Princess Celestia felt completely ridiculous. Draped in a bed linen Reman had pulled from a nearby closet, she practiced her Imperial posture. She knew the human spine had two large curves in it, but looking at Reman now, she would have had no idea. “Bear in mind that it is customary to sit up as straight as you can while meeting with the Emperor; it dates back to the days of Saint Alessia, when assassins may have been hiding weapons or armor under their clothes,” he said, motioning to his chest. He no longer wore the cumbersome, Dwemer-made armor, and now covered himself with a shirt and pants, and keeping true to the lesson, there was a small knife tucked in one of his sleeves; part of the lesson was for Celestia to find it, which she had done in stunning time.

“Is this about right?” she asked, straightening her back, but keeping her usual style of sitting on her haunches while her forehooves rested on the floor. Reman, noting that her back was, indeed, as straight as mortally possible, groaned as he realized just how difficult this was going to be.

“I could hide under you right now,” he replied. He walked around her, studying where the sheet clung to her body, and where it draped too much to be safe. “Robes and dresses would be too loose; we need something that will stay close to your fur, but allow freedom of movement.”

“I can't just wear the usual?” Celestia asked, meaning her shoes, necklace, and crown.

“Absolutely not!” Reman shouted, mood suddenly taking a turn for the sour. He seemed disgusted by the very thought, but quickly returned to something resembling normalcy. “This is a formal meeting with the Emperor and the Elder Council; simply going nude is out of the question.”

“I don't exactly own anything that meets the requirements, Reman.” Actually, she did. It was a Nightmare Night costume from a few years back; obviously, she felt it was out of the question. From what Luna had told her, Celestia doubted Emperor Mede would care for her to show up dressed as a devil.

“We can find something; failing that, we can commission it.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“So, this is a vampire?” Fluttershy asked, meaning those form Equestria. She and Renoir were looking at Mandrake's corpse, chilling on ice to prevent decomposition before Reman had a chance to revive individual organ systems to determine their function. “I imagine something... scarier,” she said, her voice lowering as she spoke, with the final word being barely above a whisper.

“Was, as the case seems to be,” Renoir replied, sliding his scalpel under the outermost layer of Mandrake's stomach. Like Tamriellic vampire, the organ seemed to serve two purposes; like those of normal individuals, it contained a reservoir of acid to digest consumed matter into a form usable by the body, however, vampires possessed a secondary organ near the opening to the esophagus. Commonly called the hemophagia organ, it converted consumed blood into the vampire's own, allowing direct utilization of nutrients and hemoglobin, the latter of which was necessary, as vampires had a diminished capacity to produce the oxygen-carrying protein. The hemophagia organ led directly to the circulatory system, a grace allowed only by the innate immunity to all disease present in vampires.

Fluttershy gasped as Renoir sliced the odd, bladder-like organ open, spilling its bright red contents over the plastic sheet that covered the table. He dipped his middlemost finger in, smearing a bit of blood on the tip, before dabbing it against his tongue, humming in thought. “As Springs suspected,” he mumbled before scribbling in his notes. Mandrake had completely ignored Wary Glimmer, and had instead focused on the younger, healthier Joyous Pathos. “It would appear Mandrake had discerning tastes; didn't even bother feeding on the older of the two.”

“He killed those ponies last night?” Fluttershy asked, amazed and horrified that Renoir and at least one princess had been so swift to kill the offending vampire. As nice as she thought Renoir and Reman were, she had to remind herself that they were killers, and seemed capable of ending life without remorse if they felt it necessary. Still, they had thoughts and feelings like anypony else, and while a measured amount of caution was probably needed, she felt oddly at ease around them.

“Unfortunately,” the Breton answered, completely honest. He despised most vampires for their habits, but he also acknowledged that, like it or not, he was among the undead as well, and was prey to the same desires and addictions that plagued the nocturnal creatures. He'd ended his fair share of lives in the pursuit of sustenance, especially during his time as a neonate, but he curbed his urges as quickly as he could. “But, from what the vampiress told me, Equestrian vampires usually don't feed directly.”

“Vampiress?” Fluttershy wondered aloud, understanding only that it was likely a feminine version of vampire. Renoir nodded, taking a bone chisel and a small hammer.

“A white unicorn whom Luna, Springs and I came across last night; she was friendly enough,” he said, striking the chisel's pommel and knocking off a sliver of the hardened bone around Mandrake's heart. As he worked more and more, the Belmont realized he may not need Reman's help, not if so many structures had analogues within Tamriellic vampires. A knock sounded at the door, signaling the Imperial's timely arrival.

“So this is the corpse you wanted me to look at?” he asked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He took only a moment to notice Fluttershy standing next to the dissection table, and he immediately cast a look of displeasure at his vampiric friend. “You are aware that what you want to do isn't exactly within the constrains of Equestrian law, right?”

“Renoir already told me necromancy was legal in the Empire, and this is supposed to be for research purposes,” Fluttershy answered for him, smiling as much as she could. She saw the leather-bound tome in Reman's hand and realized that it must have been some manual on black magics. “I won't tell a soul.”

“You may decide differently once you've seen what's going to happen,” Reman replied, actually dreading the resurrection. When he was twelve, he studied under a more advanced tutor, a Dunmer from Vvardenfell, who had been exiled from House Telvanni. Necromancy was part of the curriculum, though it quickly led to the binding of Daedra and souls; Master Vevul had been sure to teach him all the consequences of biting off more than he could chew. Resurrecting a corpse without the proper spell could have damning, explosive, or otherwise disastrous results. “I'd stand back if I were you.”

Reman placed the profane tome of an easel, opened to a particular page that was half-covered by odd symbols drawn in the vague shape of a triangle. He pressed his hands together and closed his eyes, intent on using the notes only as a quick reference should things go awry. Raw, blue magicka began to swirl across his arms, turning purple as it reached his hands. It sounded like a gentle breeze at first, but as it darkened, it grew into the roar of a gust flying through a canyon. As the Imperial separated his hands, the dark purple energy swirled inward, forming a near-perfect sphere.

With a deep breath, he flung it at the cadaver. Mandrake's lungs inflated, visible only due to his lack of a chest, and his eyes opened to reveal the unfocused, whitened orbs they had degenerated into. His hemophagia organ sputtered back to life, and last bits of bone fell away from his heart. Blood, both his own and Pathos's, flowed from his undead mouth as he tried to speak, but only produced a wet gurgle. It tried to stand, but Renoir had taken the necessary measures and cut the tendons that allowed for locomotion, leaving the zombie little more than a heaving pile of undead, rotting meat.

“Mara preserve,” Reman said, staring at the abomination Mandrake once called a heart. It was a gnarled, malignant organ, darker than any flesh had the right to be. None of the major vessels were present, as two large tubes sprouted from either side and curled around the back, away from almost any avenue of attack.

“Mara has nothing to do with this,” Renoir muttered, looking equally taken aback and fascinated. The anatomy involved in this heart was just wrong, though not in a way that suggested Daedric influence, but also spit in the face of nature. There was something else involved in this, he was sure of it.

“Release me...,” it moaned, clearing the blood from its throat. The fact that it could even vocalize with half its face being cut away was amazing, but this was no time to be admiring the abomination. Fluttershy shrieked and jumped back, hiding behind Renoir. Reman shouted and rammed his sword through its heart, pinning it to the table and preventing it from escaping. A quick dagger to the brain stem, courtesy of the resident vampire slayer, ended its short. “Thank you...,” it murmured as Mandrake's soul was swept back into the afterlife.

The magic, the purple lines etched over its body that anchored the soul within, did not fade, and the corpse did not turn to ash. If anything, it seemed to be getting healthier, its fur and flesh taking on a bright, more vibrant hue. “Hit the dirt!” Reman shouted as he ducked behind a nearby loveseat. Sensing danger, Renoir grabbed Fluttershy and dove under the suite's bed. Mandrake's body started swelling, and not from gaseous buildup.

With a loud, wet pop, it exploded, showering the room with viscera and shards of sharp, bony shrapnel.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Twilight looked at herself in the mirror, half-admiring her new look. With all the magical fireballs and lightning bolts Renoir and Reman hurled during training, the shorter manestyle seemed only practical. Besides, she'd seen a woman in Solitude wearing something similar and figured she'd give it a shot. “Not bad,” she said, turning to see it from a different angle.

“Well... it's new,” Cadence said, nodding in sage approval.

“My little filly is growing up,” Twilight Velvet said, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. She giggled and wrapped her daughter in a hug. “So, what's his name?”

“Mom,” Twilight groaned and returned the hug. They shared a laugh for a few seconds, before Velvet posed a very serious question.

“Really, though; what's all this about? You've had the same manestyle since you were a filly.”

“Magic practice,” she answered, smiling proudly. Both Cadence and Twilight Velvet ave her a curious look; as far as either of them knew, which was a considerable amount between them, unicorn magic didn't really have a limit on one's mane size. “Renoir and Reman are teaching me the fundamentals of their world's magic.”

“I knew the pale one could use magic, but not the mean-looking one,” Velvet said, trailing off as she thought about it. “How do they use magic without horns, though?”

“Reman always channeled it through his hands when I saw him using it,” Cadence replied, remembering the speed he could summon those glowing swords of his. Most unicorns had trouble making functional blades for basic utility work, let alone wielding them in battle; that was the reason they still used chisels and swords like everypony else. “But I'm not sure how that would work on a pony.”

“Hooves.” Twilight held out her forehooves, making sure Cadence and her mother were looking at their bottoms, as she channeled as much magicka as she could through them. Sadly, there was only enough to produce a small, blue aura, but it was still an incredible improvement over her initial amount. “The best part is that with enough practice, even pegasi and earth ponies should be able to wield Tamriellic magic.”

“That's incredible,” Velvet half-shouted, not believing her ears. While she knew her daughter was a prodigy, and that she could tackle just about any problem with her mind, the idea of earth ponies levitating things and pegasi transmuting items made her boggled her mind. “I think I'd like to watch one of these practices; for research purposes, of course.”

“You're always working on another book,” Twilight said in mock annoyance, motioning for her mother and Cadence to follow her into the hall. They didn't walk far before they were met with numerous servants bustling here and there, carrying bloody sheets and mops. “What in Celestia's name happened?”

None of the servants stopped to answer her, so they followed one of them to the scene of what they first assumed to be a horrible accident. Fluttershy, Reman, and Renoir sat outside Renoir's suite, covered in blood. Thankfully, they appeared unharmed.

“Are you okay?” Cadence asked, looking at the viscera splattered all over them, the floor, and the inside of the door. She also noticed a few shards of what looked like bone sticking out of the wood, but didn't think she wanted to know where they came from, knowing who was in the room at the time.

“I... may need some more practice before I try anything like that again,” Reman conceded, handing Renoir a few septims.

"Yeah; I think you do."