Author's Notes:

This is it. This is the beginning of the real story, of a tale of pain an despair. This story is going to be a long one, and hopefully, a good one. Just to clarify, I did not write this chapter, a friend of mine did because he wanted to. The writing style is somewhat different, but he understands the story. If you don't like the style, then he won't write anymore. If you do, then he is willing to write more. Reading the prequel is highly recommended, but not necessary. Enjoy! P.S This based on the Equestria girls movies, but not the specials/mini-episodes, though I'll most likely use some elements from those.

A dimly lit maze of streets ran and zigzagged throughout the vision of town. In a bird's eye view, the homes would lay only grazed by the rays of street light. The sky was void of clouds, and many stars reflected the scene which played on the ground. The stars glared down at the world through their ancestral gaze in disdain for what was they left behind. Undoubtedly an optimistic would assume the star's gloom to be ultimately false, but with evil abundant in the world, wasn't pessimism certain? No, the sky is clear tonight.

Pinkamena was near one of these lights. She shuffled through the brisk and dry cold air as she made her way down the street. Giving no time to observe the world around her, she made her way through the neighborhood. No home seemed familiar, they all sat as statutes, with no lights and no noise to show the signs of residency. It was late, for the sun had passed by the horizon long ago, but in most cases, it'd seem strange that there was no life in any of these houses. Perhaps it was fear of the outside world; they never stepped foot outside for fear of people like her. Criminals, con Artists, murderers, and maniacs, her esteemed company for her occupation. She was now the leader of an entire criminal organization, and yet she came here. A small suburban area of town. She came not to disturb the neighborhood, but almost bask in it. To feel it's grace if for only a moment. She finally had moved her eyes from the sidewalk, and she expectedly looked at one of the houses. It was a two story with a brown facade lit by one porch lit. It stood proudly and welcoming in its spot adjacent to the front door. It guarded the home. It greeted her and accepted her back. It was home.

The moment Pinkamena reached the front steps she felt overcome with relief, it flooded over her, and she let out a heavy sigh. Home. I'm Home.

Maud stood leaning over the kitchen counter with a surprised smile on her face. She gave Pinkamena a hospitable welcome and came forth in a warm embrace. Maud was a fragment of Pinkamena. A piece of a previous life, a window into a world she left behind so long ago. In her profession, latching one's self to the past was akin to suicide. It lay them exposed and vulnerable to exploit, for someone to come along and uncover their ties left unsevered. Pinkamena knew the risk of holding on to her, but it was a chance she was willing to burden herself with.

“It's nice to see you home; I hope you feel at ease.” Maud stood close.

Pinkamena nodded, halfway in truth.

“It's good to see you, Maud. I think I'm going to look around the old place.” Pinkamena said as she turned towards the door.

The door to the bedroom creaked as it opened, and soft bars of moonlight filtered through the bedrooms far window. She sat on the edge of the bed with no intention of sleeping. Rest alluded her for quite some time now, and she had learned to deal with it. The main reason she returned home was to be somewhere she knew was her own. Ever since the procedure she had on her brain from Discord, she found it hard to distinguish others memorizes from her own. However, she had been assured this would pass. She fixed her gazed on the light. The trip out to the house helped her condition if only temporarily. However, a chorus of voices still whispered hushed retellings of past lives and perils, of lives, lost and born, of battles, lost and battles won, and of deeds good and evil. She almost felt like a vessel for confessinare. A shell of many souls, if she had a stronger self of self, she doubts it'd even have room to reside with the rest of her tenets. One voice rang higher than the rest though. A familiar one, her father's.

She had slain him herself, and it was how she got here in the first place, gaining such a painfully firm grip on the area's criminal underbelly. But out of all the voices, his echoed the loudest. He wasn't supposed to be in her head. It wasn't right. It sounded distant in her mind, distant and distinct, it didn't hang within the homogeneous mixture of her mind's choir, but it sang in its own key. Steady it came close, ever closer. Inching its way to the front of her mind. It was indeed odd, it never went off on it own to now, yet despite its usual complacency, it strayed. It's close.

A soft rustle came from the window. Within the beams of light, a humanoid figure began manifested itself. It held an uncertain position, moving from side to side, as if it were a hologram, sharply bouncing between several locations. It extended a translucent arm.

Her jaw dropped, and she sprang up to its face… Igneous, father!

She, without hesitation, followed through with a hard punch, straight at the figure. She stumbled. It fell right through him. The apparition’s stance didn't even fault; he didn't flinch. She regained herself and readied herself to strike again, but she made no move. He wasn't real; there's no way, she thought. A slow and steady beating thumped in her head, low and powerful. A rhythm of calm and a pace of precision. It was all too familiar, but the figure was safe, she knew, she lowered her arms and looked at the manifestation before her expectedly. The thumping continued.

“You never changed,” Igneous said, the figure's voice fluctuating with every.

“I told you that you needed me. That my help was paramount to your own success here.” Igneous stated.

She wasn't as sure as he was about that. She said nothing.

“I thought you'd be like this, look, I need your cooperation!” Igneous insisted.

She ignored him, transferring her gaze away from him, he grew more transparent the longer she strayed. She found it oddly intriguing that her mind would summon such an anomaly. He took a step forward, his image fluctuating with a higher frequency. There was haste in his voice.

“Pinkamena, forget about what happened before, you need to hear me out!” He was borderline imploring her at this point.

Whether or not her conscious was behind this no longer mattered. Curiosity consumed her, but just in case he was truly Igneous, she would show no sign of her interest, favoring an uncaring, and apathetic facade.
She gave him her disengaged gaze.

“Alright, spit it out.” She sighed with a dry, flat tone.

His opacity recovered to its original level as her focus retained itself. However, he wasted no time in moving on.

“Pinkamena, you are more than capable of leading the organization. I know that, but you must be cautious.” He outstretched an arm in genuine worry.

“Your youth has been more tormenting, scarring, and unforgiving than most others. Without a proper amount of thought to your future choice, I'm fearful you'd let that callused exterior of yours lead you down a road you don't want to travel. There's a reason no one in your head is still our leader. Something made them weak.” He lecture, but Pinkamena froze, her cold exterior begged to crack.

Weak. Is he saying? No, he's right they were weak. But not her. No, she was different.

“You have these memories for a reason. I know you're used to making your own decisions, but I implore you to not to be so blinded by your own thought that you don't learn from those before you. Just because you're the leader doesn't mean you lead alone.” He assured her.

This can't be right. This really was just in her head. Her father wouldn't be so openly caring, not after their duel. It couldn't be. Right?

“And until the day you die, Pinkamena. I'm here; you're Northstar.” He straightens himself tall and proud.

“How?” Pinkamena responded. “How, you're not even supposed to be here.”

“Supposed to. No, I need to be here. I'm a sort of spectral amalgamation of the other leader's memories of me.” He answers. “That's why-” his form glitched suddenly. “It's so unstable. It takes a lot of energy for me to keep form.”

Pinkamena gave a skeptical nod still trying to conceal her true thoughts.

“I'll be here, trust me, I'll be more help then you likely believe. You have a gift. Don't waste it… I'm right behind you.” He finished with a resolute nod. He was done. His message had been received. His purpose, fulfilled.

His spirit began to fade, and there were no argument from Igneous. Pinkamena held firm, giving no solid response. Within a few moments, his ghost disappeared, leaving behind the same filtered moonlight of the window. Pinkamena knew he was right, that it would take a lot more than her brute force to pull through. She knew it, yet she couldn't let herself believe it.

There were quite a few people out at the park for a rainy morning. They were cleanly dressed and held umbrellas high above their head to keep dry. They walked with confidence and cheery smiles on their faces while a hooded figure sat on the bench. The cloaked woman was dressed in all black, the rain making it slick and shiny. She didn't possess an umbrella. The arms of her coat came down past her hands making her jacket appear much too baggy. Drenched and dark she rose from the bench. The news still haunted her. Looming menacingly over her shoulders, slowly and sadistically pressing needles into her. News so heavy it brought about physical pain. She felt like she herself had failed that she couldn't save her. Was it her fault the criminal underbelly claimed another soul. No, but she laid in its midst just as her. Any day could be her last. She never felt more acutely aware of how disconnected from the outside world she was. She shuffled down the paved sidewalk. She had no confirmation, only inquiry.

Underneath a town board hung the town's news and events. Papers discussing local occasions were ordinary. However, one caught her eye. A missing person's flyer.

She reached out and snatched it; hysteria enveloped her. Cruel fate. It was Pinkamena's. She wanted to cry. Heavy resistance and mourning filled her voice. “I promise pinkie, I’ll make them pay for what they did to you!” she began to choke up, her steady hands quivered. Vengeance took up mournings roost. The rain has come, lighting was near. They'll praise the thunder.