As mortal ponies conferred in uncertainty and fear below, so too above did my spirit and his discuss what had been revealed.

Well, I say ‘discuss’, but we were still joined. That gets…a bit distracting, but he wanted for us to be together. And you can transmit thoughts and feeling faster in that dizzying rush of connection, so it made sense.

But for once, I wasn’t enjoying the ecstasy of being together with him. My feelings were full of the same panic and confusion felt by my mortal counterparts down below, and I felt the same uncertainty coming from him.

What had that mare meant? Grave Whisper – I hadn’t had any idea there was a pony who could speak with the dead. But why had she suddenly started convulsing like that? And that prophecy—

I conferred with him, and he expressed his concerns as well. But where I was panicking over the content of Grave Whisper’s message from beyond, he expressed his reservations. How did we know that what she was saying was accurate, or that the dead were telling the truth?

I believed her. I believed that look in her eyes and the way I felt she could hear me if I had but spoken to her. But he was skeptical and that rubbed off on me a bit.

Regardless though, it seemed that what she’d said was informative and at the same time totally not. What we’d learned was that the souls of the dead were entering this world through some kind of…portal. And that they weren’t the only ones? But regardless, these dead were here against their will and something had caused it. But it still didn’t explain why I was growing weaker, and why the undead were growing stronger.

I was at a loss, but then he suggested that maybe the dead were sapping power from me. They were displaying new traits – increased strength, speed, and intelligence – while I was losing all of my strength. If there was some kind of portal, maybe it was drawing strength from spirits already present like me and him? Well, he was already so weak that it wasn’t affecting him, but what about me?

…Of course! If I had a hoof I would have smacked myself in the head for not realizing it earlier. The more dead that rose, the less power I had. It explained everything. And it definitely did seem like these two events were connected. Like Twilight was always talking about, it was a corra…corre…

Correlation. Or something like that. Anyways, I felt relieved to have an answer as to why I was feeling so weak. If the dead were somehow affecting my connection to the afterlife, or, I dunno…sucking the energy out of me to revive themselves, that would explain it.

He always has good ideas. The best. I trust him to think for me, or at least help me think. Because at the moment I can’t muster any coherent thoughts of my own.

What’s…happening?

Yet, just as I’m about to ask him what he thinks I should do next, I hear it.

A call.

Someone is in trouble. One of my friends is in trouble. Fluttershy. She’s calling for me.

Instantly I’m alert. Of course, he can’t sense Fluttershy’s call but he senses my alarm and wants to know what’s going on. So I tell him as I prepare to go to her aid. But he—

—Doesn’t want me to go. What?

Leave her. She can take care of herself. You don’t have to carry her burdens as your own. Stay here with me.

He doesn’t want me to go. That’s…but he’s right, right? Surely—surely Fluttershy can take of herself, right?

No. I must go.

But he’s so insistent and I—

I must go.

I can feel his displeasure but I have always—will always choose the same way. And yet he—I can’t just ignore his opinion. He has good ideas but…

But there’s no time to think, no time to reconsider. I leave him behind and race with my spirit to answer Fluttershy’s call.

I am so tired. So exhausted, and I have no force left within me to fight. But I must, and so long as my friends need my help I will go. I must not let them die. Yet, I sense my weakness within me, to the extent that my spirit seems like a guttering flame and his like a roaring fire and I wonder whether I will extinguish myself in this next battle.

But still I fly to my friend’s aid. And I fear that my weakness will cost me everything.

----

War. If it were not so before, it is now. There is war between the living and the dead.

Ponies struggle atop the battlements of the walls surrounding Appleloosa. Even here in the wild desert ponies have had to erect high walls to fend off undead incursions. But unfortunately, here at least nature has prevented ponies from building too high as sand constantly erodes the hastily-constructed foundations. As a result, the walls are ten feet lower than those surrounding other cites, and far lower than those around bastions such as Canterlot or Manehatten.

And ten feet is a lot of height when the dead climb over each other in the tens of thousands. Already the Earth Ponies are forced into hoof-to-hoof combat, kicking the dead off the walls and launching pies and rocks down at the horde with catapults.

Yeah, pies. I don’t understand it either but they pack a punch. But for every two dead ponies they knock down or squash, eight more reach the walls and climb up.

Yet still the defenders hold. The Appeloosans are tough ponies, frontier settlers who can all fight pretty well. And they’re joined by the Buffalo – or what remains of them. Only a few stragglers survived the initial attacks and those that remain are led by Little Braveheart.

The rest are led by Sheriff Silverstar and Braeburn. And commanding both sides with her few Wonderbolts is Fluttershy.

Fluttershy.

She’s outnumbered, fighting alone on her section of the wall. Already her wings are torn and her side bloodied by the undead, but she fights on. She would fight the dead alone if it meant saving one more pony. But she is not alone. I am there.

But I am failing.

My hoof strikes a zombie’s head, but only hard enough to make it recoil. It loses its grip and falls off the stone ramparts, taking several more of its kind down to the ground where they break bones. Good, but not nearly enough.

I am so weak. Even as I turn to kick at another mare coming up the wall I feel it. My every motion requires so much effort that I feel as if I am alive again. My body is leaden, my reflexes shot. Even my supernatural senses feel weakened, and I can’t sense those around me as strongly anymore.

Case in point. A stallion hits me from behind and I fall. I struggle, kicking at him but he’s above me and I’m at a bad angle. Normally that wouldn’t matter. With my strength – even with my strength as a mortal mare – I would be able to launch him away and get back up, but this time my hoof barely makes him step backwards. The stallion smashes my face with his hoof and gouges out one eye before trying to rip away the flesh around my chest.

Blackness. Half of the world is gone. It’s not a crippling injury, but I can’t heal it. My spirit is too weak to do even that. So I flail at him wildly, but the stallion just ignores my pathetic blows. I am so weak.

I have to get him off me. I have to fight. If I don’t, the defenders will be overwhelmed. There’s too many of the dead. I struggle, but I’m too weak. I have to get up! I have to. Or else Fluttershy, my friend—

—Will fall.

I see Fluttershy go down in a mass of dead flesh. The two Grave Wardens by her side shoot their crossbows desperately, but the undead ponies are endless. They cover her, tearing, biting, ripping.

I scream. It’s the first sound I’ve made with my body in years. And the sound that actually comes out of my mouth doesn’t resemble any noise I’ve ever heard. Even the undead stallion attacking me pauses for a second, but only for a second. But he does not stop, and I feel his teeth rip into my body once more.

Powerless. I rage, but I am so weak. So helpless! I can see Fluttershy still fighting her hoof sticking out from beneath a pile of the dead. But she is weakening. I cannot help her.

I am weak. I am worthless.

And I’m so…so…

So hungry.

My jaw unhinges. The stallion is on top of me, ripping at me, smashing my face into the ground. He bites me. So I bite back.

Just like them. The same sensation is burning in my chest, making me feel…alive. But like before, the desire raging in my soul can’t be quenched by mere flesh and blood. I want more. I want to eat. I’m so hungry.

So I do something I’ve never done before. As the stallion crumples to the ground missing part of his throat I step forwards. But not with my physical body. Rather, my soul moves forward and bites at him.

No, not bite. Not really. It’s an impossible thing to describe. But I feel myself grasping at him, sucking part of him into me. I am hungry, so I eat. And what I eat isn’t flesh or bone, but something in him. Something alive.

His soul.

The undead stallion’s body folds up soundlessly and slumps to the ground. There’s nothing left in it anymore. No; less than nothing. The body—it’s empty.

Such a small thing. In the course of a large battlefield, ten thousand actions take place at once. Therefore it should be impossible that one action could ever stand out. Yet—

I stand up. My soul is screaming. No—the soul inside me is screaming. I feel it raging around in the center of my being, trying to escape. Yet my soul overpowers it, little by little.

I want to vomit. I want to spew out my blackened intestines until there’s nothing left. I want to tear my face off and end my existence. That is the pain, the nausea that strikes my spirit. What I have done is wrong. Terribly, awfully, wonderfully wrong. It doesn’t just go against nature, it violates something much, much deeper.

It is wrong. But as I lift my head, my strength returns. My soul reignites, and I am whole again.

And the dead know.

They stop, all of them. Every head in the horde turns and they stop moving. Silence.

The mortal ponies stop and stare in fear and uncertainty. They’ve never witnessed something like this before. But the living are just the backdrop. The dead and I are all that matter in this place.

Every dead face is looking at me, expressionless. But I can sense their fear.

I take one step forward. And then another. They stare at me, waiting. I spread my wings, and feel the same power in them I had before.

And they attack.

There’s no plan in it, no great expectations. They just run at me as one pony, biting, trying to tear me apart. Not because they expect to win, but because they know retreat is impossible. So they rush at me, tens of thousands of souls.

And I kill them.

There’s no science to it, no fancy flying or tactics. For once I just stand my ground and fight as they do. I bite, I tear, I pummel with my hooves. And that’s because the real battle isn’t with them, it’s to contain the soul I’ve just eaten.

It revolts within me and the rest of me rebels against what I’ve done. My very soul feels like it will tear itself apart from the two existences within it, yet I hold on. Despite it, despite everything, I feel the strength of another soul within me. And it makes me stronger.

The dead mares and stallions fly away from me as my hooves strike them. Once more, I break bones and crush flesh with a single strike. And though they wound me, tearing off strips of flesh, fracturing bones, my body restores itself between the fractions of seconds.

I am stronger. And so long as the soul is within me, I will be stronger. And to protect my friends, I will be the strongest of all.

So I keep the soul within my own and fight. And when the last of the dead lie twitching on the corpse mounds I let my body collapse. But the battle to contain the soul rages on within me.

----

As I relinquish my body to dust and fly as a spirit upwards I struggle once more with the soul raging within my own. I can feel it fighting to break free, but it is weaker, and I am…eating it.

There’s no other way to describe it. Slowly, I absorb the strength, the memories, the very being that was the stallion – Pale Ale’s life. Brief fragments of his life flow into my own and I feel the sensations of running a brewery, raising a family, looking after my children, dying—

I fight down the emotions, stamp out his past with my own. Focus. Remember.

If it were not for Fluttershy, flying around and seeing to the wounded I might have been overwhelmed by the other soul within me. Yet seeing her continue to help others, barely taking the time to bandage her own wounds while organizing medical teams, repairing the wall—

That is all I need. The soul within me dwindles slowly, fighting my own with its existence, seeking not to be lost within the depths of my own being. It is gone.

And I am stronger.

Yes. I feel my strength returning. Just as in the battle, I feel my old abilities returning. Not to the same degree—I am still far weaker than I once was. But the soul within me gave me some of my self back.

And so I wonder—what would happen if I ate another? The act of eating one was—but if I could regain my strength, what if I ate another dead pony’s soul? What if I ate more?

No.

And yet—

I hunger.

And the realization strikes me. Of course. This is what I’ve desired all this time. When I ate him, when I tore away his flesh and tried to consume Fluttershy—it wasn’t ever their bodies I wanted.

It was their souls.

I am confused, but at least I’m not alone. As my soul struggles to comprehend what has just happened I sense he is nearby. And I go to him, instinctively. Unusually, he does not desire the connection but I am insistent, and our souls join together.

Almost at once I am overwhelmed by emotion.

Confusion is in his feelings/but fear is in his heart/yet suppress it all and fill the soul with wonderment/let full congratulations and admiration flow forth.

I recoil a bit in shock at the intensity of his emotions. Well, I guess it’s only natural he’d feel fear. But I would never hurt him, eat him—

Yet as soon as the whirling intensity of feelings hits me it’s gone and he’s projecting his amazement at what I’ve done. That’s more like it. And both he and I can sense that despite my turmoil, at least some of my strength has returned from consuming that soul.

But even the thought of eating another soul—my spirit revolts at the thought. It’s not just wrong. Wrongness is something ponies come up with. I could kill, maim, steal, break the bodies of the living—I would be fine with committing any atrocity were it not for the judgement of my friends. The dead care not about mortal values. But this…

Anyways, does my soul desire other souls because I need them to survive? If that’s what it takes, I won’t hesitate. I must protect my friends. And if I am too weak, if I fail—

But I remember the mare screaming out her prophecy. Lich Queen. Eater of souls. Is that me? It sounds so evil, but if that’s what my purpose is—

It could stop the undead. If I ate their souls, slowly their numbers would decrease. And yet, fifteen million—it would be the work of centuries. But what other choice is there?

In the aether my soul radiates confusion and uncertainty. He senses it and envelops me with his own presence. I am reassured and comforted by the presence of his soul and relax. Of course, I should stop worrying.

We confer in the way of spirits, our emotions and thoughts dancing about each other in free exchange. I find that he is equally troubled by the prophecy that might refer to me. The eating of souls…he believes it may harm me.

His affection warms what might have once been my heart. But I also sense the current of unease in him, a fear he can’t quite suppress. Is he…afraid I’ll give into my darker urges? I would never do that. I wouldn’t hurt him.

As if sensing my unease at his unease, he joins with me again and I feel that same sense of exhilarating connection. And he whispers into my soul.

Regardless of your decision I shall always be by your side…

And I feel the certainty of purpose I have always known when I’m doing the right thing. After all, the answer’s simple.

I pull away from him, my soul filled with confidence and resolve. I won’t eat any more souls. What a foolish idea that would be. It would be dangerous, and besides, I can’t tell what might happen. Even if it makes me stronger…

Even if I’m hungry?

Of course I won’t. That would be stupid. I…

Something’s wrong.

—Know he has my best interests at heart. So I’ll keep going. I’ll protect my friends. That’s my purpose. And I’ll be by his side.

Help me.

I’m suddenly exhausted. Even as a spirit I feel as if I’m tired to my very bones. I don’t have bones of course, but…I guess eating a soul is bad for me after all. Reluctantly, I tell him that I’m going to rest.

He’s unhappy and I can sense he wants us to join together again. But I need a break. And it’s not as if we’ll be apart. When I say rest, I mean as a spirit I just go and watch over my friends. It’s something I need to do anyways and being around them seems to recharge me for a bit.

Reluctantly he lets me go and I move towards Pinkie Pie, following her pretty much on auto-pilot. I’m so…tired. It’s really odd. Why am I getting more exhausted every day? It must be all the dead rising. If only there was some way to regain my strength. I must be strong. I must have power to protect—

Tired. Why so tired?

My thoughts fragment. I drift in the afterlife, my energies depleted. But a thought remains, echoing through my head.

Why? Why am I so weak?

It’s him.

I have no answer. So I drift off…

----

—And wake as I sense one of my friends calling out to me.

It’s like being hit by a bolt of lightning. And yes, I do know what that feels like. My entire soul comes alive with purpose and I move, faster than any mortal being towards the source of my being.

Yes, there. I don’t even bother to stop and find out what the issue is. One of my friends needs help, and so I go.

I barely sense his alarm and questions and brush past him. He pulls at me, trying to get me to stop and explain but I shake off his touch. He’s…stronger, but still so much weaker than I am. And he should know better than to get in my way. I am needed.

So I go.

My body forms in the waking world, my tissues and limbs growing with agonizing slowness. Too slow. If I were ever needed in a hurry, what would happen if I were this slow? But I am tired. Even my rest of…how long? Well, even that wasn’t long enough for me to regain much strength.

At last my body is complete. I look around, casting my senses in every direction. And what I see isn’t a horde of the dead or an accident in progress but…

Stone. Ancient, crumbling gray masonry at my feet. Enclosed walls surround me on all sides. A room, yet one so ancient that in parts the ceiling and walls have worn away, exposing a bright moon and stars overhead.

Where am I?

Faded tapestries hang on one wall, their sigils and designs lost to time. And yet one I see, perfectly restored despite the passing years. Memory flickers.

But this is all backdrop in my mind as I cast around for the one who has summoned me. I know her. Is she in trouble? Why else would Applejack call for my help?

And where is she?

Perhaps it’s my fading strength, but my senses feel dulled in this place. I know there are…others nearby. But I can’t pinpoint how many or where. But I can feel the closest pony to me quite strongly.

I turn, and peer into the darkness. Somepony is standing there. My mortal eyes can’t pierce the darkness, but the eyes of my soul can see. And as I turn, the pony steps out of the shadows.

Applejack.

“Howdy, Rainbow.” Applejack’s words sound light, but her voice is anything but. She walks towards me, garbed in her Grave Warden armor and wearing a number of weapons at her side. I look at her, confused. Does she need my help? Despite everything, she’s never called on me before…

“Reckon you want to know why I called you here.”

Good old Applejack. She’s straight to the point. I relax a bit, thinking its just conversation she wants but my instincts and telling me…I listen to her words.

“Heard you saved Fluttershy a while back. That was good of ya. Ah knew the Wonderbolts were stretched thin but...well, them dead ponies have been getting more dangerous lately. Seems a mite odd, don’t you think?”

My hair begins to stand up on end. Applejack is being chatty. That’s…unlike her.

“Well, ah bet you know but we’ve been tryin’ to find out what’s been causing all this for quite some time now. And just this morning ah found out what it was.”

Really? I’m suddenly filled with interest. What could it be? Does it have anything to do with my newfound weakness? I listen carefully to Applejack, but my heart—

I know what’s about to happen. I can see it in her eyes, in her stance. I already know, but I don’t want to acknowledge it.

“You see, it ain’t magic or some kinda curse that’s been pulling ponies back from the dead all this time.”

Around me, I sense ponies drawing nearer. Out of the corner of my eyes I see movement in the darkness. The glint of light off of a buckle, the click as a crossbow is loaded. Grave Wardens appear from every side, surrounding me, and not just from below. I can sense them on the second floor, even above me as pegasus Grave Wardens hover in the sky.

Applejack doesn’t waver. Even as her soldiers get into place, my friend, my faithful, honest companion looks into my eyes. Hers are so very tired, so very old. I see many things in them. Sadness, exhaustion, anger, and yes, hatred.

“Grave Whisper finally got back on her hooves. We got her to ask more questions and we found out who caused that rift to begin with. Turns out there's one pony that's been bringing back the dead this entire time just by existin'.”

Applejack points her crossbow at my heart. Around her, the Grave Wardens – all of them – raise their weapons. She looks me dead in the eye, and I see it in her eyes. And I know.

“It’s you.”