"I'm back."

White Quill looked over her shoulder at the pony who'd spoken. The earth pony Old Iron may have been getting on in years, but he was solidly built, and impressively bearded. Twenty years the unicorn's senior, his coat was gray, and his mane, beard, and tail a rust red, although most of his body was covered by a heavy jacket to keep out the chill of the frozen north. He was also the only other pony for miles, and the unicorn scholar was lucky enough to have anyone else with her on what most ponies would consider a fool's errand.

Chasing a legend, one older than Equestria itself.

"Have our guides changed their minds yet?" the white unicorn asked as she turned back towards the structure ahead.

Old Iron stated, flatly, "No. I didn't expect them to: The yaks are many things, and traditionalists is chief among them. That thing ahead is considered cursed, forbidden, and dangerous. There isn't enough money in the world to convince them to come any closer, let alone what we've paid them. They won't come within ten miles of it. They said they'll wait where they are for three days, but after that, they'll be turning back, with or without us." After a moment, he added, "Can't say I blame them. That... thing gives me a bad feeling, even from this far off."

White Quill pulled out her binoculars, and studied the object again. You couldn't consider it a castle, fortress, or palace, as that would imply it looked pony-made. Instead, it seemed more like a rock formation that happened to have formed in a vaguely building-like shape. A building of black crystals, shot through with veins of red, it stood out in the ice and snow that surrounded it. It was sitting out here as far north as a pony could go before they would start going south again

'Black as night, red as blood, a fortress at world's end, stay well away from this foul place, you'll surely die my friend.' Just like in the legends. The place where the hero did battle against the First Evil, or at least so she hoped. It looked deserted, although the glowing red veins of those black stones implied that something might still reside there...

And the chill that ran down her spine every time she looked at it told her that, even now, this was not a place for any being who treasured their life.

But she couldn't just turn back now: She'd staked her entire career as a scholar on being able to find this place. If she left now, she'd be a laughingstock. The legend of the hero who slew the first evil was perhaps the oldest legend, predating Equestria, and possibly even the first Equine civilizations. Everypony dismissed it as a fairy tale, like the legend of Gusty the Great's battle against Grogar. Presenting evidence, indisputable proof that the legend was true, would make White Quill the most lauded archaeologist on the planet. She'd need to get closer, so she could take photos, maybe find a relic or two to bring back...

Quickly in, and quickly out: What could possibly go wrong?

Little did she know that those five words were etched into thousands of tombstones the world over.

White Quill picked up her knapsack, slung it across her shoulders, and turned around to address Old Iron again. "Let's go."

"This was a terrible idea."

Literally just five minutes after they'd stepped inside.

White Quill ignored Old Iron's comment. He'd repeated that same statement at least three times already in the last five minutes, and it was just as irritating now as it was the first time... especially since she couldn't possibly agree more. The moment that they'd stepped through the doorway, the veins on the wall had pulsed brightly, and the stone had suddenly closed behind the pair, trapping them inside. Since then, they'd tried navigating the halls, seeing doorways open and close as they approached. The pair were clearly being herded, but there was no option other than to continue moving: The one time they'd tried to stop, dozens of spikes had sprung from the floor, walls, and ceiling, making it clear that delay would not be tolerated.

They continued to hustle down the corridors of the fortress, doors slamming shut behind them every few seconds. Clearly, something was waiting for the pair at the end of this path, but somehow, White Quill doubted it was going to be Fufu the Huggy Bunny.

Finally, the two turned a corner, and entered a massive courtyard. For the first time since they'd entered this place, they found normal soil and grass, rather than black stone, beneath their hooves, and the sun shone down on them from above. More surprisingly, the courtyard was as warm as a pleasant spring day. But all of that paled in comparison to what the pair saw in the center of the courtyard

A sword, plunged point first into the ground. A magnificent sword, with a blade that shone with a brilliant white light. No, it couldn't be...

"The Sword of Destruction..."

White Quill immediately began walking towards it, all concerns about her safety forgotten. Here it was, the legendary sword itself, the blade that struck down the First Evil. It looked just like how the legends described. If she could take this back, show it to the other archaeologists at the Equestrian Archaeological Society, she...

"Touching that is a really bad idea," Old Iron stated, bluntly, suddenly snapping the mare back to reality. "This is obviously a trap. The moment you touch that thing, something awful will happen. Maybe even every awful thing that could ever happen to a pony."

White Quill turned back towards Old Iron, and raised a hoof to argue... then paused, placed her hoof against her chin for a second, then admitted, "Yeah, you're right. Nothing good could possibly come from touching that thing." Taking her knapsack off, she began digging around inside of it. "I can just take a picture of it. Once I've explained the circumstances, I'm sure that the old boys at the Equestrian Archaeological Society will accept it. We can come back with a real expedition, with enough backup to make sure that, whatever happens, we can go home with that sword..."

With her back turned, and with her body blocking Old Iron's view of the blade, neither one of them noticed a tiny drop of black fluid emerge from the ground where the sword was planted, and suddenly zip through the grass in a long, curved path, careful to keep well out of sight and away from the scholar. As White Quill finally succeeded in finding her camera and turned back towards the sword, the droplet reached Old Iron, and shot up his leg, in an instant entering his ear before the stallion even noticed it was there. The stallion's body went very still, his eyes glazing over, and his last breath exiting his lungs with a quiet hiss.

After finally lining up a proper shot, White Quill took a few pictures, then began putting the camera away. "There we go," the scholar said, smiling. "I'm no Photo Finish, but I think that'll do the job." Turning back towards Old Iron, she added, "And I found my grappling hook. My dad always said that, if you were ever to go on an archaeological expedition, you should carry one. That or a whip, but I'm not that kind of girl. Anyway, I think we might be able to scale the walls from here. It might be tricky, getting across the roof, but..."

She stopped, noting her associate's odd posture and vacant expression. And... weren't his eyes brown before, not red? "Old Iron, is something wrong?"

Seeming to notice White Quill for the first time, the stallion turned towards her. "Oh, I'm fine," he said, his voice sounding... off. "Just a little bit hungry." Then Old Iron opened his mouth wide, and...

Then fingers emerged from his mouth, took a good grip, and forced his mouth open even wider. As White Quill watched in horror and revulsion, first two hands, then four, then eight emerged, all of them forcing the stallion's mouth impossibly wide, to the point that a pony's head could fit inside.

And then the mare saw something inside his mouth. Something with blood red eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth.

"Care to help me with that, dumpling?" the First Evil asked, its voice dripping honey and malice in equal measure.

Before Quill could react, run, or scream, an arm shot out with speed enough to put a bullet to shame, and a hand with a grip like iron grabbed the scholar by the throat. With equal speed, the arm retracted, pulling the mare in. The hands holding the stallion's mouth open retracted, and his mouth closed shut with a snap.

For several seconds, the sounds of muffled screams were heard inside of the stallion's body, and for a brief moment, his side bulged, as if something here pushing its face against the inside of his skin in an effort to get out. Then, there was a muffled snap, and the screams grew louder. Then a second snap, and a third, each one punctuated by an increase in volume. Then, with a final crunch, the screaming stopped, and was shortly after followed by a sound that was disgustingly similar to someone sucking a thick milkshake through a straw. When the sound finally stopped, the stallion's head hung low, almost as if asleep.

Then, a horn sprouted from his forehead. After a moment, it traveled downward, cutting his face open with a sound like a knife cutting through wet cloth, and didn't stop until it went down to about mid-chest. Then, two hooves emerged from the opening, and pulled his skin open, revealing a blood drenched White Quill... or at least, something that looked a little bit like White Quill. But it didn't walk or hold itself like her, and White Quill certainly didn't have red eyes.

Taking a moment to shake itself off, it moved over towards Quill's knapsack, and dug around until it found a mirror. It took a few seconds to study itself, then shook its head in irritation and said to itself, "Pathetic. Why did the first mare to come here in eons have to be somepony this... plain, and pudgy. You'd think that somepony who'd venture out this far would at least be in decent shape. I'll have to make a few adjustments..."

Closing its eyes, it went to work. First, the mare's stomach retracted as a freshman fifteen that had stayed on well after senior year (and candor forces us to admit doubled in the years after) vanished, along with any other excess fat across the body. Then, muscle began to tone, until her body took on a panther-ish look of grace and fitness that would normally require a lifetime gym membership, at least two personal trainers, and more granola bars in the place of regular meals than even a pony could tolerate. Finally, the mare's facial structure began to change, going from average to attractive, and then to jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

Looking itself in the mirror again, it said, "It's a start. But certainly not enough." It stretched, and its limbs began to lengthen, and she grew taller, her body changing until it had reached alicorn proportions, yet still kept its highly athletic tone and angelic beauty. "Much better," it said, before regarding its reflection again. "But the color scheme will have to go: White on white is so not my color."

It opened its mouth, and a black fluid emerged, flowing backwards over her body, changing its coat to an inky black, and her mane and tail a smoky gray. As an afterthought, the mane and tail lengthened considerably, going from the short bob cut that the scholar had preferred to a long, silky waterfall of smoke-colored hair that went down to the tops of her hooves. Finally, the fluid flowed over her cutie mark, erasing it. A moment later, a new mark appeared, a red hand, an eye sitting in its palm.

"Much better," it said to itself as it admired its handiwork. "I think I can work with this." After all, it had learned that mortals seemed much more vulnerable to a beautiful female than most any other creature, no matter how obviously evil they looked. In fact, the obviously evil appearance seemed even more of a turn on for most. It would be a while before it regained its full strength, but for now, the First Evil had flesh of its own again.

After a moment, it turned towards the Sword of Destruction, and opened its mouth. Again, an arm shot out, and its hand grasped the weapon by the hilt. The arm retracted, drawing the sword inside. Best not to leave that thing lying about. That blasted weapon had caused enough trouble the first time around. While it couldn't be destroyed, it would be well out of reach to anyone, housed in the First Evil's stomach.

It chuckled a little at that last thought. 'The First Evil'. How amusing. How languages change over time. Before being the First Evil, it was The Source Of All Evil. And before that, it was The Origin Of All Evil. And before that, That Which Gave Birth To The Great Evils. But before even that, at the very beginning of it all, was its favorite name of all.

The Mother Of All Evils. And as the name implied, she was one bad mother...

Her stomach grumbling, The Mother Of All Evils frowned in annoyance. It had been ages since she'd had a proper meal, and two little ponies weren't nearly enough to sate an appetite that could depopulate an entire city in one sitting. 'Well,' she thought with a smile, 'there's a few yaks a little ways away, according to Old Iron's and White Quill's memories. A delightful little appetizer. And a bit further off, there was a whole lovely city full of yaks to play with, before sitting down to a proper meal...'

Then, the evil paused, cleared her throat a few times, then belched out a skull, its shape indicating it had belonged to an earth pony. A moment later, a second followed, this time belonging to a unicorn. After several minutes, and two full skeletons, she finally quit. 'Blech', she thought to herself, 'that's what happens when you don't properly chew your food before swallowing.'

A pair of pained moans began to emerge from the vicinity of its stomach. In annoyance, it turned towards the offending organ, and snapped, "Shut up. You two will have plenty to keep you company shortly." Mortals. Sheesh. Swallow their souls, and all they did was complain, complain, complain about how much being digested hurt. And they only complained louder when it finally came time for them to be... released. She doubted that even the most pessimistic mortal expected to spend their afterlife at the bottom of an outhouse, or however they disposed of solid waste these days...

Author's Notes:

I honestly can't think of anything more evil than eating someone's soul, and then crapping them out. It's one thing to kill someone, its another to make them spend eternity as literal shit.