughts of his weakness were beginning to dissipate. The will to push forward was steadily growing. Before it was debatable, but now he was positive. He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t allow himself to look back, focusing only on escaping. The screeching of blade on marble gained on him, Rags’ rather pitiful attempt at fleeing not nearly providing enough speed to do so. As the gigantic shadow loomed over him, he tried to refrain from paying any attention to it. His slow crawl came to a stop when a massive weight savagely stomped into the back of his good hind leg, easily crushing the bones within with a strident crunch.

Rags howled from the ferocious pain. His hooves stung from how hard he pressed them into the floor and his teeth nearly cracked from how hard he clenched them together. He tried to pull himself away, making no progress and hearing more cracks as he painfully tugged on the destroyed leg held firmly under the minotaur’s sizable hoof.

He gasped for breath after his screams of torment took everything out of him, whimpers escaping in between inhales. The sound of scraping metal returned for a split second, halting as something pressed against the side of his head. He wrenched his eyes open long enough to see his bloodshot reflection in the blade of the beast’s axe as it rested beside him. Slowly, it raised off the floor, out of sight somewhere above him.

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next. The rustling of rusty chains suggested the monster was preparing to strike, true to its executioner-like appearance. Rags let his head fall to the floor. He failed again. Twice he’d been felled in a most painful way, by the same abomination no less. He was beginning to dislike this executioner.

He growled in both agony and anger, resentment for several different things, the minotaur, the Nightmare, and himself among them, boiling inside. Refusing to allow it to end after he had just found new strength, he called upon his failing muscles. He grunted as he struggled to raise himself with his trembling forelegs. He wouldn’t let himself die a squealing foal.

He was stopped in his moment of stirring determination by a large object smashing into the floor to his side forcefully enough to create cracks in the marble. He turned his head as well as he could to see that the minotaur had been forced down on a knee and propped itself up with its axe. Jets of steam sizzled off its muscular body and a foul burning stench pierced Rags’ nostrils.

Without warning, the beast launched itself forward, the sudden pressure being lifted off Rags’ destroyed leg sending new waves of pain up his body. It barely missed his head as it stomped past, fleeing down the hall with its weapon gripped in both hands for a quick escape. Its hulking form vanished into what was left of the quickly dissipating darkness.

Rags let his woozy head fall to the ground and took a deep breath. He had effectively forgotten about the approaching sunrise.

He had no idea how long he lay there for, though it was apparently long enough for the sunrise to slowly but surely flood the halls around him with steadily intensifying sunlight. It seemed like a miracle to him that he was still conscious for what surely had to have been half an hour. The horrific pain in his legs yielded after a while, probably due to his lack of movement and probably a bad sign.

He would have chuckled at his luck had his lungs not been pushed to their breaking point. How could he experience such misfortune one moment, then be saved by an incredible stroke of fate the next? He was much too tired to ruminate on the subject, but he settled on the answer being that it wasn’t good luck that saved him at all, but more bad luck. Were it good luck, his troubles would be lessened, but instead he was merely denied a quick end and allowed to wallow in his pain.

He figured there wasn’t much for him to do except to wait, either for someone just waking up from the sleep to come across his beaten and broken form, or for the death that hung over his head, ready to pounce were he not to receive attention. He had neither the strength to go on nor the foggiest idea of how to help himself. So, he waited.

He didn’t think about anything in particular as he lay awake. He merely gazed into space as he waited, giving passing thoughts to this and that. He thought about Nougat and how confused his poor friend must have been to have awoken to an obliterated home, blood on the walls and floor, and a missing best friend. He thought about his lacking love life, how ever since he could remember he was alone while others around him found happiness with significant others. Then he remembered that he didn’t care about that sort of thing. He thought about the princesses and how they showed him such kindness, made him feel like a welcomed guest instead of a living weapon.

His mind anchored to that thought as it passed in the stormy sea of confusion. It must have been so difficult, what they were going through. When he arrived, he saw nothing but sadness on their faces, especially with Celestia. He had more than his fair share of problems, and he knew a thing or two about pain, but he couldn’t imagine the sort of pain that she was experiencing. Her dear sister, the other half of the Goddess Sisters that ruled over the land, lost to an unspeakable evil.

It almost made him want to get back into the fight as soon as he could. To save his princess and her beloved sister from the jaws of evil. Though, if the fight would be anything like what had put him in his current state, then he figured he didn’t want any part of it. Not that he had a choice.

Thinking of one goddess, he naturally thought of the other. Luna. Poor girl, Rags thought. What if she were awake inside of her controlled body? What if she was being tortured within the confounds of her own psyche by that foul thing and unable to call for help? Was she even there anymore? Had the Nightmare done away with her completely? It didn’t seem too crazy a theory to him. What with Princess Twilight herself admitting that she was useless against the possession, what more could anyone do? What could he do…

His mind wandered, thinking of his last encounter with his other. Its accursed question echoed in his mind. Why bet a billion on one? What did it mean? Rags was no gambler, but even he could see the obvious answer to such a seemingly obvious question. Betting a billion on one meant going all in, risking everything on just one, of which that one would cost everything should the chances be too great. It sounded like a stupid idea to Rags.

His eyes widened slightly as he pieced the puzzle together. Knowing the Other, Rags deduced that it wasn’t about gambling in poker or roulette, it was about gambling with the lives of all who lived in Equestria on his own life. The dishwasher hardly needed a reminder as to what stood to happen should he fail. The thought of every single life in the world resting in his hooves was still too surreal for him to grasp.

As for the why, it wasn’t really a topic open for debate. He was the only one who could do anything, plain and simple. There weren’t any other options. The answer to the question seemed crystal clear. Why bet a billion on one? Because the billion doesn’t have a choice.

But that wasn’t all there was to it. The Other’s words felt disingenuous, conniving. The riddle wasn’t referring to the painfully obvious state of things, it was meant to get him thinking about something else. There was something heinous this question was meant to bring about.

Rags was only vaguely aware of the bloodcurdling screams of a mare and the shattering of dishes. He could scarcely tell what was real and what was a dream anymore. He thought he was awake, thought he had been for several hours. Or maybe it was minutes. At one point, he was sure the night had come again and that he’d been awake for the duration of the day. As it turned out, he had merely shut his eyes. But he didn’t sleep.

He was only vaguely aware of the sounds of many panicked voices around him. His mind had repeated the Other’s question ad nauseam, at first attempting to decode it for he had nothing better to do, then keeping it at the forefront of his mind to keep his thoughts from wandering. He discovered that if he didn’t think about something as he lay there, the whispering shadows returned and laughed at him.

He was only vaguely aware of hurried, yet, careful hooves touching his body. He couldn’t tell if he was looking through his eyes or at a memory, but he could see a fuzzy vision of a hallway. He was growing to despise hallways. There stood something at the end. Neither normal pony nor creature. It only watched. He felt ambivalent towards it. He didn’t know why. He was simply indifferent to whatever it was or intended to do.

He was only vaguely aware of the liquid seeping down his throat. That was until everything began to tingle all over. His skin tickled and felt loose, as if it were crawling or shifting. Then he began to feel warm, like a cloud of steam had come to settle over him. The heat increased, his body becoming hotter and hotter. Soon, everything was burning. His flesh felt as if it were being singed off his bones. It felt like he were at the center of a raging inferno.

A surge of energy and adrenaline shot through Rags like a lightning bolt from the heavens. A terrible stinging pain, like someone were shoving red-hot needles into his legs, came with the returning sensation of touch. His mind reeled from the newfound vigor and pain flooding in all at once and forced his body into sudden motion.

“OH GODS, MAKE IT STOP! BUCKING BALLS, IT BUUURNS!” Rags hollered as he sprung upwards and stumbled excitedly about like a belligerent drunk. The revitalized dishwasher was stopped in his mad caprice by a wall that had stepped in to calm him down.

As he laid on his back, stars in his vision and blood trickling from his nostrils, two figures came to loom over him, one purple and one dark. “Wow, this stuff works better than we thought it would. I’m gonna go tell the boys to make about a dozen more batches,” he heard the dark figure say.

“Don’t go crazy just yet. We still need to run more tests on it,” the purple one replied.

“Don’t mind me, just suffering from a concussion,” Rags moaned.

The dark figure leaned over him and revealed a flask, tipping it over his mouth and letting a small bit of liquid spill in. Instantly, the burning sensation returned, and after a few fierce seconds of searing, everything that was formerly causing him pain no longer bothered him.

Like a newborn, he wobbled as he attempted to stand, leaning against the offending wall for support. After taking a moment to collect himself, he turned to face the figures he awoke to, finding Princess Twilight, the hooded mare from before, and a handful of royal guards and medical personnel who chattered amongst themselves as they stood around a massive puddle of drying blood on the floor.

“I would ask how it went,” the princess started, “but I’ve got a pretty good guess.” She glanced at the fluids on the floor behind her.

“I’m gonna say it was bad,” the hooded mare spoke. “I didn’t even know bones could do that--”

The princess cleared her throat, the mare catching the hint.

“Yeah, that whole night was… something I could have done without,” Rags said quietly, his mind trailing off. He went over the new memories he’d gained from the previous night, in particular his little talk with the Nightmare. He remembered how powerless he felt in that instant, how weak and insignificant he was. He nearly died… again. But the worst of it hadn’t even dawned on him yet. He realized something, something shocking and grisly: that was just the first night. That was as easy as it was going to get.

He tried to hold it back, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the princess and her servants, but there was no stopping it. A choked sob escaped Rags’ throat, and he placed both hooves on his forehead. He fell against the wall and slid down to the floor as his tearless cries continued.

Only now had it been revealed, how puny and infinitesimal he was in it all. He had not truly grasped the enormity of what was happening. He had heard their words, heard them say how much hell he was in for, but their words did not even begin to describe the reality of it. After experiencing it, getting a taste of what he was in for…

The princess and her hooded assistant gave each other worried glances. Hesitantly, Twilight reached out to Rags and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Do you… need anything?”

Rags breathed heavily for a moment. “I… just… I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Twilight looked at him with pity, waiting for him to become calmer. For a long while they all stared at him, and soon his breathing quieted and he sat in solemn silence. The princess opened her mouth to say something to him, but was immediately interrupted.

“Wait,” Rags grumbled. “Wait… there is something you can do for me…”

“Yes?” Twilight asked softly.

“Please go tell Prince Shining Armor that I’m ready to start training. And please grab me about two dozen more bottles of that stuff you gave me.” He groaned as he slowly rose off the floor and steadied himself on his hooves.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m just a little bit livid, is all.”