The course of the river had been changed, but the ground below was still a bog filled with near-frozen fetid water. Dim took everything in with a weathered eye whilst he peered down over the rail, looking for some signs of trouble, ambush, anything. The gunship—a craft that was sixty feet in length and bristled with twenty seven long guns on each side—brought no comfort, no feeling of safety nor security. He had been distracted by the brass pegs that secured each and every plank of the deck, but now his mind was focused. This ship was purpose built for one scenario in particular, and the guns were all mounted in such a way that they could all be aimed downwards. It was a ship designed for colonial rule, to pacify unruly mobs that held delusions of grandeur about casting off the shackles of rule. The very design suggested cruelty and oppression, death from above. There was no tyranny like that of a controlled, oppressive sky.

“No sign of an army,” Commandant Graham said in a voice that held only the suggestion of unnerved concern. “The mine should be right ahead.”

“Commandant,” said a clearly nervous pistoleer, “what if they’ve scarpered?”

“Then we follow the example of Dim Dark over here, and we hunt them down like dogs. I dare say we have longer legs than they do.” The commandant’s calm broke and he shook his head. “There’s nothing in the rulebook for this. Nothing at all ‘bout serving at home. Nothing ‘bout what we’re doing and what we have planned to restore order. We sail into unknown skies, my friends. When this is over, we might all get put down or we might get medals. I have no way of knowing.”

“I am positive that this is great on morale,” Dim deadpanned with an aristocratic sneer contorting his face in unpleasant ways. “Forget the rulebook and the rules of engagement. Do what is necessary now and pay no mind to an uncertain future.”

Commandant Graham cocked his head and gave Dim a penetrating, curious stare. “Is this how you survive?”

“I tend to make up things as I go.” Dim found his own honesty pleasing. “A sharp mind can rapidly adapt to chaos and exploit it for the advantages it offers. A dim-witted dullard will only stand about, confused. I am Dim the Destroyer, not Dim the Dim-Witted. Having a plan would get in the way of that. Though, there are times when I face a problem with a specific approach in mind.”

“Yes.” Blackbird nodded, her face split by a nervous grin. “It’s called the ‘burn everything to the ground’ approach and so far, it seems to be working. Well, except for that time with the fake alicorn monster. That left a little to be desired.”

“Quite.” Dim shot his companion a cool smirk.

Engines humming, deckplates thrumming, the gunship progressed further into the great unknown…

Why was there so much shouting and barking of orders on a gunship? Holding a borrowed spyglass, Dim tried to get a better look at the horror on the ground below. These creatures were mangled, missing legs, had gaping wounds, and yet they still shuffled about. Then, while having a spy at them, he could feel the wrongness, the fear, and panicked shouts could be heard from the crew.

Terror, like a devouring cancer, spread through the ranks. In the boggy mists below, bodies could be seen, bodies both animated and dead… or undead, as the situation revealed itself. There wasn’t much of an army down below, not much of an army at all, and even though the dead were everywhere, there was a surprising lack of bodies for a location that was supposed to be thousands strong.

So there was clearly something wrong.

A foul miasma rose from the marshy ground festooned with bodies. Many of the trees were blackened, burned, and smoke still rose from a number of places. There were signs of a battle here, a struggle—a fresh one too. Craters, burnt trees, pools of magical residue that Dim was too disgusted to touch with his mind… he realised that they were too late. Grogar’s agents had been here, and had left behind quite a mess.

Around the mine was machinery, things such as pumps and the like, no doubt, and a scattered collection of low buildings that were all in ruins now. This whole area had been hit hard. A sinking feeling settled around his heart when he realised that the pseudo-alicorns that he’d come to destroy were probably being shipped off to parts unknown.

“Undead! Undead off the port bow! Bring the ship around and show ‘em our sides!”

Dim could feel the ship springing to life beneath his hooves. Below him, there was three stacked gun decks, with nine guns each, and all twenty-seven guns were being brought to bear. He could obliterate the abominations below with but a flick of magic, but he was tired. It had been a long night, and from the looks of things, it was about to be a longer day.

“Shield eyes, incendiary phosphorus rounds being deployed! Brace steady!”

The thunder of the guns was deafening and Dim squinted to protect his eyes as white streaks filled the skies. Belowdecks, the fast-firing turrets made a terrible stuttering chatter. Overall, he found the experience beautiful in its own morbid way. Everything on the ground was being systematically purged from existence, but there was still the matter of the mine. Something dreadful remained down in the depths, and Dim knew that he would be the one to go and find out what it was.

While everything burned to ash, Dim began his protective spell preparations.

A structure had been built over the yawning maw of the mine, but it was gone now, with naught left but ash and debris. From the wound in the earth, a hot, fetid wind rose, bearing an indescribable stench that burned to breathe. Fear, magical fear, rose up in waves. With a turn of his head, Dim studied his companions, trying to discern what they might do, how they might react. They were brave, he had no doubts of that, but this was magical and even with his wards, a creeping terror could still be felt. It whispered in the back of the mind and made scurrying sounds, like thousands of tiny hairy spider legs sweeping over a floor.

Dim wanted to think that he felt a familiar presence, but he was almost certain that it was his mind playing tricks on him, a component of the horror magic. Motte stood ready with his quad-barreled shotgun, and though he seemed resolute, something about his eyes said much about his condition. He was tired, they all were, and a weary mind was a vulnerable mind.

If only he was more powerful… a sense of regret lurked within Dim’s mind. He could only resist this fear, not banish it completely. Eerie could dispel this, of that there could be no doubt, but the best that he could do was merely shore up his defenses. For him, it would be enough, but for his companions… the outcome remained uncertain. The stench of burnt necrosis threatened to make his stomach turn, but he ignored the protests of his body, as right now he could ill-afford the distraction. A lack of focus might prove fatal, which was why this magical horror was so terrible.

“Are we actually going to do this?” asked Bailey, who cowered a short distance away.

“We don’t have much choice.” Motte glanced at his counterpart for a time, then turned his attention to Dim. “I can hear whispering inside the back of my mind. I keep trying to listen to it so I can make out what is being said—”

“Don’t,” Dim warned, and he gave Motte a cruel scowl for emphasis. “Endure.”

Motte almost said something, but then licked his lips and nodded.

“Something is wrong,” Blackbird said, almost whispering.

Rather than dismiss her, Dim decided to trust in Blackbird’s impressive senses. “What is wrong, Blackbird? Can you tell me?”

“I don’t feel stronger,” she blurted out. “On the ground, I always feel a little bit stronger. Or a whole lot stronger. I don’t know how it works and I’ve never paid it much attention before but I am paying attention to it now because something is wrong.”

“Fascinating.” Though risky, Dim reached out with his mind and tried to get a better sense of the magic here, which felt as though it had soured. After an attempt that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable, he gave up, as he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, except that the magic here had a kind of malaise to it.

With a weary turn of his head, Dim looked at the mine entrance and had second thoughts.

Dripping water proved to be almost as annoying as the whispering voices that plagued Dim’s mind. After a straight drop—the lift had been ruined—he and his companions found themselves on a steep incline with a slick and treacherous floor. It was hot down here, too hot, and Dim found it quite difficult to keep breathing as the tickle in his lungs grew worse.

The susurrant, sibilant whispers seemed to grow in number with each step, a distant Tartarian chorus of the damned. There were torches on the walls, but they offered very little light, a maddening effect of magical darkness that left Dim even more concerned about his companions. His own sanity was a tenuous thing—he knew it and lived with it—but being a bit mad afforded him a certain level of protection from magics that clashed with sanity and willpower. This… this would not break him, but he feared for his friends.

Ahead, the passageway turned about, no doubt forming a switchback that lead further down into the depths. The floor was moist, almost slimey, and the walls glistened with rivulets of trickling water. Decay and worse smells polluted the air, but Dim had an alchemist’s nose and could tolerate legendary stenches if the situation demanded it. Something could be heard ahead, past the corner where the passage switchbacked.

“Just the four of us,” said Blackbird through chattering, clattering teeth.

Bailey responded in a hushed whisper, “Munro and Bombay were too tall. Biped disadvantage.”

“My asshole won’t stop clenching and the cramping is getting pretty bad.”

“Blackbird”—Motte’s voice had a hard kindness to it—“try to relax your sphincter.”

Alone, Dim chortled and his demented mirth seemed to echo in the passageway. His ears pricked at the sound ahead, which he suspected was a zombie. He rounded the bend, cautiously poked his head around the corner, and had himself a good glimpse at the next steep incline. Much to his alarm and concern, there was nothing, nothing at all. No zombie. The auditory hallucinations were now outside of his head, it seemed. At least his moment of mirth brought a little relief.

This passage was steeper, almost too steep, and Dim cast a minor cantrip upon his hooves so that he wouldn’t slip, trip, stumble, or fall. The darkness seemed a little thicker here, more alive. For some reason, it reminded him of home, and a part of him felt the most awful sensation of homesickness. It left him filled with shame, to miss the home that had warped and twisted him into whatever he was now. He pushed it from his mind, or tried to, as heightened emotions were no doubt part of the insidious whispers of horror that plagued his mind.

“I can hear my parents arguing.” Blackbird’s tufted ears perked, trying to locate the sound. “Thing is though, my parents rarely bickered. Stinkberry just wasn’t the sort and Starling liked the quiet. But I can hear my parents fighting, and it sounds nasty. I used to have bad dreams about them fighting when I was tiny.”

Hearing this, Dim paused and considered the magic at work here. Dream magic in the waking world? Perhaps. It could be done. He lacked the defenses to counter something like that. This horror magic was quite unlike anything he had ever encountered, even worse than the banshee he had faced on the Grittish heaths. As bad as the banshee was, this was worse in some ways, mostly because he wasn’t sure what it was, but he suspected that it was some kind of necro-somnium thaumaturgy.

Torchlight flickered and the lingering shadows gathered like a theatre troupe ready to put on a good show. A great many things could now be sensed on the distant edges of Dim’s perception, and from the whimpers that came from behind him, his companions as well. Though it pained him, he knew what needed to be done, because they would follow him until their minds fractured from the strain.

Turning about, he faced them and said, “You need to go. All of you. Whatever lies ahead, I alone must face it.”

Blackbird stared at him, anger flashing in her eyes, but also terror. Her face was damp and she was sweaty with unbridled fear. Motte and Bailey exchanged a look with one another, and then both turned to face Dim. Fearing that they might resist him, Dim wondered if he would have to compel them with magic and make them leave for their own good.

“I can’t protect you,” he said, trying to explain, “and this is only going to get worse. There is an unknown magic here and all of you are more vulnerable than I. Go. Begone. I am already weary and forcibly sending you away would only further deplete my magic.” Whilst he spoke, he could see the agony in Blackbird’s eyes. She was loyal, Blackbird, perhaps stupidly so, and he had no doubts that she would follow him into Tartarus, even to her detriment.

“Be careful, Dim,” Blackbird said while her face contorted with emotion.

“I hate to say it, but Dim’s probably right.” Motte’s jaw firmed and his cheek muscles went taut while his eyes glittered with reflected torchlight. “Alicorns preserve you, Dim. Just come back to us, okay?”

“Some of us were born to walk a darker path.” Bailey leaned against Motte, perhaps seeking comfort. “It shames me to admit this, but I’m glad you’re sending me away. I belong in the light. Come back to us, Dim.”

If there was one thing that annoyed Dim more than anything, it was saying goodbye—and yet, this felt apropos for the moment. He had no idea what he was getting himself into and there was no promise of return. This might very well be the last time he saw them… these creatures that were his friends. Yes, there was no denying it, they were his friends and he had grown close to them during their travels. For whatever reason, this revelation only made things worse.

Turning about, his lip curled back into a sneer, Dim turned to face the darkness alone.

Author's Notes:

Alone.