Rarity jerked, spasmed as if an electric current ran through her body. Clutching at her neck, she panicked, feeling like she was being choked and dropped to a kneel, her hands to the ground as she took several long, slow breaths, trying to stop her racing heart.

Finally, her breaths slowed and she began to think more rationally.

You’re free from… whatever that was. A vision? A dream? An illusion? She clenched her hands tightly on the floor, never more grateful for dirt than she was right now, but the back of her mind was well aware that her escape was not of her own doing, that some outside force had pulled strings and released her from the nightmare, from the thing ready to devour her.

Whatever that dreadful thing was, it’s gone now. Get it together, Rarity, she chided herself, coming to a stand. Another thought, a more selfish one, came to mind and she reached up to her face, her earlier panic returning for a scant moment.

When she felt the smoothness of her cheeks, her full lips, and, maybe the most important, her eyes, she let out another shuddering sigh of relief.

“Rarity!” Pinkie cried, running over to her. She barely had time to react before Pinkie had gotten her in a one armed embrace.

“Diane?” Rarity blinked. “How long was I out? Are the others farther on ahead?”

“You were out longer than me, I can say that much. Spike’s still asleep but I think he’ll be okay, especially if you are.” Pinkie chewed on her lip. “As for Jack and Celestia… maybe they went on ahead. I couldn’t see any blood or stuff. I should’ve looked for them but I didn’t wanna leave you two alone unconscious.”

“In a place like this, that’s surely the wisest course of action,” Rarity agreed. “But why would they have pressed on without us?” Scenarios played out in the soul-folk’s head, none of them pleasing to her. At best, there was an issue ahead they needed one-another for. At worst…

Rarity just prayed the worst was her fears getting the better of her.

“Not sure. But now that you’re awake, we can go sleuthing!” Pinkie smiled, although it was off. As if it wanted to be genuine and warm but something was holding it back.

“What of Spike?” Rarity asked, pointing to the boy. “Do we leave him?”

“Can you carry him?” Pinkie’s smile shifted, becoming more sheepish. “I kinda…” She stepped away, revealing a tear in her clothing, just below her shoulder. The skin underneath was marred by moist blood, it staining the fabric nearby like a horrid puddle. Her fingers flexed however, erratically, impatiently.

“What happened?” Rarity questioned, reaching to a satchel and pulling out a roll of gauze, already at Pinkie’s side.

“You know how they say you can pinch yourself and you’ll wake up from a dream? Turns out you kinda need liiiil’ more than a pinch,” Pinkie explained, showing off a tiny distance between her finger and thumb.

“So I wasn’t the only one in a dream. An illusion spell was cast on us, certainly.” She wrapped up Diane’s wound and stole another glance Spike’s way. “I certainly hope Spike’s vision is better than my own.”

Pinkie made an experimental twitch of her wounded arm, wincing. The grimace faded once she shared Rarity’s glance. “He’s much smarter and braver than he thinks he is. I believe in him.” Blinking, she looked back to her conscious friend and with some effort, gave her a thumbs up. “Thanks for the patch up job!”

Rarity gave a small hmm in acknowledgment, her mind obviously distracted as she looked farther down the tunnel.

“I know that look, missy,” Pinkie said, walking towards Spike. “Carry Spike and we’ll go satisfy it.”

Though Rarity offered a rather unladylike swear as she hoisted the boy and his weight, she followed suit after Pinkie, the thought of what might have been done to Jack making every step taken laced with apprehension.

Soon, they spotted a shaft of light; a doorframe ahead and a lit room behind it.

“I’ll go first.” Pinkie crouched, her footsteps light and, surprisingly, disciplined, and she edged towards the door and peeked through the gap between the frame.

Jack stood in the center of the room, her sword drawn and resting against her shoulder, ready to move into a striking stance with ease, but for now merely cautious, armed. A rattlesnake warning an aggressor not to approach.

Celestia stood a few feet away, eyeing Jack with dismay. Though she had made no effort to unsheath Excalibur, her hand rested on the pommel of the blade, able to withdraw it from her side in an instant if things were to escalate.

Pinkie stepped back, her heart leaping up her throat. Flashes of the terrible vision she had played before her. “They’re going to fight! Over that stupid, dumb cup!”

“What?” Rarity pushed past Diane and stepped into the room. “Jack!” she called out. Pinkie followed, glaring at the pair.

The instant the tailor stepped into the room, Jack’s face softened.

“Rare,” she said under her breath.

Putting Spike down gently on the floor, Rarity approached the two. “What in the hell are you—”

“Don’t come any closer!” Jack barked. Rarity froze mid-step, a look of surprise and agitation on her face. Jack bit at her lip, trying to think of her words as she focused entirely on Celestia. “This ain’t yer fight.”

“There doesn’t have to be a fight!” Celestia countered, taking a few cautious steps to the side as she measured Jack.

“Ya ain’t gettin’ that grail. Nobody is.” Jack sniffed, almost on the verge of crying, but maintaining a look of stone. “Rare. If somethin’ happens… it ain’t yer fault.”

“Jack, what are you saying?” Rarity stammered out. The farmer ignored the question.

“Yer gonna need ta take care-a Bloom. She, she sees ya as someone aside from Mac ta look up to. Ok?”

“Please,” Rarity quietly begged, caught between standing paralyzed and sprinting towards the
woman. “Don’t go through with this.”

“If I don’t, who will?” Jack’s grip adjusted on her weapon. The hulking steel had shifted from a
dormant position at her shoulder to a two-handed grip. “What that thing holds… Rare. This is somethin’... somethin’ I gotta try an’ stop.”

“There has to be another way. Jack. You…” Rarity trailed off, at a loss for words, at a loss for ideas how to stop the woman from action, from throwing her life away against the all-folk.

“It’s ok,” Jack reassured, her tone gentle despite her hard gaze over to the princess. “This is my choice.”

“It’s a selfish one,” Pinkie said, all the luster in her voice its bounce gave her gone.

“Don’t talk ‘bout things ya don’t know, Diane,” Jack warned, sparing a quick flicker of her eyes to the other. “Ya have no idea what would happen if she got this.”

“You have no idea what will happen if I don’t!” Celestia replied. Her hand now came to the handle of her sword and her stance oozed as much warning as Jack’s had begun to. “Everything I’m doing, I’m doing for the people. People like you. You’re stopping what might be their best chance at being safe.”

“If yer lookin’ fer safe, try a prison. Which is exactly what’ll happen ta Cabello. Hell, after Cabello next might be the whole Goddamn world!”

“I would never do such a thing—”

“I’ve said that more times than I can count in my life. Who ya are now might not be who ya are ten years down the road.”

“You can’t throw your life away like this, Jack! I’m begging you,” Rarity pleaded.

“Rare.” Jack once more was at a loss for words. Finally, she sighed. “Rare, I swear on the grave of my ma, pa, an’ grandma. What I’m doin’ ain’t gonna involve me throwin’ my life away. Yer… yer gonna have ta trust me here. Can ya trust me?”

The tailor swallowed, fought back her own misty eyes and, after a long pause, finally nodded. She trusted her. She had to. After all the the months, the years they spent together, she could say one thing with absolute certainty.

She trusted Jack.

“I understand,” Rarity said, hating the meekness in her voice. “And I believe you.”

“You’re better than this, Jack! I know you are, you’re—” Pinkie hesitated, then glanced to Celestia. “You’re definitely above this! There’s gotta be a better way than this! Anything!”

“Do you think we’ve not tried different approaches?” Celestia questioned, as calmly as she could while her heart raced and her hand gripped her sword. “Do you think Jack can be reasoned with right now? Do you think I’ll give up on what might be the best bet at complete safety for our lands?”

“What kinda example does it set for ‘our lands’ if you take that cup with a bloody hand?!” Diane cried.

“And the example I set if I turn my back on salvation now? Should the lives of the sailors we lost be in vain as well? Do you earnestly think anyone wishes our fellowship to return unsuccessful?” Celestia gave an apologetic look towards Jack. “A bloodied hand may be worth having if it grants us something that inspires so much hope and ability.”

“But you can’t!” Pinkie pleaded, staring at all three of them in turn. She stepped back, leaning against and wall and sliding down it for support. “It’s wrong…”

Rarity stood near Jack for one more long moment, absorbing every detail she could about the woman, wanting to say thousands of words she knew there was no time for. Instead she settled for a weak nod Jack’s way, which the farmer managed to return. In a way, that was all that needed said between the two. Their words had already been said through their time together, they both had accepted that Jack was, in some ways, on borrowed time; every instance she left with Will there had been a sort of resignation to the possibility of her falling. At least if the worst happened today, Rarity knew she would be here to witness it, knowing there was no other way to stop it, no way to save her. Resigned, Rarity stepped back, keeping a close watch on the earth-folk as she joined Pinkie’s side.

The two combatants stood, tall, proud, standing not just for themselves, but ideals. And ideals and the courage to stand for them were what made a person strong, from the lowest, wretched fool to the most lofty of royalty, two ends of the same coin.

“Is there no other way?” Celestia asked, knowing the answer without speaking.

“Only way is through me, princess. I mean that.” Though Jack was disgusted with herself in how this turned out, in how she was fighting one of the bravest and most noble people she had seen walk the earth, she knew in her heart of hearts it had to be this way. She had to keep Celestia as she was now, rather than what she would surely become with that power.

“You can’t honestly expect me to just strike you down like a dog in the street. Jack. You’re a good woman.” Though she said those words, she reached for her sword regardless, pulling it out and showcasing the mirror-sheen of the beautiful, immaculate weapon.

Jack narrowed her brow and assumed a defensive stance. “I won’t go down as easy as some dog, princess.”

“All I have to do is destroy the crystal that houses it, you realize? I can avoid this.”

Jack let out a breath of humourless laughter. “I might not know ya as well as Twila, but that ain’t how ya do things. Ya have principles. An’ right now, way I figure, I’m a wall ya jus’ can’t climb over.”

“Madness,” Celestia said under her breath. Finally, she assumed a stance of her own, her body twisted to the side and the sword angled. She held it with two hands, one at the pommel. It wasn’t a question of weight, it was a question of precision, Jack knew thanks to her training under Will. Celestia intended every blow to go precisely as needed, no misjudgement on an angle or direction. Celestia probably aimed to wound, to incapacitate, rather to kill, Jack would bet good bits on that fact.

Even now, as they stood, Celestia thought of mercy first, of forgiveness for transgressions. It almost made Jack reconsider her course.

Almost.

“Whatever happens, I want ya ta know I respect ya,” Jack addressed, taking her hat off and throwing it to the side.

Celestia’s brow arched in apology. “You’ve proven yourself countless times with Will. I’m… sorry it has to come to this.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed.

Both tensed up, each waiting for a sign, a cue to attack.

Celestia acted first.

Sucking in a breath, she dashed—lunged forward and thrusted her sword. Jack reacted easily, sweeping her blade in an arc and parrying Celestia’s strike to the side, knowing instantly that the first attack the all-folk had thrown toward her was a mere test, a gauge on how much power Celestia needed to use, if she needed to hold back and make sure Jack wasn’t completely destroyed.

Jack was going to make sure Celestia had to use every ounce in her.

A follow-up blow came from the all-folk, a horizontal strike at Jack’s torso; the farmer backpedaled then snapped her foot forward; the all-folk seemed to anticipate that and matched Jack’s kick step-for-step, bringing her heel down onto Jack’s kneecap.

Pain boiled to life within her, and Jack snapped a hand forward, gripping Celestia’s ankle, only for the all-folk to flip her body, twisting free of her and striking Jack’s face with her heel.

The earth-folk’s head twisted to the side and she nearly dropped then and there. Already her sight was speckled with dots and her head felt like it was swimming, the blow affecting her more than even the wendigo—she had no doubts that Celestia had magic within the strike. Scowling, she focused, concentrated, until she felt her strength return to her just as Celestia came in for another blow.

This one she had no time to parry, instead blocking it with the flat of her sword. Celestia continued to strike with her fist, thrust and cut with her sword in a blur of speed, leaving Jack with little time to go on the offensive, her sword’s size and the angle the all-folk came from limiting her options.

Jack finally took a risk and stepped towards the other, shooting her hand forward as a horizontal cut came towards her. Though it could have ended with Celestia’s sword embedded into her arm, Jack was quicker and caught Celestia’s wrist, stopping the sword inches from her face. Pulling Celestia’s arm towards her, Jack drug the struggling all-folk closer, for the moment overpowering the princess. Before she could take advantage of their new position, Celestia brought her palm forward and spoke a single word in the Old Tongue. Jack knew one thing when it came to fighting all-folks thanks to her experience with Dmitri: when you heard words you didn’t know, you booked the vicinity.

Jack did just that, letting go of Celestia’s wrist and dropping low, leaning back and to the side as much as she could.

Her guess, her instinct was correct; just as she lowered herself, Celestia’s hand turned white-hot and a fist-sized ball of fire erupted, rolling a foot from her open palm before dissipating into the air. Jack turned herself over, performing a hunched-over pirouette just as Celestia’s sword swung where Jack’s prone body had been mere moments ago.

“Jack,” Celestia addressed, her complexion barely flustered, still as collected as she was earlier. She moved a few steps to the side, trying to flank the farmer; Jack mirrored her, refusing to give the all-folk any advantage. “This is madness. Stop.”

And, perhaps, it was madness. Maybe she was just a flea fighting a lion. That consideration didn’t stop her. She gripped her sword and said nothing to Celestia’s plea.

The all-folk gave a slow nod, seeing Jack’s conviction, before speaking a few more of the Old Words under her breath.

First, appearing like static electricity, came sparks to Celestia’s fingertips, growing only stronger in intensity until her entire fist crackled and sparked. Rearing back, she launched her fist forward and it snapped like a lightning bolt towards Jack. The farmer dove out of the way, landing hard on the ground just as Celestia spoke yet another word of the all-folk’s High Speech and conjured once more a bolt within her palm. Before she could throw it, Jack reached to her chest, unsheathed the shortsword she carried, and threw it with all her might. Celestia gave an easy turn of her torso to avoid it—Jack’s mind turned back to the wendigo for a scant instant, reminded of the beast and how it seemed to mirror Celestia’s reaction—but the thrown sword gave Jack enough time to scramble to her feet, just as another bolt of lightning shot past her.

Get in there! the voice of her mentor barked in her thoughts, the only way you’ll beat something like that is head-on!

Taking the advice to heart, she charged recklessly forward as soon as her feet were steady and she brought her sword up above her shoulders. Her first overhead swing missed Celestia and found the weapon’s edge embedded into the ground, her zeal putting too much of her borderline inhuman strength into the blow. Jack expected it’d miss, what she didn’t expect, however, was the speed at which the all-folk punished her mistake.

Celestia had not only moved out of the way of the blow, but had actually swung her body over and found purchase atop the edge of the blade. She balanced with an eerie grace on the weapon and pointed her sword at Jack’s throat, mere inches from lunging into it.

“Victory is mine,” Celestia stated. “Move one inch and I’ll run your throat through.”

When Jack fought, there were very rarely moments she needed to outwit someone or something. Usually she left the thinking to the others that were with her, that lack of thought was partly why she had dropped out of college. She wasn’t a thinker, she was a doer. But right now there was thinking involved.

And all the thinking made one thing come to light in her mind.

The all-folk was a gentle soul. Something Jack could use to her advantage. She hated having to think that way, but right now it was a matter of standing up to the all-folk, if not winning, then at least lasting against her, at least struggling and in turn, making Celestia struggle as well.

With that in mind she counter-attacked, lifting her sword while twisting her body. She was quicker than Celestia; her throat remained unscathed thanks to her movement and her blade rising to tip the all-folk off, but not quick enough; a thrust reached Jack, drawing a nick into her shoulderpad. The princess’s hesitation had saved her, she knew she’d not have another out like that. A broken olive branch wasn’t much of a symbol of peace.

Already recovered, Celestia continued her maddening dance with Jack, observing, measuring, feinting. Now though, there was a change in how their duel was going. Jack had started to notice the way Celestia would tense at moments in time, her lip curling back as she measured possibilities and strategies Jack couldn’t even fantom. They say experience beats raw skill. Jack wondered, the thought coming and leaving in an instant, what happened when someone had experience, skill, and the wisdom to use it. What beat them? Could they be beaten?

Wings and spells don’t make a man, she thought. It was a mantra she had drilled into her head every time she had doubts to her own ability, every time she thought she was behind Dash in training. Experience could be earned. Limits could be broken. And, even now as she stared at the all-folk she knew, knew a fact that whispered its truth into her ear with the ferocity of a hurricane.

Even Celestia could fall.

Though the all-folk had magic and could easily keep distance, Celestia chose to remain at mid-range, out of Jack’s massive greatsword reach, but close enough that an overextension could cost Jack dearly. The farmer guessed she had wanted to keep magic in reserve, be it in case Jack lasted longer than she expected, or for treating injuries. Either way, Jack knew that any moment, Celestia could retreat and cast magic from afar, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She had to act while Celestia underestimated her.

While Jack still had an ace in the hole.

Her sword had allowed her to keep her distance, had acted as a deterrent to Celestia on crossing the threshold where Excalibur could reach Jack. It bought her some time to prepare.

Jack stood still, the nervous tics and adjustment combat usually held forgotten at the moment. She exhaled, focused not on Celestia, but on the tip of her own sword, on the tip of Durandal as she lifted her arms and pointed it straight outward towards the all-folk. The weight of not only her weapon, but her ideals, came to her, their heft not a burden but a reassurance, a comfort knowing they guided her, that she wasn’t fighting without cause against the woman.

Jack was a faithful woman. A woman of God. Perhaps she didn’t pray as much as she should, but it was still there, and right now, she prayed. Prayed for one attack to land. Prayed for one opportunity, one blow on the all-folk.

She had told Rarity she wasn’t suicidal, that she had charged the wendigo because it was an opportunity to end the fight early, before they could be fatigued by the abomination.

Now she had to do much the same.

She took a step back, another, then shot forward, a bolt from a crossbow aimed at the all-folk’s heart.