Step. Step.

The sun is fading from the sky. The shadows lengthen, and Equestria prepares itself for night. Yet, tonight may never come.

It is a dark sky that descends upon the world, one devoid of stars or even the moon. And, if one looks up, they would see that the sun is not sinking in the sky normally. Rather, it is fading, it’s radiant light slowly dimming and turning to pitch blackness. No; not pitch black. Something darker than black.

It is not Celestia’s work. Neither she nor Luna are moving the sun and moon about in the sky. This is another force at work, and it seeks to consume the sky itself.

All across Equestria, ponies look up and feel fear. Greater fear even than that which they feel towards the dead, the monstrous creatures that have risen in the millions in the last few days. The dead at least can be stopped, with hoof and steel, and the might of the Grave Wardens and the powerful Party Cannons now deployed across Equestria.

But the sky? The sky is a thing that belongs to alicorns and legends. Any being that could bring darkness to the sky is more terrible than anything normal ponies could dream of facing.

Yet, even as many ponies despair the call goes out across Equestria. From every corner ponies are summoned, every Grave Warden in Equestria, every Wonderbolt and reservist, every pony that can fight or even hold a weapon. All are called to battle. And the word that rings upon every pegasus messenger’s tongue and echoes in the cries of despair among the hearts of mares and stallions alike is one name.

Sombra.

He has challenged the living to a battle in the Crystal Empire. He has broken three of the four Princesses, defeated the Chaos God himself, and shattered the Crystal Heart. Now he threatens to drown Equestria in an endless ocean of the dead unless he is stopped. So fight.

Fight.

And from every corner of Equestria they come. Pegasi, Earth Ponies, Unicorns, all answering the call. They have heard Twilight Sparkle’s plea and desire to protect their home. But more than that, they all feel it.

These are the end times. This is the final battle, the last stand of the living. To fall here would mean the end of life, the end of Equestria. So they walk, or ride, or fly to the north, the frozen wastelands where nothing may live.

They travel quickly, and the fading sun shines on their backs as the shadows become twisted mockeries of reality. But the last rays of the sun falls upon another figure as well.

Step. Step.

My body is falling to dust.

But still I walk on. Even as I am consumed by nothingness, even as my soul’s flame flickers, I walk.

And yet—

It is not enough.

I raise one hoof and my entire leg begins to flake apart into the finest ash. I try to step forwards, but my hoof and everything up to my knee is gone. I stumble, fall.

Not enough. I am dying. Even if I try, even if I stand—

I paw at the ground, hobble onto three legs. I lurch forwards. I must go.

But still. I am dying. And that is fine.

But I must not fail.

…

How long? I only know that I have stopped. That realization makes me move forwards again. I must keep moving. But something is in my way.

A…village?

Yes, a small one. Only a few houses, nothing more. Some quiet place where ponies live in the middle of nowhere. It has a small wall, but war has not touched this place yet.

I stare for a long time at the village. Ponies walk around below me, talking worriedly, casting glances towards the sky. They are afraid. Not of me. They don’t even know I’m there. Rather, they’re afraid of what the sky portends. They fear Sombra, the undead, and for the lives of those ponies who have gone to fight. They are innocent.

At last, they notice me. An alarm goes up among the ponies and they grab weapons. But they hesitate when they see it is not an undead monster but…

----

A strange pony stands in village’s main road. She does not look dead, but neither is she alive. She is something in between.

The feathers of her wings blow gently in the air. The faded colors of her mane flicker in the breeze. And her body slowly disintegrates even as they watch.

She is dying.

But she does not seem to be a threat. The ponies lower their weapons but don’t approach either. They are not terrified, but they are still afraid.

The pegasus sways on her hooves. She has only three of them. The last leg is a missing stump, and even as the ponies watch her body seems to flake away into nothingness. She seems lost, unsure. And more than that, mortally, terribly tired. But still she stands and does not move. She is watching the living.

And at last one of the living moves. A small colt walks forward, ignoring his mother’s attempts to grab him. Cautiously he approaches the pegasus and feels her eyes upon him. But she makes no move and so eventually he comes closer. And looks into her eyes.

She stares down at him, a pegasus between life and death. And the young child looks up into violet eyes that glow with light from another place. Yet it is not a harsh light, and her face is calm.

So he smiles.

She smiles back. It transforms her face, and makes her seem…

The colt grins back happily. The pegasus lowers her head, and he looks at her expectantly. She brushes the tip of his forehead with her lips.

A gentle kiss.

The ponies of the village sigh with relief. The child nuzzles the pegasus and looks up with her. He smiles with happiness. The smile never leaves his face. And he collapses, without another word.

Silence.

The pegasus straightens. Her four hooves touch the ground. And her body no longer seems to fade. She looks around, with more force in her eyes.

And the living know.

And they sigh.

Right before…

They die.

----

A battlefield. A place of war. And war never changes, but this war is different. For the two sides are not separated by petty factors such as appearance or culture, but by a difference as old as time.

The living and the dead.

They struggle with each other, in a nameless field where the flowers are long since-trampled into the mud and where bodies fill the ground. It is a large conflict between thousands on each side. But this is only a minor skirmish, a chance engagement before the larger conflict to come.

The living and the dead both travel to the frozen north. But here they have met, and waged terrible battle.

Soldiers and civilians grapple with the dead ponies that assault them tirelessly. The few Grave Wardens among them fire their crossbows, and a single Party Cannon booms constantly. But the dead are numberless, and the living outnumbered. They will fall here without help.

But as the living fall back, giving their lives and ground to the unloving, the tide shifts. All at once the dead cease attacking, and the living press their advantage. But not for long. In a few minutes they too stop. They sense it too.

The dead halt where they stand. They turn to look upwards. The living follow the dead and see her. A female pegasus, standing atop a hill. The darkness is complete, yet light still exists. It comes from her.

A pale blue light envelops the pegasus’s body. It spreads outwards from her, a soft radiance that is gentle and terrifying at the same time. The living cannot bear of the sight of it and must look away or be blinded. But the dead stare at her.

Her body is falling apart. Parts of her flake away and dissolve to dust even as she stands still. But her eyes, her eyes. They still shine with violet brilliance, two stars in the darkest night.

The dead collapse as she walks by them. Silently, without a sound. And as they fall, their bodies fall to dust and swirl around her. To the living ponies, it is as if each pony kneels before the pegasus before turning to dust in her hooves. And she in turn looks at each, as if giving silent benediction and farewell.

And then she turns, and the living see her. And her eyes are filled with regret. That is the last thing they see.

Bodies collapse. Ponies fall at their tasks, peacefully, without a sound. And the pegasus walks on while around her life flickers and fades. Not just ponies, and not just the dead. Trees wither. Flowers die. The grass turns black and shrivels. All around her, the world goes silent.

The pegasus walks on. And death follows behind her.

----

I walk. And the dead walk with me. They are in my soul, in my very essence of being. And I am stronger.

My senses return to me. In an instant I am once again aware of the world. I can sense the dead travelling to the north and the living moving just as quickly. Neither side concerns me. I walk on, in a straight line towards where I know they are all waiting. And around me the world dies.

Plants. Animals. Ponies, both living and dead. All flow into me. Their souls I pull from their mortal bodies and consume, hundreds, thousands at a time. And though my heart—

No. It must be done. I have no excuses, none.

So I walk on. And the dead inside me grow with every passing step.

----

Sombra has raised an army of millions. Against him is a far smaller army, made of living ponies armed with steel and fire and magic. Alone, they would not prevail. But another army marches north.

They walk in the tens of thousands, no, the hundreds of thousands. But they have only one hoof that steps in the soil, only one pair of wings that carries them across hundreds of miles. They are legion. But she is one.

And she is coming.

----

The greatest army the world has ever seen assembles in the frozen wastelands of the north, outside of the Crystal Empire. The dead souls gather, called by their dark master and stand in the millions, awaiting battle.

And opposing them are the armies of the living.

I stand high above the battlefield on a mountaintop, waiting. Watching. I am tired. So very tired. And the screams—they all scream within me. Begging for freedom. But it is not time yet. So I watch. And wait.

Sombra orders the advance. The living dig in, set up their weapons. Nearly a million ponies, griffons, even minotaurs, dragons, and a single zebra stand against the dead. They stand against the endless waves of the dead without flinching, and leading them are five figures.

Five ponies. Not the most powerful or the most cunning or charismatic, but perhaps the bravest. Five friends. Five heroes. And they will not fall so long as they are by each other’s side.

The dead attack.

There is no method to it, no strategy. They just charge, an endless mass of gaping mouths and rotten flesh. And they are met with fire and sword.

Across the ranks of the defenders Party Cannons boom, firing superheated shrapnel that fell the undead by the thousands. Next to them, dragons incinerate the landscape and crossbows fire endless waves into the horde. They die in the tens of thousands with each passing second. But still they come on. On and on without cease.

How many died to cross the dead land between the armies? Perhaps a million. But for every pony felled hundreds more trampled their corpses. And still more were behind them.

They smashed into the ranks of the living with a terrible crash of flesh meeting metal. But they made no sound, and so the battle was filled with the shrieks and cries from one side alone.

Yet despite the numbers, despite the endless wave that poured towards them, Equestria’s army didn’t break. They didn’t even fall back.

The dead were many. But they were not organized and could not attack all at once. So even as they charged Equestria’s first line of minotaurs, armored ponies, and stakes, it was still an even fight. And as the front ranks exacted their toll of death before falling back to the second line, the dead fell in droves. And their bodies created walls, and those walls created more delays. And through it all the Party Cannons boomed and the crossbow arrows fell.

The dead died.

But they did not cease, despite their losses. The dead would never stop. And if it were just them alone perhaps the battle would have been simple despite the numbers. But their leader was different entirely. His soldiers were dead, but he commanded death. And where he moved, death followed.

----

Sombra strides across the battlefield, dark clouds heralding his presence. His horn glows and spits magic at the ranks of the living. All his black magic touches – whether dragons, ponies, or stone fortifications – all turns to dust. By himself he creates gaps in the defenses of Equestria’s army and the dead pour through. And he is immortal.

But the living will not break so easily. And even as they fall back, their artillery booms and their archers fire again. Unicorns in the thousand fire mass spells to destroy the undead and burn them from the earth. But still. It is not enough.

He stands among the firestorm that breaks upon his army, a black shadow against the light. And though Pinkie Pie targets him with her cannons and Applejack’s Grave Wardens fill the skies with arrows and spells turn the darkness into day, he does not fall. Even as the tide of the undead is pushed back again and again, Sombra does not fall.

Contemptuously, Sombra’s horn flares and a dragon falls, scales black and twisted as a scythe of black energy strikes its heart. The living shudder, and their morale begins to waver.

But.

A flash of light, a brilliant burst of energy. Sombra’s head turns. Around him the dead fall, vaporized in an instant by the magic blast directed at him. Even he is forced to raise a shield of crackling dark magic. His eyes narrow.

Starlight Glimmer fires another wave of brilliant white energy at Sombra but he counters with a dark purple miasma that absorbs the light and sends it back as crimson splinters. They pierce even Starlight’s shield and she falls back, wounded. But she was never the main attack, merely a distraction.

Dragon fire. It burns around Sombra, obscuring him from sight. Spike and three dragons burn his position at range until their breath gives out and they too fall back. Where they have struck the ground bubbles and burns but—

Sombra steps out of the smoke and ash and laughs again. His horn glows. He points his horn at Spike and—

An alicorn dives from the sky. Straight down, out of the clouds. She has been ready for this exact moment, moved into place through the attacks of her friends to buy her cover. Her horn glows with brilliant light and fury is in her eyes. But that is not what captures every eye. It is what she holds before her.

A sword. A sword forged of crystal that glows with pink light.

The Crystal Heart, remade. The magic of the Crystal Empire forged into a weapon. And as she dives the living roar and the light of the Crystal Sword shines brighter.

Sombra snarls. He raises his horn but a Party Cannon booms. The metal shreds his legs and he stumbles. In an instant his body is restored, but it is enough.

Twilight collides with Sombra in an explosion of light. The sword of crystal strikes Sombra deep in his chest and the light bursts outwards, destroying every undead pony around Sombra. And he falls back, his eyes lifeless.

A cheer goes up across the battlefield. Equestria’s army shake their weapons and shout for joy as the dead falter, their guidance gone.

Twilight sighs in relief. Her wings are shaking from the speed of her descent, and her hooves tremble on the hilt of the sword. But it is over. He is dead. She pulls at the Crystal Sword—

And it breaks apart in her hooves.

Twilight stares. The army of the living continues to rejoice, oblivious. But she knows. Involuntarily, she takes a step back. The remaining pieces of the Crystal Sword, the last hope of Equestria forged in dragonfire and with the magic of love, falls to pieces on the ground.

And Sombra’s body stirs. With a single movement he gets back on his hooves. And that one action is enough to silence the jubilation of the living. And with the second he crushes their hopes.

Sombra looks at Twilight. He looks at the army of the living and the broken army of his undead, barely a few hundred thousand left out of millions. He gazes at Twilight, Princess of Friendship. And then—

His mouth opens. Sombra smiles.

Twilight stares at him in horror. Her mouth opens. She breathes one word.

“No.”

Sombra wrenches the sword made out of the Crystal Heart from his chest and drops it to the ground. The bloodless blade gleams once in the light before his hoof comes down and smashes it to bits.

“Yes, indeed.” Sombra laughs deeply. “This place you call the Crystal Empire. The transitory lands where empires rise and crumble to dust. In venturing north, armies and heroes discover the truth of this world.”

His horn glows. The sky darkens. A howling, shivering moan seems to emerge from the ground. The army of the living shifts and shakes in fear. The dead raise their heads. And Sombra looks at me, his gaze never wavering.

“The sun fades. The Princesses leave their thrones. And at the call of the Gatekeeper, the dead return. At the end of things, the Crystal Heart will shatter to dust.”

He smiles at Twilight.

“And the Undead shall rise.”

The howling cries from the earth reach their peak, and suddenly I realize it’s not the earth that is screaming, but what lies beneath it. A crevasse opens up, no, an abyss. The earth splits in two and the darkness pours out of the cracks in the world. The dead spill forth.

Not pony dead. Nor minotaur dead. Nor the dead of any creature still living in Equestria. The ancient dead, the monsters of lore and legend, these are what emerge. Things that died long before the sun ever rose upon Equestria, those that feared the light.

They have many limbs, some of them. Creatures with bone-white flesh and eyeless faces pull themselves out of the earth, sharp teeth snapping as, even in death, they hunger. Others of their kind were never born with the need to move about on hard ground, and instead slither or squirm towards the living, dark poisonous fluids oozing from their every crevice, staining the earth dark and killing the soil itself.

The dead are not to be feared, was it? Perhaps not the dead of my kind, at least not when faced by a trained and disciplined force. But I see the Grave Wardens falter, and even Applejack cannot hide her fear in the face of such monstrosities.

The living fall back in disarray. And the horrors continue to rise.

A new army charges the living. But this one is far deadlier. Even as the first of the monstrosities hits the forward rank of the defenders, their claws extend. Their fleshy tendrils slice outwards at the speed of sound and cut through metal, and they spit acid and grab ponies whole to be swallowed. They rampage through the ranks of the living without even slowing.

The army wavers, then breaks. The Grave Wardens fight and die in close quarters, their crossbow bolts useless against the armor of the enemy they face. And the Party Cannons themselves are too weak. For every abomination they fell through combined fire, there are countless more that speed towards their positions, too fast to be fired upon.

Ponies flee. They drop their weapons and run. The undead are one thing, but this is a battle they will never win. So they flee and are cut down mercilessly from behind. But in places some fight.

Pinkie Pie holds the line, firing her personal Party Cannon into the ranks of the monstrosities, buying time as ponies flee around her. But they are coming.

A dark shape ripples underneath the ground and explodes upwards. Pieces of ponies fall around Pinkie as she fires twice into the gaping maw and the beast falls back into the earth, dead once more. But another monster comes at her from the side, smashing Party Cannons and their fire teams aside as it rages towards her.

Pinkie fires her last round and looks up. Above her is a great skeletal beast that gazes down upon her with vast, empty eyesockets. She does not retreat. There is nowhere to go.

Applejack is struggling towards Pinkie, but her way is blocked by a horde of monsters. Fluttershy is fighting in the skies, Rarity and Twilight are stopped by Sombra himself as he conjures a barrier of black magic to halt them. Pinkie is alone, against a horror from the darkness.

It raises one limb, a piece of bone the size of a house. It swings downward at Pinkie, almost too fast to see. She watches it fall, calmly. She closes her eyes. And smiles.

The bone club falls. The air warps. And a single hoof rises to block it.

The earth shakes. A thunderclap of sound breaks across the noise of the battlefield. In the sudden silence a piece of bone the size of a house flies upwards and smashes into the ground with an earthshaking thump.

The nameless horror halts and regards its broken limb. It looks downwards. Even with its empty sockets it sees.

Two violet eyes that burn with life in death. A pair of azure wings. A blue pegasus. And a mane like rainbows.

It recoils. It tries to flee. But I reach out and touch it. Gently. Softly.

The monster relaxes. It’s massive, twisted body of bone falls backwards. It begins to turn to dust, and then that dust blows away. It is gone before it hits the ground.

Silence.

I look down at Pinkie. She looks up at me, and smiles. Once. I smile back. But I do not touch her. Instead, I walk.

The battlefield is full of broken bodies, torn limbs, and corpses. But though the living stare at me dumbly, the twisted dead do not. As I approach they retreat. They fall backwards, unwilling to stand before me. So the tide of the dead opens up as I face him across the battlefield.

Sombra.

He stares at me in horror. He senses me now, as I unveil my presence. He knows. He knows in his very soul, but he does not know yet. So I address him. For the first time in a very long time, I open my mouth.

And speak.

“Come,” I say. My voice breaks and rolls like thunder. “Come and see.”

Sombra flinches back from me. No, it would be fair to say the world flinches backwards as I unfurl my wings. Vast, azure wings that shone with white and blue radiance spread out across the world, larger than castles, wider than nations—yet confined in mere physicality to my back. And I shine with light.

The radiance that comes from me is not part of my mortal body. Rather, it is the portal in my soul and my soul itself giving off an unearthly light. And it is another sign, anther mark. I am a pale rider and all who look upon me know what I herald.

And Sombra trembles with mortal fear because he knows as well.

His horn glows. In desperation he draws on dark magic which breaks open the sky and shatters the air as he strikes at me. Spells of horror, dark pulses of magic ripple across the battlefield, breaking holes in the earth, tearing rifts in reality.

I walk through it all. My steps are soft upon the earth. The spells touch me, and fade away. I walk through it all, and with each step I travel closer, ever closer. What is distance to the dead? A thousand feet and a single hoofstep are one. So I walk, and he is before me.

Sombra turns to run. But my hoof catches him, and he is powerless to resist.

“Stop. Stop!” His voice echoes across the battlefield as he screams at me. But I whisper, and my voice is louder still.

“It is time to go.”

“Never!”

Sombra batters at me. His hooves smash against my body, his magic engulfs me. But I hold him lightly and he is helpless. And I begin to fly.

He is crying. Like a colt who has misbehaved. He alternates between screaming at me and pleading for mercy. “Don’t do this. I will forswear all vengeance if you let me go.”

The dead should not trouble the living. I hold him tighter as I fly higher. It is time to go.

I can sense it, now. It is so obvious when I look. There is a disturbance in the world, a great rift. The barrier that separated the souls of the living and dead is breached, and so the spirits of the deceased can return and claim new half-lives if they wish.

Reality itself is torn. But it is such as small hole. As small as the size of a soul. But again, large enough to encompass countless worlds. And I see it and know it must be fixed. The gateway must be opened, the one who broke it must pass through. And then it will all end.

So I must open the gateway. It’s not hard. I know how to do it. Deep down, I guess I have always known how.

I am high above the battlefield now. High enough so that the ponies below, living and dead, look like ants. But they have never been ants to me. And below me I can see. Five ponies, staring up at me. I wait a while, and memorize each face. And then I begin to fly.

Slowly. Then gradually, faster and faster.

The world is warping. Just like before, like every time I performed a Deathboom the air begins to howl. But this time is different. I know. And so the world begins to twist.

In the air above the battlefield something opens. Is it small? Yes; infinitesimally tiny. It is a gap so small you could never see it, the size of a soul. But at the same time, the rift is so large that it fills the sky, a dark hole that reveals—

The living cry out and look away. But I stare into the other world calmly. And I fly towards it, faster and faster, holding Sombra in my hooves as he struggles.

“You fool!” He screams at me. “You don’t know what awaits us! That dark hell will eat our souls! We will be lost forever if you do this! You have no idea what lies beyond!”

I look into his eyes. The eyes of a monster, a villain, a mortal seeking immortality. But in this place and in this time, all I see in his pale irises is fear.

“—Then let’s find out together.”

Sombra screams and tries to break free, but I hold his very soul in my hooves. And I will never let go. And both he and I know it. We can feel it. It is time.

So I smile, even as I accelerate. The wind tears at our mortal bodies, but the black wind emanating from the portal tears at our very souls. Yet I continue, flying towards it faster and faster.

Fast. Faster. The air is streaming around me, trying to hold me back. I feel it pulling, so hard. But I have broken through the barrier ten thousand times. And so I go faster.

Such speed! I feel myself flying, and this time I can actually feel the flight. I laugh for the sheer joy of it, even as Sombra screams. And the portal is upon us. Just a little further. So I go faster.

Deathboom. Rainboom. Which was it? All I know is that I break through the barrier at the last moment. The portal before us both, Sombra and I. It pulls at us, and we enter it.

But. Just as my soul vanishes, just before I go, I look back. It’s silly. I don’t ever look back. I’ve always been the kind of mare that does what I want without regrets. But just this once I look over my shoulder. And see.

Five mares, and one dragon. They stand together, watching me. Even from this far away I can see all of their faces as if they were right next to me. Some are crying, others smiling. But their eyes are open. They watch me, and I know they all see my face. One last time.

It is enough. I smile, and let the void claim me.

I pass to the other side. My soul fades. And it is all over.

----

The portal closes. The gate is shut. The world trembles as reality stabilizes. And the dead die.

All around the icy battlefield the undead begin to topple over. For the creatures of the abyss it is a quick thing; their souls fleeing their corpses in an instant, leaving only nightmares and ash behind. But for the ponies it is different.

The mares and stallions pause, shaking their heads and frowning as if waking from some deep sleep. They look around, and then focus on the living.

Ponies stare at each other, across the whirling snows. And they know each other. Though time has changed the ponies still alive, the dead have not changed. They look at old lovers, friends, comrades, enemies, unburdened by the pettiness of life. And the living stare back, in tears, and wonder.

These are not the undead. These are no monsters to be fought against, horrors to be feared. This is different.

Is it a few minutes that pass, or hours? For the souls that meet each other, it is a quiet eternity. But eventually it ends.

The dead begin collapsing, their bodies turning to dust as their souls finally exit this world, free of their bonds. But as each falls they smile, or nod, and bow their heads to the living. And where they pass, the world is changed. Their forms go, but memories remain.

At last, the dead are free. Their souls are no longer bound to the living world, and the living no longer need live in fear of death.

The living stand, trembling, staring at a sight they will never forget or understand. All are transfixed, save for six.

Six. Five mares and a dragon stand together, staring into a blue patch of sky. There is nothing remarkable about that space, save for what was once there. And that sight is burnt into their very souls.

The sky is blue and clear. Nothing is up there, not even clouds. But as the wind begins to blow, something falls back down to earth. All six stare as it floats every downwards, carried by a strange breeze. It falls among them, and all look. And see.

A single blue feather.

It rests in the snow, untouched, perfect. For an instant all six pairs of eyes stare at it and see ten thousand different sights. And then the wind picks up, and the feather flutters away into the sky.

They weep then, as they did once, long ago. Five friends and a young dragon hold each other and shed tears for a friend they knew, a friend long gone but never far away.

And in the sky blooms that last sign she is still watching. And as they stare at it then and every time in the coming years, they remember. It is hers. Their bond with her that is stronger than death itself.

A rainbow.