A unicorn stood chained to a pillar, his eyes wide with terror, his body paralysed with fear and magic. Not that his body was real, he was dead. His body was merely a representation of what he once was, a unicorn, and a means for him to be tormented during his long and uncomfortable afterlife.

Rookwood allowed his shadow tendrils to travel deeper up the unicorn’s nostrils, causing a piercing shriek to come out of the unicorn’s gibbering lips.

“I want to know more,” said Rookwood, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “I already know more, but I want to hear you say it,” Rookwood demanded.

“We can make this feel like it will go on forever,” said Violet, peering up at her murderer and rapist. “I really wouldn’t mind if it went on forever. No amount of pain you suffer will ever compare to what you took from me,” the small undead foal said, her one good eye filled with an unspoken furious rage.

“Well, I do not know, and I want to know,” Luna demanded, her voice every bit as cold as Rookwood’s. “Tartarus might be an odd place to honeymoon, but I am beginning to see the appeal. Rookwood, be a dear and make him think about what he’s done,” commanded Luna.

A tendril moved, snaking its way in between an eyeball and an eyelid…

The unicorn made new and interesting sounds that were beyond Luna’s abilities to describe. Her face was cold and angry, her eyes were narrowed and fierce.

Rookwood relaxed his will, allowing the unicorn a moment of respite.

“There were six of us. Six of us in total. We did the ritual. We all took part in some way. I provided Violet and I corrupted her to make her a fitting sacrifice, and I am so, so sorry…” the unicorn whimpered.

“I do not yet believe you,” replied Rookwood callously. He flexed his will briefly, letting the unicorn know exactly what he thought about the unicorn’s apology.

“RAAAAAAAAAuuuuuurgh… oh please, I’ll tell you everything… The unicorn that calls himself Gibbous Moon did the research. He found the old book. He found the tomb. He… uh, he traveled across the sea to the old pony lands and found the tomb and there was a book and he was the only one who could read it, Nightmare Moon taught him how to read the old language in dreams. She favoured him,” the unicorn sobbed, his eyes pleading with Rookwood to make the torment end.

“So there are five ponies left to hunt down and then drag to Tartarus,” commented Luna, looking thoughtful.

“There is also Harvest Moon…” the unicorn offered helpfully. “He’s a lunar pegasus who is cursed with sanguine shadow, he provided the shadow essence needed for the ceremony. He comes from the land by the southern ice shelf.”

“A vampire,” mused Luna.

“Yes,” the unicorn said, trembling.

Rookwood’s tendrils lazily began to dance along the unicorn’s back, splitting, forming new tendrils, prowling along the surface of constructed flesh. The unicorn whimpered pitifully.

“I’ve been cooperative,” the unicorn pleaded.

“I know,” said Rookwood, as his tendrils viciously sank in under the flesh of the chained unicorn and began to slither around under the surface of the unicorn’s flesh. After a few moments of squirming around under the skin, the tendrils jerked and a large section of skin slowly began to be peeled away, revealing muscle and fat below. “I’m sure that Violet tried to cooperate with you as well,” said Rookwood, his voice lacking any sense of regard.

The unicorn’s screams filled the cavern, echoing off of the basalt walls.

New tendrils formed, shadow behaving so much like a hydra, and began to make their way along the unicorn’s hindquarters. The screams became piercing as the first tendril found its way into the unicorn’s clenching anus. Rookwood probed, not delicately, forcing other tendrils in, as he continued to peel skin from the unicorn’s back.

“How does it feel?” asked Violet, blinking slowly, watching with a great deal of fascination, her little wings fluttering with unbridled excitement.

Rookwood’s shadow essence gave a yank and several feet of intestine were pulled from the unicorn’s backside. The unicorn fell, hanging from his chains, screaming and sobbing, his eyes wide with pain and terror, his whole body convulsing. More skin slowly tore free from the unicorn’s back.

“I am no tormentor, but Hades insists that I am gifted,” Rookwood announced, a faint hint of pride present in his voice, the only emotion he had really shown so far.

“CRESCENT MOON!” the unicorn screamed. “Founder of the horn of Nightmare Moon, from her first host body. He took it from the zebras…” The unicorn panted, his barrel heaving, and then began to scream again as more intestinal length was pulled, not gently, from his backside. A large section of skin tore free and was carelessly thrown down to the stone floor.

Rookwood’s tendrils began to creep and crawl over the unicorn’s scrotum, slowly, edging over the cold lifeless flesh, flesh that was no more than the common clay of Tartarus, a means to an end, a means to cause pain and torment. The tendrils began to snake around the unicorn’s sheath.

“Lenton Moon, Lenton Moon found the Temple of Nightmare Moon, in the Endless Rot, the swamps far to the east of the Forevergreen jungles where the dragons live,”

The tendrils continued their teasing, one of them finding an opening to wiggle inside of.

“Long Night Moon, who keeps the cultists under control…. no no NO!” The unicorn’s pleading cries turned to screams of anguish as his gentinals were slowly torn away from his body, like the tearing of paper, slowly and deliberately. They made a terrible wet ripping sound as they were torn away.

“The best part is, all of this will grow back, and we will do this again,” promised Rookwood, smiling faintly.

Violet nodded, her face full of satisfaction.

Luna looked thoughtful, now having names to begin the hunt. A worldwide hunt. It was bound to be troubling and difficult. Luna was certain that her lunar pegasi were up for a worldwide tour however. Luna turned, hearing hooves clattering over stone, and saw a two headed skeletal pony trotting up beside them.

“So this has become a family affair?” questioned Death, both voices in unison.

“Yes,” answered Luna, looking at the skeletal pony, her bearing regal, her head high.

Rookwood pulled in his shadow essence, then turned and regarded his master.

“There has been much talk about the Reaper of Donkeys proposition,” said the Accuser.

“Yes, very intriguing,” agreed the Defender.

“He’s quite talented for being so new to the job, isn’t he? Death asked the unicorn, both voices filled with casual disinterest. Death turned his attention to Rookwood, something seemed amused in his bony faces.

“Anyway, Hades has agreed to the Reaper of Donkeys proposition, but only on one condition. You are to hunt down at least one of Violet’s tormentors and return with them to Tartarus before you are given a your new title. You are going to have to be creative and clever. You may have help, but you are limited to whatever you can do in the realms of the living with your current abilities. After you receive your title,, it should be much easier to manifest physically in the realms of the living. You might even be able to bed your lovely bride and feel her warmth,” said Death, his tone enticing.

Luna blushed and batted her eyelids in a heated manner.

“It must be torment to know that down here you have flesh but that it is cold and lifeless,” Death said, both voices sounding genuinely sad. “Also, Rookwood, have your tendrils dig into the flesh and work their way into the hip sockets. Slowly popping them out is quite painful,” said Death, the Accuser once again looking at the whimpering unicorn, his face seeming somewhat annoyed.

“Thank you Death, I shall take your wise words and thoughtful gift into consideration,” replied Rookwood, his tone reverent and respectful, almost as though he was speaking to a father.

“Waxing Moon’s tormentors grow antsy, you’ve kept them from their task. I dare say one of them might be slightly peeved with you,” Death commented, sounding almost bored.

Waxing Moon began to sob, his body now whole again, untouched and unblemished. Rookwood reached out and tickled Waxing Moon’s nostril with a tendril. “Soon, you will open up to me and answer my questions without requiring me to ask them,” Rookwood promised, his tone an infernal hiss. “You will spill every secret of your soul at the very sight of me,” he added with a demonic growl.

Luna’s wings fluttered, her feathers now ruffled. She looked flustered.

Guests were becoming entirely to common in the castle. It was becoming troubling. First the wedding, and now this. The day had been going very much like any other. Celestia was in her throneroom, holding court during the noontime hours, looking at the long line of ponies and other creatures wanting a word with her. It was a good day to get things done. Winter was thawing, spring was beginning to bloom, Luna was happy, Celestia was starting to feel good about life again...

And then, he appeared.

With an alarming clatter of bones and a burst of blue fire, a one hundred foot long collection of mismatched bones appeared in Celestia’s throneroom.

Celestia was so very thankful that Hades was not wearing his meatsuit.

Hades stood there, waiting, saying nothing, looking at the long line of ponies waiting to see Celestia. He bowed deeply to Celestia, and then to the guards, and then thumbed his nose at the pony standing first in line, using his thumb talon.

The pony first in line fainted dead away.

“Hades,” said Celestia patiently, “what are you doing here?”

“Visiting family,” replied Hades absentmindedly.

“We are not family,” sighed Celestia, leaning on the padded arm of her throne and taking a deep breath, trying to keep her good temper.

“Sure we are. Rookwood is very much like a son to me. He married your sister. That makes Luna my daughter in law… And you, well, it makes you something to alleviate my boredom,” explained Hades, tapping on his skull with a claw.

“Hades, I have an empire to run,” Celestia said in a quiet voice.

“I know, I thought I’d drop by and give you moral support,” said Hades. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave, you won’t even know I am here,” promised Hades. He settled his bony backside to the ground, and then eased his long bony body down to the floor, curling in a half circle around Celestia’s throne.

Celestia heaved a sigh of frustration and gestured for somepony to come forward.

A very nervous looking stallion came forward, his eyes wide, full of terror, his lips pulled away from his teeth, looking at Hades’ skull resting nearby.

“I, uh, your Majesty, we of the Fiscal Responsibility Department feel that too much money is being spent on the arts. Now is a time for a little financial austerity,” urged the stallion nervously.

Several of Hades’ bones twitched.

“The Crown has a promise to keep, to equally match every bit donated to fund the arts,” Celestia commented, an almost imperceptible hint of frustration in her voice.

“That may be true, but at the time that promise was made, there was no indicator that the public outpouring of funds would be so tremendous,” replied the stallion.

“I will not break this promise,” Celestia said defiantly.

“You know,” muttered Hades, “we have a special place in Tartarus for accountants and bureaucrats. No matter how much they try, the ledgers never quite come out perfectly. Oh, and we torture them in all of the other more common ways as well. We have our own bureaucrats, and they’re sticklers for spiritual accountability. I wonder, if I were to check your ledger, if your numbers would add up?”

The stallion gulped.

Celestia bit her lip, torn between angrily lecturing Hades and laughing riotously.

“What kind of maggot-bait intentionally lowers funding to the arts?” asked Hades angrily. “The politics of the world of the living disgust me. Just wait until you are standing in line in one of my courts you officious little prick, I’ll remember you,” promised Hades.

The stallion fainted dead away, a pile of papers spilling from his clipboard.

Celestia forced her face to go stony as she called forth the next applicant.