Chapter 155

“Go ahead, Agent Shadow, I’m listening,” Twilight Sparkle said as she looked down at her laptop, her fingers at the ready above the keys.

She was sitting in the driver’s seat of the rental car, parked in the rear corner of a strip mall parking lot. Her mask was removed, and she was wearing a knitted sweater to cover the black suit in case someone happened to walk by. Foot traffic was unlikely, however; it was still quite early in the morning, the sunrise casting its pink presence across the row of businesses, all of which were closed at the time.

”OK, his password is ‘Jesus loves you --capital J, all one word-- forward slash, forward slash, six six six.’” came a sleek voice from her earpiece.

The lavender girl furrowed her brows. “Hm. That’s an ironic password,” she said, typing it into the window and then hitting enter.

”Well, you have to have numbers and symbols, so...”

“Still, you’d think he would have chosen a verse or something,” Twilight reasoned.

”Yeah, well... this guy is clearly not your average minister. Are you in?”

A little smirk grew on Twilight’s lips as she watched the page load onto her screen. “I’m in. Is it the same password for the others as well?”

“Yeah, they’re all the same--which you should never do, case in point.”

“True. Although I don’t think it’ll matter much to him after today,” Twilight replied as she opened a new window to scroll through her files. “Tell Agent Ingram thanks for me, by the way; we really appreciate his help on this.”

”Oh it was no problem for him,” Tempest replied. “He hacked his way into the thing like it was an afterthought. Dude is a friggin wizard, like seriously. But I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks. And thank you as well… for all your help.”

”Don’t mention it. You guys have been through more than you deserve lately; it was the least we could do.”

“It works out in the long run, really; we’ll be ridding the city of a massive plague after today, which is ultimately a good thing, despite the high price we’ve paid. It’s ironic, really: I bet they never expected murdering some innocent family would lead to their eventual destruction.”

”If the world is smart, it’s gonna learn quickly that it’s a bed idea to mess with you guys. Like Ingram said: this is gonna be a turning point in human history, and your group is at the very center of it.”

Twilight paused, contemplating this. Then she nodded slowly, smiling to herself.

”OK.” A deep breath being drawn could be heard through the little speaker. ”Good luck today.

“Yup. Thanks, Agent Shadow. We’ll keep you posted.”

”Perfect.”

*****

The out-of-synch and at times singing, made by weak, old voices filled the sanctuary, nearly drowned out by the massive organ that sat off to the right of the congregation, its golden pipes stretching to the ceiling like a vine climbing a lattice, the organist hidden behind a wooden partition.

During the opening hymn, a door behind the pulpit opened and out stepped the reverend himself, dressed in a black robe complete with a wireless microphone clipped to the front and the signature white square at the center of his collar. His light gray hair and large, shaggy mutton chops were shaggy and somewhat wild-looking, framing his red face and those dark, sunken eyes, with that distinctively long upper lip, centered by a prominent cleft that ran from his nose to his mouth.

As always, he stepped sideways and ducked slightly to fit his massive frame through the door before lumbering across the stage to approach the podium; his robe flowed as he went, holding a Bible under one arm with some extra papers protruding from its edges. He set the book down as he stepped up to the pulpit, opening it up to remove the papers, readying them for his opening announcements, which he always did once the opening him was finished.

He then stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over his congregation with a warm smile as he waited for the hymn to finish.

The song ended with the final organ note held extra long, accompanied by that one old lady with the high pitched, high vibrato voice who always feels the need to hold the note longer than everyone else. The church echoed into silence at last, and the congregation quietly closed their hymn books and looked ahead to the reverend.

“Please be seated,” he said as gently as possible, with a smile and a nod. He made the same attempt to hide his gruffness each and every week; this was essential, in his mind, given his imposing size and intimidating outward appearance.

After the soft rustling of clothes and the creaking of old pews, Father Tirek drew a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the all too familiar scent of old wood finish and linens, mixed with the scent of whatever type of perfume it was that elderly women seemed to love.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” came the murmured reply, in unison.

After taking a moment to adjust his papers, he lifted his massive red hands into the air. “It’s the start of a beautiful new day, isn’t it? The Lord shines down upon us with his grace and warmth.”

A few nods were received from the congregation.

Looking down at his papers, he cleared his throat and began to leaf through them. “Announcements for this week,” he began and then paused, before facing everyone again. “Last week’s bake sale went well; apple and pumpkin pies, assorted pastries and cupcakes went as usual, sales on par with every other year--no surprise there.”

A few chuckles echoed through the sanctuary.

“Turkey pies, on the other hand, sold like crazy,” he continued. “Slightly more than double of last year. Good job, everyone; let’s see if we can double it again next year! This being the second year we’ve done them, I think we can make it happen.” He paused for a moment, flipping a few pages aside. “Ah, this year’s Crokinole Tournament will be held in the mess hall as usual, but… it will have to be moved to Thursday instead of Wednesday, due to scheduling reasons. I will try my best to attend, despite this change, but unfortunately I can’t make any promises. If I can’t make it, make sure to post the results on my Facebook wall; I wanna see who wins, so make sure the organizers keep me posted!”

Another round of low energy chuckles followed.

He cleared his throat next, scanning his papers. “On a more serious note, Mrs. Brays is still in hospital; the doctors have unfortunately discovered that she has pneumonia, and as such, will remain under intensive care for the foreseeable future. She is able to have visitors, however, so I encourage those of you here to go see her when you can. I’m sure it would brighten her day to see your smiling faces, and it may even give her the strength needed to recover more quickly.”

Father Tirek smacked his lips as he rifled through the last few papers, checking for any further notes of interest. “Ah, to anyone interested, there will be a--“

The pipe organ blared suddenly, filling the sanctuary with its shrill chorus and cutting the reverend off mid-sentence. Everyone in the congregation turned to face in the organ’s direction, unable to see what was going on behind the partition as the music continued to fill the room with its foreboding story.

At last, the music ended, leaving the place to drown in a vacuous silence as everyone stared expectantly at the end of the partition, wondering what had just happened, and why. After a tense few seconds, a little old lady shuffled out and smiled innocently, folding her hands in front of herself.

Father Tirek, struggling to contain his frustration, forced a smile toward the old woman. “Did you, uh… heh! D’you miss your cue?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Father, but I tried to talk her out of it.”

The smile quickly faded from his face. “I’m sorry? Tried to talk who out of it? You’re the only one back there, are you not?”

The old lady shook her head sheepishly while, from behind the partition, came the clopping of heels on hardwood, slow and rhythmic, each step goading the curiosity of everyone present. At last, the footsteps approached the end of the wall, manifesting in the form of a slender, masked woman dressed in a tight, black suit with tall, high-heeled boots.

Everyone stared in disbelief at the woman --and her outfit, to be sure-- whose pale cleavage was displayed prominently in the valley at the front of the suit, branching off into a pair of wide, pointy collars that hung over her shoulders.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her jet-black lips as she locked eyes with the incredulous minister, after which she turned to face the little old lady beside her. “I hope I didn’t get you in any trouble, Mrs. … er, goodness me! I’m so dreadfully sorry; I can be terrible with names” she said, placing a hand on the old woman’s shoulder.

“EH!?” the woman squawked, turning slightly toward the masked girl.

The Dark Mistress huffed slightly, leaning closer. “I SAID I SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR NAME!”

“Oh…” the lady turned back and nodded. “It’s Crowley, dear.”

“Ah, yes!” the Mistress said, bopping herself on the forehead. “Silly me; I knew that. Anyway, I was just saying that… I WAS JUST SAYING THAT I HOPE I DIDN’T GET YOU IN ANY TROUBLE JUST NOW.”

Mrs. Crowley glanced above her glasses at the masked girl. “Oh no, it’s fine, dear. I thought it was lovely, what you played. And don’t worry about the reverend; he might be big, but he’s easy to tame with a nice ham sandwich some juice.”

“Oh, ho ho!” The Dark Mistress giggled and leaned in, wrapping her arm around the lady’s shoulders as she pressed her cheek to her temple. “Thank you, darling! Such a sweetheart you are.”

She released the smiling old woman from the embrace a moment later, letting her hobble back behind the partition. Once she was out of sight, the Dark Mistress faced the reverend, her smile transitioning into a pair of tightly pursed lips. Drawing a breath, she began to make her way toward the aisle at the center of the sanctuary, her heels thumping heavily along the hollow-sounding wood as she passed between a pair of pews, keeping her hands on her hips as she walked.

Father Tirek watched her intently with a slight scowl upon his brow, trying to hide his elevated heart rate by maintaining his breathing--calm, slow and steady. He cleared his throat and then licked his lips, drawing a breath to speak. “I’m not sure that outfit is appropriate for church, young lady.”

“Whatever do you mean, Father?” she asked facetiously as she entered the main aisle and twirled around on her heel, making sure everyone got a good look at her tight little derriere, wrapped in that shiny, skin-tight material. “I always make sure I’m dressed in my Sunday best; and I like to make a grand entrance, as you can see.”

The reverend sneered as he watched her stand in the middle of his service with her weight on one leg to accentuate her sleek curves, folding her arms in such a way that squeezed those milky white breasts even further from the front of the outfit.

“I can see that. And so can the Lord above,” he grumbled. Then he cocked his head slightly, looking sideways at her. “You’re interrupting the service here; is there something we can do for you, miss?”

“Ah!” She raised a finger. “As a matter of fact, there is.” Keeping that black digit pointed to the sky, she stepped forward confidently, her hips swinging as her boots thudded softly along the aisle carpet. “I wanted to share with your congregation some of the ‘ins and outs’ of our recent correspondence.”

A number of people began to look around at others, a few of them whispering.

This prompted the Mistress to put her fingertips to her lips and giggle playfully. “Haha! Oh my, that came out wrong! No-no, I can assure you, it is nothing of that nature.” She faced the reverend once again, her face suddenly quite serious as she glared through that mask with those sapphire daggers. “It is far worse than that, I’m afraid.”

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else, miss,” Father Tirek interjected, glowering over his podium at her.

“I’m afraid not, Father.” She placed her hands on her hips and strutted forward confidently, closing about half of the distance between them before stopping. “But before we begin, I want to make it clear that I am not heartless. I have a penchant for being rather generous, you see; therefore I am giving you the chance to come forward on your own, to stay in control of your own destiny, to do the right thing.”

Drawing a deep breath, Father Tirek rested this big, red hands on the front corners of his podium, shrugging. “I am sorry to disappoint you, miss. But I have nothing to bring forward, other than being a loved member of this community, who donates his time to bring strength and the word of God to those in need.”

The Dark Mistress shook her head, slowly. “Are ‘strength’ and the ‘word of god’ code words for illegal substances?”

The entire sanctuary stood in silence, watching the stunned minister stare incredulously at the intruder, who then began to saunter around in a circle to face everyone as she continued.

“If you won’t come forward yourself, Father, then I am afraid I’ll have to do it for you,” she said, lacing her fingers together in front of her chest while she took a moment to decide how she would deliver her message. Then she drew a deep breath.

“Father Tirek is a criminal.”

“Urghh…” The reverend groaned, rubbing his brow. “Miss… I don’t know what has driven you to choose this path of madness, but it’s never too late to turn back and repent; as in Proverbs three, verse six: ‘in all your ways submit to the Lord, and he will make your paths straight.’”

The Dark Mistress rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Oh, spare me your disingenuous claptrap, Father! It’s not my[i/] path that isn’t straight, it’s yours. YOU are nothing more than a deranged psychopath, and you need to be exposed for all that you’ve done.”

Father Tirek stared at the remark, open-mouthed and dumbfounded.

“You are blight upon this city,” she continued, “responsible for countless lost and ruined lives. You take profit from the suffering of others, you murder innocent families, you destroy people’s livelihoods, and you do it all under this sickening guise of being a holy man. To do all of these things and still be able to sleep at night… you must have no conscience to speak of. Whatsoever.”

The congregation slowly turned from her to watch the minister, wondering how he would react.

Father Tirek stared intensely at the masked woman for a moment, his face slowly transitioning into an indignant sneer until he raised his hand to give the podium a thump before stepping out from behind it, pointing at her.

“How dare you! How dare you come in here and interrupt my service dressed like some harlot, throwing wild accusations at me--with NO PROOF whatsoever!” he shouted, pacing back and forth across the stage in retort. “You come in here and brand me with these terrible labels; do you have any idea how many years of service I have put into this community? How many I’ve helped? How many times I’ve restored faith in someone who’s all but given up?”

He pointed into the congregation next. “Do you realise how many of these people I’ve baptised? How many I’ve married? How many of their loved ones I’ve delivered eulogies for? I’ve been here for these people, tending to their spirituality for DECADES! And to think, I am going to stand up here and have wild accusations hurled at me by some two-bit arsonist!”

The Mistress stiffened when he said this, her fists tightening at her sides.

“That’s right,” Tirek growled, having noticed her reaction. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. I watch the news. I saw what you did… to that little shop in Canterlot.” He turned to his parishioners next, holding his hands outwards. “Surely some of you saw it, just last night; this young lady was on every news channel in town.”

“Hey, yeah! That’s where I’ve seen you!” a middle-aged bald man said as he stood, pointing above his wife and kids at the Mistress. “You burnt down that little shop in Canterlot!”

She faced him, lips parted as she thought of a defense, but was prompted to turn and look the other way when someone behind her shouted.

“Yes! I knew it!” an overweight woman in her forties shouted, prompting more people to join in until the sanctuary was in an uproar.

The Dark Mistress took a step back, looking back and forth at the surrounding crowd as they closed in on her with jeers and accusations, only a fraction of which she was able to understand.

“You’re a monster! Those poor young ladies! What are they supposed to do now!?”

“Her name was Rarity, and she was a third generation owner!”

“You destroyed everything her family built--their entire legacy!”

“YOU’RE the only criminal here! Someone call the police!”

The masked woman cowered back even further, her hands balled against her chest as her eyes darted around at the angry mob. A grimace began to form on her face when she noticed one of them had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through the directory, searching for the number to call the authorities. He looked up from his phone, however, when the reverend’s voice boomed gruffly over the church’s sound system.

“STOP!”

Everyone including the Dark Mistress faced the stage, where Father Tirek stood with his massive arms in the air, sleeves hanging loose from his wrists.

“I do appreciate your… loyalty, everyone,” he said, his voice softer now as he slowly lowered his arms. “I am deeply moved by your coming to my defence. Proverbs twenty, verse six asks ‘many will say they are loyal friends, but who can find one who is truly reliable?’” Smiling, he gestured to the crowd. “Well… it appears I have found many. That is because those who are present today are the ones who truly know me; they know that I am an honest man, and honorable man. It’s for that very reason that, despite you coming in here, young lady, to accuse me of being a drug dealer without a shred of evidence, while you yourself have committed actual crimes --for which there is plenty of evidence for all to see!-- I shall grant you the same thing you offered me, which is the only amicable thing you’ve done here today: which is to offer you the chance to give yourself up.”

One by one, the congregation brought their attention back to the Dark Mistress to see how she would respond.

She stood, knees together, chewing her lip nervously as her hands fidgeted in front of her bosom, her eyes darting around at everyone. Then, to their surprise, she straightened her stance and let her hands fall to her sides, looking up at Father Tirek with a confident smirk.

“I never said you were a drug dealer.”

All eyes suddenly went back to the reverend, who stood frozen, his face pale.

“And if it’s evidence you wish to see,” she continued, after drawing a breath and stepping closer again, “then so be it.”

BUZZ! BLING! WHOOSH! DING-A-LING! BOOP!

A soft chorus of chimes and vibrations rang out from the surrounding crowd and their pockets, prompting them to look down and pause. The man who was about to call the police, phone in hand already, turned the device over to look at the screen.

The man furrowed his brows while others reached into their pockets to retrieve their phones, prompted by the curiosity spawned by so many of their phones going off at once. Slowly, he reached to the center of the window to touch the play button in the center; he waited for a brief moment, watching the pinwheel spin around as the video loaded.

It started with a series of dark blurs before stabilizing on a young woman in a violet skirt topped with a dressy lavender jacket, who sported a massive head of curly hair that hung all the way to her backside. He hands were behind her back, held there against her will--as evidenced by her struggling; the angle from which the scene was filmed was bizarre, giving the viewer a rather low angle to look up at her face from.

It was then that a large, red fist flew in from the right, pounding the woman’s midsection just below her bust and knocking the wind out of her. She hunched forward, gasping and coughing as she fought to refill her lungs with air before lifting her head to glower to the right of the screen--presumably at her attacker.

She threw her head to the side to fling her hair out of her face, revealing a blackened and swollen eye, indicating that this abuse had been happening long before the video started. Teeth gritted, she glared furiously at her oppressor while a separate female voice spoke, its tone and bass somewhat overpowering, making it obvious that whoever was speaking was also the one filming.

“Stop! I said I’d do it!” The orange-haired woman swung to the left and out of view as the speaker turned to face the attacker, a large suited man whose head was cut off by the top of the screen, leaving his clerical tab the highest thing visible. “Just... don’t hurt her anymore.”

He paused for a moment, appearing to consider her pleas when one of his arms unexpectedly snapped up, his sausage-like fingers whipping past the camera in a red blur. The video jarred around suddenly, the sleeve of his suit filling the top half of the screen as the sound of wheezing and choking poured from the speakers, followed by a pair of thin, purple arms reached up in front of the lens to grab that massive arm, fighting in vain to pull it away.

A gruff, yet familiar voice could be heard next. ”You’re not the one gives orders around here; UNDERSTAND!?” he shouted, shaking the woman behind the camera by the throat. “This isn’t a--“

The sound of a cell phone ringing brought him to a halt, prompting him to pat the pockets of his suit to remember which one he’d put his phone in. He pulled the device out and cradled it in his massive red hand, holding it just in front of the camera; seconds later, his fist closed tightly around the phone, accompanied by a frustrated grunt.

He appeared to wind up suddenly, and the image was sent askew, the screen filled with streaks of random colours, followed by a hard thump and then: darkness.

“Why does this fucking lady ALWAYS call when I’m busy!?” he bellowed, his voice somewhat muffled. After some noisy shuffling, the image of a picture-laden wall zoomed past, followed by a blank ceiling, which then floated up and out of view as the person behind the camera sat up after being thrown to the floor by the large man.

The scene could be seen much more clearly from a distance; the orange-haired woman was indeed being held with her arms behind her back, with a second, less imposing man standing off to the left. The big man on the right, now clearly seen as Father Tirek, was scrunching his nose as he tapped the screen of his phone to answer the call, his expression quickly changing to a warm smile as he put the phone to his ear.

”Mrs. Crinkle, so nice to hear from you!” he greeted, looking down at the floor as the woman behind him was silenced by a hand covering her mouth. ”Ohh... the dreams again, eh?” he said with a shake of his head, eyes closed. ”I-- ... I know it can be frightening, but you need to remember it’s not real. I know the memories are painful, but you have--“

He paused for a moment, having been cut off by the person on the other end. Then he looked up at the ceiling and shook his fist, his mouth wide open to release a silent scream of exasperation before facing the floor with the phone to his ear once again. ”No... no, Mrs. Crinkle. I don’t believe he is haunting you; if anything, he is watching over you. I’m sure he would want nothing more for you than to be safe and happy.”

He paused and then closed his eyes, nodding. “Yes. The spirit is kind. It’s not malevolent in any way, and I want you to remember: whenever you are in distressed, confused or frightened, the Lord is always listening. Joshua one, verse nine says: ‘be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’”

He took another moment to listen, impatiently running his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

”You too. Any-- ... anytime, Mrs. Crinkle. You don’t need to be afraid. ... ... Exactly. You are safe; watchful eyes are always guarding you from harm, I promise.” He nodded one more time. “Yes, you are welcome, and I shall see you this Sunday. You are more than welcome to talk to me then if it’s still bothering you. ... ... Yep. Goodbye, and God bless.”

He lowered the phone and tapped the screen with his thumb, ending the call. Then he brought it to his mouth like a CB radio. ”FUUUUCK! YOOOOOU! BIIIIIITCH!” he bellowed at the device. “Maybe he fucking died just to get away from your constant nattering! YOU EVER THINK OF THAT!?”

Huffing and growling, he stuffed the phone into his pocket. ”Anytime you’d like to go ahead and join him would be fine by me,” he grumbled to himself as he turned back to face the orange-haired woman first, then bringing his attention to the one behind the camera, pointing his finger. ”You. You have your instructions.”

His eyes shifted upward, looking past her. ”Take her. Get her to Canterlot immediately, so she can do her job.” The camera angle shifted upward as unseen hands grabbed her and hoisted her to her feet, and then he raised that thick, red index finger at her. ”Do NOT fuck this up, girl. You KNOW what’ll happen if you do, right?”

Her breathing could be heard as camera shook slightly, presumably from her nodding in reply.

”And just so you know how serious I am...” --he turned and pointed to the smaller man who stood next to the captive. ”Juno, cut this bitch.”

Juno reached into his pocket and pulled out a little black handle and pressed the release with his thumb, which prompted a shiny, steel blade to flick forth and, without hesitation, he swiped it across the woman’s hip, slicing her skirt and the skin beneath.

She threw her head back and screamed in agony, her knees wobbling and then quickly giving out. The man holding her arms behind her back was forced to catch her mid-fall, hauling her back to her feet to force her to stand as a gush of dark crimson gushed from the beneath hem of her skirt, running down her thigh, past her knee and over her calf.

Shaky breaths and wet sobs could be heard from behind the camera, making the reverend turn back to face her. ”You fuck this up, I’ll cut her a lot deeper than that. I’ll cut her so deep, her intestines will all over the floor, along with the rest of her organs, got it?!”

Nothing but sobs could be heard.

”GOT IT!?”

A shaky gasp, and then: “Yes! Yes, I’ll do it! Just don’t hurt her anymore!”

A tiny smirk appeared on the reverend’s red face. “Good. Now go,” he order, swinging his arm dismissively as he turned to head for the desk that stood in the background. The view swung around next, revealing a large, steel-framed door that began to grow closer as the camera girl was dragged from the room.

The video ended there.

Several parishioners had their phones out by then, each with several others watching over their shoulders. One by one, individual heads rose to face the reverend, mouths agape.

Father Tirek’s outward air of confidence faltered slightly as more and more horrified eyes landed on him, making him wonder what they were being shown on those tiny screens. Remembering that his phone was set to private --a must during his sermons-- he reached into his robe and pulled it out to check for notifications.

He found a text from an unknown number, showing nothing but a link to a Facebook page. He tapped the screen, and the windows flipped around, bringing him to his own posts, where an unfamiliar video began to play on its own. Only a few seconds in, when he saw the orange-haired siren being held captive, he knew exactly what he was seeing; his stomach twisted into a knot and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end upon realising what’d happened: the purple sister must have had a hidden camera on her and filmed the whole thing. And now his social media accounts had been hacked!

With big, shaky thumbs, he scrolled to the top to hit the ‘delete’ icon, but it was nowhere to be found. This was when he noticed that he’d been logged out. Frantically, he typed in his username --making several mistakes along the way, his large fingers having a harder time than usual due to their excessive trembling-- followed by his password. Upon hitting ‘go,’ a window popped up saying: ‘password error.’

Figuring he’d made a typo, he hammered the password in again, only to get the same message. “GRR!” He squeezed the phone in frantic frustration, gritting his teeth as he looked up at the crowd to find a sea of stunned and speechless faces staring back. His eyes darted from person to person, his lips moving silently in search of an explanation that wasn’t there.

In the center of it all stood the Dark Mistress, her weight shifted onto one leg with one hand on her hip, which was swung out to the side. She glared intensely with those sharp sapphire eyes, their brightness augmented by the black mask that surrounded them; she was not smiling or glowering, rather she showed no expression at all.

Clenching his jaw, Father Tirek scanned the crowd again, knowing he’d been backed into an indefensible corner. The only thing he could think of to escape it was a feeble lie.

“It’s some kind of trick!” he blurted, his voice booming over the sound system. “This footage must be doctored! Surely you don’t believe I could act this reprehensible?”

“Hm…” The Dark Mistress stepped closer, rubbing her hands together. “Doctored footage, eh? That’s rich, coming from you.” She turned to the crowd. “Is Mrs. Crinkle here today?”

After glancing at the Mistress, the crowd slowly turned to face one of the pews on the left side of the sanctuary, where a small group separated to reveal an old lady, still seated, with someone holding a phone in front of her, letting her watch the footage for herself.

The Dark Mistress approached the end of the pew to lean on it with her hands, leaning in to speak to the woman. “Mrs. Crinkle?”

She looked up from the phone just as the video was ending, her bony, vein-laden hands covering her mouth as she faced the masked beauty.

“Do you remember talking to Father Tirek that night?”

After a pause, the old lady nodded slowly.

The Mistress stood upright with a satisfied smirk stretched across those jet-black lips. “Well then… if that footage is in fact doctored, then I am impressed!” She turned to face the stage, where the reverend stood. “Tell me, Father, how does one go about ‘doctoring’ someone into calling you of their own free will?”

Father Tirek gulped, his face fading to a paler shade of crimson.

Mrs. Crinkle turned to face him, letting her hands down to cross them on her chest. “Father? Do you really want me to die?”

The question caught the big man off guard, and for the first time in ages, a pang of guilt rang through his chest. This was a situation he thought he’d never have to face, and yet, here it was. Perhaps, deep down, there was still a shred of humanity left in him.

Unable to face her any longer, Tirek drew a breath and turned his head away, clenching his jaw.

Noting his reaction, the Dark Mistress approached the stage, stopping with her foot on the first step. “Now is your chance, Father. You are still a human being… with a conscience, and with a sense of right and wrong. Despite my own generosity being stretched rather thin, I am still prepared to offer you the chance to do the right thing and turn yourself in; stand up and take the whips for your sins, and repay your dept to society.”

Keeping his head to the side, Father Tirek drew a deep breath and forced himself to turn face the crowd. He couldn’t afford to turn himself in; at his age, going to prison would be a death sentence. Not because of former competitors that he’d conspired to put away --he’d had them wacked years ago-- but because he simply didn’t have the years left in him to outlast the multiple life sentences he would receive. Considering all of this, he clenched his jaw and turned away once again. There was only one way to lash back now.

“I know who you are,” he growled softly, his eyes shifting sideways onto her. “And if you think you can just walk in here and dump my secrets out for all to see, then what’s to stop me from doing the same to you?”

The Dark Mistress remained surprisingly calm. She shrugged one shoulder. “Alright, Father, as you wish. Go ahead and tell everyone here who the Dark Mistress really is! Tell them who would so heartlessly burn down a young woman’s boutique; I’m sure your answer will be a perfectly sensible one.”

Tirek turned to face her, mouth open, ready to speak. But then he stopped, his face going blank.

She stared him down, head cocked and waiting.

Checkmate; cornered again. She’d used his own tactics against him, and won.

Defeated, he turned away once again, huffing angrily.

“I see. Very well, then.” The Mistress rolled her eyes and groaned. “My patience wears thin, Father,” she said as she climbed the next two steps onto the stage and approached the pulpit, hands in the air. With a great flash, a massive, sparkling sledge hammer appeared in her hands, which she swung down at the wooden podium, smashing its left side to pieces.

The reverend staggered back, covering his face with his forearms to shield himself from flying splinters while the Dark Mistress stepped forward, the hammer disappearing from her hands as she reached inside what was left standing of the podium. A moment later, she extracted a twelve-gauge shotgun, its barrel cut off flush with the pump handle. She held it with both hands and cocked the handle three times, each action ejecting a shell that flipped out and landed on the carpet with a thud, one of them going as far as rolling down the steps and stopping at a young boy’s feet.

With one hand, she held the weapon high above her head and faced the congregation. “I ask you, good people, what kind of minister keeps a loaded shotgun in his pulpit? Hm?”

The crowd was stunned, and they simply stood there, starting at the weapon in shock, saying nothing. The Dark Mistress dropped the weapon to her feet and turned to face the reverend, shaking her head slowly as she glared directly into his eyes.

“Your brother would be ashamed of you.”

Hearing these words caused Father Tirek’s shoulders to deflate, his face melting into from defiance in blankness as he felt his heart split wide open, broken by the thought of his brother’s disappointment, should he be looking upon him, watching what he’d become.

The Mistress faced the people once again. “I do not enjoy bringing you this news today, everyone; it was not my intention to turn anyone’s world on its head, but there has been cancer growing under the streets of this city for decades now, and I simply cannot allow it to progress any further…”

As the masked vigilante spoke, Father Tirek looked down at his hands, studying his massive red fingers and wrinkly palms, weather and calloused by years of violence, betrayal and torment, much like his soul. What did she know of his brother? How did she know how he felt about it? Everything Tirek did, it was for Scorpan.

Vengeance, power, control; all of it was for his lost brother, who was taken from him by force. An event that out of his control changed his life, and by taking control of the crime ring, Tirek felt he’d found a way to control his own destiny, to subdue the force that took his brother from him. It brought him a feeling of personal security, and it kept the memory of his brother alive.

What did this harlot know? How could she know his pain? Did she think he reallyenjoyed his life? His hands closed into massive fists as he asked himself these questions, feeling the pain created by the wound reopened by the Mistress slowly turn to rage, welling up from deep within. His teeth gritted, his fists clenched until they hurt, and with a snarl curling his upper lip, Tirek slowly looked up at the slender, black figure standing at the front of the stage, turning his own people against him.

Seeing this caused something to suddenly snap inside the reverend, and he reached into his robe to produce a brightly polished .44 Magnum, aiming it at the back of her head as she continued to speak.

“…and I can smell the asphalt--that is his own personal road to hell being pav--“

BANG!

It happened before the congregation had a change to react; the Mistress head jerked forward under the impact and she fell forward, down the stairs and all the way to the floor, her long indigo hair flowing free after the band tying it up was blown to pieces.

A roar of out of synched gasps followed the echo of the deafening blasts, some people covering their ears, some covering their mouths. Slowly, each of them looked up at the minister, who was shrouded in gun smoke, still holding the gun outstretched, his teeth gritted.

Reality had finally begun to set in for the reverend. There was no turning back now. After glancing around at everyone, he raised the gun and aimed at a cluster of people to the right. They shrieked and cowered back, raising their hand in defence.

He swung the weapon to the left next, pointing it at a family, the father of which wrapped his children in his arms to protect them--not that it would matter; a weapon like that would send the round through him and his children, and would likely end up embedded in the floor behind them.

But what good would killing them do? What he needed was to escape.

Father Tirek looked over his left shoulder, facing the door that he’d entered the sanctuary through, only moments earlier. He could go through his office, grab a few cases of money and escape through the rear door. That would be the best way to go about it, then he could use the money to get a private flight out of the country, even if he had to find someone to smuggle him out; once he’d found a country to hide out in, he could have someone back home begin to transfer is fortune to a new account so he could have access to it. Yes, that would work, but he had to get out of this fucking church first. Hopefully his driver wasn’t parked too far away--

A sharp pinch in his wrist interrupted his thoughts, followed by the realisation that his revolver suddenly felt much lighter. Tirek faced forward just in time to see his hand, still holding the gun, land on the floor with a dull thud.

Gasping, he looked up at the stump that protruded from his sleeve, gushing and dripping blood all over the carpet. Ahead of him, the Dark Mistress had risen to one knee and turned to face him, holding a long, sparkling sword in one hand, its blade smeared with crimson roughly halfway along its length.

He grunted, feeling the pain being to radiate as he brought his arm to his chest while squeezing it to slow the flow of escaping blood. The Dark Mistress, completely unscathed by a point-blank headshot from the massive gun, rose to her feet, her eyes glaring with irritation through that mask. "How dare you interrupt me in the middle of such a brilliant line!" she whined as she marched toward him, weapon ready.

Father Tirek staggered backward to keep his distance, but she closed the distance nonetheless, backing him closer to the wall at the rear of the stage. “S-stay back!” he pleaded, raising his hand when she raised hers.

The Mistress stepped forward, her fist wound above her right shoulder, the sword still in her left. When she thrust her arm forward, a mighty flash appeared as a massive block of diamond appeared before her, its massive weight rushing forward to collide with the big man’s midsection.

The wind was knocked from him with a grunt, and his back slammed against the wall as the huge block hit the floor. She stepped upon it to bring herself to his height, leading with the tip of her blade, which sank into his chest and passed through him like he was made of air, even penetrating the wooden wall behind him with little resistance.

He gasped shakily, his eyes widening as the piercing sting of being run through filled his mind and body. He stared forward, jaw shaking, watching that masked face come within inches of his, those sparkling blue eyes impaling his soul, much like the blade down below.

The Mistress shook her head when he let out a croak, trying to take a breath to speak. “Enough,” she whispered, leaning closer. “It’s all over, Father. You are finished. Your empire has fallen, your true legacy has been exposed, and your life is about to come to an end.”

His head shook uncontrollably. “You… pfffft!” he gasped, his cheeks puffing out.

“Shhhh… “ She came even closer, her soft, violet hair surrounding their faces. “Go to sleep, my love… and taste my sweet revenge on your lips--sealed… with a kisssssssss…”

She pressed her soft, black lips to his pale, cold ones, holding them there for just a moment before twisting the sword and drawing it upward, slicing his heart in half inside his chest. His eyes popped open and a sickening gurgle sounded from his throat, sending a spray of blood into his mouth.

The Dark Mistress withdrew with a soft smack, licking the metallic taste of death from her lips. “Mmm. The taste of retribution is most delicious; thank you, Father.”

Father Tirek did not hear her gratitude, however. He was already gone: his breathing silenced, his deep, black eyes glazed and lifeless.

“Hm.” She turned and stepped down from the block, which promptly disappeared as she headed for the front of the stage top face the audience. Before she could say anything, though, a loud THUMP sounded over the sound system.

She spun around to face the reverend again, only to find him face-down on the floor. When the block vanished, so did the sword that pinned him to the wall, letting him fall to the floor, where the microphone he was wearing had obviously slammed against the carpet under his weight.

It suddenly dawned on her that everything she’d just said to him could be heard by everyone, and she turned slowly, coming face to face with a crowd of horrified people. Despite being outed as a violent criminal only moments ago, these people had known him for years --decades, in some cases-- and seeing him killed right before their eyes was probably bad enough, let alone hearing her rather morbid comments.

Granted, she’d somewhat lost herself in the moment after everything that’d happened: the destruction of her boutique, the murder of Pinkie Pie’s family, the imprisonment of Sunset; given all of this, the Mistress had, until then, given herself credit for showing restraint. If it hadn’t been for the crowd, the coroner would have been picking the reverend up with a sponge.

Still, the events of that morning had probably caused trauma to these people than she’d originally anticipated--and, despite what they’d learned about Father Tirek, they still believed she was the one who burned down the boutique.

This was by far her most public appearance. It was time to let the people know what the Dark Mistress was all about.

She drew a deep breath. Her eyes scanned the crowd, studying the sea of elderly faces and nervous yet intrigued children, as well as rightly overprotective parents. Releasing her breath, she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, looking down at the carpet. “I never meant to become a… a murderer. That’s not my business. I don’t want to harm or frighten anyone--I should like to help everyone if possible: mothers, daughters, green man, white.”

Her eyes rose as she spoke, her gaze locking onto the black-faced crowd, who stared back, listening curiously. “In this town, there is room for everyone and the culture is rich; the way of life could be free and beautiful…” She paused for a moment, and looked over her shoulder at the massive robed corpse on the stage behind her. “…but some of us have lost the way.”

She faced the people again. “Take the good reverend, for instance. Driven by grief from the loss of his brother, he sought revenge, but instead found himself inseparably joined with a world of crime. Greed had poisoned his soul, and barricaded his mind with hate. He thought too much… and felt too little.”

She made her way down the steps, finger raised. “More than money, he needed humanity. More than cleverness, he needed kindness. Without these qualities he became violent, and all faith was lost. But do not despair, this man’s hate has passed; a dictator has died, and the power he took the from the people… will return to the people, starting today.”

The crowd separated as she slowly stepped into the aisle between the pews, hanging on her every word as she continued to speak, her hands laced together in front of her bust as she sauntered along. “Today is the day we take back our city. No more living in fear and darkness, no more witnessing loved ones sick from dependency, running away or missing; no more senseless loss of life.”

The Mistress continued toward the rear of the sanctuary, passing through the gap off people as they parted like the Red Sea before stopping to turn back and face them. “People, don’t give yourselves to brutes: men who despise you, enslave you. It is time to rise up and take back your city! It has been ravaged by and epidemic of crime and drugs--no more! I am the cure, and you are the cure. We mustn’t take this lying down any longer; we mustn’t let them go on treating us like cattle.”

She raised a finger to point at the surrounding people, the conviction rising in her tone along with the volume of her voice. “Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men; machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts! We are not machines, WE ARE FREE!” She began to step backwards, continuing toward the large pair of wooden doors. “My sisters and I, we have a power… a power to make this life free and beautiful! Let us use that power for good, to tamp down those who seek power they do not deserve, to protect those you love; we have eyes everywhere, we can see when you are in danger and we will protect you.”

As she inched closer to the massive exit, the Dark Mistress raised a hand to gesture at the crowd. “In time, we will all stand together--for the good of the city, and against those who wish to control or bring harm to others. My sisters and I are not afraid to act, and in time, the same will be true for you.“ She threw her fist into the air, giving it a stiff shake. ”Together, we can make this world a better place, to make this life a wonderful adventure! LET US ALL UNITE!”

With that, she thrust one foot behind to kick the door open and she slipped out, leaving the sanctuary in silence, full of staring churchgoers, all staring at the slowly closing door with their mouths agape.

Outside, the Dark Mistress sprinted along the sidewalk to get herself out of sight. The church was on a somewhat busy corner, but its front faced a much quieter street, the main one running along its side. Cars rushed past, making her run as fast as she could; this was the first time the Dark Mistress had been out in broad daylight--on a Sunday morning in a very public place, at that.

Her suit gleamed brightly in the morning sun, her movements reflected by a blinding flash juxtaposed by that black material as she approached the cylindrical tower at the church’s corner. With her hand outstretched, she quickly conjured up a row of sparkling diamond steps, ascending in a spiral around the exterior of the round structure to bring her to the roof. Her heels clopped on each step, which promptly disappeared behind her as soon as her foot left its surface.

She’d reached the roof’s edge before long, and she charged forward along the slate surface to the peak before skidding down the other side to the valley. Now hidden from the city below, the Mistress put the back of her hand to her forehead and fell backwards, flopping down into a lying position on the stone tiles.

“Ohh my goodness…” she panted, staring into the sky as she covered her mouth with both hands, her bosom fluttering with adrenaline. “I can’t believe I just did that!”

He body shook with a strange combination of laughter and crying as her eyes pooled with tears of excitement, eventually overflowing and running down the sides of her mask, leaving glistening trails in their wake.

”Good job, Rare.”

Her eyes popped open upon hearing the voice, a quick breath rushing in as she was reminded that she was being monitored by her peers. “Ohh… darling! You heard that? Did I really do well?”

” Of course.”

“You don’t think I scared those people?” she asked, wiping the moisture from her mask.

”Maybe. But sometimes the truth is scary. Don’t worry; you did great. I’m proud of you.”

After a short pause, she let one hand drape across that white cleavage of hers and stared into the sky, her chin trembling. “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath shaking.

”No problem. Just don’t forget the rest of your job--or those people might get the wrong idea if the propaganda machine gets rolling before we stop it.”

Her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! You’re right, I--“

”I’m on it guys, don’t worry.”

The Mistress sat up. “Oh! Twilight, you have the video prepared?”

”Absolutely. Unaltered version: ready to upload to all media platforms as well as the main page of Big City News’ website and their social media pages.”

“Any you blurred Aria’s face so she cannot be identified?”

”Of course. She’ll be safe from the authorities.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Twilight.” The Dark Mistress drew a deep breath and closed her eyes as she looked up at the sky, feeling the sun’s warmth on her face. “Mmmm… such a lovely morning. We are entering a new era, girls; I can feel it. Things are going to get better from here on in.”

“You might be right, Rarity. I hope so, anyway.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hoping,” she smiled. “Speaking of which, how are things going at the building?”

”Uh...” Sunset’s voice unexpectedly rang into her ear. “We... kinda ran into a problem, actually.”

The Mistress’ eyes popped open. “I’m sorry?”

“Well... they kinda got away... with Adagio.”

“Ugh…” She dropped her face into her hand. “How did that happen? I thought you had the whole thing planned out?”

”Well... I don’t wanna point fingers, but...”

“Wait… let me guess. Rainbow Dash?”

A breath could be heard being drawn over the earpiece. ”Uh... yeah. She got a little distracted and ended up getting separated from us, and they used a secret elevator to escape. It wasn’t in the blueprints, so we didn’t see it coming.”

The Mistress sighed and shook her head. “Rats. Do we know where they took her?”

”Well, we thought maybe the roof, but no. That’s where we are now--which is the only reason we’re able to talk to you. Reception is terrible in this place.”

“Where is Rainbow Dash now? Still inside?”

”Yes. I’ve had off-and -on contact with her; I told her to find Pinkie Pie and head back down to the underground garage, but I’m not a hundred percent if she heard me. I haven’t seen her on any cameras yet, so I have no idea what she’s doing. Same with Pinkie Pie.”

“Perhaps they’re already out?” the Dark Mistress asked, rising to her feet and brushing her backside off.

”Could be. I think maybe you and Applejack should head down as well, Sunset. You’re not accomplishing much up there anyway.”

”We’re not giving up just yet. Not until we find Adagio, dead or alive--hopefully the first one.”

“Just stay there,” the Dark Mistress instructed as she made her way back to the peak. “I’m heading over there now; I’ll meet you on the roof and we’ll head down together.”

”Sounds good.”

“Agreed, but hurry. We don’t know how much time Adagio has. I’ll keep an eye on the cameras for her.”

“Let us know if you see anything,” the Mistress said as a long, sparkling platform appeared in front of her, stretching from the church roof to the adjacent building.

”Will do.”

Author's Notes:

MUSIC